Page 7

The next morning, I found Gaari at Luk’s taking breakfast, slurping noodles so long he’d choke if he didn’t bite into them.

Shimmering globs of oil skimmed the soup, bobbing like dragon eyes.

I blinked the sight away, trying to hide my desperation as I settled onto the stool across from him.

“Straight to the noodles,” I said by way of greeting.

“I didn’t even know that this place opened so early.”

Gaari looked up.

“How did you know I’d be here?”

“I can see the future.”

He laughed, as he always did when I said that.

“Tangyor let me up the stairs,” I confessed.

“I hounded him first thing in the morning for your address, and he said you were here. Must be my lucky day.” I poured myself a cup of tea.

“How are the noodles?”

“Springy. You want some?”

Tempting, but I’d already eaten, wolfing down an entire chicken and three pears first thing when I’d awoken.

“I’m not here to eat,” I replied.

“I’m here on business.”

“Business?” Gaari said with his mouth full.

He picked a tiny round of onion off his beard.

“Shouldn’t the haul from yesterday have tided you over?”

It should have, I thought bitterly.

“My mother has debts to pay.”

“Still gambling, I see.”

“One of the four vices,” I quipped.

“Thinking she can see the future runs in the family.”

Gaari’s cheek twitched.

He wasn’t in his usually snappy mood.

“What do you have to sell?”

Ever so carefully, I lifted the scroll from my knapsack.

The ink was barely dry; Nomi and Fal had spent almost an hour fanning it this morning while I’d obsessed over the last details.

I held the scroll up, tugging at the ribbon bit by bit.

I’d watched plenty of art auctions.

I knew how important it was to tantalize the buyer.

To pique his interest.

“I’ve heard that the emperor’s birthday is coming up,” I started, “and that all the lords in the Fengming Hills are vying to outdo each other with their gifts. I might have something that can help one of them.”

Gaari raised a white eyebrow.

“What is it?”

I waited an extra beat for showmanship.

Then, dropping my voice to a whisper, I spoke, “A dragon.”

“A dragon.” Gaari puffed up with surprise.

“Why, Saigas. You actually listened to me.”

“Only for the money. How much can you get?”

“I’ll need to see it first.”

I held the scroll back.

“I need this sold today. It’s urgent. Tell me you have the time, the means, the contacts. Otherwise, I’ll have to find someone else.”

Gaari’s brow furrowed.

“What’s the matter? Who is threatening you?”

I shook my head.

“Third rule.”

“Blast the third rule. If you’re in trouble, then—” He drew a deep breath.

“Give me a few hours. I can get help.”

How much help?

I wanted to ask, touched by the offer.

Over the years, Gaari had proved to be as much a friend as a business associate.

But I held back.

Madam Yargui was the city’s most feared crime lord.

Her men slit throats for sport, while Gaari…

Gaari’s hired hands were actors.

Better at rolling noodles than throwing punches.

“Can you sell today or not?” I said.

Gaari looked pensive.

“It’s the Ghost Festival. Might be hard to find a buyer while everyone’s at the temples praying to the dead.”

My shoulders fell as I started to rise.

“Then I’ll have to try someone else—”

“Sit,” said Gaari, pulling me back into the chair.

“How much money do you need?”

“Eighteen thousand. By sundown.”

Gaari gave a low whistle.

He set aside his noodles.

“That is a considerable ask indeed. Some would say impossible.” He stroked his beard.

“But…”

“But?”

“But I have an idea.” Gaari’s voice dropped, and he leaned forward.

“There’s a young lord who comes and goes from Gangsun. You’ve heard of the Demon Prince?”

“No.” Unlike Gaari, who hobnobbed with everyone he saw, I had no patience for gossip.

“He occupies the fourth mansion on Oyang Street, right next to Governor Renhai, but he’s a recluse. Richer than a king with the manners of a beast. Anyone who so much as steps into the shadow of his property either lands in jail or goes missing. I hear he put two magistrates in his dungeon for trying to pay him a visit.”

“What a ridiculous title,” I said.

“Why do they call him the Demon Prince?”

“Because everywhere he goes, he wears a demon mask.”

“A demon mask?” Now, that was interesting.

“What for?”

“Because he’s ugly.” Gaari laughed.

“Well, that’s my theory. Some say he’s a monster. Or an actual demon.”

“He can look like a goose for all I care, so long as he’s rich. Could I sell the painting to him?”

“Not to him, but to Renhai.”

“The governor?”

Gaari gave a sly nod.

“Renhai despises him for snubbing an invitation to his daughter’s wedding,” he confided.

“If he learns that the Demon Prince is interested in your work, he may just want to buy it.”

“You mean he’d buy it out of spite.”

“One of life’s greatest motivations.”

I bit down on my lip, considering.

“I don’t know…. We’ve always tried to stay away from government boars before. Are you sure you want to get close to the king pig?”

“Trust me, it’ll work,” said Gaari.

“I’ll go myself to make an introduction. I’ll knock on every house on Oyang Street if I have to.”

I thought about the ring with the nine pearls.

Such a jewel would belong to someone who lived on Oyang Street.

Especially someone like Renhai.

“You can really do it?”

“Depends on your dragon.”

“See for yourself.” I set down the scroll and untied the ribbon.

“It still needs a seal, but I trust that you can helpme…”

My voice trailed off.

Footsteps thumped up the stairs, and in a moment of chilling prescience, the hairs prickled on the back of my neck.

“What’s wrong?” asked Gaari.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

I squeezed my scroll into my knapsack.

“Get out of here, Gaari. Go!”

No sooner did I speak than the beaded curtain swept open with a tinkle, revealing five men in white sashes.

I recognized the one with sideburns and cursed.

“There she is!” he shouted.

“Get the old man too.”

“Nine Hells of Tamra,” Gaari muttered.

“This is your third rule?”

I didn’t get to respond.

Gaari grabbed my hand, and together we barreled toward the back stairs.

The entire restaurant shook as we scrambled down.

Madam Yargui’s men were smashing the chairs and tables, and customers were screaming as they fled.

It was pandemonium.

Just my luck, more of Yargui’s men awaited me downstairs.

“Go!” Gaari hissed as the men advanced.

“There’s an exit in the kitchen. Take it.”

Tangyor had joined Gaari’s side, along with two more waiters.

Any other time, I would’ve stayed to fight.

But Fal neededme.

I ducked between the waiters and dashed into the kitchen.

It was abandoned, pots still boiling and knives still out.

As I scanned for the exit, I heard the chilling beats of a slow clap.

Dread unfolded in the pit of my stomach.

It was Puhkan, Madam Yargui’s second-in-command.

He was leaning against the only exit, wide green sleeves neatly folded back, and not a hair out of place.

Madam Yargui’s gentle assassin, he was called.

A more deceptive name had never been given.

“You’ve grown up, Truyan,” he remarked.

His tone was courteous, a mask for what I knew to be his true nature.

“Remember me?”

How could I forget the man who’d torn my sisters and me from our home?

I could still taste the persimmon I’d been eating when he’d smashed down our door in the middle of the day, how its sweetness had soured in my mouth when he’d grabbed Mama and held her at knifepoint, declaring that our house now belonged to Madam Yargui.

Yes, I remembered.

He was older now, his skin not quite as tight about his eyes.

But his black hair was slicked into a familiar tail down his back, and I remembered the disk of jade swinging around his neck.

He’d threatened to strangle Nomi with the cord if she didn’t stop screaming.

“I thought I had until sundown,” I said.

Behind my back, I reached for a cleaver.

I gripped it tightly.

“Why are youhere?”

“I hear you’re an artist,” Puhkan said, skimming by the question.

“Imagine my surprise to learn you were doing honest work, Truyan. Apprenticing with a painter, perhaps even applying to a school. But wait. That’s not the path you chose, is it?” He snickered.

“Like mother, like daughter, it seems. Both cheats.”

I shuddered.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw that lovely sister of yours—Falina, is it? She was trying to run away, against my mistress’s explicit instructions. Madam is displeased with this breach.”

Oh gods.

“If you hurt her…”

“You aren’t in the position to make threats. Your sister is unharmed, so long as you do as I say. Now, drop the knife.”

I dropped the knife.

“That’s a good girl.” Puhkan kicked the cleaver away.

We both knew he didn’t need it to best me in a fight.

He advanced toward me, his jade necklace swinging.

“Madam Yargui asked me to send a message: The price for your sister’s freedom has gone up. Now she requires fifty thousand jens.”

I balked.

“My sister’s not worth fifty thousand jens.”

“She is to you,” Puhkan said cruelly, and the truth of it cut deep.

No matter how much Fal and I fought, I’d scrounge a million jens to save her if I had to.

“But since you say so, Madam Yargui will take both your sisters.” He cocked his head.

“I hear the little one likes to read.”

If only I hadn’t given up my cleaver, I would have taken a good swing at Puhkan’s face.

I bit down on my lip, so hard I tasted blood.

“I’ll need more time.”

“She’s in a generous mood,” allowed Puhkan.

“You have until midnight.”

“Midnight?” I cried.

“That’s impossible!”

“Greater things have been done in less time,” said Puhkan, dipping a wooden ladle into the vat of boiling soup next to me.

He drank, then let out a breath.

“What’s the matter, Truyan? Don’t think you can get the money?”

My mind was spinning.

“Take me instead.”

“You?” Puhkan threw his head back as he laughed.

“No one will buy a girl with barbarian hair.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I was desperate, and my pleas were spilling from my lips faster than I could think them through.

“Take me into Madam Yargui’s den. I can paint—”

“Paint what?” Puhkan sneered.

“Portraits?”

“The future,” I cried.

“I can paint the future.”

As soon as the words came out, I wished I could take them back.

My visions were a secret that no one—not Mama, not my sisters, not even Gaari—knew.

And I’d just shared it with my enemy.

Puhkan wasn’t laughing anymore.

He looked thoughtful, his dark eyes swirling with keen interest.

“Tell me, Truyan, if you can see the future, why aren’t you running?”

I didn’t understand—until he opened the door.

Outside, mere steps away from the restaurant, was a force of prefects.

At first I assumed they were here to arrest Puhkan, but the way he was gloating…

My stomach sank.

“It seems Mr.Jisan reported you to the authorities this morning, after a very helpful and very anonymous tip.” Puhkan smiled, revealing a set of square white teeth.

“You’re welcome.”

In my imagination, I sent knives and cleavers flying at his head.

Reality, unfortunately, wasn’t quite so promising.

I was cornered.

Still smiling, Puhkan kicked the door wide.

In his loudest voice, he shouted to the prefects: “The girl’s in here. In the kitchen.”

Damn it.

I stumbled back, my hands at the counter.

Spoons, napkins, small bowls, uncooked noodles—nothing I could use.

I reached farther back, until I grasped a glass jar.

There.

The moment Puhkan turned his back to me, I leapt.

Closing the space between us, I hooked my arm around his neck.

For good measure, I dipped my fingers into my jar of bright red chili oil and stabbed a generous glob into his eyes.

A howl erupted from his lungs, the most beautiful I’d ever heard in my life.

That alone made it worth it—something I tried to keep in mind as Puhkan found a knife on the counter.

Nine Hells, I cursed.

I scrambled away, narrowly missing a thrust to my ribs.

If not for the chili blinding his eyes, it could have been a fatal blow.

As he swung, screaming all sorts of foul names at me, I ran back into the restaurant.

“There she is!” Yargui’s men shouted when they spotted my return.

Daggers flew in my direction, as did soupspoons and bowls.

I ducked behind a table, joining a crowd of Luk’s men.

If not for the knives and the screaming, it would have felt like a delirious food fight.

Teacups, bowls, even jars of vinegar—I flung whatever I could find at Yargui’s men, letting out a gleeful cheer whenever something shattered against their heads.

I was doing quite well for someone who didn’t know how to fight—until a bold arm hooked me from behind by the waist.

It was a good thing I saw who it was before I smashed the remains of my chili jar into Gaari’s face.

Never had I been so glad to see my friend.

For the first time since I’d known him, his robes were spattered with dirt, and what appeared to be dark blood.

The restaurant was in shambles, men crumpled in every corner under piles of wood.

The floor was wet with soup and noodles.

As the prefects scrambled after me, I ran back up the stairs with Gaari.

“You’ve still got your scroll,” he rasped, sounding relieved.

“I’ve sent a messenger to find you in thehills.”

“Don’t you see the prefects downstairs?” I exclaimed.

“They’re after me. I can’t sell it to Renhai anymore.”

“Do you need the money or not? Trust me.”

There wasn’t time to explain that I needed over double the original amount.

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Gaari’s nostrils were flared, and his cheek twitched more violently than I’d ever seen it.

But my focus was on his eye, ever bright and burning.

“Go now, my friend, and—may you have the luck of the dragons.”

That was all the warning I had as I reached the top of the stairs, where Tangyor—ever-helpful Tangyor—pushed me out the window.