Chapter Thirteen
Leander sat in the palace, staring out at the gardens, but he wasn’t seeing. He wasn’t feeling as much as existing in some foggy space that precluded thought. He quite liked it.
“Lian,” a voice called. Leander did not react, but then hands caught him, pulled him, and Shanlin dragged him back to reality by clinging to him, half in his lap and sobbing.
“He’s dead,” he cried. “Xi is dead!”
“No,” Leander wrapped his arms around the boy who had suffered too much. These tears were likely healthy, but Leander had to force himself not to recoil. “He is being treated.”
Shanlin stared at him, eyes huge and disbelieving.
Leander twitched at the implied disrespect, as if he would lie. The boy didn’t mean it—he had simply seen too much death to trust that it had passed them by this time.
“The doctor and Master Teacher Wang are with him,” Leander said.
Heng settled into a chair carved to resemble two cranes. “Your qidi is lucky you are so skilled,” Heng said.
Leander nodded.
“Do you know who might have done such a thing?” Heng’s voice was gentle, but it poked a sore spot in Leander’s soul.
He knew too many who would want them dead.
Druwolf, other criminal lords, the city police, the state police, the American government.
That was before he started counting people who had a personal grudge—the individuals Creek had arrested, the family members of those who died because of Leander’s choices.
Leander glanced toward Shanlin. “This is not the place to discuss possibilities.”
Heng smiled. “Your son is a wise boy, and we do not believe in hiding the truth from our sons in China.”
“Only your daughters?” Leander countered.
Heng’s laughter was as effortless as the graceful flow of the robe’s fabric around his knees.
He was grace personified, and Leander felt like a rough lump of flesh next to him.
“Our daughters know more truth than we, the men, do. Chinese daughters learn early to plot to take power others refuse to give them freely.”
“Maybe you should treat people more equally, and they won’t have to plot.”
“Given more access to power, they might take over the world because they have learned to plot so effectively. Chinese men are all that stands between the world and a thousand-year rule by Chinese queens.” Heng grinned at him, his lopsided smile so endearing it caught Leander in a memory of Heng with that same smile in his bed.
Even then, even before life had torn Leander apart and left him more bitter and cold and scarred, he had been shocked that someone so beautiful had chosen him.
“I prefer my son to remain undisturbed by nightmares.” Leander stroked Shanlin’s hair.
“I know what happens. I know who’s after us,” Shanlin whispered.
Heng raised an eyebrow as though challenging Leander.
“We’re safe here,” Leander promised.
“Here in the school? Absolutely,” Heng said. “The Flying Swords school has stood for two thousand years, although for the first five hundred or so it was little more than a house upon a hill. No Westerner will breach our defenses.”
“But we aren’t safe out there,” Shanlin whispered.
“We are,” Leander said. “Now that I know what poison feels like outside the plant, I can search for it.” He made deliberate eye contact with Heng. “If your teachers will give me access to what poisons they know, I can learn each poison and protect us.”
Heng tilted his head to the side. “Or you can stay here.”
“I am not a student, and those who are not members of the sect cannot stay within a school. You taught me that.”
“But you could pledge yourself, as could Shanlin. If you were members of our sect, you would live here. No member of the sect may move out of the school until they reach Golden Core state, not without renouncing their position, so the school would shelter you.” Heng leaned forward.
“It would keep you safe from these unseen enemies.”
Leander felt as if the walls were closing in on him and the light was dimming. He didn’t want to be trapped anywhere, especially when he would likely never reach a high level of Chinese cultivation. While logical, the idea of joining the sect terrified him.
“Mom said Xi knew people. Dangerous people,” Shanlin whispered in Leander’s ear. He was still half in Leander’s lap, one leg over his knees and leaning close.
Leander leaned away from him so he could study Shanlin’s face. “What exactly did your mother say?” If Tecca called someone dangerous, then they were. As a blood mage, she was called on to be at Druwolf’s side far more than Leander, so she knew how to identify danger.
Shanlin chewed his lower lip.
“It’s fine to tell me,” Leander tried to reassure him. The look Shanlin gave him suggested Leander’s efforts were less than stellar. However, he slid off Leander’s lap and backed away, his suspicious gaze darting toward Heng in a rather unsubtle gesture.
Heng smiled kindly. “Your father is my qidi. If I were to betray him, others would call me unfaithful. While that would not be as catastrophic as being labelled unfilial for betraying my parents or ancestors, it would be a serious enough charge to endanger my place here. We are family.” He held out a hand, and in the center was a red string with red and gold beads and a green stone.
It took a second for Leander to recognize the jade bracelet.
“You shouldn’t have,” Leander said, shocked at the gesture.
“He is a new boy for the family. I should.” Heng caught Shanlin’s wrist and put the bracelet on. “Everyone should have a piece of jade. May the stone of heaven bring you wisdom and luck,” he said.
Shanlin turned to Leander, who nodded, before he closed his hand around the jewelry. Still, the moment Heng let go, Shanlin retreated to the far side of Leander. Heng’s expression was either hurt or pity—Leander wasn’t sure.
“We will both protect you,” Leander said, since he was sure that was the truth. “What did your mother say?”
Shanlin stared at them for long, awkward seconds before whispering, “She said Xi knew dangerous people. She said we should work with the police because the other people Xi knew were more dangerous.”
Leander exchanged a concerned look with Heng.
Right now, Creek was unconscious and they couldn’t ask him, but if Tecca thought he was mixed up with people more dangerous than the government, Leander trusted her judgment.
He might have hated her, but she was a clever and powerful woman, and one who didn’t jump at shadows. “What else did she say?” he asked.
Shanlin shrugged, his gaze now on the floor.
Leander wanted to reach into his head and pull the information out, but mind reading was definitely outside his skill set unless the mind in question was a plant’s.
And plants thought about little other than the direction of the nearest water source or the complex system of chemicals released when predators breached their defenses.
“Are these the sort of people who would follow us here?” Leander asked.
“Yes.” Shanlin’s voice was soft but without a single quiver of doubt.
“I can ask if any Westerners are visiting the local area,” Heng said.
Leander nodded, not trusting his voice. He had planned this to be his safe retreat, and now Creek had brought enemies in his wake.
Part of him wanted to find the man and choke him to death before he could wake up, even though he was desperate for Creek to wake up and be alright.
This is why he preferred plants–they didn’t inspire such confusion.
Heng left in a swirl of pastel robes, and Shanlin sat next to him on the low window bench, his knees drawn up in front and his arms hugging them.
“We’ll be fine,” Leander said.
Shanlin blinked at him. Maybe he should have allowed Creek to take the boy to the police.
If the police had known he’d seen something when his mother died, they wouldn’t have cared that he didn’t have a magical gift.
They would have protected him. He could be at home in America watching cartoons.
Leander lost time as he drifted in shame and silence.
Even Shanlin seemed to have fallen into a half-trance as the sun’s rays shifted across the stone floor, as the sun moved toward afternoon.
“I finally found you,” a voice said, and Leander jerked out of his trance to see Master Teacher Wang in the doorway. He scanned the room, spotting Shanlin in the corner by the window, cradled by the heavy beams set into the walls and asleep.
He stood and offered a low bow. “Master Teacher Wang, you honor me with your presence.”
“Your qidi will recover. He sleeps now,” he said in English.
A knot around Leander’s soul loosened. “Thank you for such joyous news.”
The old man nodded and remained silent for a time before adding, “The poison disrupted his qi, so his magic may be unstable.”
“His chi? How does poison of the body disrupt magic that is not of the body?” Leander asked. He bit his tongue after. A teacher held in such esteem was not one to bother with novice questions, and he had been rude for asking.
Instead of taking offense, Master Teacher Wang sat in the crane chair Heng had used. “It is pronounced qi,” he said.
“Chi.” Leander knew the word well. It was the reserve of power in the body that allowed those with talent to use magic.
“Qi,” Master Wang said, emphasizing the slight difference.
Leander frowned and pronounced it again. “Qi.”
Master Teacher Wang smiled brightly. “Just so. I often think our schools exclude Westerners because their accents are so grating. Your qidi’s qi is part of both his body and his magic. The poison corrupted the channels, so it will not flow to the dantien or come from it as easily.”
Shanlin sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “What is a dantian?” he asked despite all the times that Leander had cautioned him not to question elders.
Luckily, Master Teacher Wang did not seem offended. He walked over and pressed his hand against Shanlin’s breastbone. “Do you ever feel warmth here?”