Descendant of the Crane(32)

“Come,” she said, sighing. “You’re moving rooms. Bring your belongings.”

The “move” consisted of Akira carrying his rod and Hesina leading the way, a grand distance of two rooms down. She unlocked the door and held it open for him. He stayed under the frame.

A high-ranking maid had recently vacated the chamber. Rumor was that she’d been caught with her fiancé—palace servants weren’t allowed to start families of their own. Hesina was usually two months behind on imperial gossip, but this maid was special.

Rather, this room was special. Even at a glance, the ornate details set it apart. Budding branches latticed the sitting table’s skirt; swirling clouds patterned the divan. Chiseled monkeys scurried across the bed’s lacquered headboard, peaches clutched within their hands.

“This is a bit…much,” Akira said, sniffing the air as he entered.

Hesina thought so too. But she wasn’t here for the decor. She made a beeline for the far wall. “You haven’t seen the most important part.”

She lifted a hanging brocade tapestry and thumped a fist against the zitan panel beneath it. The panel fell back, giving way to one of the few secret corridors that started in the outer palace and snaked into the inner palace.

This one, it so happened, went directly to Hesina’s chambers.

They stared down the gilded corridor in silence. It was a vestige from the relic era and—Hesina’s cheeks suddenly burned—had probably been well-used by the empresses who took servants as lovers in defiance of their husbands’ growing harems.

Whatever Akira was to her, he was not a lover. Stranger was more fitting, considering she hardly knew him. But she did know one thing.

“I’m going to find Father’s murderer.” She turned to face him. “And I’m going to need your help.”

He scratched his head. “I thought I was already helping you.”

Yes and no. Hesina had envisioned an honest investigation. A fair trial. Instead, they were battling against lies. Their victories redeemed the innocent, but they brought her no closer to the truth.

Akira sat on the floor by the bed. He took up his rod and started to carve. “It’s happening.”

“What?”

“The loss of your idealism.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Is a spectacle all you really want?”

The carving stopped.

She waited for him to meet her gaze, and when he did, she stared into his gray irises until she thought she might lose herself in them.

She broke eye contact first. What should she have expected? Everyone was the same; everyone was waiting for her to fail. But failure wasn’t an option, not when her trial was so close to becoming a persecution.

“This”—she jerked her chin at the corridor—“is so we can meet more easily. The other end connects to my private study. I’ll bring you the evidence I have. You, on the other hand, are free to come to me anytime. That is…” She wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t torture herself by watching him debate his answer. “That is, if you accept.”

There. She’d done it. She’d asked for his help without downright begging.

The silence that followed made her wonder if she should have fallen to her knees and pleaded.

“Okay.” His voice was quiet. Almost gentle. “I’ll help you. Just one request.”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to keep my head if the truth ends up destroying you.”

And with that, he returned to sounding like his usual self, one who’d seen everything terrible in the world and decided nothing was that terrible after all. But whatever Akira had done before—be it merchant robbing or worse—Hesina could look past it. All she’d needed was this one yes.

“Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. “Make yourself comfortable. Let me—I mean the servants—let the servants know if you need anything.”

No reply.

Wonderful. He probably thought she was utterly unhinged. Bracing herself, Hesina finally faced him.

His head was bowed. The string at the nape of his neck had come undone, and messy locks of ash-brown hair fell over his forehead.

“Akira?”

His breathing had slowed.

Instead of scaring him off, Hesina had bored him to exhaustion.

She gathered the down-and-silk blanket from the bed and knelt before him. He held his rod even in sleep. The detail brought a small smile to her lips, and she settled the blanket over his shoulders.

Something caught her eye as she did. The crossed collar of his hanfu had shifted to reveal a dark claw hooking over his shoulder.

No, not a claw. A tattoo of a leaf, the tip of it brushing his collarbone. The rest disappeared over the slope of his trapezius.

Hesina squelched her curiosity—disrobing her representative was the last thing she wanted to do—and carefully tucked the blanket under his chin.



“Hello.”

Hesina spun so fast that she nearly knocked over a candle and set her desk aflame. But it was only Akira standing in her wall. He pulled the panels of the corridor exit shut, and she slumped in her seat with a sigh. “Please knock in the future.”

“I did.”

Well, she hadn’t heard it. Perhaps the sound had gotten lost in her gnashing migraine. The life of a queen was tedious and horrible for her posture; she’d been hunched over paperwork since seeing Akira yesterday and hadn’t gotten a chance to deliver the chest of evidence to him yet.