Descendant of the Crane(35)

Which made them the perfect hiding place.

The pain in Hesina’s spine fled, replaced by a cold trickle of revelation. With a trembling hand, she reached out and—heavens forgive her—turned the altar pillar.

Its back contained a hollow, and the hollow cradled a bronze chest strung with a silver half-moon padlock. Hesina stared, triumphant to have found something, and terrified for the same reason.

Before she could recover her bearings, Akira came over and lifted the chest.

“A wedding lock,” he explained, fiddling with the three dials. “One of a pair, exchanged during a marriage ceremony. The combination is traditionally set to the other partner’s birth year.”

His gaze flicked to her, expectant.

“265.” Two hundred and sixty-five years since the end of the Relic Dynasty.

Akira spun each dial. The lock didn’t budge. He looked to her again, and Hesina probed at a raw spot on her inner cheek in thought.

“Try 906.” The year it’d be if the Eleven hadn’t started the calendar anew.

Akira entered those numbers. The lock remained firmly shut. Again, he looked to her, this time with skepticism.

“I know my own father’s birth year,” Hesina said, defensive. When his gray eyes disagreed, she grabbed the chest. Their hands brushed, and Akira’s expression lost that chilling focus. He peered at her through the fall of his bangs, as if beholding her bloodless, sweaty face for the first time.

“I know my own father’s birth year,” she repeated quietly, and Akira nodded. But the damage had been done; her eyes grew scratchy as she stared down at the whorls of patina on the lid of the chest. She was the one holding them back, not the Investigation Bureau, because while she knew her father as well as she knew herself, she didn’t know her mother. She didn’t know what the dowager queen might have set the lock to, if not her father’s birth year.

“I’ll find the right numbers,” she said as Akira picked up his rod. “I promise I will. Just give me some time.”

He walked to the door and stopped under the frame. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes!”

Akira hefted his rod up and down, seeming to weigh it with his words. “Sometimes I lose myself,” he finally said. “I get too focused. Forget that feelings matter. I was raised this way, and I’m still trying to change.”

Hesina mustered the courage to join him, then the nerve to place a hand on his back. He stiffened as her palm came to rest over the sharp jut of his shoulder blade, and she swallowed, keenly aware of the bones beneath her own skin.

“Sometimes…” Her voice caught; she tried again. “Sometimes, I’m afraid of finding secrets I’m not meant to know.” Or was deemed unworthy of knowing, in her mother’s case. “But I want to be braver. Stronger. I want to be worthy of the truth. And I’d like it…I’d like it very much if you could help me.”

Please.

After a long second, Akira nodded. Then he moved out of her touch. Her hand fell, but her heart didn’t. This was the beginning of their partnership, not the end.

Grateful, Hesina released a breath. “I’m sorry about the lock. I know we don’t have much time.” It was their investigation against the Bureau’s, their suspects against innocents.

“There are other ways of staying ahead,” Akira said as they left her mother’s chambers.

“Such as?”

“I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It sounded like the comforting thing to say.”

Well, that wasn’t comforting at all.

After they parted, Hesina racked her brain. She had a list of potential scapegoats that was thirty names long, but after Consort Fei, anyone with the slightest relation to Kendi’a could be fair game. If only there was a way of knowing who would be framed next. She couldn’t foresee Xia Zhong’s or the director’s future moves, but…

She stopped between two embroidered facades, the chest heavy in her arms. On either side of her, the silk depicted soothsayers nailed to the stakes, surrounded by flames.

…There was someone who could.





ELEVEN





THEY CONTROLLED THE PEOPLE WITH FEAR.

ONE OF THE ELEVEN ON THE RELIC EMPERORS


FEAR, AND SOOTHS.

TWO OF THE ELEVEN ON THE RELIC EMPERORS

When had the secret keeping started?

Since Caiyan had become her first advisor, Hesina realized as she turned away from his doors. She left without knocking; she’d come all the way to his chambers only to withhold her intentions of revisiting the Silver Iris. His safety mattered more than ever. If she suddenly died while Sanjing was halfway across the realm, the court and throne would temporarily go to Caiyan. Granted, Caiyan would argue that her safety trumped his. He would win that debate. Which was why Hesina didn’t want one in the first place.

On her own, she readied the gold, studied the imperial city map, and then headed for the throne hall to review paperwork on the ivory kang while waiting for night to fall. Hours crawled by. Dusk stained the hall when her head page came to deliver the daily report on the realm.

“Any response from Kendi’a?” Hesina asked when her page concluded his updates.

“Nothing, dianxia.”

Lilian’s suggestion of using force had never seemed more appealing. But until her wrist gave out, Hesina would have to content herself with writing letters. Such was the almighty diplomacy of a queen.