“Chinese folklore is full of beings that get called ‘demon’ in English,” Lily said absently, “but they aren’t what we mean by the term. What about real demons? The ones from Dis?”
“Oh, they fall through sometimes, but they’re usually killed pretty quickly.”
Lily’s eyebrows lifted. “Demons are hard to kill. These people do it with, what—bows and arrows? Swords?”
“Humans aren’t the only ones doing the killing.”
“The spawn?”
“Sometimes, I guess, but there are a lot of scary predators here. Top of the list are the dragons, but according to Alice there are plenty of other big, bad beasties, though we don’t have to worry because Lang Xin is warded.”
“Warded, hmm? The whole city? By the spawn?”
“Yes, yes, and I think so.”
“Are there a lot of . . .” A sudden increase in the chatter on the other side of the cell door made Lily pause and look that way, as if she might be able to see through the solid wood if she just tried.
“Shift change,” Cynna said—but she was looking at one of the walls, not the door. After a moment Lily realized she was checking the angle of the sunlight streaming in through their window slit. “Or maybe not. I think it’s too early for that, but telling time by the sun is not my thing. Can you understand them?”
“Not when they’re all talking at once like this. I’ve never heard this dialect before, and it—” She broke off at the barked command from right outside their door. “I understood that. We’re to get away from the door.” Since they were already as far from it as was possible in the tiny cell, she didn’t move.
An eye peered in the tiny window, then retreated. There was a scraping sound—the bar being lifted—then the door opened.
It was the guard with the blue breastplate or cuirass or whatever. He’d brought a couple friends along—men who held cocked bows, the arrows pointing straight at Lily. “See-nah Wee-vah stay,” he ordered. “Li-li Yu come.”
“They’re taking you more seriously than they do me,” Cynna observed. “When they come to get me, they don’t use drawn bows. My broken arm robs me of that dangerous edge, I guess.”
Lily rose slowly to her feet. “They do come for you sometimes, though?”
“Yeah, sometimes Alice sends for me. Also I’m taken out of the cell every morning so they can scrub the cell and I can scrub myself. They’re big on cleanliness.”
“It’s not morning.” Which meant this was probably interrogation time.
“Come!” Blue-Armor repeated.
Lily summoned her Grandmother imitation. She stared at him haughtily and spoke slowly, using her best Mandarin . . . and sending her mindsense out. “I come, but how do I address you, honorable sir?”
To her amazement, he offered her a short, stiff bow. “This one is Fang Ye Lì, a Fist Second of the Zhuren. You may address me as Fist Second.”
The word he used—quán—was pronounced differently in Mandarin, but this time Lily knew it meant “fist” because she heard him in her head, too. In English. Pleased, she limped out of the cell as if this were all her own idea.
FOUR
ON the other side of the cell door was a large open area defined by three interior walls that were studded with barred doors. Cells, in other words. No windows here; mage lights floated near the ceiling. The fourth side held the stairs that seemed to be the only way in or out, shelves crammed with an interesting miscellany of items, and what Lily thought of as a holding cell that projected out into the room. It had bamboo bars instead of walls and was a lot bigger than her cell. Inside it, four men sat or lay prone in attitudes of boredom or despair.
In the middle of the open area was a big, scuffed table and several wooden stools. She’d stood next to that table when they searched her before sending her into the cell, leaving her pockets empty even of lint. For some reason, though, they hadn’t taken her rings.
Her wedding ring still circled the third finger on her left hand. The ring that held the toltoi rested on the matching finger on her right hand. She ran her thumb over that one now, wondering why. Maybe they thought it was wrong to take a prisoner’s jewelry? She tried to remember if Cynna still had her wedding band . . . yes. She’d felt it when she’d squeezed her friend’s hand.
But they’d left Lily the toltoi, too.
She’d been given the little charm when she was ritually made part of Nokolai Clan. The toltoi wasn’t magic. It had something, yes, but not magic. Arguai, the sidhe called it. Spirit, according to others. Even Sam said he didn’t understand spirit, so maybe the spawn couldn’t sense it, didn’t know there was anything to the ring but a pretty design.
Pity she didn’t know how to use it. Sure, it might have helped her mindspeak Rule if he’d been a few hundred miles closer, but he wasn’t.
The man who’d summoned her from her cell stood watching her. Fang Ye Lì suited his name—his surname anyway. One of the meanings for Fang was “square,” and he was built like a block, husky and squared-off at every angle. His eyebrows were thick, and a drooping mustache framed a mouth too small for that lantern jaw. No beard. And that blue armor . . . as she got her first good look at it, she blinked in surprise.
Could that be what it looked like? “I greet you, Fist Second. Where are we going?”
“We go first to the women’s bathhouse.”
She lifted her brows. “That will be pleasant.”
His cheeks darkened—with embarrassment or anger? In some men, they looked much the same. “We are not barbarians. Please hold out your hands.”
She did, positioning herself so she could see the three walls with barred doors. Five, six, seven . . .
“It is not one of the better bathhouses,” he said stiffly as he gripped her hands, began wrapping her wrists with rope . . . and gave her a surprise. The Fist Second had an Earth Gift. A pretty strong one. “It is used by women who work in the compound. They, ah, they are not of high status. I have sent for a proper attendant, however, and the bathhouse will be reserved for your use.”
Lily shrugged, copying the way Grandmother responded sometimes to minor offenses from those who clearly did not know better, and decided where she wanted to fit in this man’s worldview. “I understand that women here are not allowed into the warrior caste. It is not important. I know what I am.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You claim to be a warrior?”
Grandmother, she decided, would not bother to respond to such foolishness. So she didn’t. “Your armor intrigues me. Can it be made from dragon scales?”