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“Niece,” Xiang said, “the prime minister has come to claim his dance with you. Be a good girl and do not force him to beg for this favor.”

This was Xiang’s way of reminding her that the traditional rule of three solicitations would be suspended in this case. “Indeed, Aunt, I will always behave as you direct me.” Her inability to breathe made Daiyu’s voice even softer than custom dictated.

“Come,then,givemeyourhand,”Chengleisaid,holdingout his own. Daiyu laid her right hand in his and let him lead her back onto the dance floor.

It was time for Chenglei—and Daiyu—to go home.

SEVENTEEN

SOME OF DAIYU’S
anxiety eased as they slipped into the familiar rhythms of the dance. She had practiced, she could do this; she knew not only the steps of the
tiaowu
but the trick of securing the bracelet on her partner’s arm. The time for thinking was past. Now she must be guided by instinct and memory.

“Young Daiyu, you dance with a great deal of grace,” Chenglei observed after they had stepped through the first few measures of the pattern. “I seem to recall that you were nervous about performing well.”

That
was something she had said to him back at Mei’s more than two weeks ago. Why would he retain such a useless bit of conversation? “I am glad the prime minister is pleased with my ability,” she said. “But I am embarrassed that he remembers anything I said when it was so ridiculous.”

“I am trying to remember the whole of our conversation, with limited success!” he said, humorously dismayed. “So you will kindly have to remind me. You are Xiang’s niece, of course. Where does your mother live?”

“In the northwest territories.”

He peered down at her, instantly concerned. “Oh, Daiyu,” he said in a hushed and sympathetic voice. “Is she in one of the infectedcities?”

Cursing herself for not having expected this question, Daiyu bit her lip and shook her head. “No, Prime Minister. Perhaps a year ago she moved south of the Maiwei River to be with my uncle, my father’s brother. She remains in very good health, but of course she is sad about all of her friends who are quite sick.”

Chenglei sighed mournfully. The movement of the dance turned them; now he held her left hand in his. “This is the cause that has concerned me most during my time in office,” he said. “The illness raging through the northwest territories. At night when I should be sleeping, I pore over reports from the scientists who are desperate to find a cure. Here on our continent, we have had no breakthroughs, but there are doctors in Yazhou who are making splendid progress in finding drugs that may halt the disease.”

“Yazhou?” she said, startled. Feng had mentioned supplies being shipped across the ocean from what was essentially Asia. “They are trying to find a cure for
zaogao
fever?”

“Indeed they are. I like to think they are inspired by a humanitarian fervor, but I suspect they are afraid that any illness we spawn here may leap the water and infect their own countries. We have tried to contain it, you know, but every day we learn of a new outbreak somewhere. I do fear for the health of this whole country—and for the entire world. We must find the cure, and very soon.”

She hardly knew what to think. “I admire you for your commitment, Prime Minister.”

“Well,noteveryonedoes!”hesaid.“Thereisamanintown named Feng—perhaps you have not been here long enough to hear his name—he despises me and everything I stand for. He claims to be a pure man of justice, while I am a wicked man of influence, but the truth is, he hates me because he was among a group of young men who were ruined shortly after I came to office. There was a scandal—too sordid for the ears of young girls. Now his only ambition is to see me discredited. I would not care at all except that people are starting to listen to him. And even then I would not care except that if people begin to distrust me, I cannot do my job. I cannot fund the research being done at home, I cannot forge alliances with the governments in Yazhou. Everything stalls and more people die. This is the bitterest reality of my term so far.”

The movement of the dance separated them at just that moment. Daiyu was suddenly palm-to-palm with an older gentleman who was completely bald and absolutely expressionless. What he might see on her own face she could scarcely imagine. She felt dizzy and utterly confounded. If the room had tilted and they were now dancing on the painted ceiling, she could hardly have been more confused. Could Chenglei be telling the truth? Was Feng merely a disgraced aristocrat trying to get revenge?

Were Aurora and Ombri simply interdimensional bounty hunters who had their own agenda?

How could she possibly know?

The music offered up its signal and Daiyu turned away from her new partner and back toward Chenglei. He took her right hand in his and they promenaded in a stately fashion down the center of the room. Now, by sheer force of habit, her left hand crept to the pocket of her skirt. Through the smooth cotton of her glove, she could feel the hard contours of the bracelet. In twenty seconds, maybe less, Chenglei would swing her around to face him as he reached out to take hold of her other hand. This was the time; this was the moment she had trained for.

“Please forgive me,” he said in a very low voice. He sounded utterly sincere. “I should not have talked of such distressing topics on such a light-hearted occasion. I should have spoken only of your braided hair and your sparkling jewels and the grace of your dance. I am sorry I have ruined the ball for you.”

He sounded so despondent that her denial was instant and genuine. “No, Prime Minister, you have ruined nothing for me! I have been thinking to myself how honored I am that a man so gifted would take the time to speak of such extraordinarily important subjects to a woman as insignificant as me.”

“You do not seem insignificant in the least,” he said.

The music cued him and he pulled her around to face him. Daiyu offered up her left hand, open and empty. He circled her once and began the promenade again, back in the other direction. Her left hand would now remain safely within his for the duration of the
tiaowu
.

“What does your aunt have planned for you for the rest of your visit?” he asked.

“I am not sure,” Daiyu answered, a little at random. Part of her was thinking,
I have failed! This is disastrous!
And part of her was thinking,
I could not pronounce judgment on him. I have done the right thing.
One tiny corner of her mind was holding a celebration.
I do not have to leave Kalen just yet.
Every part of her was shivering with an adrenaline rush, as if she had narrowly avoided being crushed by a falling boulder. “She has many social engagements.”

“Every year, over the midsummer holiday, I invite a couple of friends to stay at the palace with me for a few days,” Chenglei said. “Perhaps you and your aunt would like to be amongmy guests this year.”

Daiyu could think of nothing Xiang would like better—it did not take much knowledge of Shenglang society to guess that this must be the most prized invitation of the season—but she knew better than to make a promise on the older woman’s behalf. “You must ask my aunt, but if I have any influence with her, we will be there,” Daiyu replied. “I am so honored at such an invitation! I can scarcely speak my delight!”

“Come,then.Letusaskherrightnow,”Chengleisaid,gracefully extricating them from the press of dancers. He still kept her left hand in his, as if he knew it would handle the weapon that could send him to oblivion. But he needn’t have bothered, Daiyu thought. She had changed her mind; she had deliberately let opportunity pass her by. Chenglei was in no danger from her now.

Quan—who was starting to seem just a little
too
faithful—was standing with Xiang when Daiyu and Chenglei made their way back to her. In his hand Quan held a much larger glass filled with the lemony mixture. Daiyu sipped from it while Chenglei made his proposition to Xiang and Xiang instantly accepted, with only the barest attempt to disguise her gleeful satisfaction. Daiyu didn’t bother to listen to them talk, didn’t bother to make conversation with Quan beyond thanking him for the drink. She merely took another swallow and wondered just exactly what kind of luck she had bargained for.

Daiyu slept late the next morning, or at least that was what she hoped Aurora would believe. As soon as she had gotten to her room the previous night, she had locked her door and she had not opened it when Aurora knocked quietly on the wood. She did not open it that morning, either, when the knock came again. She just stood in the center of the room, her hands at her throat, her heart in turmoil.

She didn’t know what she had done; she didn’t know what she should do.

She needed desperately to talk to Kalen.

He would not be at the aviary today; he would be at the river. While Daiyu was sipping lemonade punch at the ball, she had heard the great bronze bell toll out its call for workers.

But she knew how to find him on the river. . . .

“Aunt, may I go to the aviary this morning?” she asked Xiang when she joined the old woman for the second meal of the morning. She was hungry, since she had skipped the first one.

Xiang looked smug, clearly believing that any trip to the bird house was cover for an assignation with Quan. But Daiyu knew that Quan would be out of the city for two days, running errands for Mei. There was no risk that he would come to the house and expose Daiyu’s deception.

“I suppose you may,” Xiang said. “You do not need to bring one of the servants. I think you know your way around the city well enough by now.”

“Thank you, Aunt.”

“But we have much work to do in the next two weeks to prepare your wardrobe for the summer holiday! You will want to look your best for the festivities. The dressmaker will be here tomorrow morning. Do not make any other plans.”

“Yes, Aunt. Thank you.”

By now Daiyu was an old hand at arriving at the aviary with some pomp and exiting in stealth. Once she was back out on the crowded street, she had to ask several people before she found someone who could tell her what trolley to take to the river, but in fact the journey wasn’t long at all.

She jumped off as soon as she saw the red gate and made her way across the yin-yang patterns of rock that bordered the riverfront. It was only about an hour before noon, and stonepickers were already starting to climb out of the Zhongbu, bags over their shoulders, boots making a creaking, squishy sound as they trudged through the mud. But there were still several hundred people bent over the riverbed, sorting through rocks, snatching up the occasional treasure. Daiyu cast back and forth along the bank, trying to pick Kalen out from the dozens who looked just like him from a distance. It would be so easy to miss him. Did she have time to go to the house? Would she be able to get free again tomorrow, after the dressmaker left, perhaps? Could she trust Aurora to take a message?

Shewouldn’thaveto—therehewas,lankyandlooselimbed, strolling out of the sucking mud as if it did not tug on him at all. She ran toward him, arms outstretched, so impatient she almost dipped her fine shoes in the wet riverbed. He looked up when she called his name, and his face broke into a delighted smile. From both sides of the river, high-pitched chimes began to send their fluttery, urgent message. It was as if his smile had triggered the music, as if the sight of his face had filled her head with silver excitement.

He slung the bag more securely over his shoulder and caught both her hands before he was completely out of the river. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, taking the last noisy steps out of the mud and onto the bank. “Did something happen?”

She was examining his face, bruised around the eye and cut around the lip but not permanently disfigured. “How badly were you hurt?” she demanded in turn.

Other stonepickers brushed by them as they trudged out of the river, and Daiyu heard the sibilant sound of the first threads of water seeping under the gates. “Not so badly,” he said. “Come on, we can’t just stand here. Someone might notice you.”

“I can’t stay very long.”

“You shouldn’t be here at all.”

It was as if they couldn’t settle into the rhythm of a proper conversation. There was too much to say, there was no privacy, everything was too important. “I have to talk to you,” she said.

He nodded and glanced around as if looking for a place of safety, then his face lit with a grin. “The bell tower,” he said. “Gabe’s just leaving. He’s got a girl now, so he doesn’t stick around long once he’s sent the signal.”

Casually they headed toward the tower and casually Kalen tried the lock on the gate to the stairs—which, as Gabe had told them, was broken. Daiyu was so determined to talk to Kalen that even the perilous spiral staircase did not slow her down for longer than it took to inhale a deep breath and begin climbing. She didn’t look down, didn’t let herself think about how high she was above the ground. Kalen was right behind her, his hand just below hers on the railing, ready to catch her if she slipped.