Felun

“Morning,” Ishaan said, though it was nearing noon. “Were you planning to avoid me forever?”

Felun looked up from his belated breakfast. A glob of rice porridge dripped gracelessly from his spoon.

“Good morning,” he lied evenly. “I was busy yesterday.”

After Shirin, his parents had made him check Yichen for hidden curses. Then he’d had to evaluate every other halfway-important kin-member that came to mind. After that, they’d questioned him over and over on the meaning of the spell wound around Shirin’s heart; never before had father shown such interest in Breaker terms, he thought bitterly. By the time they’d dismissed him to sleep, the night storm had long since cleared. He’d slipped into an unsteady stupor, choking on more of the same nightmares plus a sprinkle of cocoon-casings thrown in for good measure.

“I heard a lot of commotion,” Ishaan observed. He stepped closer, prosthetic feet clicking over the wooden boards, and drew up a seat on the other side of the table. “One of the guards wouldn’t let me leave my room.”

“There was an emergency.”

He looked startled. “Shit. Are you alright?”

“Yep. Everyone’s fine.”

“What happened?”

Felun shoved another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. Mmm, pork floss. It was an appetising distraction. Not effective, but appetising.

Ishaan exhaled explosively. “Oh, come on. First the guards, and now you’re not even—”

“It was all shit. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh.” Ishaan was quiet as Felun scraped up the last spoonfuls of porridge. Then he said, “what do you want to talk about? Let me guess: not Ironport?”

“I’d rather not.” There wasn’t anything meaningful left to say.

“What about your family?” Ishaan asked flatly. “Or mine, come to think of it? Because if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to visit them, if yours allow me keep these.” He waved his silver hand. “But listen, I’ve done some thinking. I’ve had plenty of time to think. It’s starting to make sense, Felun. They’ll take these away and leave me to crawl. This whole time, I was wondering why. But it’s because of you, isn’t it? All those potions and poultices and this hundred-thousand-coins-arm—they’re turning in the expense of it all for, what, your specialty?”

Felun swallowed past the sudden dryness of his mouth. “What makes you think that?”

“You didn’t stick around. You were gone doing who-knows-what. Now you’re back. You’ve got a whole lot of new bandages stuck to you. You look miserable. I’ve got experience with this sort of thing and none of that felt free. Am I right? Or is it something else?”

Felun stared into the bottom of his empty bowl, trying to make sense of the words. Ishaan had always been cheerful and easygoing in a way he could never hope to mimic. But right now, he seemed curious and frustrated. He was pacing around the perimeter of an invisible cage, which was a feeling Felun knew all too well. Yet he didn’t sound angry. Even yesterday…was he putting on a brave face? He didn’t think Ishaan secretly hated him after all—he didn’t want him to, for collusion’s sake—but this didn’t feel right, either. It felt too…easy.

Shouldn’t he be hit with pain and bitterness and consequences? This reunion wasn’t going the way he’d thought at all. There’d always been consequences when he was younger, even for things that hardly mattered. But now he’d gone and fucked up so badly that two people were dead and Ishaan’s life was ruined and Ishaan didn’t seem to want to punch him, even a little? It was bizarre.

Felun stood to return his bowl to the galley. Ishaan followed insistently.

“What are you working so hard unraveling? Is it to do with all this?” Felun knew without looking that he was gesturing wildly with both hands, punctuating the kingdom swallowing the ship from outside in. “Were you here this whole time?”

“I wasn’t staying here,” he said, which wasn’t a lie.

“What are you doing here, now?” Ishaan persisted. “Politics? Fighting? Assassinations? That medical emergency you were talking about, was that—”

Felun shouldered past him, heading down the hall to his room. “I’m having a holiday.”

“Really,” Ishaan said skeptically, striding to keep pace.

“Yes,” he said, turning into his room. “But I’ve still got work to do, so—”

“You don’t have to stay,” Ishaan interrupted, wedging his silver hand against the door to keep Felun from shutting it. “You shouldn’t. Not for my sake.”

Felun relented, letting the door part as he turned away. “It isn’t so simple. You said it yourself.” He strode into his room, threw open the nearest luggage trunk and began rummaging among the papers. “They won’t be so crude as to take your legs away, but those runestones—they didn’t attune you to them, did they? And they need maintenance what, two or three times a week?”

“Your point?” Ishaan asked coldly. “There are other false-hands and legs out there, Felun. I don’t need this specific set of limbs.”

“They’re the best set you’ll find outside of Shenzhou,” he bit out. “You think I’m going to be responsible for making you walk around on sticks and crutches instead? It’s fine—it’s just work. No different to what I was doing in Ironport. It’s only…later, if you can stand waiting a little, I could find a good craftworker in Glister—”

“No,” Ishaan said quietly. “I don’t care if I have to make do with less. I’m sick of this. I’ve already—actually, never mind. Just know that as fancy as it looks, the hand’s just not the same. Nothing’s the same, and I think I’ve made my peace with that. But I can’t just sit here and keep accepting all this help, all these gifts, while you have to—” He faltered. “You made some jokes about your folks back home, while we were in Ironport. It’s messed-up if they were true.”

“What?” Felun frowned. “I don’t remember. It’s not important. There’s no…there was never—” He found his bottomless satchel and runebook, plus the dead Breaker’s notes, and set them aside before moving on to the next trunk. A scrap of Magician-blue peeked out and he shoved it back inside. His tongue tripped over every other word. “It’ll be fine, alright? You’ve been through hell, you don’t need to deal with the extra rubbish that’ll come with getting you out of here right now—”

“But you need to?” Ishaan asked keenly. “You need to stay here, burning through your magic in this…creepy fabled desert place? For what? Can’t you stop being so damn cryptic?”

“It was my fault,” he said, and found he could say it because digging through a mass of traveling cloaks meant he wasn’t looking Ishaan in the eye. His fingers found the latch for the false bottom, and he yanked it open with a rough click. He was pleased with how steady his voice sounded. Maybe all that agonising had been good practice after all. “I was buying you coin and aid, because it was my fault. I opened the door, and then I stepped aside to let you all through. I should’ve—”

“I should have demanded we turn back,” Ishaan snapped. “I should’ve listened to my instincts and dragged you all back down that corridor. Tyirn could’ve called an early night. Vilette could’ve chosen a different passage. Is it their faults, too?” At that, his voice broke. “You tried your best. You saved my life. Won’t you look up and fucking believe me when I say I don’t want to stay here? Not for your sake, and not for mine.”

Felun flipped the hidden panel up and found what he was looking for. “Alright.”

“Okay, and?” Ishaan asked. “And now wh—you’re kidding. Where’d you get those?”

Felun hefted half a dozen silver ingots in his hand. “I stole about thirty of these. Before I left for Sihai, to get to Fawnfell. It didn’t endear me to anyone.” He scooped out the remaining half-dozen and deposited them in a pile at his feet.

“What are you going to use them for?”

“A couple of things.” He re-latched the hidden compartment and covered it with clothing once more. “Bribery, maybe. After that, I’ll look around and see if there are some replacement legs for you. Maybe this kingdom’s got some useful secrets.” He shrugged, summoning his runebook to hand. “If I’m going to help you escape, we might have to wait until some of the other ships head back to Glister. That’s the best timeline I can give. But I’ll help you, and that’s a promise.”

Ishaan had a strange expression on his face. “Really? Are you coming with?”

“Maybe,” he hedged. “I’ve got to take care of some things first.”

“The bribery,” Ishaan said, his gaze flicking to the ingots. “What for?”

Felun smiled bitterly. “You aren’t the only person who’s safer far away.”

===

Shadowsong’s skydocks were far smaller than Glister’s, flat and single-terraced, but they were nothing to scoff at. New planks shone beneath his boots, evidence of recent construction to accommodate his kin’s fleet. Magicians swarmed over the place, their cloaks a glaring azure beneath the desert sun. Felun averted his gaze as he passed one. Sweat beaded even beneath his tunic’s loose collar. Was it always so damn hot here? He was tempted to scribble a cooling rune, but he dreaded any of the Magicians paying attention to him.

Thankfully, it was a short walk to Shirin and Jiahao’s ship: an old-fashioned craft, far smaller and more modest than his parent’s. There was a guard stationed outside, but it was Jiaohao who welcomed him aboard.

“Haoyu, my boy!” He ushered him through the entrance, into blessedly cooled air. “Your mother said you were busy last night, but—ah, come through this way, I must offer you some tea.”

No need, he almost said, but years of stumbling around Shenzhou’s courts had taught him it was more polite to accept. “Thank you.”

“Sit, sit! I’ll be just a minute. What were those sweets you liked again—the honeyed persimmons? I’m not sure we have any, but I’ll bring some nice snacks. And please, help yourself!” He gestured to the heaping bowl of dragon’s eye fruits on the tea table before bustling away.

Felun sat, feeling distinctly out of place. Uncle Jiahao had always been kind enough, but it felt almost unbearably awkward to have someone his senior look at him with such gratitude. He’d honestly prefer if Cousin Lin had been the one to revive Shirin. Things’d be less complicated that way—better, for it to have needed no unraveling.

“Apologies,” Jiahao announced, rushing in from the galley. “No persimmons, but these will go well with the tea. Shirin will be wanting to see you, too! Another minute—please, eat.”

He set down a trayful of childhood memories. There was candied winter melon, with its crunchy sugar shell and softer, juicy insides. Soft, steamed, fortune cake: easy on his grandparents’ false teeth. Delicately-layered biscuit rolls which would shatter with every bite. Candied ginger, rationed from a secret stash and gnawed on to stave off the hunger of a meal withheld. Dried salted plums, sour enough to make the mouth pucker.

Felun picked at the platter until Jiahao returned. Shirin came with him, bundled in a shawl scrawled with patterns of her family’s making. She looked paler than usual, but her smile brightened as she caught sight of him.

“Haoyu! How fortuitous! Lin dropped by earlier, but we still have to thank you for yesterday.”

He listened helplessly to Jiahao’s agreeable remarks, compliments sprinkled in like court spices. An orange cat padded in from the hallway, twining around his legs. He patted it cautiously. He’d liked the cats at court, but Yichen had denounced the creatures after his songbird was found dead in a pile of bloodied feathers. Guofan kicked one once, taunting it with words only a spoiled thirdson was allowed to use. Felun had tackled him to the ground for it, and he’d been beaten for his trouble.

“I see Youtiao likes you,” Shirin said, upon noticing. “We picked him up from court. Can you believe they were going to throw him out? He’s so sweet-tempered, too.”

They made small talk as the tea brewed. Youtiao bounded up onto the couch and settled into a purring, feline-shaped lump of warmth on his lap. The silver ingots seemed to snicker in his satchel, but what use was shying away now? If he wasn’t going to be safe, then at least Yuying should be. His parents were well aware of the risks they were taking. Yichen could take care of himself, the same way he’d done back when Felun had been the one catching a cane to the backs of his knees and not—

Anyway, Yuying didn’t know what she was getting herself into, the same as he hadn’t when he’d left.

“…Curses might not channel well through letters, but I wish they’d be more careful,” Shirin was saying. “Answers aren’t worth it, let alone mere trade negotiations. But they’ll have you with them, correct? None of us have been able to assess the true extent of their Healer’s abilities. It’s not so far out of the question.”

“Yeah,” he said, petting the cat distractedly. “We’ve got to be careful.” He hesitated. “You should be careful, especially.”

Shirin drew her shawl tighter about her shoulders, and Jiahao leaned over to take her hand in his own. “In my opinion, we shouldn’t be here.”

She nodded. “I don’t know if your parents would listen to your counsel any more than they do to ours, but…tell them, if you could. Truly, I didn’t glean anything useful. If they go investigating…”

Felun set down his cup. “Aren’t you leaving soon?”

Shirin blinked, surprised. “We…yes, your father thought it best if we reconvene in the nearest city.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that.” He took a deep breath. “Glister, right? If, supposing I need a favour—”

Shirin and Jiaohao shared a glance before he could finish his sentence. Shirin spoke first. “We’re very grateful for what you did yesterday, Haoyu. But it’s as you said, we’re trying to avoid as much risk as possible.”

“And if it’s true you’ve been dealing with greymarkets recently,” Jiahao started.

“What? No. It’s not like that. I don’t know what my parents have been saying, but it’s not that. In fact, it’s nothing harmful. But I need…um. Discretion.”

They shared another one of those glances. Felun sighed at the justifiable suspicion. There would be no good way to determine their stance without tipping his hand.

“You remember Yuying, right?”

“Of course I remember my own niece,” Jiahao said, looking vaguely insulted. “Next you’ll be asking me if I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Your little sister?” Shirin broke in. “Why, yes. She showed me all her drawings, back in Shenzhou. But what does she have to do with your favours?”

Felun sighed and took out three silver ingots. Youtiao stirred and stepped off his lap, meowing at the disturbance. “Hypothetically, if she needed help against our parent’s wishes…”

Shirin frowned, her brow feathering with concentration. “I don’t see how we could…” He saw the moment realisation dawned. “She’s here?”

“She doesn’t have a lot of good choices in Shenzhou,” Felun said, placing the ingots onto the table. They looked garish next to the painted teacups. “But she shouldn’t be here, even before what happened yesterday. You’re the best people I could entrust her with.”

“If your parents found out…” Jiahao started.

Felun shrugged. “There wouldn’t be many repercussions if you were unaware. Who would think to check such a small ship for stowaways?”

“But the consequences for Yuying—” Shirin started.

“The alternatives are worse. Well, maybe it’s safer being sent back to Shenzhou, but between getting caught on your ship and getting caught on someone else’s, there won’t be such a difference.”

“And you’re sure this is best for Yuying?” Jiahao asked.

Shirin pursed her lips. “I don’t think Haoyu would be here if that wasn’t the case, dear. Yes, Yuying does seem like the sort of girl who’d like to explore against her better judgement.” She pushed the ingots back toward him with a soft sigh. “No need, Haoyu. Best not to leave evidence. In fact…Jiahao, could you pass me my purse? Thank you.” She tipped out a handful of gold coins and pushed the little pile along with the ingots. “Take these, for what little thanks they’re worth. We’re leaving in three days, at noon. Your sister is welcome to stowaway if you can convince her to.”

Felun frowned. “How do you know I haven’t?”

She offered a demure smile, showing the slightest sliver of teeth. “Oh, that’s easy. Because I was once the same.”

===

“Where were you?” his father demanded upon his return. He lounged on couch within view of the vestible, as if he’d been laying in wait. A paper booklet dangled loosely from his hands, its cover adorned in imperial script. There was a cup of tea on the table, looking as if it had gone cold.

Felun kept his sentences short. “Visiting Auntie Shirin. I’m glad she’s well.”

“Your mother will be needing you this evening.”

He blinked, caught off-guard. “I thought you were going to be away on a meeting?”

Father furrowed his brow, looking deeply affronted. “Has it not got into your piggish head the importance of what happened yesterday? Our plans have changed.”

“Yes,” he said blandly. “You’re right. The Healers could be dangerous.”

“And you would have your own mother walking unprotected into that danger, would you?” His father’s grip tightened on the booklet, crushing the pages and creasing its spine. “Those thaumaturges insisted the incident was natural. They refused to even consider the gentle and diplomatic suggestion that some artefact of their Library has caused harm, needing investigation. This should tell you all you need to know.”

“Your messengers haven’t been hurt, have they?”

Go home, he wanted to add. Go back to Cathay, lord over your province, leave me out of this. But they’d invested too much into this venture to back off on the word of a useless firstson, even if said firstson had seen the depths of the Library firsthand. Not that he’d told them of that particular little escapade. There’d been enough questioning already. But still, he’d tried to tell them. The kingdom was dangerous.

His father sneered. “Not a single one, just as I expected. This is why you’ve never been able to see the wider picture, Haoyu. Our negotiations are necessary. They can say they’ll only send thaumaturges and diplomats all they like, but we don’t have a list of every blasted mage in the palace. All it would take is someone clad in the wrong colours. We haven’t mapped their limits. Knowing all this, do you really expect your mother to go alone?”

“Do they know I’m a Breaker?”

“They aren’t stupid. They’ll know you’re some sort of safeguard.”

Doesn’t this also paint a target on my back? he wanted to ask, but he knew what the response would be: selfish, idiot boy. “Okay,” he said numbly. “Fine. When do we—”

“Don’t look so sour. It’s only temporary. Do you have any Breaker associates in Glister? No? Then we’ll make do. I’ll have it sorted within the next few days.”

Ah. Because while he was useful enough to be needed, it wouldn’t do to rely on him. In all fairness, if he were his father then he wouldn’t trust him either.

Mother was in the office, just as he’d said, perched at the desk and turning a runequill over in her hands. She wore one of her more severe-looking, high-throated robes, and her hairpin gleamed with the turquoise-blue of kingfisher feathers.

“Here you are,” she said, glancing up at their arrival. “Help me fasten this, darling.”

She held out a necklace Felun had never seen before, though his Breaker-sense tingled at its proximity. The pendant was crafted from the same kingfisher feathers as her hairpin, cast in the shape of a cicada, its colour richer than any enamel. There was no visible runework. The enchantment thrummed, louder to his senses than even the curse put on Shirin. Some sort of shielding capability, he guessed. Very tangled and very old.

His father stepped in to loop the necklace around her neck, expression softening momentarily. “You be careful now. Keep Haoyu close by.”

“Of course.” Her hand lingered over his before she straightened her shoulders, brushing imaginary dust off her robes.

When they spoke to each other, they sounded almost—kind. Caring. Tender. It was disturbing.

Mother’s sleeves betrayed a papery crinkle as she turned to address him. “Gather your tools, Haoyu. Wear some gloves over those unsightly bandages. And find an outfit a little more dignified and befitting of your position.”

“Your spell-slips are rustling,” he said. “Silencing cast not strong enough?”

It was obvious she simply hadn’t cast it yet, but he allowed himself the bitter quip. She was good at sustaining them—better than Suria, even. Or at least, she had been when he was young.

Her fingers twitched, as if in memory of the cane it so loved. “Hurry up and get ready, Haoyu.”

Many years ago, he’d been like Yichen—not above begging for favour, for attention, for anything he could get. Now, it was a pity to be needed at all.