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“Dong jie fights well as always,” Mu Nihuang said, smiling. “It’s been a while since we’ve sparred; perhaps you can give me a match, as well?”

Xia Dong had had her own year of mourning. She had tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that Nie Feng had died a hero, had given his life to prevent a rebellion, and had succeeded. All things being equal, though, she’d rather her husband were alive.

Xia Dong realized the silence had dragged on too long. The smile on Mu Nihuang’s face was slipping. Xia Dong found her own smile somewhere and gave Mu Nihuang a challenging bow. “I would be honored to spar with the princess,” she said. “Let us see if you have kept up your training, stuck in the south as you were.”

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“We raised a child together,” Jiang Wanyin says, voice thick with pain. “You two were sworn brothers.” He swallows hard and oh. Oh, no. Lan Xichen is not ready for this conversation. He is never going to be ready for this conversation. “And because of what he did, there is nowhere outside this room that either of us can mourn him.”

Lan Xichen has been in seclusion for half a year, healing, he thinks, from the way his world was upended that night in a temple in Yunping City. Then, Jiang Wanyin comes to visit—breaking the fragile peace he has been building, but offering, perhaps, a better healing.

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This, Sui Zhou knows: the grief that whets a body so keen that it draws blood in the handling.

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sykon

By skazka

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