All in all, the room was a lot like Cullen’s lab. A sorcerer’s lab. She looked at the self-titled Master of Air. “There are probably a great many things your ally hasn’t told you.”
“Of course.” Kongqi sat in a wooden armchair at the far end of the room next to an empty hearth. Beside him was a small table holding a teapot; a second wooden armchair faced his. He paused to sip from the teacup he held. He’d removed his shenyi—a quick glance found it hanging from a peg on the wall—and wore only the kind of loose trousers and tunic she’d seen here on most people. His were black, made from what looked like linen, and lavishly embroidered. “However, she appears to be under the impression that you have no conscious control of magic, only the automatic response of your Gift. Eating power is an intentional act.”
Lily shrugged. “For you perhaps.”
“You would have me believe it is different for you?” Skepticism lifted his brows over those shining blue eyes. Those eyes kept making her think of Cullen, and that made her mad. “And yet your power derives from dragons. It should be similar to mine, though more limited.”
“My Gift may be descended from dragons, but I’m not. I’m human. Unlike you.”
“That proves nothing.” He switched to Chinese, directing it at Fang. He spoke quickly, and unable to use mindspeech, Lily didn’t understand all of it. Something about binding her. Something about “the other” and waiting.
What other? Or had he said others, plural? Not children. Please, no children.
Fang gripped Lily’s arm. “Come.”
She was getting really sick of that word.
SIX
LILY got about five steps farther before Kongqi said, “Stop. Lily Yu, what do you see when you look at the bird in the cage?”
Lily glanced at the little finch. It wasn’t moving, hadn’t reacted at all . . . “It looks dead.”
“Touch it,” Kongqi said.
She gave him a wary glance, shrugged, and reached out. She could just get one finger through the cage to stroke the bird’s feathers. “Huh!”
“What do you feel?”
“Something odd.” She continued to stroke the motionless bird with her finger. The texture reminded her of . . . “Netting. That’s what it feels like.”
“That is also what the spell looks like.”
He saw magic, of course. But maybe he couldn’t feel it the way she did? Maybe he was curious about her Gift. “You’ve put a spell on a dead bird?”
“It is in stasis. Reptiles are the easiest creatures to place in stasis. I have not yet discovered their upper time limit for that state, but have revived them with no ill effects after thirteen months. Birds do not tolerate it as well as reptiles, but can be revived after six days with few or no ill effects. Mammals do not tolerate it at all. They begin to suffer deficits almost immediately, and cannot be revived at all after three to twelve minutes. I do not yet know why.”
“I’ve never heard of a stasis spell. Is it anything like that freeze thing some sidhe can do that stops a person from moving?”
“No. That is simple body magic. The stasis spell is more complex. Come, Lily Yu.”
There was that damn word again. She came. She didn’t have a lot of options at the moment. She sat in the damn chair. Fang picked up the coil of thin rope from the floor, knelt, and began tying her right ankle to one chair leg. “Is this really necessary? I can’t be much of a threat to you.”
Kongqi was watching her closely. “Your magic intrigues me.”
Was he ignoring her question, or was that intended as an oblique response? His expression gave her no clues. “Oh?”
“I cannot perceive it clearly. It obscures itself.”
Cullen had no problem seeing her magic. Did the spawns’ Sight work differently than his?
“I will learn more about it,” he said. “Would you care for tea?”
“Is it drugged?”
“No.”
“Then yes, thank you. I would love a cup of tea.”
“Fist Second, leave her left hand free.”
Lily watched her enemy pour her a cup of tea while Fang finished securing her to the chair—save for her left hand—then left the room. Dragons didn’t lie. So she’d been told anyway, and her experience backed that up. But that might be because it was so hard, maybe impossible, to lie in mindspeech. A spawn wouldn’t have that problem.
Kongqi set the small, handleless cup on the table beside the teapot. After a brief hesitation she picked it up. Maybe he was lying. Didn’t matter. If he wanted her drugged, she was going to end up drugged. Might as well have some tea. She took a sip. And raised her brows. “A potion?”
“Can you tell what type?”
“Not really. Mostly I just feel the water magic involved.” She took another sip. The buzz of magic was distracting, but otherwise it was good tea.
“You do not expect it to affect you, although your Gift only wards your surface.”
Shouldn’t he know all this? His magic ought to act the same way. “My Gift is not a ward. There isn’t a part of me, inside or out, that can be affected by magic. Was I allowed a bath and an attendant because I’m considered kin to you?”
“Yes. It would not do for humans to think they can offer discourtesy to one who is kin to us.”
But no humans would know about their supposed connection if Kongqi hadn’t announced it. Or had one of the others made that claim? What benefit did any of the spawn get from claiming her as kin? Maybe she was wrong to think of them as a group with similar motives. Dragons were singular beings, not often given to group action. And the spawn were sociopaths.
It all made her head hurt. Lily drank her tea and wished it were coffee.
“We will discuss altruism now.”
“Altruism.” This was not the direction she’d expected her interrogation to take.
“It is an interest of mine. Humans seem to place great value on the quality or practice of altruism in the abstract, yet in the specific their actions are seldom what could reasonably be considered altruistic.”
“People are a mess,” she agreed automatically, then thought about what she’d said. “And yet most of us try to do the right thing. Not everyone, and not all the time, and we often disagree about what the right thing is. But we try.”
“Is that how you define altruism? As ‘doing the right thing’?” His eyebrows lifted in scorn. “Extremely sloppy thinking. It offers no parameters for action.”