She straightened. Sweat stung her eyes. It was too damn hot for this, she thought, then could almost hear a remembered voice asking if she intended to invite people who wanted to kill her to step into a nice, air-conditioned building first. Benedict’s voice. The memory brought a grimace to her sweaty face.
He was alive, dammit. He would be alive when they—somehow—got back to the audience hall and rescued him and the others. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and believed that as hard as she could.
The man she’d sent tumbling glared up at her. He’d been fast, but angry. She was faster. A genetic gift, she’d always thought, from Grandmother, which put her at the upper end of human reflexes. Not lupi fast, no, but she’d been sparring with lupi for the last couple years. She was no Bruce Lee, but she was pretty good. She had a bruise on her left hip from yesterday’s bout, but that opponent had more bruises. And today’s match had ended even faster.
Her ankle seemed to be completely healed. It had stopped hurting two days ago, which seemed awfully quick, but the sprain must not have been as bad as she’d thought. The hardest part today had been to limit her responses so her enemies wouldn’t know too much about her capabilities. She’d tried to stick to judo, which had been her martial art of choice for years, but not any longer. After she joined the clan, Benedict had insisted she learn others. Variations of kung fu, mostly.
When it came to combat, Benedict was always right. You could cripple or kill with some of the strikes in kung fu. That’s why she hadn’t studied it originally . . . and why she’d needed to. The bad guys she went up against these days were really bad and often not human. She’d needed more options, and along with kicks and punches, kung fu taught flexibility. To use what worked.
The guard she’d put in the dirt twice got to his feet. She bowed. He bowed, though his scowl suggested that was not the move he would have preferred. Fang strode toward him, face impassive. And without any warning—no tells there—gave a perfect example of the kick Lily had just avoided. The difference was that this kick was exhibition-style, the power withheld so it didn’t maim or kill. Fang’s foot still slammed into the other guy’s head.
Down he went again.
“You were told to spar,” Fang said dispassionately, looking down at the man sprawled in the dust. “You were told the xi qi is not to be damaged. Had she failed to evade your kick, she would be unconscious now. Or worse.”
“I did not mean to disobey,” the guard whispered without moving.
“And yet he did, didn’t he?” Alice said, approaching them at an easy pace. She spoke Chinese, like Fang—whom Lily had understood because she had her mindsense out. That didn’t work on Alice, but she was getting pretty good with the dialect they spoke here. Listening while using mindspeech to get the meaning seemed to print it into her brain. “It made him angry to lose to a woman. Foolish.” She added three words that were not Chinese, words Lily didn’t know, accompanied by a complex gesture.
The man screamed. His back arched, held for two long seconds—and he collapsed, his face pallid.
“Perhaps I should not have disciplined your man for you, Fist Second,” she said to Fang. “But I arranged this. I feel some responsibility for the outcome.” She turned to Lily and continued in English. “You are enjoying your exercise?”
“Very much.” Alice had proposed a daily exercise period as Lily’s payment for translating between Cynna and Ah Li. Lily had wanted to run. Alice had nixed that, but to Lily’s surprise had suggested sparring with the guards. Supervised, of course. An interesting choice, Lily thought. Apparently Alice thought that staying combat-ready would be of most benefit to Lily without exceeding the value of her translation. “What did you do to the guard?”
“A form of jùdà téng. One of the Zhuren could have done it directly. I lack their precision, so I use a spell. There will be no lasting damage.”
“Jùdà téng is body magic that brings agony.”
“You have heard of it? Yes. Was that Fist incompetent or are you unusually competent?”
“He’s not bad, but he lacks control. Anger works against you in combat.”
“The Fist Second has been pairing you with his best men. You keep winning.”
Lily started to argue—because really, the men hadn’t been that good. A sudden thought stopped her. She’d been sparring with lupi for two years now. Maybe she’d gotten better than she’d realized. It was an oddly disquieting thought. “I imagine my training has been different from theirs. I know some moves they don’t.”
“Hmm.” Alice cast her a speculative glance. “You go to the bathhouse now.”
She seemed to want an answer, though she hadn’t made it a question. Lily obliged. “Yes. Ah Hai waits there for me.”
Ah Hai had refused to return to the bathhouse where she’d worked before. Humbly, apologetically, even tearfully she had refused, even when directly ordered to do so by Alice. The Zhu Kongqi had said she was to take care of Lily Yu. The Zhu had not told her to stop taking care of Lily Yu. Therefore, she must continue to do so. Alice had given up, even arranging for Ah Hai to sleep in one of the cells at night.
Lily’s days had fallen into a bit of a routine. First a translation session with Cynna and Ah Li. After that came her workout, followed by a bath so she wouldn’t stink if Kongqi wanted to talk to her. Which he almost always did. All this busyness meant she hadn’t been able to mindspeak Rule again after that wonderful but fleeting contact last night. Not that she hadn’t tried, but—
“Let us walk together awhile,” Alice said. “You can cool down. I can ask you questions. I am curious about my sister’s death.”
“Ah . . .”
A small smile. “I am not interested in retribution. Walk with me.” She turned and started walking.
It grated to obey, to follow along like a well-trained hound. Lily shoved the annoyance down and caught up with Alice—partly because she did not need to offend the woman, and partly because she, too, was curious. She did not understand Alice Báitóu.
Fang barked an order. He and two of his men fell into place a few feet behind them. They didn’t bind her hands. They’d stopped doing that yesterday.
The day was bright and hot, but there was a bit of a breeze. It felt good on Lily’s sweat-damp body. There were a lot of people out and about, but everyone stepped aside for Alice . . . who wasn’t saying a damn thing. Who continued not to say a damn thing long enough for Lily’s mind to return to its obsession.
They were running out of time. The children would be here soon. How soon, they didn’t know. Tomorrow? The day after? Five days from now? And she and Cynna didn’t have a plan.