Zhihao stands at the window, one hand draped through the intricate, thinly carved wood and the other hanging down at his side. When he was younger, he used to think the wood was carved like this for the same reason that the spirit gate stood in front of the palace. He thought that since spirits could only travel in straight lines, if any managed to climb over their first line of defence, theyâd get caught in the web of wood and would be confused by all the sharp corners.
Now Zhihao only sees skilled woodwork. His world has lost its magic to time.
The door behind him opens, the door gods slipping with it into the wall pocket. With them gone there was nothing to protect him from poison, and Zhihao sighs as he prepares to be berated.
âEveryoneâs looking for you.â Itâs Kuratsa. This is better than it being his father, worse than almost anyone else. Everything Kuratsa says sounds impatient, like heâs keeping her from being where she really wants to be, and it annoys him in the same way that someone coughing in a library did. âWeâre meant to be leaving.â
âOh, yes, my sincerest apologies.â Sarcasm scratched against the back of his neck, and Zhihao rolls his eyes even though she canât see. He hates her today.
âYour Majesty,â she says in a high, breathy, lilt, âso sorry to inform you that your son will be refusing this non negotiable journey.â
Zhihao frowns. He canât think of anything good and clever to say back, so he says what he usually does when he wants her to shut up. âSo this is how the Princess of Tag-Igit speaks to her future emperor.â
A snort. He wrinkles his nose; so undignified. âYou arenât going to be a future anything if you donât listen to him.â
Zhihao shifts to look over his shoulder at her. She meets his gaze, and hhe glimpses cold meaning there. The implication, the history. He was hoping that she hadnât known, that the words just slipped out and they would deal with the accident together. But she knows, and the air is heavy with her knowing. Sheâs playing dirty with him, and Zhihao loathes that heâll let her get away with it.
âLetâs go,â he says, because he doesnât know what else to say in the wake of this. Kuratsa sighs, mutters something that sounds like âFinally,â and leads him out of the room. Zhihao follows, slowly, dragging his fingers across the wall and catching on wooden reliefs.
Sometimes he wishes he could be far away from her, forever. Send her back to Tag-Igit and never think of her again. Sometimes he wonders if he could marry one of her older sisters instead. Heâs repelled by her, and watching the early morning dust, he thinks itâs in good reason. Even it seems to swirl to avoid her.