Page 109 of All the Wandering Light

“I don’t.” He leaned in so close that I could count each of his eyelashes. “This is different, though.”

He chanted no incantation and waved no talisman, but slowly, as his hand moved across my face, the pain in my cheek eased. Or, at least, it no longer throbbed like an infected wound.

“There.” He drew back a little, examining me. “You’ll have a scar. I can’t do anything about that.”

“I’ve always wanted a scar,” I said lightly. On the table by the bed was a small mirror, next to a decanter of water and a gilded hairbrush, no doubt placed there by a helpful servant. I lifted it, examining my reflection. The burn was small and round, resting on the edge of my cheekbone beneath my eye. It was darker than an ordinary burn.

River was watching me. I sensed, somehow, that he was about to apologize—for something, or for everything, I didn’t know. I realized that I didn’t need to hear it.

“How are you at treating stomachaches?” I leaned back into the pillows. “Or whatever I’m feeling now.”

There was an odd pause. “Is it a pain you can’t place?”

“Yes,” I said slowly.

River nodded. “I felt it too, after. It’s Azar-at.”

“Azar-at?” I felt cold. “He’s gone.”

“Yes. But it’s no simple thing, ending a contract with a fire demon.” He absently rubbed the side of his head in that familiar way. “It may be that we’re the only people who have ever done it. You were connected, and now you’re not. It leaves a mark.” His eyes drifted to the scar on my cheek. “One that no one else can see. The pain will fade in a day or two.”

We sat there for a long moment as birdsong flickered through the window and the sunlight cast dappled shadows on the marble floor.

“Do you think it . . . grows back?” I said quietly.

River’s gaze turned inward. After a moment, he said. “I hope so. But no—I don’t think it does.”

There was a knock at the door. River disappeared. He fluttered to the windowsill in raven form, settling there in the sunlight, which threw his shadow on the floor tangled in leaves.

“River,” I hissed. Was he just going to sit there like a misplaced gargoyle? He merely regarded me with glassy black eyes.

The door opened. To my horror, the emperor himself strode in, all six and a half feet of him, menacing and stark in his white chuba. His gaze rested on me, then slid to River.

“One of Lusha’s, I presume?” was all he said, before striding in as if he owned the place. Which, of course, he did.

I was too surprised to respond. Then, for clearly it was the right answer: “Yes.”

“At least half a dozen have come to her in the last few hours,” Lozong said. He took the chair River had vacated, though he did not settle in an indolent posture with his feet on the bed, but rather held himself still with an elbow leaned on each arm, taking up as much space as possible. His presence, blunt and forceful, took up enough space already. “It’s an interesting gift, these familiars. Not that it surprises me that they would be drawn to your sister. For that reason, we don’t harm them unless given cause.”

Lozong regarded me in silence. I felt like an insect beneath his gaze, as if it had a weight and substance other gazes did not. Something deep inside me rebelled against that feeling.

“Well now, I’ve spoken with your sister,” he said. “What do you have to say, Kamzin of Azmiri?”

That was all he asked, and then he waited. Clearly, I was supposed to guess the sort of response he expected. I wondered briefly what would happen if I guessed wrong.

“I say my first visit to the Three Cities didn’t quite go as planned,” I said evenly.

“Your sister feels we should focus on rebuilding the city, rather than chasing after the star you caught.”

“You’d do well to listen to her.” I said it with heartfelt honesty.

He smiled, and I felt a shiver of relief. “I quite agree.” He leaned back, and his scrutiny dimmed to something bearable, though still it was not particularly pleasant. “She said you found it. Oh, she tracked the approximate location, but you were the one who retrieved it from the mountain.”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“You’re brave.” It was a cool assessment, not a compliment. “Stalwart. I’m sure you know what I do with people like you.”

Again I felt as if he were testing me, as if there was a correct response and an incorrect one, and a great expanse between the two. “I know you have an opening for Royal Explorer.”