Chapter 12: The Hand

"The cushion was cut open and sewn shut again," Ken said. "A fresh seam, with her orange-peel scent on the thread."

Ren stared at the dagger.

Nobody in the room spoke.

On the rug, the four chains lay in a silver tangle where they had dropped.

Ren picked up the dagger, and its weight was perfectly ordinary.

"She hasn't done anything to me," he said slowly. "She's been kind to me since the first morning."

"She brought you tea," Su Ming said.

"She did."

"Every morning, for three years. To the old Ren. Right before the cold room." Su Ming's voice was quiet. "I never thought about the tea."

Ryu was already pulling on his shirt.

"The old king's study," he said. "She keeps it locked."

"She does."

"Then she has a reason."

"I have the seal," Ren said. "It opens everything."

They went through the sleeping palace in a tight knot, four men in white shirts with loose chains swinging.

The study lay at the end of the king's wing, behind a door of black oak.

Ren held the gold seal against the lock plate, and something inside clicked.

The room smelled of dust and old ink.

Shelves of ledgers climbed to the ceiling.

A great desk stood by the window with a dead lamp on it, and a second, smaller desk sat beside it, with an inkstand and a rack of pens.

Ken lit a lamp.

Ren opened the top drawer of the small desk.

It was full of paper.

He lifted the first sheet, and the handwriting on it was small and upright and elegant, and he knew it at once.

It was the same hand that had written the order for the evening rite.

"This is the Pledge law," he said.

He read it again.

"Not a copy. It's the draft. It has corrections in the margin."

"Whose hand?" Ryu asked.

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