Chapter 9: The Frost Print

Gu Yan bent over Shi Wen's wrist in the Herb Court with a glass lens and a very long face.

"A pint of qi," he said. "Maybe more. Taken through the palm in less than a breath."

"Taken where?" said Shi Wen.

"Out of you and into him, I would say. The mark fades when the qi has finished traveling."

"The captain has one. So does the gatekeeper," said Shi Wen.

"Then I am less pleased," said the old man.

He wrapped a warm cloth around the wrist and tied it off with a jerk.

"It is a hook. Left cold, it pulls again, and it will pull at dusk when you stand near him."

"Heat draws it out. Sit for an hour, keep the cloth wet, and let nobody touch you."

He went out, grumbling, in search of ginger root.

The door closed behind him.

The Lord was still standing by the window with his back to the room.

He had not said a word since the garden.

Shi Wen sat on the stool with the cloth on his arm and watched the line of that back.

It was very straight, and every few breaths the shoulders drew in a little and let go.

"You're hurting," he said.

"I am not."

"Your lines are up. I can see them at your collar."

The Lord turned.

Silver threads showed above the white fur, thin and bright, and they stirred when the Young Sword's name was not even in the room.

"The sword was a hundred paces from me this morning," said Duan. "It does not stop at once."

"Let me look."

"You have been told not to be touched."

"I've been told not to be touched by anyone else," said Shi Wen. "You amended the rule yourself. Come here."

Duan did not move for a moment.

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