Chapter 21: The Feast

The Elder's grip was warm, and Cen Yu could not move his arm.

He heard the small bones in his wrist grind together, a dry sound, close to his ear.

It did not hurt.

He noticed that with the clear, cold interest he had carried since dawn, and he did not like it.

A body that cannot hurt cannot say stop.

"Let go of him," said Pei Ruo, and she struck at the Elder's arm with her scarred fist.

Dan Qiu did not look at her.

"Gently, my dear. I have waited a long time for this and I would like to enjoy it."

Cen Yu drew the bowl-knife with his free hand and cut his palm.

The old wound opened at once, and blood welled up black and quick.

He had one trick left, and it was the only one that had ever worked.

Three drops on a dying tongue.

He slapped his palm over the Elder's mouth.

The old man did not pull away.

He opened his lips, and took the blood on his tongue, and swallowed.

They stood like that, and the humming of the moths rose and fell around them.

Nothing happened.

"There," said the Elder, quite kindly, when Cen Yu's hand came away. "You see?"

"It should have worked."

"It cures a moth. I am not a moth."

He tilted his head.

"I am ten thousand of them, and every one is mine. Your blood is a cure for nothing in me."

Cen Yu stared into the old gentle face.

He had been so proud of the blood.

Three drops would have saved his mother, and a thousand would not save him.

The Elder hauled him toward the stone table, one step and then another.

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