Chapter 7: The Envoys

"A righteous master who fights like a demon," Yeon-hwa said.

"I don't know what it means yet," Mu-hyeon said. "I only know how it felt."

He put the token in his robe and didn't take it out again.

Four days later, before dawn, Yeon-hwa was on her back in the sand of the training yard for the ninth time that morning.

"Fail," Mu-hyeon said, standing over her.

"I felt it that time."

"You felt it and then you let go of it. Fail."

He bent down and kissed her, upside down, unhurried, while she lay there glaring at him.

"You're enjoying this far too much," she said against his mouth.

"I'm enjoying it exactly enough."

She had found it, though.

Twice now.

A coal of warmth below her navel, where his two fingers had pressed that first night.

It came when she breathed the way he'd shown her, and went out the moment she tried to push it into a sword.

He gave her his hand and pulled her up.

A horn sounded from the black gate.

Three long notes.

Mu-hyeon's face changed.

"That's not ours."

By the time they reached the gate, half the mountain was on the walls.

Outside, on the open ground below the dried heads, stood forty riders in pale Alliance blue.

At their head, on a white horse, was Jin Seo-gang.

His hair was cut short now, cropped close all over to hide what Yeon-hwa had done to it.

It didn't suit him.

Beside him, on a grey mare, sat a small woman in green with a long black braid.

The Saintess, Mo Ye-rin.

Two old men from the Alliance council rode on her other side, looking as if they'd rather be anywhere else.

The Great Elder was already on the gate tower in his purple robes.

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