Chapter 6: The Gift Chair

The chair stood at the gate of the Cold Lamp Court with a red silk ribbon tied around its back.

Hou Jian stood beside it with half the morning drill watching from the training ground below.

"A wedding gift," he said, spreading his arms. "Lighter than the old one, and finer. The Hou house craftsmen worked on it for a month."

He bowed to the heir with a flourish that made the gold rings in his ponytail jingle.

"For the Gathering. Every man should climb in comfort."

Wanqing came out of the gate behind Yuhang's wheels with a cup of sugar water in her hand.

She had slept four hours and had a bite mark on her shoulder, and she felt wonderful.

She stopped when she smelled the chair.

Cold ink and sweet almonds, faint as a breath, from the left armrest.

"Young master," she said quietly.

"I smell it too." Yuhang did not look at her. "I don't have your nose. But I have a feeling about gifts."

He rolled forward until his wheels were a hand's width from the new chair.

"It's very handsome, Hou Jian," he said, in the gentlest voice she had ever heard him use. "May I try it?"

"Of course. Please."

Yuhang's hand went toward the armrest.

Wanqing stepped in and took his wrist.

"Wait," she said. "I'd like to look first. A doctor's habit."

She bent over the chair, tapped the armrest twice, and pressed the end of the wood with her thumb.

There was a tiny click.

A needle no thicker than a hair slid out of the front of the armrest, aimed at the palm of any hand that rested there.

Its tip was wet.

Before anyone could speak, Wanqing uncorked a small glass vial from her belt and held it under the point.

A single drop fell into it.

"Heart-Still," she said. "The same as the wedding cup, only fresher."

She held the vial up to the sun so the whole training ground could see the clear bead of poison.

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