Chapter 10: Her Own Hand

"I know what I'm in," Shuyi said.

"I am a copyist who has copied sixty letters for a woman who wrote them."

"If I sign my name to that, I am as guilty as Mo."

"Then go," Lanxin said, and she said it fast, as if the words hurt coming out.

"There is eighty taels in the drawer, and a pass at the gate."

"I will say you left on the second day."

"No one will know you were here."

Shuyi stepped close enough to feel the heat of her.

"I'm not asking for a pass," she said.

"I'm telling you I'm staying."

"Shuyi."

"You gave me a choice, and I'm making it."

"I want to be in it with you, whatever it is."

"I don't want the money, and I don't want to be sent away for my own good."

Lanxin's face worked.

She raised a hand to Shuyi's cheek and held it there, very lightly.

"You are a foolish, stubborn woman," she said.

"Yes."

"I could love you for that."

The word dropped between them.

Shuyi's heart gave a hard knock.

"Could?" she said.

Lanxin bent her head and kissed her.

It was soft this time, and slow, and it asked a question.

Shuyi answered it with her mouth, her hands, and the whole length of her body.

Lanxin made the broken sound again, low in her throat.

They moved through the small door into the narrow room without breaking apart.

The candle was still burning on the shelf.

Lanxin stood Shuyi by the bed and took her time with the ties of the robe.

Her fingers were slow, and a little clumsy, and Shuyi saw that her hands were shaking.

"You're nervous," Shuyi whispered.

"I have led two thousand men into the snow," said Lanxin.

"I have never been this afraid."

Shuyi took Lanxin's hands and kissed each palm, the hard ridge of the sword calluses, the pale line of an old burn.

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