Page 6 of The Blood Orchid

“Who sent you?” the man said again.

“No one,” I said, pulling out three firestones and elbowing Wenshu until he moved behind me. “Be careful with your threats when you’re standing in the same tunnel as us, under the same wires.”

“Go ahead and try,” the man said, his snake sliding down his bicep, curling around his wrist.

I pressed the firestones to the wall and imagined alchemy rushing through the sharp wires just as it had rippled down the roots in the ground seeking water. But at once, my hand cramped up as the alchemy rebounded, scorching my palm. I yanked it away from the wall.

“What did you—”

“You don’t even know what it’s made of,” the man said, smiling darkly. “Some alchemist you are.”

I clenched my jaw, stretching my fingers to bring feeling back into my stiff hand. His words shouldn’t have unnerved me. Noone had ever thought of me as a great alchemist until I proved them wrong. But for some reason, his words settled deep in my bones.

Because he was right—if I were a great alchemist, I wouldn’t be underneath the desert searching for a myth just to undo my mistakes.

“You’re the Sandstone Alchemist, aren’t you?” I said.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that question honestly,” he said. “If I say yes, you can never leave.”

I clenched my jaw. Why had my father befriended such an evasive, unhelpful alchemist?

“We’re not here to cause trouble,” Wenshu said. “We’re looking for Penglai Island.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Two children have no business on Penglai Island,” he said. “There are reasons its secrets are down here instead of in the royal library. It’s not public information for anyone who bursts through my door.”

“I’m notanyone,” I said. “I’m the last royal alchemist.”

The title meant little to me anymore, but it was who Wenshu expected me to be, the person he trusted to bring us safely across the world and home again. It was a title this man should have feared, conjuring images of blood and corpses.

The man laughed, the dark sound thundering down the tunnels. “You think that you’re the best just because the Empress chose you? You think there aren’t more of us out there who are too smart to serve her?”

I hesitated. All my life, I’d measured my worth as an alchemist against the imperial exam, the dreams of rich children in the north. Alchemy was a way to make money, not a hobby. Why would anyone become an alchemist if not to serve the Emperor?

“You can leave now,” the man said, “or you can feed my snake for the next month.”

I took a steadying breath. I hadn’t come all this way to return to Chang’an empty-handed.Focus, Zilan, I thought, looking back up at the wires.Think like a royal alchemist.

The man had clearly made some sort of metal compound that reacted with firestones. I’d assumed the wires were common steel, but the ache in my hand made it clear I was wrong. Part of being an alchemist—a good one, anyway—was knowing every material by sight, by touch, by scent. The silver strands above us looked like the mudwire that Uncle Fan used to cut clay, made from steel. But the sharp sparkle even in dim light meant they were probably coated in something else, some mysterious metal to cancel out any transformations attempted by foreign alchemists.

Luckily, out in the desert, there weren’t that many stones to choose from. Not in this quantity, at least.

I reached out for the netting once more, pushing past the ghost of an ache in my palm.

“Zilan!” Wenshu whispered.

I ignored him, tugging down a loose stretch of wire and slowly, carefully, bringing it to my lips. I opened my mouth and ran my tongue across the wire.

“Zilan!” Wenshu said indignantly. But the man had already lowered his knives a few degrees, mouth pinched.

“It’s rock salt,” I said, licking the sting from my lips. “Steel and rock salt coating, isn’t it?”

The sour look on the man’s face told me I was right.

“We can try this again, and see who can cut the other up faster, but I have a feeling no one will come out as the winner,” I said. “Or you can tell me what I need to know about Penglai Island.”

“How do you even know about that?” the man said, runninga trembling hand across his snake, even as his eyes blazed. “Only a few people—”

“My father,” I said. “His name was Laisrén.”