The palace should have been asleep.
By the time the moon climbed high above the roofs of Tughril's capital, most of the servants had already retired to their quarters, and the endless bustle of wedding preparations that had filled the courtyards throughout the day had finally quieted.
Xiao Zhi lay awake.
For a long time, she had stared at the ceiling above her bed, listening to the faint sound of wind moving across the distant steppe beyond the palace walls. The quiet should have helped her rest. It did not.
Every memory from the past few days returned again and again.
The candle ritual. The explanation about fire sparks that Arkan had never heard of. The donuts on the hillside and the quality of his performance. They were too careful, too precise, the deflection of someone who had prepared rather than someone who was genuinely confused.
Each piece by itself could be dismissed, but together they formed something she could no longer look away from.
