No one told Yipachai there were days off from the workouts, the practices, the mandatory meditation sessions.

  He had survived. He had succumbed to the routine of grueling workouts, social neglect, and frequent pummelings at dueling training with master Rurou. He should have been a walking lump of bruises, but each time he took too hard of a hit, Rurou was there to heal him—or to have him carried off to the healers if it was extra severe.

  Yipachai had thought it would continue on that way forever. Until the day he woke before sunrise and dressed himself for the morning run, only to realize that no one else in the darkened dormitory was moving. The sounds of low, even breathing surrounded him, but none of the other boys seemed inclined to wake and invoke a l’anti light.

  Perplexed, he cracked open the wooden door and peered outside.

  Nothing. There were no silhouettes jogging out the west gate towards the forest sanctuary and the Mhong grove. No sounds of sandals on stones. There was only the cool, still gray of early morning, and the songs of the few brave birds that were willing to begin singing without the rest of the dawn chorus.

  Yipachai turned back and made his way by memory over to where Mamoru slept. He felt, more than saw, the Banqilun lying on his back, mouth slightly open and breathing heavily. Yipachai knelt silently and laid a hand on Mamoru’s elbow.

  “Hey, Mamoru?”

  No response.

  Yipachai nudged him a little harder, until he heard Mamoru’s breathing shift.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” The floorboards creaked as Mamoru rolled over onto his side, the dark skin of his face blending with the shadows.

  “Don’t we have to get up and run?”

  “It’s Hanzonami. Go back to sleep.” Mamoru heaved himself onto his other side, putting his back to Yipachai.

  “Hanzo-what?” Yipachai asked.

  “Go back to sleep.” Mamoru’s voice was muffled as he mumbled into his pillow. “I’ll show you later.”

  Yipachai’s head filled with questions. So it was a holiday, then? Did that mean they didn’t have any lessons today, or just that morning meditation was cancelled? Mamoru didn’t seem inclined to answer anything else Yipachai asked, and the rest of their roommates would probably beat him with their practice swords if he woke them up.

  So Yipachai did his best to take Mamoru’s advice and crawled back over to his own sleeping mat. He laid there for a few minutes before it became clear that his body was no longer interested in sleep. He’d been rising at the same hour for long enough now that it felt more natural for him to be awake.

  The sun was just beginning to poke over the horizon when Yipachai again stepped out into the humid air of the morning.

  He reached out with his mind, seeking out Pingou. There were other birds around, of course, along with several squirrels nestled amongst the trees of the school’s grounds. He even brushed minds with a young bear, but thankfully that one was to the west of the campus—the opposite direction from where he knew Pingou would be.

  Yipachai eventually sensed the heron roosting in a tree near the river, but rather than disturbing Pingou with a thought, he decided to go pay Pingou a visit in person. With only a soft bond—it didn’t feel right to instantiate a full bond while Pingou was asleep—Yipachai was able to make his way to the tree without much difficulty.

  The sun had risen by the time he arrived, so that it shone in his eyes when he craned his head back to look for the bird. Pingou was perched on a limb about a Banqilun’s height above the ground, sleeping with his head tucked beneath one of his great gray wings.

  Feeling suddenly mischievous, Yipachai decided to risk the heron’s wrath.

  “Pingou!” he called.

  Pingou jerked awake, his long neck uncoiling as he leapt from the branch, beating his wings in an attempt to make a hasty escape. After a few moments of flight, he must have heard Yipachai’s laughter, because he swooped around in an arc and came to stand before Yipachai, his feathers thoroughly ruffled.

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  Good morning, Yipachai said, still laughing as he initiated a bond.

  Do not do that, Pingou said. A hefty sense of annoyance came through the bond.

  But it was funny.

  Pingou’s head jerked forward, landing a sharp peck on Yipachai’s hip.

  “Ouch!”

  What was that for? Yipachai asked, rubbing at the spot.

  For bothering me. Pingou turned around and stalked toward the river.

  It was just a bit of fun, Pingou.

  The heron kept walking. I did not find it amusing.

  Yipachai sighed. Well, how are you then? I came to visit because I don’t have lessons this morning.

  I am hungry.

  And…that’s all?

  Yes.

  Yipachai sighed again, louder this time, and rubbed his temples. He’d forgotten how prickly Pingou could be.

  Well, if you need anything, I could try to help—

  I need to hunt. Pingou had reached the river’s edge and waded into a shallow spot where the current was broken up by various reeds and stones.

  Erm, alright, then. I’ll leave you to it.

  Pingou didn’t answer.

  An hour or so later, Yipachai wandered back through the main gate of the School of the West Wind. After Pingou’s thorough dismissal, he’d decided to walk through Lucong for awhile, as he had nowhere else to be and nothing more interesting to do.

  He found that it calmed him, walking among the trees, keeping his mind open to sense all the beasts around him, his eyes attuned to the mhonglun as they popped into and out of existence. Indeed, this forest was just as full of life as Hongshu was.

  Fortunately, the school still served breakfast on holidays. Today, however, in addition to the steamed fish, rice, and soup, there were boonshi—little pieces of fried bread that had been sweetened, likely with honey. Yipachai ate far more than his fair share of those, as the dining hall was mostly empty. Apparently, most of the students valued sleep more than breakfast.

  Mamoru found him there, his mouth full of his—seventh? eighth?—piece of sweet bread.

  “Come on,” the Banqilun said. “We don’t have chores until supper today. We’re going into the city.”

  “What for?” Yipachai asked, his voice garbled by the boonshi in his mouth.

  “Because it’s Hanzonami, and there’s no point staying at an empty school all day.”

  “Okay, give me a minute,” Yipachai said, standing and stuffing one last piece of bread into his mouth. He took his dishes over to the girls on washing duty, then caught up with Mamoru on the edge of the dining area.

  “So what’s this Hanzonami all about, anyway?”

  The Banqilun gestured for Yipachai to follow. “It’s the last full moon before the rains come—our last chance to make offerings to the mhonglun and ask them for their blessings.”

  Yipachai had to jog to keep up with Mamoru’s long, purposeful stride. “And that’s it? But what do you actually do?”

  “Do?”

  “You know, for the holiday? Don’t the monks have to do some kind of ritual or something?”

  Mamoru looked down at Yipachai for a moment, a puzzled look on his face. Then, he shook his head. “I don’t think so. When I was a kid, we always just set out an extra lantern and a bit more food at our family’s shrine. Then me and Atsushi would go play. The adults just sat around and drank tahashi.”

  “Oh.” It didn’t sound anything like the holidays they celebrated at the monastery back in Hongshu. There, Yipachai always had to help prepare for the rituals, the ceremonial meals, the people who came to beseech the monks for blessings or guided meditations. “So what will we do in the city?”

  Mamoru stopped entirely this time and bent over so that his eyes were even with Yipachai’s. “You didn’t get out much, back where you came from, did you?”

  “I—no, not really.”

  Mamoru’s long face softened, a glint of mischief twinkling across his dark eyes as he laughed, a deep bass rumble. “Well then, let me be your guide into the world of…normal people.”

  Yipachai shook his head, bewildered, but followed Mamoru as he led him into Amigawa city. The streets were packed full of people, even more than Yipachai had seen his first few days in the capital. Banqilun of all ages brushed shoulders on the road, making stops at the shrines on the street corners to leave offerings of rice, or to light sticks of incense with their l’anti wands.

  Mamoru led him along, dodging between the passersby as they made their way south. No matter where they turned, though, that massive fortress loomed in the center of the city, and Yipachai grew accustomed to using it as a landmark.

  Amongst the crowds of Banqilun, Yipachai at last spotted foreigners. Most were Montililun, who looked more or less like Hetanzou, but were usually smaller of stature and had eyes of every color Yipachai could imagine. Sometimes, he even swore their eyes changed colors as they walked and conversed with their acquaintences.

  There were even a few Hukan, tall people—though not nearly as tall as the Banqilun—with crests of feathers on their heads where hair should’ve been.Yipachai thought they always looked like eagles staring down their pray.

  But the people that always caught Yipachai’s eyes the most were the Hetanzou. His own people. People who were the right size for Sentients, with hair and dark eyes—the color eyes were supposed to be. Their skin colors varied a little, depending on where they came from in the Het Kingdom, and some looked a little better off than others.

  Some even had scars on their chin that reminded him of—

  That scar.

  Yipachai lurched to a stop in the middle of the street, uncaring of the people who suddenly had to change directions and cursed as they moved around him. He stood on his toes to get another look at the Hetanzou man he had just seen through the crowd.

  “Yipachai, what are you doing?” Mamoru asked.

  There! He spied the man again, weaving through groups of Banqilun that had no idea that there was a murderer in their midst.

  Mangsut.