The dying monarch’s breath was a shallow, painful rattle that scraped like dry husk against the bronze dragon bedposts.
Lin Xiao hopped from the bedside table onto Emperor Zhao Tai’s gold-stitched brocade blanket, landing with a soft, bouncy plop. His round, semi-clear blue body wobbled gently as he set himself directly upon the Emperor’s frail chest, right over the chest bone. Below him, the monarch’s heart fluttered in wild, irregular spasms, starved of spiritual life-force by the leech-like monster lodged in his skull sinus.
“Crown Prince Zhao Lie, Marshal Wu Zhan,” Lin Xiao said. His voice shook pleasantly from within his azure jelly mass. “Step back three paces, keep your mouths shut, and don’t make any sudden loud noises. If someone sneezes or bumps the bed, I might take a wrong turn down a tear duct.”
Zhao Lie right away clamped both hands over his mouth, nodding with wide, scared eyes. Beside him, Grand Marshal Wu Zhan stood at rigid attention. He held his breath as if awaiting a royal execution volley. Even Sword Saint Gu Qingfeng leaned quietly against a dark wood column, resting his willow twig against his knee and watching with amused curiosity.
Before dividing his form, Lin Xiao took a moment to verify the palace outer edge. Semi-clear micro-slime scouts he had seeded upon Da Peng’s arrival were clinging to the timber roof edges and drainage tiles outside the bedchamber pavilion. Through their shared sense link, he saw three thousand elite royal guards milling in confusion…
