Ye led Pei Jing as far as the old drainage tunnel below Vault Three. Once it had carried hot water away from the furnaces that lifted the city. The water went another way now. White frost had set over the salt on the walls, and cold air came in from the west.
Ye rested her sword in the crook of her arm. “The Cold Moon Sword Pavilion keeps the peace here by treaty. If I give a guest a way out, the Beitang Clan can say we took his side.”
“They’ve already sent men to stop a sale the Pavilion agreed to protect,” Pei Jing said. “Their northern forts are short of money. If you let them decide who leaves this city, that won’t be the end of what they ask for.”
He took a little vial of green jade from inside his tunic. Three drops of pale gold liquid clung to its sides. It gave off no smell, even when he held it close to the lantern.
“Nine-Transformation Marrow Nectar.”
Ye’s hand tightened around the sheath. In the auction hall, he’d seen that hand tremble when the blade went back in. He’d felt cold qi catch in the channels at her wrist. “Your sword art leaves some of its cold behind, doesn’t it?” he said. “It’s gone into the marrow.”
