A delicate sniff left her as her son’s words, one eye rolling to look up at him, before she looked out across the water again.

I am not that old, Shēnléi, nor am I so delicate. The water is not so chilled as to bring me pain. And even if it did, she would ensure he never guessed. She eyed the muck floating on the water’s surface, squinting at dark shapes to see if she could spy the shine of fish scales. But the water was dark and dreary, and she huffed out her breath.

And I always worry for you. It was an easy admission, a vulnerability only her son could know of. To every other in the empire, Bailu was as solid as stone, a stern serenity that cast her in grace. No one could cross her and leave unscathed. But here, alone with Shēnléi, she leaned her shoulder to his for a modicum of comfort.

Whatever could take us from the Dragon? It must be a great spirit to do so, to take even you. A queasy feeling swelled in her stomach, and a chill brought the fur of her back to stand. It made no sense, but she had never been of the priesthood.

No. I suppose I am not. She leaned against him for a moment longer, before she stood straight again, tucking her vulnerability beneath her skin neatly.

Have you found a place to stay? Or have you been sleeping in this mire? He didn’t smell it, but her senses were overwhelmed by the rest of the murk around them, so she stared at his coat in open suspicion.