7. Unsuitable Compromises

The juniors took Nhi and Hac Cúc to the same room in the Rooster quarters where Elder Lieu had received Nhi right after they'd dealt with the tangler. This time, the room was full. The elders were all there: Elder Lieu and the three others. So were the other juniors of their delegation. Bao Duy was sitting on the floor in front of the elders, still wearing the red hospital gown. She was heavily bandaged and gave the impression that, at any time, she would collapse. Lành straightened up from her bow just as Nhi and Hac Cúc entered, and took up a position that radiated respect.

The lights had been turned down, the window-screens were off; only the two energy-founts lit up the walls. In deference to Nhi's sensitivities, or to put everyone on their guard?

"Children," Elder Lieu said. "It has come to my attention that we should have kept a better eye on you."

"How did it come to your attention?" Hac Cúc had knelt, briefly. She looked as bad, or worse, as Bao Duy. No wonder. The pillars of her world had just collapsed, and she was having to navigate some very difficult waters—and Nhi still didn't know what she could say that would comfort her. Everything just seemed to make it worse. Which was the usual way, wasn't it? People would get angry at her and leave. Too many secrets. Too much vulnerability. Too much tension.

Elder Lieu's gaze flicked to Lành. "I was … apprised."

Nhi decided to be blunt for everyone's sake. "Is it true, then?"

"What is true?" That was Elder ánh Ng?c, the middle-aged plump woman from the Snake that Hac Cúc seemed to have little reverence for.

"That you set it free," Nhi said.

A sharp breath, from Bao Duy. Lành's face was unreadable. Nhi waited, stubbornly clinging to what she knew was right.

"Don't question your elders," Elder ánh Ng?c snapped. "Have your su ph?s taught you no better?"

Elder Lieu raised a hand. "Em," she said, smoothly. "They've displayed admirable resilience and resourcefulness in catching this tangler. Enough, in fact, to no longer be considered juniors. They deserve to know."

A sniff, from Elder ánh Ng?c. "Have it your way. The consequences are on you, too."

"I'm sure everyone can be reasonable," Elder Lieu said. She threw a peculiar glance at Nhi that Nhi wasn't quite sure how to interpret. Was it a warning?

Nhi was half expecting Hac Cúc to say something, but she didn't even speak up. It was Bao Duy who said, carefully, "Nhi is right, isn't she? You set the tangler free. Why—"

"For the future of the clans," Elder Lieu said. The lights dimmed further, and lines of energy sprang between them and the doors, snaking between Nhi's legs. She unfolded her Shadow, drew it tighter to her. If they wanted to categorize that as disrespect, let them. She snuck a glance at Hac Cúc, whose face was a tumult of emotions.

"You have to understand," Elder Lieu said, "that the Dogs have been pressing us. That there is no respect. That the empire made it so people forget. With each ship that crosses the Hollows safely, the act of navigation is seen as more and more trivial. People who never see a tangler, who are never stung—who never see other people stung—they forget. They forget the skill it takes with Shadow to find the safe passages from navigation gate to navigation gate. To drive the tanglers away. And so they're all the more willing to turn away from us."

"You set the tangler loose. Deliberately." Hac Cúc's voice was flat. "All of you."

"You—" Nhi swallowed. She'd already worked it all out in her head, but it didn't hurt less. "Did you ask Ninth Judge to find a tangler and crash the ship?" How deliberate had it all been?

Elder Lieu sighed. "They were about to renegotiate the charters. Divert traffic to the Dog Needles for cheaper prices. Cut us out of navigation entirely. What were we supposed to do?"

"Not this!" Hac Cúc blazed, and she sounded like she was about to cry.

Nhi moved closer to her, but Hac Cúc's Shadow—roiling and hard—kept her from touching her.

"Now do you understand?"

Surprisingly, it was Lành who spoke. "We're meant to avoid tanglers," she said. She sounded angry and afraid at the same time. Of course. Her worst nightmares made true: the elders working with a tangler.

"You won't have to deal with that tangler ever again," Elder Lieu said, smoothly. "Or would you rather be set to catch it again, knowing you can't kill it?"

Lành stared at her. She mumbled something under her breath, but didn't say anything more aloud.

Bao Duy pushed herself up from her sitting position with her Shadow—which was pulsing erratically fast, dimming the energy lines in the room as it passed over them. "No," she said. "No one consented to this."

"Ah." The Rat clan Elder—an elderly woman with translucent skin—pursed her lips. "You give us lessons? You and the experiments you ran? All the people you killed, for no gain."

Bao Duy's face fell. "It was for a good cause. For science. For learning."

"For science." The Rat Elder snorted. "Lines on a ledger. We are talking about the future of the clan, but of course you have never had to understand that, have you?"

With every word, Bao Duy wilted and folded further into herself, Shadow becoming more and more unstable. "They agreed. The people—"

"The people you killed in your experiments? Did they measure what it was you were asking of them? The risk? The whole of it?"

"I couldn't know everything—" Bao Duy said.

"So no, they didn't consent, did they? And tell me, did the people in this room—your friends—agree, when you took off to see the tangler and left them in the middle of a strobilation with no warning and no defenses? You were the person who knew most about tanglers, the most about defending oneself against them, and you chose to walk away from them."

"That's not the same thing—" But Bao Duy's voice was low and shaking.

"Of course it is."

"Leave her alone," Hac Cúc said. She was standing, breathing hard. Nhi didn't like that at all; she knew enough about herself to recognize the same signs of imminent collapse in Hac Cúc—except she didn't know at all what she could possibly say. She felt as though she was standing on a ship plunging into the Hollows, unable to reach the navigator: she was watching everything happen and she didn't know what to do, the conversation something large and heavy that couldn't be turned back or stopped or even slowed down.

The Ox Elder—the youngest one among them—hadn't said anything so far. She looked at Elder Lieu, and some kind of message passed between them. Elder Lieu said, "You know what your su ph? would say."

"He tried to stop you!"

A snort, from the Ox Elder. "Is that what he told you? That old man with a quarter of a brain, open to the winds? Of course he didn't. He spoke big words no one understood and then went back to his contemplation." Another snort. "At least when he's cultivating Shadow, it's quiet."

Hac Cúc took one step back—straight into Nhi, who held her. She disengaged herself, stood on shaking legs. Her Shadow was tumultuous, pulsing again and again against Nhi's hands.

Nhi wanted to say Hac Cúc's su ph? wasn't a good man, but that had gone badly enough when it was just her and Hac Cúc. There had to be something else she could say, but every thought had left her brain.

"He's respected," she said. "He's the Pure Heart Master. The one who safely brought the Ten Thousand ships to the Fragmented Shoals Planet during the warlords insurrection. The one who defeated the Silver Fox when she went rogue. He—"

"He's an old man whose time has come and gone," the Ox Elder said. "And you, his disciple." A sigh. "You never did understand how people worked, did you? Never did see past a shell of a reputation. At least Quang Loc was smart at your age." Her voice was kind, and it just made it worse.

"I'm not broken," Hac Cúc said, but she sounded like she didn't believe it.

"No," the Ox Elder said. "Your su ph? is a dotard and you don't even rise to the level he once held. No wonder he wouldn't stand by you."

"Stop it," Nhi said. She didn't know what do anymore, but they were the only words that came to her. "Stop it!"

Everyone stared at her. And not just the Elders. Lành and Bao Duy—and Hac Cúc. She saw in their faces—in all their faces—the concern of kind people for someone who was falling apart. She'd spoken too loudly. She looked too disheveled, too distraught, or had the wrong expression on her face. There were some unspoken rules of human interaction she'd failed again, with no idea exactly how.

"This isn't appropriate," she said, but they were still all looking at her.

"Oh, Nhi," Elder Lieu said. "You need rest." And, to everyone: "You all need rest. I suggest you go back to your quarters and use that opportunity." She smiled, but it didn't touch her eyes.

Nhi saw more than felt the Elders leave the room. "We have to stop them," she said.

"Stop them?" It was Lành. "You think we can? You think you can?"

Nhi breathed, hard. She was trying to gather some thoughts, to gather some Shadow. Everything felt impossibly far away. "We caught it once."

"And they released it. Be realistic." Lành snorted.

"I'm sorry," Bao Duy said. Nhi forced herself to look into her eyes, something she did very seldom. There was nothing in them but pity, and that faint look—that realization that something was wrong with Nhi. That it would be better to put distance between the two of them.

And then it was just her and Hac Cúc. "I just wanted them to stop hurting you," she said, desolately.

Hac Cúc's face was taut with extreme pain. "They're not the ones hurting me."

"Then who is?" Nhi asked, bracing herself for the answer that would name her.

But Hac Cúc shook her head. "They're right," she said, tonelessly.

"No!" Nhi grabbed her—and this time Hac Cúc let her, Shadow folding back. Nhi felt Hac Cúc's warmth like a shock—on her hands, through her arms. "Nothing they said in this room was right."

Hac Cúc looked at her. "You don't lie, do you?"

Sometimes she did. "Not to you."

"Then tell me: Did you think they were wrong about my su ph??"

Nhi bit her lip. "I don't know enough about your su ph?—"

"That's equivocation." Hac Cúc's voice was sharp. "Did you think they were telling the truth?"

Nhi gave the answer she'd been trying to avoid. "No," she said. "But that's not the point. The point is that there's a tangler loose, and that we need to catch it."

Bitter laughter from Hac Cúc. "Lành is right, and I never thought I was ever going to say that. Even if we catch that tangler again, what are we going to do? Kill it?"

"Bao Duy can—"

"Not before she does a lot more research. And you and I both know there's no time for this. The elders will find us before that. Are you really ready to go against the clans?"

"Yes," Nhi said. "It's the right thing to do. Aren't you?"

A long, exhausted stare from Hac Cúc. Nhi's heart sank.

"You aren't. Whatever happened to your principles? Your code? To doing the right thing?"

Hac Cúc jerked back, as if hurt. "The right thing?" She was crying. "My su ph? is a coward, and I'm cruel. What right thing? What's left?"

"I understand you've had a shock. We've all had a shock—"

"You haven't."

Nhi stared at her. "This isn't a competition!" Why was it going wrong?

"No. It's a question of the future." Hac Cúc stared at her hands. "And they're right. I'm not sure I have any. I'm not sure I ever had any."

Because she wasn't perfect. Because it had all been for nothing. Because, in the end, Quang Loc had betrayed her, and her clan—who had, by all accounts, never really liked her—hadn't stood by her.

Nhi said, "I believe in you." And, because she had nothing else to say, because it was such a bad thing to say but she'd run out of everything else, because it was the truth: "I love you."

Hac Cúc's Shadow pulsed, slowly, carefully. "No," she said. "You love an image. A mirage."

That hurt. "You're not going to tell me how I feel!"

A deep breath, from Hac Cúc. "No, you're right. Then I'll just say this: I can't. I can't return your love. I'm not worthy."

Nhi was shaking now—it was an effort to hold herself together, to hold the light and the noise at bay. "You're impossible."

"And you're naive!!" Hac Cúc rose, breathing hard. She was surrounded by a dark, agitated mass of Shadow that pushed again and again at Nhi's own Shadow, like repeated knife stabs. "You don't even understand. You take all of your secrets and all of your knowledge and you judge."

"I'm not judging!"

"Of course you are. Doing the right thing. Holding us to impossible standards."

"I don't even understand where you're getting that from. You're making absolutely no sense. I—" Nhi was annoyed. She'd made an admission of vulnerability. Several, now. And it was all getting thrown back into her face, and it hurt.

Hac Cúc said, wearily, "You're trying to shame me into going after the tangler. And then you toss love in it like it's a consolation prize. Or another way to make me follow you."

"I'm just—I'm just trying to make you see what you're doing."

"No, you're not." Her voice was sharp, cutting. Her face was hard. Nhi had seen it happen before: that moment when it all snapped. When people walked away and she never really found out why.

"Ch?—" she said. "Please—"

"We're done here," Hac Cúc said. And, in a softer voice, "Find yourself someone. Not Lành, if you can avoid it. Don't fall that low."

And then she left, the same way they had all left—the elders, Lành, Bao Duy—and Nhi was alone in the room, holding her Shadow close to her until the pressure on her skin was strong enough to impair her breathing—and still finding no comfort.

Nhi snuck out of the inn to get a ship to go down to the Ice Jade Planet and find the tangler.

It was a terrible, terrible plan—she didn't know where the tangler was and she was acutely aware of that fact. But it was either that, or wait in her room for it all to be over. And, if she was being honest, waiting in her room hating herself.

Not for losing Hac Cúc. That part she had expected—a lot of people in her life eventually left because of things she said.

No, she hated herself for allowing herself to hope. To believe that it could ever be different. That Hac Cúc would see. Would understand. Somehow. Or that Nhi herself would change, that she'd unlock the ever-shifting and incomprehensible set of rules that allowed her to make sense of other people. To understand why all her appeals to Hac Cúc had failed, why Nhi's trust and sense of connection, which had led her to share her own secrets—opening her heart—had been utterly mistaken. Or worse—that it had all been going well until she spoiled it.

There were Rooster juniors in the corridors, but they were keeping a bored eye on things. Nhi stepped out of the room, wrapping her Shadow around herself. Her Heavenly Weave was slow and ponderous, and if she angled it right—something she'd done enough, as a child or as an adult in the Hollows—she could make herself seem part of the air around her. It wasn't quite invisibility, but it did prevent people from focusing on her.

The Rooster juniors were bored and not paying attention. They didn't even follow Nhi or raise any kind of alarms as she went down to the inn's reception.

Or so she thought. Because, when she reached the door, Elder Lieu was waiting for her.

"Are you here to tell me to rest?" Nhi said.

Elder Lieu was leaning against the door's jamb. Behind her was the platform where the shuttles waited—where Nhi could probably find her ship and go down to the planet. Elder Lieu wasn't blocking the way, exactly—but she wasn't budging, either. Her Shadow was unfolded, loosely held around her: she didn't expect a fight but she didn't expect this to go well.

The kind of observation that would have been more useful with Hac Cúc, Nhi thought, stifling the pang of regret. She couldn't afford to think of Hac Cúc right now.

"No," Elder Lieu said.

"Then why?"

"Because I know where you're going, and I don't want you to die."

"I'm not going to die," Nhi said, and she realized as she said it that she had, indeed, been preparing herself for being stung. Or being killed. Or both.

A sigh, from Elder Lieu. "I should have told you."

Oh. Nhi looked at her. "You sent me with Ly Chau," she said, slowly, carefully. Pieces she hadn't lined up before came together, and she realized something. "You sent me to die once before. That's why you don't want me going again." Not because she thought Nhi was going to make a difference. But out of some misguided idea of how guilt and reparative justice should work. Nhi should have felt hurt. She'd trusted Elder Lieu. But she was curiously empty inside. Because … because she'd already stepped away from the elders. Seen them as unworthy of respect.

"I didn't. I argued against it," Elder Lieu said.

Nhi was tired, and she'd lost the one person she had felt lately that might make a difference—and she most certainly didn't have the energy to be diplomatic anymore. "As Quang Loc argued against the tangler plan? He didn't argue very hard."

"You have never understood how it works," Elder Lieu said. "The delicate balance of things in the clans, the compromises we are obliged to make."

"I do understand. A lot better than you think I do," Nhi said. "I just don't think it should come second to what's right."

The grimace Elder Lieu made was eloquent, even for Nhi. "That's exactly what I meant by not understanding," she said. Her Shadow stretched, trying to grab Nhi.

Nhi moved at the last moment, out of its way. "Are you hoping to incapacitate me and keep me in my room?"

"You were ordered to rest."

That wasn't the meaning Nhi gave to rest. The air shimmered, and Elder Lieu moved again towards her, Shadow bumping against Nhi's own—pushing against it, trying to send enough vital energy that Nhi's shield broke. If it did, the resulting shockwave would send her to her knees, and leave Lieu enough time to knock her unconscious.

If there was one thing, however, that Nhi's Heavenly Weave was good at, it was defense. She held her shield, hardening her Shadow, and dodged the next few times that Elder Lieu tried to grab her. Elder Lieu had not expected this; she was growing visibly annoyed.

"You can't stop it," Elder Lieu said. She made a sweeping gesture, a lash of Shadow that almost made Nhi tumble, but she managed to catch her footing at the last minute. "It's already too far away for you to catch. It'd be far better for you if you accepted there's nothing you can do."

Nhi could say and think the wrong thing, but this was unambiguous. "You know where it is," Nhi said. Which meant they'd not just released it, but driven it. With enough Shadow—

Oh, gods.

Another lash from Elder Lieu. Nhi caught it with her hands—feeling the Shadow straining against hers, the rising pressure in her own chest—and pushed. Elder Lieu stumbled.

"Where did you send it?"

Elder Lieu said nothing. She was busy pushing back. Nhi was having to give way little by little, until her back was against one of the tables, the steel digging into it. The owner and the waiters had mysteriously disappeared—which she couldn't blame them for.

"I'm sorry," Elder Lieu said. She raised her hand, palm projecting outwards, Shadow gathering down her arm and wrist. It was one of the techniques her style had been named for—the Blood-Extinguishing Palm. Nhi struggled to get free. "But the sooner the Dogs are out of contention, the better."

Out of contention. Details, mercilessly clear, floated through Nhi's treacherous brain—a desperate attempt to forget a present in which she was about to get knocked out. "The Dog Needle," she said. "It's on the other side of the planet. You can't—"

A sniff, from Elder Lieu. "At least they won't be civilians."

But of course they would be. Dogs might just be the couriers of memorials and imperial news, and there might be the occasional official, but the terminals would be full of people who were looking for these.

Nhi looked up. Above her, the counter held unwashed plates and teacups. She couldn't push back against Elder Lieu, but she could—

"Don't struggle, you're making this harder on yourself."

Nhi gathered her Shadow, and pushed upwards. There was a tearing sound that hurt her ears—and then a clattering of plates. Elder Lieu jolted, then smiled. "That's a poor distraction."

But, for just a moment, her grip had wavered. Nhi launched herself to the side—a fraction of a finger length only, but it was enough to be out of the way of the wave of Shadow that struck the counter, shattering it into chips of molten metal. She raised her own Shadow as a shield—and in that moment when Elder Lieu was out of balance, pushed back.

She'd misjudged, or rather, the elder had. She had been so sure of getting Nhi to comply that she'd barely put up any defenses, which meant that Nhi's own push lifted her and sent her flying into the wall, so hard she made a dent into it.

Nhi stood up, shaking, brushing her clothes. She walked past Elder Lieu—who was still against the wall, looking half-stunned. She made no move to stop Nhi. "This is on you," Elder Lieu said. "Everything that happens."

Everything. Nhi wasn't sure what that was, anymore.

She headed out, towards the tangler—towards whatever little remained of her future.