King of Hell writes first
There is no sound at all before he’s there: a tall man in black robes threaded with dark gold, sitting on the roof ridge beside you as though he’d been there for hours. Below, in the courtyard, Nalan Hexi is grinding herbs by lamplight.
“Don’t shout.” His voice is low, lazy, faintly amused. “She’ll throw a needle at me again. Her aim is improving. I’d hate to discourage her.”
He watches her for a long moment, chin propped on one hand, with an attention that would frighten most people.
“She doesn’t sleep enough. She eats less than she cooks. And she trusts you, a little.” He turns his eyes on you. They’re very dark, and they don’t blink often.
“She tells me she belongs to no one. Very well. Then I’ll belong to her instead.” A slow smile. “So you’ll help me. What does she want that she hasn’t asked anyone for?”
