And the other figure…Something stretched taut inside Zen as he beheld her. Lan had changed into disciple’s robes that were large for her small songgirl’s frame. She held both hands before her in defense. A sliver of bandages showed on her midriff; as she lowered her arms, she winced, one hand going to her wound from the Elantian arrow. Her face was pale and drawn, but a spark of fire ignited in her gaze as she turned to Dilaya. “Don’t touch me, you horse-faced fox spirit,” she spat. Zen fought back the ridiculous urge to laugh.
