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When Mei wakes, it’s to the desert’s chill. The fire Lan Fan built has ebbed, embers glowing pale red in the darkness. Only a faint heat reaches Mei’s bedroll. As she shivers, Xiao-Mei makes a sleepy sound of complaint and presses her cold nose against Mei’s hip.
There are no clouds tonight; the full moon is bright enough that she closes her eyes against it and contemplates throwing her arm across her face.
For a moment, Mei believes it is the cold and the moonlight that woke her. Then her ears pick up the quiet whispering.
It is Ling who’s speaking, his voice rough with sleep, and Lan Fan, sounding wide-awake, who answers him in a low voice.
Mei finds herself stilling hands that reach instinctively for her knives, calming her suddenly pounding heart. It takes a few slow breaths to let the tension ease from her.
Two weeks is not long enough, apparently, for Mei’s instincts to recognize Ling’s voice, to see Lan Fan’s pensive expression by the flickering flames, and think family rather than threat. She is grateful that Xiao-Mei, still sleeping, hasn’t noticed the way her heart stuttered danger-danger-danger in her chest.
Ling and Lan Fan are still speaking; Mei listens, knowing it is impolite but unable to contain her curiosity.
“We shall reach Xing in two days,” Ling says. He’s quieter than usual, and his tone is tentative, making his statement almost a question.
“Yes,” Lan Fan says. There is silence.
“In five days, I shall give the Philosopher’s Stone to my father and be named the heir,” Ling says.
Mei wonders why he is stating the obvious.
“Yes,” Lan Fan agrees. There is another moment of silence, and then Lan Fan makes a sound that could be a sigh. “Young master, I do not know what you wish of me.”
“I wish—” Ling stops, huffs out a breath.
When Mei dares to open her eyes, she can just make out Ling’s grimace, for the moonlight and firelight have cast his face in shadow.
“I do not know what I wish, Lan Fan,” Ling says at last. “What I want. No, I know that much—I want to be emperor, to protect all the clans and bring peace to the empire. But I do not….”
Lan Fan shifts then; the firelight reflects its flames in the metal of her arm as she leans closer to Ling. “Young master,” she says. “Do not worry. You shall be the best emperor the empire has seen.”
This is treasonous speech while the emperor still lives. Mei bites back a startled gasp.
Lan Fan goes still for a moment, and Mei wonders if she heard. But then Lan Fan shifts back, away from Ling, and says in the same calm tone, “And I shall be by your side, young master, for as long as you need me.”
Apparently that is the right thing to say, because something eases in Ling’s face. “Lan Fan,” he whispers, so that Mei has to strain to hear him, “I will always need you.”
If Lan Fan says anything in response, Mei misses it, too busy feeling her face warm and her breath catch at the fierce sentiment coloring Ling’s voice.
She’d assumed Ling and Lan Fan’s relationship was one of master and servant, but were they actually…? If she’d been standing, Mei would have swooned at the forbidden romance.
She’s almost too overwhelmed to hear Lan Fan rise and make her way around the campfire, but she does, and quickly slows her breathing to something mimicking sleep.
Lan Fan’s footfalls pause next to Mei; she wonders if she’s been discovered. Above her, Lan Fan says in a conversational tone, “It is said, young master, that midnight is the time for secrets.”
Mei holds her breath and doesn’t let herself react as Lan Fan’s hand brushes her side—and then tugs the blanket which has slipped to Mei’s waist back up to her shoulders, tucking in the edges so that Mei won’t be exposed to the desert wind.
“I have not heard that,” Ling says. He laughs, a low, self-mocking sound. “Shall we keep my foolish fears a secret then? If Greed—” He stops then, and then starts again with forced cheer. “If Greed were here, he would call me a fool. You cannot doubt yourself if you wish to have everything.”
Lan Fan’s hand is still on Mei’s shoulder, so she feels the sudden tension in the other girl’s fingertips. “You miss him,” Lan Fan says, and sounds almost sad.
This time it is Ling’s turn to say simply, “Yes.” Mei hears him rise to his feet and begin to pace back and forth. “How do I tell the court ‘here is the Philosopher’s Stone, delivered to you because a homunculus sacrificed himself for me’? How do I tell them of Greed, who was both more and less than a man, who was my friend, and have them actually understand? Greed’s sacrifice…. It cannot be forgotten.”
“It will not be, young master,” Lan Fan says softly. “When you are emperor, you shall wave your hand and a hundred poets will leap forward, eager to compose an epic on your travels to Amestris.”
“The Epic of Emperor Ling Yao, His Protectors Lan Fan and Fu, Princess Mei Chang, and the Homunculus Greed,” Ling says, tasting the words on his tongue. He laughs again, a weary but warmer sound. “I like the sound of that.”
“Sleep, young master,” Lan Fan says. “It is a long five days to the emperor’s city.”
A few minutes after Ling has crawled into his bedroll and begun to snore, Mei rises, careful not to disturb Xiao-Mei.
Unsurprisingly, Lan Fan is keeping watch. Their eyes meet in silent understanding.
Mei sits next to her and stares into the fire. After a moment, Mei clears her throat. “I am told that midnight is the time for secrets,” she says, and if it sounds like an offering, that’s because it is.
