Seven days in the Imperial Pace had taught Song Yi-Mei more about hierarchy than her entire life as a schor's daughter. Here, status was measured in the fabric of one's robes, the height of one's hair ornaments, the number of servants one commanded, and—most importantly—proximity to the Emperor himself.

  As a newly acquired cleaning servant, Mia occupied the lowest possible rung on this eborate dder. Her hands had blistered and then callused from endless scrubbing. Her back ached from bowing to everyone who passed. Her legs burned from kneeling on hard stone for hours.

  "Faster, Song! The Consort Li's procession passes through in an hour," barked Senior Servant Fang, a thin, bitter woman who seemed to take special pleasure in assigning Mia the most difficult tasks.

  Mia dunked her brush into the bucket of scented water and attacked the carved stone balustrade with renewed vigor. This particur walkway connected the Hall of Feminine Virtue to the Imperial Garden—a route frequently used by the Emperor's favored consorts when they were granted the rare privilege of garden access.

  Not that Mia had ever glimpsed the Emperor or any of his women. The closest she'd come to the imperial presence was cleaning the quarters of the pace guards who occasionally saw him from a distance.

  "When you finish the railings, polish the jade inys in the steps," Fang instructed, already turning away. "And do not set foot in the garden itself. Those caught trespassing lose a hand."

  Mia nodded obediently, waiting until Fang disappeared around a corner before allowing herself a momentary rest. She gnced toward the garden that stretched beyond the balustrade. Unlike the meticulously geometric public gardens, the Imperial Garden appeared almost wild—a naturalistic ndscape of twisted pines, weathered rocks, and bamboo groves shrouded in morning mist.

  According to whispers among the servants, Emperor Jin-Wei spent most of his days wandering these gardens alone, ignoring matters of state while the Empress's family ruled in his name. Some said he had gone mad after his father's death. Others cimed he had been deliberately kept docile through drugs administered by physicians loyal to the Wang family.

  Mia wondered which was true, and what condition she would find this fragment of Noir's soul in. Each world had presented him differently—the disciplined knight, the brilliant inventor, the ancient cultivator. What kind of man was he in this incarnation? And how would she, a mere servant, ever get close enough to find out?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by distant shouting.

  "Clear the path! His Imperial Majesty approaches! Clear the walkways!"

  Mia's heart leapt into her throat. The Emperor? Here? Now?

  Protocol dictated that all servants should immediately make themselves scarce, as the Emperor should never have to look upon those who maintained his dwelling. Panicking, Mia gathered her cleaning supplies, sloshing water over her simple gray robes in her haste.

  The voices were getting closer. She wouldn't make it back to the servants' passage in time. Without thinking, she ducked through the nearest moon gate into the forbidden Imperial Garden, pressing herself against the inner wall and praying she wouldn't be noticed.

  Through a small gap in the stonework, she watched as a procession rounded the corner onto the walkway she'd just been cleaning. First came the imperial guards in their crimson armor, followed by court officials in eborate silk robes. Then eunuchs calling for deference, their high voices carrying across the garden.

  And then she saw him.

  Emperor Jin-Wei walked alone in the center of the procession, a slender figure draped in golden robes embroidered with dragons. His hair was bound in the traditional topknot secured with the imperial jade crown, his bearing rigid and formal. Yet there was something in his posture that suggested weariness rather than strength, as though the eborate garments weighed upon him like armor.

  Mia held her breath as he passed her hiding spot, waiting for the ice-blue eyes that would confirm his identity as a fragment of Noir's soul.

  He paused suddenly, just a few paces from where she hid. One of the officials approached him, head bowed.

  "Your Majesty, the ministers await your presence for the morning audience."

  "I have no desire to hear Minister Wang drone on about tax collection today." The Emperor's voice was cool, disinterested. "Tell them I am engaged in spiritual reflection and cannot be disturbed."

  "But Your Majesty, the Empress's father has traveled from—"

  "Did I stutter, Minister Chen?" The Emperor turned, and Mia finally saw his face.

  The breath caught in her throat. Those eyes—ice-blue, piercing, and filled with a cold disdain that couldn't quite mask the emptiness beneath. In every world, across every incarnation, those distinctive eyes had been the marker of Noir's soul fragments. Sir Kael's eyes fshing in battle, Alexander Thorne's thoughtful gaze bent over his inventions, Master Yun's ancient wisdom reflected in the same unmistakable hue.

  She would have recognized them in any world, in any body. This was him. This was Noir.

  "No, Your Majesty," Minister Chen replied, bowing deeply. "I will convey your... spiritual obligations to the court."

  "See that you do." The Emperor turned toward the garden—toward Mia's hiding pce. "Now leave me. All of you."

  The officials exchanged gnces but knew better than to argue. They backed away, bowing repeatedly until they disappeared around the corner with the guards. Only the most senior eunuch remained, hovering at the entrance to the garden.

  "Your Majesty, protocol dictates that you should not be left unattended," the eunuch said nervously.

  The Emperor's ugh was bitter. "Am I not always watched, Eunuch Zhang? Does the Empress not have her spies report my every movement? Go. I wish to be alone with my thoughts for once."

  "As you command." The eunuch bowed and retreated, though Mia suspected he wouldn't go far.

  Now alone, Emperor Jin-Wei's rigid posture softened. He sighed deeply, removing the jade crown and running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seemed startlingly human compared to his imperial bearing moments before.

  Mia pressed deeper into the shadows, heart racing. She needed to remain hidden until he passed, then slip away unnoticed.

  But luck was not on her side. As she shifted her weight, her bucket tipped, sending a stream of soapy water across the stone path.

  The Emperor's head snapped toward the sound. "Who's there? Show yourself."

  Mia froze. Being caught in the Imperial Garden meant punishment—severe punishment. But she had no choice now. Slowly, she stepped from behind the wall, head bowed in the deepest obesiance she could manage.

  "Forgive this worthless servant, Your Majesty," she whispered, pressing her forehead to the ground. "I was cleaning the walkway when your approach was announced. I had nowhere else to hide and meant no intrusion."

  She waited for the call to the guards, for the order to have her dragged away.

  Instead, after a long silence, she heard a single word: "Look at me."

  Cautiously, Mia raised her head. The Emperor stood closer now, studying her with those ice-blue eyes that had haunted her across three worlds.

  "What is your name?" he asked, his voice entirely different from the cold tone he had used with his ministers. There was curiosity there, perhaps even a hint of amusement.

  "Song Yi-Mei, Your Majesty. Recently assigned to the Outer Pace."

  "And you thought hiding in my private garden was preferable to being seen by your Emperor?"

  Mia swallowed hard. "The punishment for being seen by Your Majesty is less severe than the punishment for being in the Imperial Garden. I chose the lesser offense."

  For a moment, the Emperor's face remained impassive. Then, unexpectedly, his lips curved into a slight smile.

  "A practical assessment. Rare in this pace of sycophants and conspirators." He gestured for her to rise. "Tell me, Song Yi-Mei, can you read?"

  The question caught her off guard. "Yes, Your Majesty. My father was a schor before..." She trailed off, realizing too te that revealing her background might expose her father's opposition to the Empress's family.

  "Before what?" the Emperor pressed.

  "Before misfortune befell our family," she finished carefully.

  Something flickered in those ice-blue eyes—recognition, perhaps. Not of her personally, but of something in her situation that resonated with him.

  "A schor's daughter reduced to scrubbing floors," he mused. "This dynasty excels at punishing wisdom and rewarding cunning."

  He turned away, gazing into the misty garden. Mia remained frozen, unsure if she was dismissed or expected to respond.

  "Do you know much of gardens, Song Yi-Mei?" he asked suddenly.

  "Only what I learned from my father's books, Your Majesty. I know that every element has meaning—the rocks represent mountains, the ponds the great kes. The arrangement is meant to create harmony and opportunities for reflection."

  The Emperor looked back at her, surprise evident on his face. "Your father taught you well." He gestured toward a twisted pine growing at an impossible angle from a rocky outcropping. "What does that tree symbolize to you?"

  Mia followed his gaze. "Resilience, Your Majesty. It grows despite its difficult circumstances, finding strength in adversity."

  For a brief moment, something like genuine interest animated the Emperor's face, banishing the cold mask of indifference he had worn earlier.

  "An astute observation." He studied her more closely. "You are wasted on floor scrubbing, Song Yi-Mei."

  Before Mia could respond, a call came from the direction of the pace. "Your Majesty! The Grand Secretary insists upon your presence immediately. Urgent matters of state require attention."

  The Emperor's face hardened once more, the brief glimpse of humanity vanishing behind imperial reserve.

  "You will tell no one of our conversation," he said quietly. "And you will return tomorrow, at this same hour. There is a collection of poetry in the Moon Viewing Pavilion. I wish to hear your schorly opinion of it."

  "But Your Majesty, I cannot—"

  "You can and you will." His tone brooked no argument. "Consider it an imperial command."

  With that, he repced his crown and straightened his robes, the weight of his position visibly settling back onto his shoulders. Without another gnce in her direction, he strode toward the calling voices, once again every inch the Emperor.

  Mia remained kneeling until long after he had gone, her mind racing. She had found this world's fragment of Noir faster than in any previous world. But this time, the stakes felt immeasurably higher. He wasn't just a knight or an inventor or even a cultivator—he was the Emperor of all under heaven, surrounded by enemies, trapped in a gilded cage of protocol and politics.

  And somehow, she—a lowly cleaning servant—had just been commanded to meet him in secret.

  As she gathered her spilled cleaning supplies, Mia felt the familiar stirring of the locket in her inventory. The three fragments it contained seemed to pulse with renewed energy, as if recognizing their missing piece was near.

  "I found you," she whispered. "Again."

  Now she just had to avoid being executed for treason long enough to save him.