Immortal

3

The immortal’s face was like winter, chiseled from ice and snow. At the sight of him, my body tensed, relief and dread so tightly entwined I couldn’t pick them apart. I hated him, the memory he evoked of my grandfather kneeling before him—even though he’d just saved my life.

The god was watching me, his eyes alight as they traveled my length, pausing at my sash where the imperial seal hung. Ash and blood stained my robe, my hair spilling across my shoulders. I should be afraid of him—terrified, even—yet anger sparked at his intrusive stare.

“Why are you looking at me?”

I demanded, like there was nothing to hide, even as I feared he could somehow sense the Divine Pearl Lotus. Fortunately, he’d given no sign of it, his expression unchanged—almost indifferent.

His mouth curled. “Curiosity, nothing more. Who are you?”

Was this a test? After all, the god had seen the seal. I dared not lie; the truth would emerge soon enough. “Zhao Liyen, the Lady of Tianxia—the last descendant of Zhao Likang.”

I claimed the title that was now mine.

“Lady of Tianxia?”

he repeated slowly. “I thought the heir was dead. I didn’t realize there was another.”

“My father passed away. I am his only child, granddaughter to the Lord of Tianxia.”

Except Grandfather was no more. I swallowed, holding the god’s gaze. It was no surprise that few outside the palace knew of my existence. Most didn’t think I’d survive to claim the throne, and Grandfather was cautious with what he shared with the immortals, as were most of the people here.

“Why aren’t you in the palace? Why are you here?” he asked.

“When my home was attacked, my grandfather ordered me to leave for my safety. Only later did I learn of his death.”

I tried to push down my grief and—far more dangerous—my rage. The god hadn’t struck Grandfather, yet not all weapons were crafted of metal; not all wounds were of the flesh.

He said nothing, not even offering words of condolence. Immortals had no comprehension of death, of what it meant to lose a loved one. Maybe all of them were cursed with hearts of ice. As light flickered at the god’s fingertips, Chengyin cried out in warning, rushing to shield me—but a shimmering barrier sprang up around him and Aunt Shou, keeping us a distance apart. The god didn’t look their way as he caught my arm with surprising gentleness. A soothing warmth rippled from his fingers, healing the punctures gouged by the creature’s claws.

I pulled away, stiffening from his touch. His eyes narrowed as they swung to my face. Was I being ungrateful? Rude? In the silence, I opened my mouth to thank him, then shut it again. He didn’t deserve gratitude, not after what he’d done to my grandfather and my home.

“Who hurt you?”

Softly spoken, yet rife with menace.

“They did.”

I nodded at the monsters still trapped in the god’s fiery cage. Four left, one dead.

He unslung his sword, setting its point on the ground. “This land falls under Queen Caihong’s domain. Winged Devils have no place here.”

They bowed in unison. “We were mistaken, Great Immortal. We will obey Queen Caihong’s command, and leave.”

The God of War tilted his head back as he studied them. “Do you still do the bidding of the Wuxin?”

I flinched, the word enough to make my blood run cold. It was the Wuxin who had invaded Tianxia, descending from the skies through Kunlun Mountain, causing great devastation and suffering. The Golden Desert immortals had helped my people drive them away, which was why we served them now.

“How could we, when the Wuxin are sealed in the Netherworld?”

one of the Winged Devils replied, a little too quickly.

“Then why are you here?”

As the God of War’s voice dropped, a chill glided through the air.

“To search for my friend,”

one said smoothly, gesturing at the body on the ground. “He wanted to visit this realm. We meant no harm.”

Convenient, as the dead could not speak. “A lie,”

I said at once. “They attacked us together.”

The God of War stepped closer to the Winged Devils. “Why did you attack the girl and her companions? Tell me now, else I will show you no mercy.”

“You are not entitled to our answers.”

Gone was their respectful demeanor, their false subservience.

The four remaining creatures lifted their hands, a grayish mist swirling forth. As the god’s barrier that held them broke—they circled us, eyes bright with malevolence.

Terror gripped me, but the god appeared unshaken. “Stay behind me,”

he commanded, with an almost infuriating calm.

“What of my friends? You’re still holding them. Release them so they can escape.”

“I will protect them.”

Such confidence . . . I did not share it. Yet in this moment, the God of War that I loathed and feared was the only thing standing between us and death.

Without warning, one of the Winged Devils lunged toward us. The god unsheathed his sword swiftly, thrusting the blade into the creature’s side—then drew back seamlessly to stab another Winged Devil. One sprang at me but I scrambled back, the god’s sword arcing over my head, moon-bright, carving the creature’s neck. Blood sprayed, warm droplets scattering across my face. I would have screamed if I were not half-frozen with fear. The god moved with deadly grace, dealing each blow with iron control yet unrestrained brutality. His expression betrayed neither strain nor fear, not even triumph or bloodlust. As the last remaining creature charged at him, the god lashed out, plunging his sword into the monster’s chest. It reared back, staring at the blood that flowed forth, swiping curved talons at the god’s face. But the immortal swung back, bolts of flame arcing from his palm to strike the creature, burning rivulets along its flesh. The creature shuddered in a grotesque rhythm, finally collapsing upon the ground.

Were they dead? One still writhed, a soft groan slipping out. The God of War crouched down, turning its head toward him. “Answer my questions and I will spare your life.”

The Winged Devil bared its teeth as it raised a shaking hand, dragging a claw across its neck. Blood spilled, its body jerking violently and then going still.

I fell to my knees and vomited. Sourish and acrid, my throat raw, my stomach churning as I sank upon the grass. Reaching for the waterskin, I lifted it to my lips and took a long drink, then poured the rest over my face to wash the blood from it. When I looked up, the god was staring at me. Humiliation seared me at being seen this way. Did he scorn my weakness? I pushed my chin out as though daring him to mock me.

Instead, he sheathed his sword, his breathing a little uneven, his eyes pinched with strain.

“Are you hurt?”

I asked, though it seemed impossible.

“No,”

he replied, his tone clipped.

“I see why they call you the God of War.”

It wasn’t a compliment; it was no gift to possess an unsurpassed talent for killing.

“I don’t like that name,”

he replied, though another might have reveled in the power the title conferred.

“Why?”

I shouldn’t have asked, I shouldn’t care.

The eyes he turned to me were blacker than coal. “What is war if not suffering and death? Who would want to be the harbinger of such strife?”

“Doesn’t the God of War thrive on power, fear, and glory?”

I asked bitterly.

Dark flames leapt in his pupils. “You think there is glory in this? You think I feel triumph?”

His voice was harsh as his eyes flicked across the bodies on the ground. “You speak from ignorance.”

“Ignorance?”

I repeated, fury seeping into every part of me. “How am I ignorant? Because I don’t possess your infinite years?”

“Not quite infinite.”

His smile was vicious. “Your ignorance stems from the fact you don’t know me, yet are content to judge.”

As remorse flashed through me, I stifled it. “I know that you burned my home. I know my grandfather is dead.”

As he glanced at Aunt Shou and Chengyin, restrained a distance away, I was glad they couldn’t hear me. Aunt Shou would have rebuked me for speaking to the God of War in this manner. My emotions were making me careless; I needed to guard my words better.

“I did not kill your grandfather,”

he said bluntly. “If you were told otherwise, you’ve been misled.”

I couldn’t tell him what I’d seen; it would lead to too many questions. “Then why did my grandfather die after earning the displeasure of your queen?”

I said instead.

“Those who fail Her Majesty cannot be allowed to go unpunished—yet mortals are rarely sentenced to death,”

he replied curtly. “Your grandfather’s passing was unintended, caused by an existing illness of his heart.”

“Should I be grateful that he was frightened to death?”

My voice choked with anger.

“I’m not asking for gratitude,”

he said tightly. “Just don’t misplace your hate.”

I fell silent. Maybe he believed he’d done nothing wrong, but he had. Still, I reined in my temper; he held my life in his hands. Nothing would bring Grandfather back, but my actions could invite harsher reprisal on me, on my kingdom. And I didn’t like speaking of my grandfather to him. My grief was my own, not for a stranger’s speculation. It was too raw, too sharp . . . it hurt too much.

Stepping back, I found my shoes damp with the blood pooling from the Winged Devils’ bodies. My skin crawled. “Why did he kill himself?”

“Perhaps they fear the consequence of betrayal more than death.”

“What could be worse than death?” I asked.

“Many things.”

“Only an immortal would think so.”

I smiled to conceal my scorn. “Immortals never fall ill or age. You’ve never been held back by the frailty of your body, the health time steals. You are the masters of your destiny, the keepers of your fate. No wonder you disdain death.”

His eyes flashed. “We don’t suffer from illnesses, but I have borne more wounds on my finger than you have in your lifetime. What do you know of the dangers of our realm, what we suffer?”

I looked at the creatures sprawled around us. “They come into our world too, except we can’t fight them as you do.”

A brief pause. “What did the Winged Devils want with you?”

he asked then.

“I know as much as you, Honored Immortal.”

I forced out the honorific reluctantly. “There were a few rumored sightings close to Kunlun, but our soldiers found nothing. How are they connected to the Wuxin?”

“They were allies once, switching to our side when it was clear the Wuxin would lose the war. Since then, they’ve lived quietly among us—or so we thought.”

He frowned. “They can’t be trusted, but Queen Caihong allowed them to keep their home in the Golden Desert, as long as they don’t break the peace.”

“What of tonight?”

I asked. “What of this attack on us?”

“I will discuss it with Her Majesty. We will investigate the matter.”

My hands clenched but I held my tongue. Mortals were dispensable, after all. If the Winged Devils had attacked the Golden Desert, Queen Caihong would have struck them all down without hesitation, without mercy.

“I am new to the throne, but always believed it was the immortals’ duty to protect our kingdom against such enemies from the skies,”

I said carefully.

The god’s gaze narrowed. “What of your duty to guard the Divine Pearl Lotus, the one your grandfather so carelessly lost?”

“He was not careless.”

I didn’t dare say more, though it was a relief he hadn’t disregarded my grandfather’s claim. “If I don’t know my duties, it’s because Grandfather didn’t have a chance to teach them to me.”

“You are an adult. You should have learned your responsibilities by now.”

How dare he lecture me? I wanted to strike this unfeeling immortal. But I was no longer a child—I was the Lady of Tianxia. I no longer acted for myself alone. Inhaling deeply to suppress my anger, I looked away, letting the god think I’d been rebuked.

“Did you know your grandfather was ill?” he asked.

“Yes. But he was still strong. He should not have died tonight.”

My chest ached. “You are fortunate that your people know little of such loss.”

His jaw tightened. “We know more than you think.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Enlighten me.”

“No,”

he said. “Not when your mind is set against us, your judgment clouded by prejudice, your heart shadowed with sorrow.”

I didn’t push further. I was tired, hollowed through after tonight. “Then let me go home, if you’ve stopped destroying it.”

There was no longer a reason to hide here. It was clear he could not sense the lotus; I’d already be in chains if he did.

He shook his head. “You should return with me. Every ruler of Tianxia must swear their loyalty to our queen before taking the throne. You may have the title, but only after your pledge to Her Majesty will you receive her mandate to rule.”

I recoiled, unable to help myself, but concealed it by smoothing down my bloodstained robe. “I’m not ready. This isn’t a fitting way to introduce myself to the queen.”

When I visited the Queen of the Golden Desert, it would be on my own terms. A chance to visit the realm of immortals was a rare opportunity. Grandfather’s last wish was engraved in my heart, my resolve hardening with each moment. Our people should not be bound to the skies when our lives were here. I needed to find a way to set us free, or persuade the queen to do so.

“Will you disobey Her Majesty’s command?”

“I’m only asking for time to make myself presentable, to set my affairs in order after the turmoil of tonight,”

I protested, refusing to let myself be daunted by him.

His gaze was penetrating. “Until you receive our queen’s mandate to be acknowledged as Tianxia’s lawful ruler, your position is vulnerable.”

It already was, but not for the reasons he thought. Someone had poisoned me—but if I mentioned this, he might insist that I follow him at once.

“There is another reason,”

I told him heavily. “I must bury my grandfather . . . prepare the funeral and rites he deserves. You may not understand this, but it’s important to me. My last chance to bid him farewell.”

Silence fell over us. “I understand saying goodbye, perhaps more than you know,”

he said at last, his tone unreadable. Then he added abruptly, “One month.”

More than I expected, but I’d learned to never take a first offer. As I opened my mouth to bargain for more, he raised his hand. “I won’t allow more. During this time, your palace will be placed under my protection, and you must not leave its grounds. This is for your own safety.”

As I nodded stiffly, he continued, “In four weeks, an escort will be sent to bring you to the Immortal Realm. Any absence will be considered a grave insult to our queen. If you hide, I will find you. Run, and I will catch you.”

A sliver of fear pierced me. He’d said I don’t know him, I reminded myself. Nor does he know me. I won’t bow before them; I won’t accept the fate they’ve charted for us.

“You have my word that I will be there,”

I told him.

The God of War held his hand out to me. A slender sword lay across his palm, its scabbard carved of black jade, wrapped in silver filigree.

My pulse quickened. “An immortal weapon?”

He glanced at the dagger tucked into my sash. “It will be of more use than that fruit slicer you carry.”

His disdain for my grandfather’s gift angered me. “I stabbed a Winged Devil with this.”

I tilted my head up to him, wishing he weren’t so damned tall. “Maybe you’d like to be next,”

I said lightly, though I meant each word.

“I think I might.”

His tone matched mine, then hardened once more. “You were reckless to challenge one of those creatures. Don’t you know how easily your life could be snuffed out?”

“Fortunately, I’m alive.”

I was lucky that he’d come, but I would never admit it. “Why are you giving this to me?”

I wanted the sword, yet was afraid of the unseen cost.

“It’s rare for the Winged Devils to attack here. You need to be able to defend yourself.”

He assumed that I could fight, as most of my people could. I didn’t correct him. But while I lacked training, I had always tried to learn what I could, even from watching the others.

I took the sword from him before he changed his mind.

No matter how I felt about him, I wouldn’t spurn this priceless gift.

Pride could not slay an enemy; it would not keep me alive.

As I unsheathed the weapon, a current darted through my fingers, the blade seeming to shimmer. A magnificent sword; light yet strong.

“Thank you.”

It was hard to utter these words, but I had to get used to saying things to him that I didn’t mean.

His gaze was bright as he inclined his head. “Keep it hidden,”

he cautioned me.

With a flick of his hand, the shining barrier around Chengyin and Aunt Shou dispersed.

A cloud descended from the skies and landed by his feet.

I watched as he stepped upon it, then soared into the heavens.

My hand tightened around the sword.

For a fleeting moment I imagined plunging it through the god’s chest, how easily it would slide through.

What color would he bleed? There was little satisfaction in these thoughts.

While the God of War was an enemy, he’d also saved my life—an unwanted obligation.

Yet it wouldn’t change how I felt about him or his kind.

Immortals could not be trusted. Their selfishness went deep, their rare kindnesses were calculated or accidental. They didn’t care about us; they’d never treat us as their equals. To the immortals, we were nothing but tools, tossed aside once we broke.

That was why they didn’t deserve our service, why we had to be free of them. And they’d soon learn that mortals don’t break that easily, that we are stronger than we seem.