Immortal

6

The cloud set us down by tall ebony doors, inlaid with an intricate mosaic of mother-of-pearl. Gold-flecked lapis tiles lined the rooftops, with sculpted dragons and phoenixes rearing up from the ridges. The pathway was flanked by pear-blossom trees, their branches laden with tiny white flowers. An ebony plaque hung above the entrance, engraved with the characters: “Silver Willow Manor.”

I didn’t want to admire the God of War’s home; I wanted to despise it as much as I did him. But against my will, I was entranced, unable to look away from the ethereal vision. Immortals were rumored to carve jade from stone, weave silk from rain, pluck flowers from the clouds—and only now did I believe it. Yet this magnificent place was a jolting reminder of how shallow the god was beneath his harsh exterior. How could one who thrived on destruction live in such gloating, ostentatious splendor? It was clear the god didn’t care what became of his victims and the families he tore apart. How easily he must set them from his mind once he returned to his shining abode, where he evidently indulged his every whim.

“Does my home displease you?”

I swept the frown from my face. “It’s not as splendid as I thought a god’s home might be,”

I lied, to annoy him. “The stone is a little dull, the wood too dark, the carvings lacking in originality.”

“The Lady of Tianxia has discerning taste.”

His tone was glacial. “Perhaps you might invite me to visit your home, to show me what impresses you.”

“Of course.”

I was fenced into a corner of my own making, provoked into a reckless invitation. My home might be a shadow of his, but I loved it regardless—each worn tile and faded painting. “When we return to my kingdom, you must be my guest.”

“I look forward to it.”

“But only if you have the time,” I hedged.

“I will make the time.”

His lips curved into a smile that I returned in force. This was courting danger but I wouldn’t back down, a current sparked in my veins.

“What would you change about my home?” he asked.

I didn’t answer right away, caught unaware by the question. “It’s beautiful,”

I admitted grudgingly. “Yet if beauty is so common, what is rare?”

“There is beauty everywhere if one looks hard enough.”

His gaze was piercing, almost unnerving. I looked away, studying the guards in black-and-gold armor, attired differently from the queen’s soldiers. They bowed as we approached, opening the doors that led into a wide courtyard. Camphor trees flanked the pathway, red silk lanterns hanging from their gnarled branches. A thick hedge of jasmine ran along the walls, the sweetness of its fragrance reminding me of home. The God of War strode toward a large hall flanked by teak pillars. Large porcelain jars filled with water lined the stairs, lotuses blooming upon the surface. As we entered, two immortals hurried toward us, clasping their hands as they bowed formally to the god.

“Rise,”

he told them. “There’s no need for such ceremony.”

“But we have a guest,”

the taller one said by way of explanation.

As they straightened, their wide eyes remained on me. Their fair skin was the delicate shade of magnolias, their black hair held up with tortoiseshell sticks. They were beautiful, their movements graceful. Were they his wives? Concubines? The God of War was believed to be unattached, though the lavishness of this place made it clear he indulged his desires. I found myself wondering where his preferences lay: did he treasure beauty more, or intelligence or temperament? Almost at once, I cast the thought aside, a needless distraction.

“Lord Zhangwei, your bath has been prepared. Would you like to eat here or in your room?”

the tall one asked.

“My room,”

he replied. “The mortal may—”

“My name is Liyen,”

I said pointedly. “Not ‘the mortal.’”

“Liyen.”

He uttered it softly, drawing out each syllable. I flushed, realizing I’d inadvertently given him leave to call me by name.

“You may call me Zhangwei,”

he told me.

“Lord Zhangwei,”

I said carefully, preferring the formality of his title. It made him feel more distant, less real—easier to scheme against. As he frowned, I turned to the others. “May I know how to address you?”

“I am Ningxi, the head attendant here,”

the taller one said, then gestured to the other. “Weina will attend to your needs while you are here.”

“Lord Zhangwei, the real question is who is she?”

Weina asked, her cheeks dimpling. “You’ve never brought anyone—”

As Ningxi nudged her sharply, Weina closed her mouth. I wanted to ask what she meant—surely the God of War must have countless visitors, those eager for his favor, the relationships he needed to cultivate to safeguard his position. One could not exist alone at court. There were rivals or allies, and those without either were of no importance or would be soon forgotten.

“Her Majesty commanded that the Lady of Tianxia is our guest, for now. Inform the household, and prepare a room for her in the West Courtyard. She is to be provided with anything she needs.”

“What of her meals, Lord Zhangwei? Will she have them in the dining hall?”

Ningxi asked.

“Have them sent to her room.”

Ningxi nodded at several attendants who rushed away to do his bidding. I called after him, “What if I want to eat here?”

He might be used to ordering his attendants around, but I wouldn’t let him dictate to me.

“Eat wherever you wish,”

he replied without turning.

“Does that mean I can go wherever I want?”

My calm tone concealed my eagerness. If so, I’d be free to search for the shield, for anything that might be of use to my kingdom.

He halted, his back still to me. “The South Courtyard is forbidden.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

His hand strayed to his waistband, brushing a red jade ornament that was carved with a flower—or possibly, a star.

As he strode away, I stared daggers after him before realizing the attendants were studying me in turn.

Weina cleared her throat. “My lady, did our queen really invite you on Lord Zhangwei’s behalf, or are you his bed—?”

“Weina!”

Ningxi admonished in a shrill tone.

“No!”

I snarled at the same time.

Weina drew herself up. “You would be the most fortunate of mortals should Lord Zhangwei deign to honor you so,”

she said with a sniff. “There’s no need to be small-minded when some of the other nobles have an entire courtyard of concubines.”

“Enough, Weina,”

Ningxi rebuked her again. “Bring the Lady of Tianxia to her chamber and hold your tongue. She doesn’t want to hear your chatter.”

Oh, I did want to hear it—my anger at the dubious “honor,”

drowned by curiosity But I had to be patient. We headed down the corridor in the opposite direction from where the god had left. Was he in the East Courtyard? Had he placed me as far from him as possible? An insult and a relief.

The evening sky was swathed in rich violet, speckled with starlight. With each step we took, oblong lanterns upon wooden pedestals flickered to life, illuminating the pathway. As we passed a fountain, shining rivulets of water arced from a stone crane. A large building in the distance caught my eye, set back from the pathway, encircled by bamboo.

“That is the library,”

Weina told me helpfully. “You may visit whenever you wish.”

“Why is the South Courtyard forbidden? What’s in there?”

I tried to keep my tone light. “A monster?”

Like the one that dwells in the East Courtyard?

“I don’t know. Only Lord Zhangwei is allowed to enter,”

Weina said. “It’s been this way since I entered his service.”

Something of great worth must be kept within—why else the secrecy? “Aren’t you curious?”

I probed. She seemed more inclined to gossip than Ningxi.

Weina shook her head. “A little curiosity makes life more interesting, but too much could get you killed. I value my life too much to disobey His Lordship. As should you, Mortal,”

Weina told me somberly.

The way she said the last irked, but I recalled Aunt Shou’s warning. I searched for another question, something to dispel her suspicion. “How did you come to serve Lord Zhangwei?”

“It’s a great honor,”

she said with pride. “Lord Zhangwei is the greatest warrior in the kingdom, despite his youth.”

“Is Lord Zhangwei considered young?”

It seemed impossible to tell as the immortals appeared ageless.

“Yes, for our people, though we don’t count the years as you mortals do. It ceases to matter once we reach adulthood.”

“How fortunate that Lord Zhangwei is so accomplished at his age.”

I wanted to draw her out, to learn more about him. While I hated him for the destruction to my home, for terrifying Grandfather—for now, my safety lay in his hands.

“He may be young, but no less wise and respected than those centuries older. Our queen holds him in the highest regard, valuing his opinion above all others.”

Weina quickened her pace until she was ahead of me, a useful way of evading the rest of my questions. She stopped by a circular red door that she pushed open. “This is your courtyard.”

A grove of mandarin trees was clustered at the far side, the fruit hanging like luminous globes. More jasmine bloomed in a thick row along the wall, its sweetness melding with that of the mandarins. The lanterns here were set upon carved rosewood stands, their glow infusing the night with warmth.

I followed Weina into a large room furnished in green, white, and gold. A bed lay at the end of the room, its curtains tied back with braided cord, the sheets gleaming invitingly. Exquisite paintings of mountains and forests were mounted on stiff brocade and hung on the walls, thick carpets covering the wooden floor.

“You may choose where you wish to eat tomorrow.”

She gestured toward the round wooden table, already set with food: Glazed pork ribs, crisp fried fish, braised vegetables, and rice. There was a jug of wine, a reddish-gold liquid poured into a porcelain cup. I lifted it and inhaled its aroma of osmanthus, cloves, and an undefinable spice.

She smiled. “If you can’t sleep, I suggest the wine. Some dreams turn so pleasant, you might never want to awaken.”

I resisted the urge to tip the jug onto the floor. Was this how they dealt with unwanted guests, letting them slumber away once their welcome was worn out?

She opened the closet and gestured to the garments folded within. The material shone brighter than the finest silk, the weave so delicate it was almost seamless. “All these are for your use. Anything else you require can be provided.”

At the end of the room, a four-paneled screen was laid out, carved with the flowers of the seasons. A bronze bath lay behind the screen, already filled with water, steam thickening the air. Rose petals were scattered across the surface, floating amid the perfumed oils.

“Thank you. I am grateful for your hospitality,”

I told her, already eager to sink into the water.

She inclined her head. “You are Lord Zhangwei’s guest.”

Without another word, she left the room. I waited until her steps had faded before closing the door. For want of a lock, I dragged a side table across the entrance and set a porcelain vase upon it, where the slightest jostle would cause it to crash. None of this would yield any protection in a household of immortals, but it offered the illusion of safety.

Alone, I sank onto a stool, my heart racing. It didn’t feel real that I was here. It was wondrous, as my grandfather had said, but I understood now what he meant—for despite the extravagant beauty here, I still longed for home.

Shaking my head, I pulled myself up. The Queen of the Golden Desert might summon me tomorrow, and I could find myself home by nightfall. I wouldn’t waste my precious time among the immortals. I had to find a way for us to be free of them, and it would start here. Guilt pricked me at my plans to violate the god’s hospitality, but I extinguished it. No matter the glimpses of consideration the God of War had shown, they didn’t change who he was—and how Grandfather had died trying to protect us from the immortals’ wrath. Bitterness surged as I unsheathed the sword that Lord Zhangwei gave me, angling the blade to catch the light. I’d almost been afraid he’d ask for its return. Maybe to him it was a common weapon, maybe he believed I was no threat to him, yet this meant I was no longer helpless here, for only an immortal weapon could hurt a god.