Immortal

10

Since Queen Caihong’s visit, an uneasiness festered inside me. The queen was every bit as merciless as I’d expected—even to the one who was high in her favor, a pillar of her kingdom’s might. Dread sank over me at the thought of going to her palace, despite the lure of what I might find. And something else gnawed at me—the God of War’s protection. Though I hadn’t asked this of him, my guilt did not lessen. I needed to harden myself; I had to learn not to care.

I pulled on a white robe embroidered with orchids, then headed to the hall for breakfast. I’d missed dinner—my mood bleak, too tired to spar with the immortal. He was likely glad for it, maybe resenting me for forcing him into a confrontation with his monarch.

The God of War was sitting at the table, dressed formally in a black brocade robe, embroidered with a pattern of squares in gold. His hair was coiled into a topknot, the severity of the style somehow enhancing the sculpted planes of his face. As he lifted a cup to his mouth, Ningxi set the food before him: bowls of steaming soybean milk, crisp pancakes filled with sweetened bean paste, and glutinous rice dumplings wrapped in bamboo leaves—my favorite type, cooked with pork, mushrooms, and salted egg yolk.

I stilled, contemplating flight, but the god’s eyes flicked toward me. “Running away again?”

he asked, an edge to his tone. “I didn’t think you were a coward.”

“Don’t call me a coward.”

Squaring my shoulders, I stalked into the room, taking the seat across from him. “After yesterday, I thought you’d prefer not to see me.”

“I invited you to dine because I wanted to see you,”

he replied. “I don’t change my mind that easily.”

His answer surprised me. In the silence, Lord Zhangwei placed a rice dumpling onto my plate, cutting the string that bound the leaves. As his long fingers deftly unwrapped it, I imagined them curled around the hilt of a sword.

I didn’t want his courtesy; I didn’t need my resolve blunted. It was safer if my emotions remained untangled. Even though Lord Zhangwei had saved me, he was an immortal, not a friend . . . and certainly not someone I could trust. Despite the seed of obligation that had sprouted—I must yank it out, discard it before it grew into a hindrance.

I lifted the teapot and filled his cup—not to serve him, but to repay each kindness with one of my own. It might lessen my confusion to think of it as a trade; it might make me care less.

As I ate, I suppressed the urge to ask about the South Courtyard, afraid of stirring his anger, of reminding him how I’d stolen the key. A memory flashed of how I’d fallen on top of him, heat creeping over my face.

“It is too warm here?”

His tone was soft, his gaze riveted on me.

“Yes, it’s grown stifling.”

I took a sip of tea, ignoring the coolness of the morning air.

He smiled, a knowing one that chafed at me. “The Dragon Platform is set outdoors. If you don’t like the heat, you should join the spectators in the shade.”

“No.”

I looked at him then. “I will stand with you.”

Something flared in his eyes. “Why?”

“Why did you accept the punishment on my behalf?”

The question slipped out, one I shouldn’t have asked.

His fingers toyed with the rim of his cup. “Would you rather I let Her Majesty punish you? One strike upon the Dragon Platform could flay the flesh from your bones.”

“I’m not afraid,”

I lied, recoiling inside.

“You should be.”

He took a bite of a pancake, the edges crackling. The impending punishment seemed to have little effect on his appetite. “Our realm is dangerous for mortals; a slight injury could be your death. You must stay on your guard, be cautious—be afraid.”

An unexpected sentiment from the God of War, one that pried a little of me apart. “I am afraid,”

I admitted in a low voice. “I wish I wasn’t.”

“You gave no sign of it. Not yesterday, not even when we faced the Winged Devils,”

he told me. “Hide it if you must, but don’t be ashamed of it. Fear keeps you safe, it keeps you alive.”

“Are you afraid when you face an enemy? When you fight?”

“Sometimes you learn to hide something so well, it’s lost even to yourself,”

he said slowly, like he was sharing something intimate.

It was becoming harder to hold his gaze. I looked away, using my chopsticks to break the rice dumpling into chunks. “When do we leave for the palace today?”

“Soon.”

His mouth slid into a hard smile. “Such events are typically held before the afternoon meal. It whets the appetite.”

“You make it sound like entertainment.”

“Many find pleasure in watching blood spilled when it’s not their own.”

I took a bite of the rice dumpling, though my appetite had waned. “Have you been punished on the Dragon Platform before?”

“No.”

Of course not. He was the queen’s most trusted and respected warrior, now brought low because of me.

“Is it dangerous, for an immortal?” I asked.

“It depends on the severity of the strikes, the element channeled. Lightning is the harshest. After that would be Fire, Water, then Earth.”

I set my chopsticks down, my desire for food gone. “Which will be yours?”

“It depends on Her Majesty’s mood.”

Queen Caihong might want to humble her God of War, but she wouldn’t harm him—it would only hurt herself. Yet when I recalled the queen’s rage, fear gripped me again. “What if you die?”

His expression shuttered. “I don’t intend to.”

When he rose to leave, I caught his sleeve, unintentionally grazing his wrist. His skin was cold, or was mine too warm? The heat of the Divine Pearl Lotus pulsed through me constantly. I’d grown used to it; a familiar presence.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

If only my voice didn’t shake.

Anything that weakens these immortals, strengthens us. If the Golden Desert is in turmoil, maybe Tianxia can break free, a voice inside me whispered. But one thing emerged clear amid the chaos of my mind: No matter what . . . I didn’t want the God of War to die.

When his gaze fell to my hand, I dropped his sleeve as though scalded. “Are you concerned about me?”

he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

Did he expect a heartfelt confession? Tears of gratitude? Such arrogance, as was the way he seemed assured of the answer he was casting for.

“Of course,”

I replied, wide-eyed. “If anything happened to you, who would bring me home?”

I’d have said anything to wipe the pleasure from his face, but as his smile vanished, the small victory left me hollow.

“My attendants will escort you back should anything happen to me. Her Majesty will also ensure your safety.”

“It’s more likely Her Majesty will send me home in pieces,”

I said, forgetting for a moment to whom I spoke.

His brow furrowed as he said sternly, “Don’t speak this way of Her Majesty. Don’t judge her.”

“Why? Because I’m mortal?”

I asked bitingly.

“Because you know nothing.”

Such condescension sparked my fury. I wanted to strike out at him, to hurt him the only way I could.

“One thing I do know,”

I hissed, rising to my feet, “is that I’ll relish watching you get humbled today. I hope the punishment hurts. I hope it brings you to your knees.”

Wicked words, but a devil possessed me in that moment, one with a knife for a tongue and a stone for a heart.

His eyes blazed, turning into those of a dangerous predator I’d made the mistake of baiting. “It will take more than a few blows to bring me to my knees. Take a front seat and enjoy the spectacle. I’ll be watching you. If you flinch, I’ll know you for a coward and liar.”

As he stalked from the room, I found my hands clenched. Our masks had slipped. While it was better to have my path cleared, a line drawn—I couldn’t indulge my temper again. I had to earn his trust, not push him away, though he excelled at infuriating me.

I followed him reluctantly, grinding the grass beneath my feet with each step—coming to an abrupt halt in the courtyard by the entrance. The God of War was standing beside a magnificent creature, caught between a dream and a nightmare. Fiery feathers curled from a wide body, a spiked crown springing from its forehead. Curved talons dug into the earth, crumbling the immaculate lawn. And those eyes . . . I suppressed the urge to shy from those luminous orbs as the creature cocked its head at me, its beak parting as though anticipating its next meal.

“You didn’t like flying by cloud,”

Lord Zhangwei said stiffly. “I thought you’d prefer riding a phoenix to the palace. Your natures are somewhat similar.”

As the phoenix reared and swiped at me with its claws, I darted back, burying my surprise at the immortal’s consideration. “Will it eat me?”

“Not unless you antagonize it.”

Lord Zhangwei stroked its head with a sure hand.

When the phoenix lowered itself to the grass, the god climbed upon it, then extended a hand to me. I grasped it and scrambled upon the creature, pulling away the moment I could, my body tense. The phoenix’s feathers were soft, despite their needle-like barbs. As I bent to examine them, they glinted like iron.

Lord Zhangwei leaned forward to take the reins, his chest pressing against my back, hard and cool. I shifted slightly, trying to ignore the way his arms enclosed me—how safe I felt, in spite of all I knew of him. Our earlier quarrel replayed through my mind, my anger unquenched.

We flew a short distance, a sea of glittering sand stretching beneath us. Turquoise stone sloped up from the desert, forming a ridge of mountains, their peaks cresting like waves. A magnificent palace was sprawled upon the highest one, all white and silver like it was carved from ice—the Palace of Radiant Light. From a distance its beauty was all the more startling when surrounded by the untamed majesty of the desert and mountains. Delicate aquamarine bridges arched across the skies, linking the buildings like a finely spun spider web.

We landed on the outskirts of the palace. Peonies bloomed alongside jasmine and azaleas, in the shade of plum-blossom trees. The flowers here defied the seasons of my world, infusing the air with a heady fragrance, one that stirred something inside me—was it the remembrance of my gardens at home? A sense of peace stole over me; a desire to linger, if only I could forget why we were here.

“Why not land inside the palace?” I asked.

“This is an added precaution since the attempted attack. Whether we fly or ride through the skies, all must now walk through the main entrance,”

he explained.

He kept a discreet distance between us as we walked. Some silences were comfortably rounded at the corners, but the one that cloaked us was jagged and sharp.

The guards at the entrance bowed to him. “Lord Zhangwei,”

one of them said, “Her Majesty reminds you that the main wing of the palace is still under repair, and to use the pathway through the new wing.”

Was the damage to the palace caused by the attack he mentioned? Was that why I had been ordered to stay with him?

When Lord Zhangwei nodded, the other soldier cleared his throat. “Her Majesty also commanded that you attend to her on the Dragon Platform the moment you arrived. The hour is near.”

“I will go at once.”

As the god strode away, I followed him through a courtyard of pine trees, down a long corridor lit by lanterns. My mind was whirling, barely noticing my surroundings. The attendants we passed looked at us curiously, the courtiers inclining their heads to Zhangwei, some exchanging sly smiles. Were they savoring the thought of the god’s impending torment—someone they had probably envied and undoubtedly feared?

As it turned out, vipers existed in all courts.

Twin doors of dark mahogany loomed at the end of the corridor. Dragon heads sculpted from gold formed the handles, a thick ring clasped in each of their jaws.

As the god grasped one of the rings, he stilled. “Fight me in all else but trust me in this: keep your head down, and do not draw any attention to yourself. To the court, you are just a mortal from Tianxia, and many have a bloated sense of their own superiority. If you offend them or the queen, if you give them cause to fault you—whether by accident or design—Her Majesty will have no choice but to punish you.”

I nodded, not so stubborn as to ignore good sense. The Queen of the Golden Desert would also be keen for an excuse to chastise me after I’d escaped her clutches yesterday. As he looked at me, an apology hovered on my lips for causing his punishment, for my cruel words earlier. I’d lashed out at him because of my own guilt and fear. But I suppressed the impulse, afraid to open another window between us.

With a tug of the god’s hand, the doors swung open, sunlight spilling on the floor like molten amber. He strode onward without hesitation, his silhouette soon consumed by the brightness.

And then, just the silence remained, taut with dread.