Immortal

11

I waited a moment, gathering the courage to follow the God of War. Yet voices from behind startled me, drifting from those who hadn’t turned into the corridor yet.

“Hurry, else we’ll miss the show,”

a woman urged.

Show? My hands clenched in disgust.

“A rare event. Lord Zhangwei’s position is no longer as secure,”

a man noted in a pleased tone.

“Our esteemed God of War has grown arrogant,”

the woman added. “He doesn’t obey our queen as readily as he used to. I heard he defended a mortal against Her Majesty.”

“Maybe Lord Zhangwei will come to heel after this.”

A derisive laugh followed.

I should be glad they spoke disdainfully of him, yet a sourish sensation writhed in my stomach.

“Perhaps I should pay Lord Zhangwei a courtesy visit after his thrashing,”

the man mused.

“What can you do that the healers cannot? You just have a soft spot for our God of War,”

the woman replied snidely.

“Indeed, I would loath to see such physical perfection marred.”

He lowered his voice as he added, “I hear his old wounds are still troubling him, those from the war with the Wuxin.”

I smothered a laugh. Clearly this pair had never seen Lord Zhangwei in battle. He fought with such vigor and force, it seemed impossible he could be doing more.

They turned into the corridor, a man and woman in ornate brocade robes hurrying toward the doors. Rings glittered from their fingers, a necklace of plump jade beads around the throat of the lady. Their eyes flicked toward me, then to the red thread bracelet around my wrist—stark evidence of my mortality. Their lips curled as they strode past like I didn’t exist. How their scorn stung, but I had to swallow it. The weakest among the immortals could kill me with ease, an infuriating and frightening thought.

Alone now, I was tempted to remain in the shadows—but I wouldn’t be a coward, hiding while the God of War was dealt the punishment that should have been mine. Bracing myself, I stepped out onto a circular stone platform that was wider than the main hall of my home. A thick stone column towered from the center, carved with a majestic dragon. Its head was flung back, whiskers flaring, its bulbous eyes crafted from onyx. A long tail curled on the ground, the end tipped with spikes that glinted in the sunlight.

Clouds ringed the platform, bearing the nobles of the Golden Desert in their fine garments. Some were dark-skinned, others fair, generously curved or slender. While many were striking—with their ageless skin and clear eyes—they did not possess the God of War’s startling beauty that I’d assumed most immortals were born with.

Queen Caihong sat on a throne at the front of the platform, her gold brocade robe shimmering. Guards flanked her, their weapons drawn. As Zhangwei bowed to her, then straightened, his eyes searched the platform until they fixed on me.

Take a front seat . . . I’ll be watching you.

My breathing hitched as I walked toward him. The crowd’s gaze shifted to me, some curious, others impatient.

“Kneel to greet Her Majesty,”

someone hissed from the side.

I hesitated, then lowered myself to the queen, recalling Lord Zhangwei’s warning to guard her pride.

“Maybe the mortal should leave the platform,”

another suggested cuttingly. “There is no room here for Lord Zhangwei’s pet.”

I gritted my teeth but kept my head down. The arrogance of immortals was hard to stomach; if only I had the power to repay them in kind.

The God of War’s face seemed hewn from stone as he slanted toward the rude courtier. “Watch your tongue. By offending her, you offend me too—and I am not as tolerant.”

Brief words, curtly spoken, yet the courtier hastily stepped back. I smiled as his friends shifted away from him, as though afraid of the association.

When the Queen of the Golden Desert rose, a hush settled over the crowd. Her face was grim as she stared at the God of War. It would vex her to punish him, the leader of her army, when it should have been me. Rulers were not infallible—they could err, lose their temper, or be tricked. The pressure was immense to do what was right, not just for themselves but for their kingdom, a delicate balance that was so hard to strike.

Her court leaned forward eagerly, their eyes bright. After all, there was neither glory nor sport in punishing a mere mortal, but to bring the God of War to his knees . . . that would be a rare spectacle indeed.

“Lord Zhangwei, are you ready?”

Queen Caihong called out, her voice clear and resonant.

A chill twisted down my back, leaving me cold. If he changed his mind after what I’d said, I could not blame him.

“I am.”

The god unfastened his sword and laid it on the ground, then stretched out his arms, his hands fisted. Crimson sparks shot from Queen Caihong’s fingers, arcing toward the stone pillar. As they sank into the carved dragon’s eyes, it shuddered, rearing as though come to life. Its claws splayed, then clamped around the god’s wrists with an ominous click, binding him fast. Lord Zhangwei did not flinch. As the dragon’s eyes glowed, light crackled along its form, its spiked tail undulating. Warmth flooded the air, the dragon’s scales aglow like embers.

A thick rope of flame surged from the stone column, seething and crackling as it sprang forth—lashing the God of War in the chest. I gagged, fighting the impulse to retch as the hot scent of blood snaked around us. A jagged hole was torn in Lord Zhangwei’s robe, which now clung to him, wet with blood—the dark color hiding the stains. Was that why he’d chosen it? His head tilted back, the cords along his throat straining, yet not a sound emerged.

Even in my worst nightmares, I’d not imagined such brutality. This debt . . . how could I ever repay it? But I met his gaze, my nails cutting into my palms, in this small way trying to offer a shard of solidarity. Despite my merciless words earlier, my resentment of his kind—there was no pleasure in his torment.

The dragon stilled, the light fading from the stone. Lord Zhangwei closed his eyes briefly as his chest rose and fell. Queen Caihong’s expression was more resigned than triumphant as she raised her hand for the second strike, while I bit back a cry of protest. Once more the flames surged forth, hotter this time, sheathing the god’s body. He sucked in a harsh breath, his lips parting to reveal clenched teeth. I was trembling, my stomach queasy, but I forced myself to steady. Later, I could fall apart—but not here before these uncaring immortals. Years of shoving myself into an ill-fitting mold were now of use. It came almost naturally, like putting on a cloak, one I could not let fall. I kept my eyes on the god, no longer knowing who was tethering whom in this nightmare.

Once more, the stone creature reared upon the queen’s command, fire erupting from the pillar, coiling around Lord Zhangwei. As the flames pressed tighter, searing his flesh, I curled inward, squeezing my eyes shut. Coward, he’d mock me later. He was right; I couldn’t bear this any longer. Even if he was my enemy, my heart was not made of ice. In the sudden quiet, my eyes flicked open.

His robe was plastered to him like he’d been caught in a storm, blood trailing from the hem, leaking upon the stone floor. Yet the God of War stood unbowed, his head raised, even as he swayed. What he had borne would have killed me thrice over. How could he endure another blow? Except the crowd was still hungry, their appetite unsated. A vicious lot to revel in another’s pain—was it sweeter when drawn from one more powerful?

Despite the crisp air, sweat broke out over my skin. The god’s face was ashen, yet his lips curved in the semblance of a smile. It struck me then, he was looking at me. Tears were falling from my eyes . . . I was crying, despite my earlier claims. Not for him, I told myself wrathfully—but from remorse, from causing such anguish to anyone. At once, I lifted my chin, willing the wetness in my eyes to vanish. How weak I was. Where was the satisfaction, the sense of justice fulfilled? The immortals had threatened my grandfather and hastened his death, brought storms and floods and suffering to my people. Shame scorched me at these conflicted emotions for the God of War, and most of all—I hated that I cared.

As Queen Caihong raised her hand for the final strike, a sigh rustled from the god, shattering my mask of calm. Something stirred inside me, raw and fierce—an almost visceral response to his torment. Was it guilt? Shame? I was no longer thinking, my legs carrying me forward. I couldn’t watch any longer; it had to end.

But I was too late, the red sparks were hurtling from the queen’s hand toward the stone dragon again—toward me. Dazzling, blinding, like bloodied stars of heaven.

“Move aside!”

Lord Zhangwei shouted.

Such fear in his voice—I froze, then darted aside—but one of the lights buried into my shoulder, a scorching pain erupting like my flesh was ripped apart. As blood spilled down my arm, I stared at it numbly, shocked that so small a thing could wreak such harm.

Queen Caihong was staring in my direction, such fury in her gaze, I shied from it. But I was alive, relief flooding me. I wasn’t trying to be a hero—still unsure of what I’d intended, only that I wanted this to stop. A dizziness cloaked me as I dug in my heels to keep standing, but then my legs buckled and I collapsed to the ground.

“Release me, Your Majesty. I must see to her,”

the God of War said in a terrible voice, straining at his bonds.

“Lord Zhangwei, your punishment is not complete,”

a courtier reminded him sharply.

“Then finish it, Your Majesty,”

he snarled.

I pushed myself up slowly, glaring at him. Had he lost his mind? He was ignoring his own advice, earning another thrashing. Facing Queen Caihong, I clasped my hands and folded over in a bow, trying to ignore how my wound seared.

“Lady of Tianxia, you may leave the platform,”

Queen Caihong said brusquely. “A physician will see to you.”

“I thank Her Majesty for her consideration,”

I said in a hollow tone. “But I humbly ask for Her Majesty’s mercy, to forgo the God of War’s final strike—to accept my blood in repayment.”

I touched the wound on my shoulder then, letting the blood stain my fingers.

Silence descended. But then, someone laughed. “A girl, defending the God of War?”

“Not just a girl,”

his friend replied, “but a mortal.”

I groped for anger, but there was nothing—my body afire with agony. Lord Zhangwei was watching me, an unexpected softness in his face, his eyes so dark they might drown me.

Queen Caihong’s gaze thinned. “Why would you do this for him?”

“I have my honor to uphold too, Your Majesty.”

I was breathing heavily, my words disjointed. “Lord Zhangwei has borne more than enough for me.”

“Indeed, he has.”

Queen Caihong’s voice turned cool. “Very well, I accept your request. Lord Zhangwei, your punishment is served in full. You may leave the platform.”

The stone dragon’s claws snapped apart to release him. We stood there a moment, staring at each other, before he bent down and helped me up, the coolness of his touch as startling as his gentleness. A wetness was spreading across my chest, blood blossoming across the silk as the pain knifed deeper, like a blade buried in my flesh.

“Let me carry you,”

he said, already reaching for me.

But I shook my head, wanting to walk from here, refusing to let them see me fall. With Lord Zhangwei’s arm around my waist, I stumbled through the entrance, clinging to consciousness. As the doors closed behind us, only then did a ragged sigh slip from my throat. Lord Zhangwei’s hand caught mine. I would have pulled away had I the strength, but his touch was oddly soothing.

“Why did you do that?”

he asked quietly. “Why take the blow? Why did you speak for me?”

I should admit that I hadn’t intended to get struck . . . but the wiser part cautioned silence, to let him think this if it would bring him closer to Tianxia’s side. And so I looked into his face, uttering half a truth: “I didn’t want you to be hurt any more.”

His hand tightened over mine. “I’m not used to another stepping in for me, asking mercy on my behalf. Much less—”

“A mortal?”

I finished the sentence for him, managing a small smile, though it was becoming harder to remain standing. “Why did you take the punishment for me?”

I repeated his question to him, my self-control unraveling.

“Because I didn’t want you to be hurt either.”

My mind clouded. This moment between us . . . what was it? All I knew was that I wasn’t just pretending anymore. And whatever this was, it might be more dangerous than any punishment the queen could devise.

The God of War clasped my arms gently. How I wanted to lean on him, to draw from his strength when mine was almost spent. I should pull free, but I was tired, my legs crumpling. He caught me as I fell, his hands sliding around my shoulders, a moan breaking from me as he accidentally pressed on my torn flesh. Without a word, he swung me up, my head falling back, my hair trailing over his arm. At his touch, a tingling coursed through my veins like the tender graze of snowfall—his magic healing me before he’d even healed himself. The agony subsided, fading to a throbbing ache.

“Sleep. I’ll look after you now,”

he whispered.

A command that I readily obeyed, a mercy to succumb to the dark—devoid of pain, hurt, my warring emotions . . . and the fear that I could not hate him as I should.