Immortal

14

The day of the pledging ceremony dawned pale and gray. Rain fell in an incessant sheet, so light it appeared a weaving of mist.

“Does it rain often here?”

I asked Weina, who was pinning up my hair with sticks of jade.

When she was satisfied, she slid a comb into the coils, the one Zhangwei had given me. “Only if Her Majesty wishes it.”

The queen’s mood must be grim indeed if the skies were any reflection, and I hoped my kingdom would remain unscathed. My hands were cold as I clasped them together. Today, I must set myself against Queen Caihong, to defy her command by withholding my pledge—a terrifying thought. But if I did not, nothing would ever change.

My people could not afford the endless patience of immortals; we didn’t have the time.

Weina picked up a robe and shook it out. As the silk billowed, the fragrance of sandalwood suffused the air. The cloth was the hue of dawn, with shades of rose and vermilion melding into each other, tiny gold stars embroidered on the skirt. When Weina draped it over my shoulders, the hem fell to my ankles. I was no stranger to extravagance, but these garments possessed an ethereal beauty that could not be achieved by mortal hands.

“The dress suits you,”

she told me.

“Her Majesty is generous,”

I intoned, then added with more sincerity, “Thank you for your care of me.”

“It’s my duty,”

she replied.

I thought of the scorn the other immortals had shown me. “Kindness is never a duty.”

Weina smiled as she picked up a lacquered box and flicked its clasp open. Strands of pearls twined among rubies and sapphires, jade bangles as translucent as ice, diamond rings that glittered like wintry rainbows. Just one of these might have fed a family in Tianxia for a decade, but here they were strewn as carelessly as pebbles.

“Are these jewels mined from your realm?”

She nodded. “There are mountains of jade in the Phoenix Kingdom, the Eastern Sea cultivates coral and pearls in their gardens. Gold and silver are gathered from riverbeds that never run dry. While such treasures are rare in your world, here they are cherished simply for their beauty.”

With their abundance of wealth and power, the immortals did not need us. My resolve hardened as I glanced at my sword, wishing I could bring it. But only the God of War was allowed to bear a weapon to meet the queen.

I picked up a pair of tourmaline pins, their pointed ends glinting as I slid them into my hair. Weina frowned; I’d marred her immaculate work, but this could be a useful tool if all else failed. Outside the room, Zhangwei was leaning against the wall. A black brocade coat was layered over his robe of silver and white. His long hair was pulled into a jade headpiece, his sword strapped to his side. As his gaze swept across my dress to my face, lingering on his comb—a fierce light shone in his eyes.

The space between us seemed to tighten. A flutter stirred in my chest, so different from just days ago, when he’d evoked dread. His words from yesterday echoed through my mind, his promise of support more valuable than any treasure here. My lingering resentment and hostility had faded, along with my suspicion—any attempt to cling to them now felt hollow. There was a new closeness between us, an awakening trust. These feelings were unfamiliar: warm and bright. I didn’t understand them myself . . . except they made me feel alive. Maybe the best things in life had no reason and we should just cherish them as the gift they were.

But the dangerous thing was, I was beginning to want more—to reach for him without guilt, to touch him as I desired, listening out for the sound of his voice, the tread of his step. Was this love? I cast the question aside, suddenly afraid. To win the God of War’s support was wise—to fall in love with him would ruin me.

As he came toward me, I smiled at him. “Doesn’t the God of War have more pressing matters to attend to than to serve as a mortal’s escort?”

It was what I’d said to him the day he took me from Tianxia.

“No,”

he said, coming to my side. “I want to escort you.”

Was it because I was leaving soon? I couldn’t dwell on it, not with everything at stake. We walked in silence toward the throne room, yet I was acutely aware of his presence, his every move, the way his eyes darted around to assess each room for danger, and how they returned to me each time.

We crossed a bridge, aglitter in the morning light. From here, the Dragon Platform gleamed below—deserted—the crowd gathered in the throne room instead. Today, I was the planned “spectacle,”

and they would be getting a performance they did not expect. I stiffened at the thought but made myself keep pace with Zhangwei.

Soldiers flanked the doors that led to Queen Caihong’s hall. The closer we drew, the heavier I felt, each step leaden and graceless.

“Don’t be nervous,”

Zhangwei said.

“I am,”

I confessed. “I don’t want to anger Her Majesty, but I can’t keep silent—I have to try. Nothing will be the same after this.”

“Change is always frightening.”

He turned to look into my eyes. “But trust in what is real. Trust in me.”

He took my hand, pressing it against his chest. Through his robe, his heart thudded against my palm—my skin, for once, as cold as his. The soldiers were all staring at us, some openmouthed, but he ignored them. He did what he wanted, regardless of what others thought. I envied such assurance, recalling the mask I wore in my own court—but he had earned this respect, while I was still unproven.

Someone cleared their throat. As I pulled my hand away, a soldier stepped from the line, his brown eyes crinkling as he grinned. “Lord Zhangwei, you are setting the gossips afire today.”

Zhangwei returned his smile. “Let them talk, Lieutenant Yang. There is nothing to hide.”

“Are you Lord Zhangwei, or has a Wuxin taken over your form?”

the lieutenant jested with more bravery than wisdom. Was this soldier his friend?

Zhangwei brushed the hilt of his sword. “Care to test me on the sparring field?”

Lieutenant Yang shuddered as he turned to me, greeting me with a bow—an unexpected courtesy from an immortal. “Lady of Tianxia, I’m pleased to meet you. I remember your grandfather when he visited our palace, and I was sorry to learn of his passing.”

His compassion touched me. “Grandfather spoke highly of his visit to your realm. I’m sure he would have remembered you too.”

Lieutenant Yang inclined his head, then tapped Zhangwei on the shoulder. “Her Majesty grows impatient. She’s already dispatched messengers to find you.”

“I trust you devised a suitable excuse on my behalf?”

“Lord Zhangwei, I dared not speak on your behalf, nor did I wish to anger Her Majesty out of self-preservation.”

Lieutenant Yang winked as he whispered, “Reap what you sow.”

At Zhangwei’s scowl, I laughed—a welcome release to my coiled tension. But it returned in force as we entered the throne room, the doors closing after us with a decisive thud. A single lantern the size of a drum hung from the ceiling, crafted of rosewood, the silk panels painted with clouds and stars. The hall was flanked with turquoise pillars, set into the gleaming marble floor. A thick yellow carpet was thrown over it, shining as the sands of the desert.

At the far end, Queen Caihong sat on a luminous throne, carved from a single block of polished quartz. Her brocade robe gleamed like beaten gold, a thick strand of pearls clasped around her throat. On a table beside her lay a small bottle and a gleaming shield. It was exquisitely crafted: one half inlaid with sapphires that formed a river, the other a mountain set with amethyst and pearls—the Shield of Rivers and Mountains, the key to Tianxia’s freedom. Was it part of the ceremony today? My heart raced, my fingers digging into my skirt. It was so close . . . if only I could take it.

I leashed my excitement as I bowed to the queen in greeting. She gestured to Zhangwei who ascended the dais. As they spoke in hushed tones, I waited below, wishing I could hear what they were saying.

The immortals were staring at me like I was a wild animal stumbling among them. I would have staked the gold in my treasury that not one knew my name—to them I was just “the mortal.”

A hollow feeling, to be among strangers, many of whom felt I was their inferior. Kindness would have been so easy to extend—a smile or greeting, as from Lieutenant Yang. In times like these, those who possessed true grace were shown from those who didn’t know its meaning. But I stood straighter, holding my head high.

When Zhangwei returned to my side, Queen Caihong faced me with a stern expression. “Lady of Tianxia, are you ready to pledge your fealty to me?”

Now the moment was upon me, I found myself tongue-tied, dread knotting in my gut. But I thought of my grandfather, his years of loyal service to the immortal queen—and how he’d been repaid. Anger flared, igniting in me the courage to speak. “Your Majesty, I am honored to stand before you. I have a proposal that I hope you will consider for Tianxia.”

My words were not eloquent, but they emerged with unexpected calm.

Queen Caihong’s eyes narrowed, the courtiers whispering among themselves. Zhangwei’s face was unreadable, though I held his promise in my heart.

“A proposal?”

The queen drew out the word like an insult, the embroidered phoenixes on her robe tilting their heads mockingly.

My pulse was erratic, my breathing shallow. A negotiation need not be defiance, except this was only true for those the queen believed her equals, not those whose service she expected as her due.

“Your Majesty, Tianxia was pledged to your service after the war. The wall was erected to keep us apart—”

“I do not require a history lesson,”

the queen snapped.

Her condescension riled; it helped me hold my ground, when the coward in me wanted to retreat. To her, these events seemed like a few years ago, but to us, several lifetimes had passed.

“The Wuxin are no longer a threat,”

I said. “In accordance with the treaty, we ask Your Majesty to begin the proceedings for the return of the Shield of Rivers and Mountains, for the walls of our kingdom to be brought down, to allow us to rejoin the rest of the Mortal Realm.”

As Queen Caihong’s eyes blazed, I rushed onward, “We will always honor Your Majesty, and will remain your loyal allies in our realm.”

A slight emphasis on the word, but a world of difference—to be treated as equals, with the respect we deserved.

“Impossible,”

she said harshly. “Tianxia is needed to guard Kunlun. The Wuxin can never be allowed to invade again.”

“Your Majesty, our soldiers will continue to guard Kunlun—”

A courtier scowled as he stalked forward. “It is a great privilege to serve Her Majesty. Your kingdom is honored above the rest of the Mortal Realm.”

Maybe it would be, if Queen Caihong had earned our service rather than claimed it as a trophy, left to tarnish untended. Such close-minded arrogance to believe otherwise. How did some immortals live for so long yet possess so little wisdom or empathy? Maybe their time was squandered because it held no value to them, while us mortals chased each day as though it might be our last. Immortality was their legacy, while we had to fight to leave our mark or be forgotten.

“Your Majesty, the Lady of Tianxia’s concern is valid.”

It was Zhangwei who spoke. The court shifted, all attention on him. “The initial treaty was spurred by the urgency of war—the Shield of Rivers and Mountains should have been returned once the Wuxin were exiled to the Netherworld. The mortals have done their part, more than fulfilled any obligation to us. Moreover, our kingdom is stronger now, secure in alliances. Tianxia should be allowed to rejoin the Mortal Realm, whether the threat resurges or not, and we can explore a different agreement to both our benefit.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed. He’d kept his word; he’d spoken for us, despite the queen’s disapproval. Relief filled me, and something more . . . something fine and fragile. The manner of the courtiers was markedly different now—their expressions attentive, a few even nodding. Yet Queen Caihong’s mouth remained pursed like a dried plum.

“Lord Zhangwei, we’ve all heard the rumors of your closeness with the Lady of Tianxia. Are you speaking with your mind or your heart?”

she asked scathingly. “Keep them separate in my court.”

“Your Majesty, I would never compromise my loyalty to my kingdom, nor will I be afraid to speak for what is right,”

he replied gravely. “The people of Tianxia should be released from their obligation. They should be allowed the same freedom as the others of their realm, to go where they wish—not confined within walls because of us.”

“We will speak later, Lord Zhangwei,”

Queen Caihong said tightly, then turned to me. “I ask you once more: Will you pledge your loyalty?”

The flash in her eyes fractured my calm. But I’d come this far; I wouldn’t back down now. “Your Majesty, a pledge of loyalty should be offered, not claimed.”

The queen clasped the armrests of her throne. “Only the weak imagine it so. Favors and alliances can be rescinded upon a whim, whereas a pledge is binding.”

“Something forced will never be as strong as that which was earned,”

I countered.

“Yet you are the Lady of Tianxia, your subjects do your bidding by virtue of your title,”

the queen said cuttingly. “You did not earn the throne but were born to it.”

Her words stung. “I serve my kingdom, I seek my people’s happiness. Every day, I think of them—of how to make their lives better.”

Her laughter was derisive. “Idealistic child. You should rule your kingdom, not let it rule you.”

I shook my head, rejecting her advice. “I don’t believe we are entitled to our positions, but should strive to be worthy of them.”

The queen’s cheeks hollowed with rage. “Enough with this. I refuse your proposal. Tianxia has not fulfilled its obligation to us.”

“What more can we do? Tell us, Your Majesty—set out a plan. My grandfather served you loyally all these years, obeying your every demand—”

“All but the most important one.”

Her voice rang out, a jittery unease settling in the pit of my stomach. The scar over my chest throbbed, the warmth of the Divine Pearl Lotus pulsing through me. Dare I mention it? Would it enrage the queen further? Could I even relinquish it without harming myself? I didn’t want to, but it was the only thing I had left to offer . . . unless I could somehow secure the shield.

“Your Majesty, I urge you to reconsider the Lady of Tianxia’s proposal.”

Zhangwei’s harsh tone was one I never thought he’d use with his queen.

A long silence fell over us, of the rough and prickling kind. “Very well, Lord Zhangwei, I will consider it, after today,”

the queen said at last in a glacial tone. “Enough with the delays. You know what must be done, though I dislike this as much as you.”

What did she mean? Her consideration was a victory in itself, yet my body braced instinctively. Zhangwei’s eyes were cold, his jaw clenched. When he looked at me . . . he was the God of War once more. A stranger.

As I backed away, he caught my arm. I tried to wrench free, but his hold was like iron. He’d never gripped me with such force—my fear spiraling, unbound. “What are you doing? Release me.”

He didn’t reply, instead raising his other hand. Light flared from his fingers, sheathing me in a wintry embrace. I’d seen him attack others—but fool that I was, I hadn’t thought he’d unleash his magic on me. A sharpness pierced my chest like needles, a gasp torn from my throat. My scar glowed, visible now beneath the silk of my robe. I could not move, his magic holding me captive, as helpless as a butterfly pinned by its wings.

“Why?”

A haze descended as I tried to cage my rising terror, blinking away the evidence of my hurt.

“Because the Divine Pearl Lotus is inside you.”

The queen rose, stalking toward me. “Your grandfather gave it to you—the lying traitor.”

I should have been afraid, tried to deny it, yet the proof shone like a beacon over my heart. And the way she spoke of Grandfather wrenched me; it made me mad.

“Don’t call him that,”

I snarled. “He was good, loyal and kind. He only did this to save me.”

“Why did he not confess?”

Zhangwei demanded.

Except he wasn’t “Zhangwei”

to me anymore—but the God of War, the queen’s devoted general, a hateful, cold and deceitful immortal. I was stupid to believe he could have been anything else.

“Because he knew he would find no mercy.”

I stared at the queen’s pitiless face, shoving down a burst of despair. The warmth of the lotus wavered, terror flooding me. Were they trying to steal it?

“The lotus cannot be seized by force,”

I told them fiercely. “It must be—”

“Gifted of a willing heart.”

The Queen of the Golden Desert finished my sentence, her gaze sliding to the god who held me captive.

She knew—they knew. Nothing had been a coincidence; they had plotted everything that led me here.

I was shaking all over, my chest squeezed till I could hardly breathe. “You knew I had the Divine Pearl Lotus all along . . . you pretended to be ignorant. Why?”

The God of War did not reply. Was it remorse that shone in his eyes, or triumph? Did it matter? How did I ever imagine he cared for me? He’d never seen me as an equal, just a tool to be used, a fool to be tricked. Such bitterness crawled up my throat. I was tired of fighting, of scheming, hoping against the odds. But I would never forget what my life had cost my grandfather, and I would not waste it.

“It was all a lie,”

I said slowly, my mind scrambling for a way to delay him. “The time we spent together, your interest in me, your protection from the Dragon Platform—everything was false.”

My voice rose, thick with rage. I almost shouted the last.

He looked away like he was unable to hold my gaze. There was no satisfaction in being right—only pain.

“Lord Zhangwei, complete the ritual,”

the queen commanded.

Ever obedient, the God of War opened his hand. In his palm lay the strands of my hair, those he’d claimed yesterday. “A token of the heart, given of your free will.”

An icy fear engulfed me now. “Your magic is vile, as are all of you,”

I raged, struggling against my bonds. Anger was the only tool left to me—futile against my captors, yet vital to preserve a sliver of hope. “You can’t take the lotus from me.”

Yet nothing seemed impossible for the immortals.

Zhangwei wrapped my hair around the hilt of a dagger. The black strands fragmented, pooling into an inky sheen that coated the blade. He’d trapped me well, the heartless villain. The Wuxin weren’t the worst monsters in the realm. Memories flooded me of how he’d watched over and healed me, of his consideration and care, playing on my emotions with the same skill he used to pluck his qin—

Lies. All lies.

“Now, Lord Zhangwei.”

The queen’s voice rang with sudden resonance. “Claim what you need.”

The Divine Pearl Lotus was for him, not the queen? The rumors of his injury flashed through my mind, the startling coldness of his skin, his own admission.

Some days I still feel its shadow.

“The Wuxin attack—you never recovered from it,”

I said slowly. “All these years, you’ve been suffering, hiding your condition. Seeking the one thing that can save you.”

With you, I am warm.

When he’d said this, I thought it meant something more, the glimpse of a declaration—but it was the stark truth. He didn’t want me, but the power of the Divine Pearl Lotus. And he would stop at nothing to claim it.

“I’m sorry,”

he said hoarsely. “I must do this.”

His remorse meant nothing. It was worse that he understood the anguish he’d inflicted on me and still chose betrayal. I would never forgive him. Rage and shame swept over me along with a bitter, clawing hate . . . the hate I should have felt for him all along; it would have kept me safe.

The God of War’s gaze shuttered like he was blocking something out, his viselike grip locking tighter around me. There was no mercy in him, just the unyielding force of his might. His eyes blazed until they appeared all white, as clear as the ice in his heart.

Then he raised the dagger and thrust it into my chest.