Immortal

15

My body splintered with pain. Shadows blotted out my consciousness, but I fought to stay awake. The God of War did not drive the blade deeper, leaving just its tip buried in my flesh, yet the agony did not lessen. Numbly, I stared at the blood trickling from the wound, the red lights of his magic coursing from the blade into me. Something wrenched from my chest, surging free—a glittering trail of stardust, flowing toward the god. The immortals were as vicious as their magic. Somehow, they’d found a way to steal the lotus. Bound by his accursed power, I glared at the god who stared back at me with unrelenting, despicable calm. All I wanted now was to hurt him as he had me.

“Why did you do this to me?”

I’d make him spell out his treachery, to destroy any last remnant of emotion I might still feel for him.

“The lotus was the only cure to what ailed him,”

the queen answered, her eyes shifting from the God of War to me.

“Immortals never share, you only take.”

Venom laced my words, if only they could draw blood.

The color leeched from the immortal’s face like this was draining his power. I hoped he was suffering, I hoped it hurt. The force restraining me vanished abruptly, like he could no longer sustain it. My legs gave way—but Lord Zhangwei’s arm slid around me, holding me fast, yet not loosening his grip on the dagger in his other hand. I recoiled from his touch, struggling in his grasp, a sparrow in the merciless claws of a tiger.

His eyes were black as coal. “Trust me—”

“Never again,”

I swore. “They were wrong about you. Your heart isn’t made of ice—you have no heart.”

This was his true self: selfish, cruel, and ruthless.

He didn’t answer, maybe he didn’t care. “Will I die?” I asked.

“No, I won’t let you,”

he said fiercely.

“My grandfather gave me the lotus because I was poisoned. If you take it, aren’t you killing me?”

I wouldn’t let him cower behind meaningless assurances, those that veiled his villainy.

He nodded at the dagger. “I am only taking what remains, after the lotus cured you. What was healed will not be undone. You won’t retain the other traits it might have yielded, but you will live.”

“What traits?”

Maybe I could learn something that might stop this.

But the God of War did not reply, too cautious to surrender any advantage. “Why the elaborate pretense if you intended to use force anyway?”

I asked him.

“For this to work, your feelings had to be real, the magic would not work any other way—using a token of love in place of consent. Once the Divine Pearl Lotus bonds with another, its power must be freely relinquished, willingly gifted.”

“I am not willing,”

I seethed.

He looked into my face, his expression grave. “Sometimes we don’t even understand our own hearts.”

I shoved at him with my free hand, but it was like striking stone. How I burned with fury to have fallen for his wretched scheme. Regret was useless; I needed to get even. I couldn’t let him win.

“How could you be so confident of my feelings?”

Knowledge was a weapon, as Grandfather had said—the only one left to me now.

The queen sighed. “You are clever, child, but I’ve seen the finest of the mortals live and die, endured more than you know. In gratitude lies the swiftest route to trust. Guard your heart with more care next time.”

I flushed as I glared at the God of War. “I wish I’d never asked for mercy for you on the Dragon Platform; I wish you’d suffered worse.”

“He didn’t know what I intended then,”

Queen Caihong said. “It was a plan that formed after you trespassed where you shouldn’t have.”

Sounds of a scuffle erupted through the closed doors behind: muffled shouts, a frantic clash of weapons. As the queen’s gaze darted toward the entrance, she frowned.

“Is it done? Have you claimed the Divine Pearl Lotus?”

she asked the God of War.

“Not yet, Your Majesty. This is more complex than anticipated.”

His forehead creased as light blazed brighter from his fingertips, surging along the dagger—yet the glittering trail of the lotus stilled in the air like time itself had frozen.

Hope flared. Something was wrong . . . something I might turn to my advantage. “Why didn’t you ask me for the lotus?”

I said to distract the immortal.

“Would you have agreed?”

he countered. “Wholeheartedly, of your own will—without bargains or threats? You resented us, blamed us for your grandfather’s death. Even if your mind agreed, your heart was closed to me then. You’d suspect my intentions and actions, imagine everything I did was just for the lotus.”

“I would have been right.”

Yet there was truth in what he said. I’d never have let my guard down if I’d known what they wanted of me. And now . . . even as I hated him, even as his deceit was laid bare—the fact I hurt meant that I’d cared.

“We’re not so different,”

he pointed out bluntly. “You planned no less, using your words and charm to gain my support for Tianxia.”

“It is not the same,”

I retorted. “I wanted to use you, but not by hurting you. I wanted your support, while you schemed to steal my heart.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you—if only there could have been another way. But there was no time.”

He sounded unsteady, like he was struggling too.

Memories surfaced of how he’d spoken to me, all he’d done—the God of War had been courting me all this while. He’d wanted me to fall in love with him so he could take what he needed from me. Except their spell was not working, the warmth of the Divine Pearl Lotus burning unwaveringly in my chest. My heart was bruised . . . but unbroken.

They were wrong. I did not love him—not then, not now.

I could have laughed from relief. There had been attraction. Gratitude, desire, even—but not love, the all-consuming emotion that would have yielded my heart and the lotus to him irrevocably, sealing my doom and their triumph. The immortals were too impatient, too arrogant, thinking we would fall at their feet if they showed us a little attention. He’d known my intent to use him and was still confident of winning me. Maybe I’d tricked him, as I played on his emotions. Maybe I’d led him to believe my feelings were stronger than they were.

If he’d been patient, waited a little longer—I would have succumbed. And though he’d hurt me more than I’d thought possible, it wasn’t over yet. I would not be their victim; I would fight back.

His eyes narrowed, staring at the dagger between us. He sensed it; that his magic wasn’t working as planned. What if I could muddle his mind as he had mine? Stir his emotions to lower his guard? Buried beneath the lies, a spark might ignite—a chance to turn his deception against him, to escape.

“You said I made you feel warm.”

My heart was beating far too quickly as I brushed the hair from my face, my fingers closing around a hairpin that I tucked into my palm. Only now, did his eyes return to my face. “I felt your touch, saw the way you looked at me.”

I pushed onward, my cheeks flushed from such boldness. “In deceiving me, you ended up deceiving yourself, falling into the trap that you laid. You care for me too.”

He didn’t deny it, his gaze boring into mine unrelentingly. “Why does it matter, if you hate me anyway?”

I smiled with all the malice and pride I could muster. “Because then, I can hurt you.”

I rammed the hairpin into the god’s hand, the one that held his dagger. As the sharp point pierced his skin, I ground it deeper, suppressing an urge to be sick. As he flinched, I shoved at him with all my might, tearing his blade from my flesh. His dagger clattered on the floor, splattering it with my blood.

“You’re wrong about me,”

I snarled. “I’m not in love with you. I will never love you.”

His eyes widened, ink-dark and soulless. As he staggered back a step, I ripped out the other pin from my hair and thrust it at his face—but he swung aside, the tip scratching his cheek. Furious now, unthinking, I grasped wildly at his sword—sliding smoothly from its scabbard to come away in my hand. I froze, stunned by the enormity of what I’d done, the impossibility. The God of War’s sword was said to strike fear in the hearts of monsters, to leech life as easily as a sponge soaks water, a weapon that would only answer to its master. And yet, it was in my hand . . . and I was still alive.

Gasps rippled through the court, a hand pressed to Queen Caihong’s mouth. I laughed recklessly as the God of War stalked toward me, his face grim.

I pointed the sword at him, though it shook a little. “Stay away from me.”

He did not pause as he extended his hand. “Return my sword.”

As my answer, I swung it at him with both hands, though it was far heavier than the one he’d given me. The sword whistled through the air, whispering of death. A thrill coursed through me when the god halted, his eyes blazing. How enraged he must be to see his weapon in the hands of a mortal.

“Release it before you hurt yourself. My sword is dangerous for a mortal to wield,”

he warned.

More lies? “Maybe you’ve underestimated us all.”

I slashed clumsily at him, yet my palms tingled with a strange energy, emanating from his blade.

As the God of War moved toward me without warning, I thrust the sword at him again, my arms straining, unused to the weight. He dipped back, the blade slicing the air above his face.

“Guards, stop her!”

Queen Caihong’s voice rang out, sharp with urgency.

“Don’t hurt her,”

the God of War commanded.

As I pointed his weapon at them, sparks scattered from it. The soldiers leapt back, exchanging frantic looks. What magic was this? If only I could summon it again, if only I knew how. Fear clutched me as the soldiers surrounded me again—but they wouldn’t kill me yet, not until the God of War had taken what he wanted.

Behind me, the entrance doors shuddered violently. Cries rang out, a moment before the doors were flung open, crashing against the wall. Lieutenant Yang stumbled into the hall, blood spattered across his armor. He sank to his knees before the throne. “Your Majesty, the Winged Devils have breached the palace!”

Chaos erupted. Guards rushed toward the entrance, courtiers swarming for safety. The Winged Devils crowded into the chamber, some with swords, others using their claws to flay the soldiers. The yellowish gems on their foreheads gleamed with malevolent light, their skin glossy with a waxy sheen. I froze at the sight of them before my instincts kicked in, forcing myself to move—to follow the attendants who were streaming through a small doorway at the back covered by a thick curtain.

“Liyen!”

The God of War roared my name with such urgency—I stilled, glancing behind. Our eyes met, the heat of his gaze scorching me. But then a spear hurtled toward him—my fingers instinctively tightening around the sword. He evaded the attack deftly, then spun to knock away a blade swung at his head. Three Winged Devils closed around him, the god’s face dark with frustration. As one of his soldiers tossed him a sword, I pulled aside the curtain and raced down the narrow corridor, suppressing the twinge in my chest. A last glimpse of the Shield of Rivers and Mountains left on the table filled me with regret, but I had to save myself first.

Hurrying down the corridor, I pushed my way through the crowd of immortals. None glanced my way, all as eager as me to save themselves. Only the God of War and Queen Caihong would be stalking me now, the thought spurring me onward.

My robe was damp with sweat as I ran through a narrow passageway, trying to recall the pathways that led outside. An entrance loomed, one that I recognized, leading to the back of the palace. The glimpse of sky beyond sent a jolt of relief through me, though I hadn’t the faintest idea how to get back to Tianxia.

One step at a time.

As I dashed across the garden, a rushing sound snared my attention. A Winged Devil was chasing me, gliding forward with startling speed. Terror clawed me as I plunged into a thick grove of bamboo—just as something hissed through the air. I ducked instinctively, evading a streak of grayish mist. More followed with an eerie rush, but I swerved abruptly to evade them.

I was shaking, clinging to the God of War’s sword though it weighed me down. Temptation struck to fling it away, but it was the only thing that might help me. Monsters bleed as mortals do, I reminded myself. They were stronger, but not invulnerable. And this time, I had a sword.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself onward. As another bolt of magic hurtled toward me, I swung at it with the sword. The bolt shattered abruptly, a strange tingling crawling over my hand. The sword glowed in my hand yet seemed diminished—unlike when the God of War had drawn it. A deep exhaustion was spreading over me, one that sank into my core.

The sun hung low, a crimson disc crowning the heavens. The bamboo grew sparser, barely concealing my presence. I ran through a grassy field, an easy target for the monster chasing me. Ahead, the garden seemed to end, merging into the sky. My heart plunged. Was there nothing beyond? A shadow fell over me, a swish rippling through the air. The creature was closing in; there was nowhere left to run. Tightening my grip on the sword, I spun around—my feet stumbling to a halt.

An enormous creature swooped down before me, magnificent and terrifying. The qilin who’d chased the God of War and me, its antlers shining, its scales gleaming copper. As its great jaws parted, its head lowering toward me—I flinched, suppressing a cry. Yet it nudged my shoulders, brushing its forehead against mine, its mane surprisingly soft. Such affection emanated from the qilin, I went limp with relief . . . from the unexpected calm that spread over me after the anguish of today.

A furious cry rang out, shattering the brief tranquility. The Winged Devil had almost reached us. I raised the God of War’s sword as I pushed the qilin aside—but it lunged in front of me. Was it protecting me? Without hesitation, the qilin hurled itself against the creature, thrusting its antlers into its chest. The Winged Devil screamed, blood streaming from its wounds. It turned on its heel and darted away, likely to find reinforcements. The qilin flew back to me, then lowered itself on the ground, its head tilted in an unspoken invitation. My pulse raced as I climbed upon its back, wrapping an arm around its neck. I didn’t know what I was doing, except this felt right.

The qilin let out a huge sigh as it bounded into the air, its wings spread wide as it bore me away. It was so fast, faster even than the phoenix—the breath struck from my lungs. I should be afraid of the creature, of falling—but I felt safe for some reason, even as the bitter taste of treachery was still raw in my mouth.

“Home. To Tianxia,”

I whispered as I stroked the qilin’s head.

It nodded like it understood, flying lower at once. Tears of relief fell from my eyes as my mind slipped briefly to Zhangwei. Was he still battling the Winged Devils? Could he protect himself without his sword? I mocked myself for this remnant of stupidity. If he was hurt, I shouldn’t waste any pity on him.

Together, the qilin and I soared through the skies. Clouds flew against my face, billowing soft and gray. The silence was welcome, this brief peace to unravel my thoughts and the tangle of my emotions. My chest ached with a different type of loss—of betrayal, that hurt no less. I rebuked myself for mourning something false and unworthy . . . but our minds are often wiser than our hearts. Anger seared me that I’d been such a fool, my spirits sunken that I’d failed in what I sought.

I was lucky to have escaped, though I was far from safe—it was not over yet. The God of War knew I possessed the Divine Pearl Lotus and his sword. He would come for me; he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

But this time, I would be ready for him.