Immortal

20

After the last course was served, Chengyin and I left the hall, walking in silence to my courtyard.

The moment the door closed behind us, he turned to me. “Cancel our ‘betrothal.’”

“Why?”

He shuddered. “Didn’t you see the way the God of War glared at me throughout our meal? Nothing is worth the end he’s planning for me for having a claim on you—even an imaginary one.”

“Don’t be a coward.”

His insinuation rankled. Even now, the immortal might be leading the musician to his room. The thought seared like a hot coal in the pit of my stomach.

“Oh, but I am a coward.”

Chengyin grinned. “Very much so, and I’m proud of it. It’s kept me in good health all these years.”

I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in a long while—taking in his large brown eyes, wide mouth, high forehead, the mark on his temple. He was no longer the scrawny boy I’d squabbled and brawled with. For those closest to us, we no longer saw them clearly, relying instead on familiarity to fill the gaps. Chengyin was handsome, though I didn’t desire him—nor did he want me that way. But he was my best friend, someone I trusted, someone I could be myself with. I had no illusions of love. The one I married would be wedding the throne, and the most I could hope for was an ally who had no desire to supplant me . . . and that children would follow to secure the line of succession. Could I ask for more in a life partner?

So much more. My traitorous mind conjured unwanted flashes of memories: the frantic beat of my heart, the ache of desire, the heat pulsing through my blood that I fought to smother. Dangerous for anyone—more so with a kingdom at stake. I needed someone who would support my reign, not destroy everything I’d fought for.

“Would you marry me? For real?”

I asked Chengyin, ignoring the way my chest constricted.

His burst of laughter died when he looked at me. He reached out and took my hand, his gaze thoughtful. Maybe he sensed my hurt and was being kind, even as he shook his head. “I’m not the one for you, as you’re not for me. I want more, Liyen. I want love.”

Relief swelled at his rejection. I’d asked as the Lady of Tianxia, not for myself. “You don’t love me?”

I asked lightly.

“Not that way,”

he replied. “I love my friend. You are my family, but I don’t love you as a husband should.”

I didn’t love him that way either. Yet my mind still argued that this was an ideal solution, ignoring the protest of my heart. “I would like to be married to my friend. Love can be . . . complicated.”

Fickle. Vicious. Treacherous.

“Then it’s worth having because it means something, because it makes you feel.”

“We like each other well enough.”

I was being selfish, convinced this was the answer. A quick resolution, a cowardly one. Once I was safely married, maybe the hollow in my chest would vanish, along with the fevered dreams of a false future.

“‘Like’ and ‘love’ are not the same, though the happiest unions often have both.”

“I don’t need love. It makes you weak. Stupid.”

I spoke more vehemently than intended.

“Yet there is much wonder in it, and strength—when you aren’t just fighting for yourself but for another.”

He peered at my face. “What happened in the Immortal Realm? You aren’t the same as when you left.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Who hurt you?”

he asked penetratingly.

“It doesn’t matter.”

I smiled, burying my feelings. “I never took you for a romantic.”

“Maybe it just takes finding the right one.”

I sighed. “How did you become so philosophical?”

“Wine.”

Chengyin grinned conspiratorially. “I’ve had many a deep and meaningful conversation with myself over a cup.”

I laughed. Maybe it was better that he wouldn’t marry me; I might have throttled him myself. “Have you found this person?”

I asked. “I’ve seen you with Minister Xiao’s son . . . but you’ve also been very attentive to his sister. Whom do you like?”

“Both?”

He winked as I swatted him.

“Don’t be greedy. You’re stirring enough trouble in their family—”

I stopped, imagining Minister Xiao’s fury, my smile widening. “Chengyin, I give you my blessing to continue.”

“I strive to obey, Your Ladyship.”

He bowed mockingly, but then his expression turned serious. “What about you? Was it the God of War? He wanted to draw my blood the moment he heard of our engagement.”

“If anything, his pride was hurt,”

I scoffed.

He tipped his head back, a speculative glint in his eyes. “You’re wrong. He wants you.”

He let the words sink in before adding with a laugh, “You’d think an immortal would have better sense.”

Anger rushed through me. Chengyin had teased me countless times before, but this struck where it hurt. My hand shot forward to push him, like we were children again, all decorum forgotten. He caught my arm, his reflexes ever quick. As I kicked at him, he struck my foot aside easily—but then the door to my room flew open and slammed against the wall.

The God of War stood in the doorway. Without a word he stalked toward Chengyin, pulled him away from me, and hurled him against the wall. Chengyin gasped, his face twisting as he slid down, rubbing the back of his head.

“Is this how you treat your betrothed?”

Lord Zhangwei demanded.

I stepped between them at once. “Leave him alone.”

“Leave me out of this,”

Chengyin groaned, so softly only I heard.

“I’m sorry,”

I whispered as I helped him up, then rounded on the immortal. “Apologize to Chengyin. Your blow could have killed him.”

“If I wanted to kill him, he’d already be dead,”

he snarled.

“Ahh, there is no need for any demonstration.”

Chengyin had gone pale. “I have complete faith in your ability.”

I jabbed Lord Zhangwei’s chest. “How dare you attack an innocent?”

“He attacked you.”

Chengyin released a long breath. “You’re wrong. She attacked me.”

“I did,”

I said. “While you hit him without reason.”

“He struck you,”

the god said grimly.

“We were sparring.”

His jaw tightened, but then he inclined his head to Chengyin. “I misunderstood—”

“An apology is not necessary,”

Chengyin said hastily, raising his hands. “I will settle for you not wanting to kill me.”

Lord Zhangwei glanced at me. “I would like to speak with you—alone. As promised.”

Chengyin cleared his throat. “I just remembered I must be elsewhere. Unless . . . you need me to stay?”

The last was spoken in a pleading tone.

I hesitated, then shook my head. Chengyin left at once, closing the door after him. Being alone with the God of War made the room seem smaller, or maybe I was acutely aware of his presence—my senses alive, like awakening to the first day of spring. How I wished it were anyone but him who roused these feelings in me.

“Why are you here? You seemed engaged with your companion earlier.”

“She was certainly more agreeable—”

“Go back to her then,”

I retorted.

“Agreeable, but not preferred.”

A thin smile played on his lips. “Much of my pleasure came from your evident discontent.”

His unexpected admission loosened a knot inside me. “Stop playing these games. Why pretend that you care? I’m not so stupid as to fall for the same trick twice.”

“I’m done playing games.”

He moved toward me, slowly, like he was afraid I might bolt. He stood so close, the air between our bodies seemed to tighten. It was becoming harder to feign indifference, to keep myself in check.

“Stop fighting me; let us help each other. Right now, both of us have more to gain from working together,”

he said steadily.

“What do you mean?”

I would make him spell out his intent; I would take nothing for granted with him.

“Only I can give you what you want, while only you can give me what I need.”

A pause, his eyes shifting toward my study. “I could take back my sword now—but I can’t do that with the Divine Pearl Lotus.”

I reined in the impulse to refuse, to deny anything he wanted—making myself acknowledge the sense in his words. Right now, he was the only one who could help Tianxia. This might work if I could shape the terms to bind him. Dare I trust him again? Was there even a choice?

I needed time to think. “You shouldn’t be here, alone with me. Others might talk.”

“Your betrothed gave us permission.”

One of his hands folded into a fist. “I wonder why he feels comfortable in doing so.”

“Because our relationship is built upon trust, not like—”

“Ours?” he asked.

“We don’t have a relationship.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding to my mouth. “I think of it too. How you feel. How you would taste.”

My lips parted involuntarily, a treacherous warmth flaring across my body. As he lowered his head to mine, I should have moved but didn’t—trapped in the spell he was weaving with his voice, his words, his nearness. As his hand brushed my waist, the touch jolted me.

I wrenched away, shaking my head. “Don’t do this.”

“Why not? You want this too.”

He spoke without triumph, just a gentle knowing that was infinitely worse.

“I may want candied hawthorns, but eating too many will make me sick.”

My breathing was uneven. “I can’t let myself want you again.”

Silence fell over us, the brittle kind. The light dulled in his eyes as he nodded, something about his expression tugging at me. I almost missed the heat of our anger, the sharpness of hate . . . they were easier to bear.

The air turned cool, wavering like it was caught in a crosswind. A tremor ran through his body, lines creasing his face before they were abruptly smoothed away.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

My voice hitched, though I tried to stem my concern. When he didn’t reply, I added, “If you want us to work together, don’t hide things from me.”

He looked away like this was hard for him. “My cure is long delayed.”

“What injuries are you suffering? Why do you need the lotus?”

There were no visible wounds on him unless they lay beneath his clothes—nor had I seen any sign of weakness, beyond glimpses of fatigue after battle, the time he was resting in his courtyard.

Maybe not all wounds left scars that could be seen. Maybe I’d been wrong in thinking the God of War wore no mask for the others, and sometimes we all had to feign strength we didn’t have.

“In the war, the Wuxin unleashed a forbidden magic, a powerful and insidious poison that damaged my lifeforce. Our healers could not cure me, they were only able to delay its advance—the song of phoenixes helped too. Yet these could only slow the symptoms, they don’t heal the root cause. The Divine Pearl Lotus is the only cure, and there is only one in the world.”

If their lifeforce is extinguished, they die just as we do.

“Are you dying?”

It felt almost absurd to ask this of him, one of the most powerful immortals in their realm.

“Yes,”

he replied unflinchingly, like it was a truth he faced every day.

And though I’d suspected it, his admission pierced me deeply. If I were stronger, I’d have been glad, seeking the opportunities in his vulnerability. But even now . . . I didn’t want him to die.

“If we are in this together,”

I said slowly, “no more lies or secrets.”

He held my gaze. “No more lies.”

I glared at him, but I had secrets too, those I didn’t want to share. “No secrets that will threaten me or my people,”

I stipulated. “If I learn that you’ve deceived me again, I’d rather destroy the lotus than give it to you.”

He nodded gravely, “I swear, you will not have cause.”

“Let’s lay out the terms. In return for your sword and the lotus—you will secure Tianxia’s freedom, return the Shield of Rivers and Mountains, and bring down the walls.”

“Tianxia will still guard Kunlun,”

he stated. “This will be important to Her Majesty.”

“A separate alliance can be negotiated. Those who guard Kunlun must be appropriately armed to face any threats.”

I steeled myself to add, “I will only give you the lotus if it doesn’t endanger me; I will not trade my life for yours.”

“I would never want that.”

He stretched out his hand, his palm turned up. “Are we in agreement?”

I hesitated, then laid my hand over his, letting his fingers close around mine. As my gaze met his, a luminous warmth kindled despite the chill of his skin. It was not magic . . . yet something close.

I pulled away, cautious now, unwilling to yield anything that hadn’t been agreed. “How do I give you the lotus?”

I asked uncertainly. “I can’t govern my heart.”

“All I ask is that you try.”

He spoke almost gently. “It must be given without thought of gain. You must want to heal me.”

“But I’m doing this because of what you’re offering,”

I said, unwilling to mislead him. “I can’t promise more.”

“I don’t expect more,”

he assured me. “Just a chance.”

Was he hoping for my gratitude? To find another way into my heart after his last attempt had failed? Whether it worked or not, my conscience was clear.

“Where is the Shield of Rivers and Mountains?” I asked.

“In the palace treasury. During the attack, all precious artifacts were sealed there as a precaution, until the Winged Devils were captured. We didn’t know what they sought. Their attack was well planned, except they lacked the forces to secure victory—like they were a diversion. While they are generally close-mouthed, some were angry enough to confess they were waiting for reinforcements that never came, though they wouldn’t disclose who. We are hopeful that a peaceful solution may eventually be sought, though it will take time.”

“Reinforcements? From the Wuxin?”

I made myself ask.

“Perhaps. They were allied once. We thought it had ended after the Wuxin were sealed in the Netherworld.”

He sounded like he no longer believed it.

“No walls last forever,”

I told him.

Silence fell over us. “I will retrieve the shield for you; your people will be free.”

He spoke intently. “But this must wait until I can speak with Her Majesty. She was injured in the attack and is in seclusion to recuperate. It could be a week or more until she emerges.”

Concern flickered—not for her, but for how this would affect my kingdom. I never thought the immortal queen could be hurt, but then again, I’d not imagined the God of War could be either. Maybe deep down, we were not so different after all . . . just bound by different rules.

“What if Her Majesty refuses? We’re both offering things we don’t know if we can deliver,”

I said in a low voice.

“Nothing is assured in life. Sometimes we need to just trust—whether in destiny, or each other.”

My mouth curled. I didn’t believe in destiny—that my parents were fated to die young, that Grandfather’s heart would give out the way it had. But I would believe in what I knew: that the immortal needed me to live, and the Queen of the Golden Desert needed her God of War.

“Will you give me the lotus first?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not until you give me what was promised.”

It wasn’t easy to refuse, but I wouldn’t relinquish my greatest advantage. I’d rather be mercenary than a fool. Without trust, promises were just words strung together—easily broken.

“Don’t you believe me?”

he wanted to know.

“I believe you, but I don’t trust you,”

I said bluntly. “Trust goes deeper, aligned to one’s character rather than the stakes. We need each other now, but after that—I can’t trust what you’ll do.”

I raised my chin. “I’ve learned that gods can lie as easily as mortals.”

“Then I will wait.”

His unflinching response took me by surprise. “Will you return home?” I asked.

“No.”

His gaze dropped to my wrist, now bare, after the red thread had fallen off. “You can’t enter my realm anymore, so I will stay here with you. While you have the lotus, you are in danger. These attacks can’t be mere coincidences. They were looking for you; they must know what you bear. Magic calls to its own—and here, where your realm is barren of it, its scent rises like smoke. You don’t know what other predators you’ll attract, what they’ll do to take the power inside you.”

“But they can’t take it,”

I said. “You tried and failed.”

“I’m not arrogant enough to believe I know everything about magic. There are forbidden arts that I’m ignorant of, those that might succeed in ripping the lotus from you, willing or not—if they don’t care whether you live or die. That’s another difference between them and me. I’d rather you remain alive.”

“Why?”

I’d wondered before why he’d not chosen violence.

“Dawn would be dark without you.”

He smiled. “You make life more interesting.”

I shouldn’t care, yet what were these feelings that wrapped around me, just when I thought I’d broken free? But I wouldn’t reveal my weakness; I’d keep it folded tight. “If these creatures can trace magic, will they sense your presence?”

I asked instead.

“I’ve shielded myself.”

He unslung the sword from his back, the one sheathed in a black jade scabbard that he’d given me before. “This is yours. Will you return mine?”

It was a fair demand, especially if he was keeping me safe. Moreover, the most vital thing he needed was still in my keeping. I left then to retrieve the god’s sword from my study, returning to hand it back to him.

“How could I take your sword?”

I asked curiously. “It was said no one could wield it but you.”

“When we were connected by the enchantment, I channeled my magic into you. A trace must have remained, which is how my sword recognized you.”

A shudder rippled through me as I recalled his blade in my chest, my hand rubbing the scar. “How could it remain if I don’t have a lifeforce? Is this because of the lotus?”

“Maybe,”

he said carefully. “But you can’t channel it without a lifeforce; it’s too dangerous for a mortal.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t control it. If it surges unexpectedly, it could alert our enemies to where you are—it could drain your strength.”

His gaze flicked to mine. “You will die then, just as us, should our magic be exhausted.”

Our enemies. How strange to imagine that the God of War was now my protector. Though it made me feel safer, his presence bore a different kind of danger. It sobered me to realize that once I relinquished the lotus, I’d lose this sliver of magic too. But if the God of War fulfilled his promises, if he kept me safe—it was a small price to pay.

“Why do the Winged Devils want me?”

A frightening thought, that I might be their prey.

His lips pressed thin like he was deep in thought. “It could be their own scheme to gain power. Or they could be working with another—the Wuxin, possibly, as you mentioned.”

My insides churned. Even though they were sealed away, their threat always hovered at the edge of my mind. “Are the Wuxin worse than the Winged Devils?”

“The Winged Devils’ ambitions are smaller—they serve rather than seeking to rule, choosing masters who possess a similar appetite for chaos and destruction. There is still much unknown about the Wuxin, except they feed on suffering. Some can see into your darkest secrets, turning them into weapons against you,”

he said bleakly. “The most powerful Wuxin can even steal another’s form.”

My eyes widened. “Then how do we know who is real?”

“We are more than our appearance. If you know someone, you can easily discern the true from false—as long as you’re looking,” he said.

“How can I guard myself?”

“Mortals are the most vulnerable. You have no magic to protect yourself, only your strength of will. But even then, it’s not easy for a Wuxin to possess your body—you must first surrender, allowing them to. They will offer false promises or threats, anything to secure their way. Many are skilled in divining the secrets of the heart, plucking out the roots of desire and of fear, even those we are ignorant of.”

My fingers curled, unknown terrors crowding my mind. “I don’t ever want to meet one.”

“It may not be them,”

he reminded me. “We don’t know yet who is behind this, who our enemies are. It’s why I came as soon as I could; we can’t take any chances.”

My gaze flicked up to his. “Then train me. Teach me to keep myself safe.”

Light flared in his eyes. “I can’t train you in magic. If you die, I die too.”

“I hate feeling helpless.”

A moment of vulnerability to share something real. Death was not something I took lightly, especially after escaping its merciless clutches. I wanted to fight for my own life rather leaving it in another’s hands.

“There are other things that I could teach you.”

He touched the hilt of my sword. “There is strength in this, too.”

“Then teach me,”

I told him. “I want to learn.”

He slanted his head back, studying me. “I can’t instruct you if you question everything I say. Will you listen to me?”

“Yes, but only as far as the lesson,” I agreed.

“Will your betrothed object?”

he asked, a taut smile on his face.

“He lets me decide for myself. He doesn’t dictate what I should do. He respects my wishes.”

“He sounds as docile as the silk rug beneath your feet.”

Zhangwei spoke with equal parts venom and anger as he headed to the door. “We begin tomorrow.”