Immortal

22

A week passed, each day like the one before. I rose early, spending my mornings at court hearing from the ministers, going through the petitions, mediating the disputes that cropped up. In the afternoons, Chengyin would take over as the First Advisor, leaving me free to train with the God of War. When I returned late at night, I would pore over the scrolls and notes that Chengyin had left in my study, for those matters that still needed my attention.

The hours flew by until I barely knew when the sun rose and set. My eyes closed the moment my head dropped on the pillow, and I woke each morning feeling like I hadn’t done enough the day before. I was beginning to regret my decision to train with the God of War at his unrelenting pace. Maybe it was enough if I left my protection to him, to my soldiers—but a voice whispered: What if they’re not there? What if you’re alone?

It wasn’t just my body that was tired, but I was emotionally drained. Each day as we trained, spending hours with each other—an intimacy was forming, one I tried to fight. To learn, I had to listen to him without suspicion, and there was much to admire in his lessons. When he touched me to adjust my posture—his hands on my arms, shoulders, and neck—it was like he was setting my body alight. It frightened me, yet I was beginning to want this; I’d never felt so alive.

There was so much I was learning about fighting, about magic too. Though it was of little use to me, Zhangwei indulged my curiosity, teaching me about the different elements of magic: Air, Water, Fire, Earth.

“Some immortals possess more than one Talent,”

he’d said. “Some are also skilled in Life and Mind, specializing in healing injuries or even influencing thoughts. Often, the magic we are most proficient in stems from what is inherent in our surroundings.”

I recalled what I’d heard of his realm, all I’d read. “Are those from the Sea Kingdoms more skilled in Water enchantments? And do those from the Phoenix Kingdom possess the most powerful Fire magic?”

“In a way, but neither is it so simple. While magic has its rules, what can or cannot be done may simply be undiscovered. Those from the Golden Desert are strong in Fire and Earth. Yet immortals of the Celestial Kingdom do not follow a set pattern, drawing magic from across the elements.”

“How are some immortals more powerful than others?”

I wondered.

“Why are you the Lady of Tianxia, and why do the people obey you?”

he’d countered.

“Because of my family name, my birthright.”

He nodded. “Just as some are born with a stronger lifeforce than others, whether by heritage or by chance.”

“I didn’t earn the throne, but I want to be worthy of it.”

It was a fear of mine that I didn’t deserve this honor, that I would fail those who depended on me. And I didn’t know why I was sharing this with him.

He regarded me intently. “Then you already are.”

Silence fell between us then, something fluttering in my chest. Why did his praise affect me so? I made myself pull away, though I’d regretted it. This wouldn’t last. Once our pact was over, once the God of War had gotten what he wanted from me, he would return to the skies and I’d never see him again. The more I guarded myself now, the less I’d hurt later.

It was a rare chance though, to learn from the God of War. Under Zhangwei’s tutelage, my skills vastly improved. While I would never be a celebrated warrior, I could hold my own in a fight. And at night, when it was quiet and calm—I began to wonder, was he helping himself too? He wanted the Divine Pearl Lotus, but my heart had been closed to him. Yet now, after spending time together, things were shifting once more. I found myself thinking of him more than I should, anticipating our sessions, even craving his touch. We had grown closer . . . and this time, it felt different, more real—and because of that, far more dangerous.

* * *

The morning dawned clear and bright. As there was no court in session, I would spend the whole day training with Zhangwei. Yifei brought a tray of food to my room: a bowl of noodles steeped in chicken broth, a side dish of eggs and one of beansprouts, along with sliced watermelon. I ate alone, though I could have invited Zhangwei. It was wiser to keep a little distance between us, though my restraint was rapidly crumbling.

From outside, footsteps drew closer; Zhangwei’s decisive yet quick tread. He was earlier than anticipated—and it struck me, was this our last day? Once Queen Caihong emerged from seclusion, the God of War would return to the skies to confer with her. Our time together was ending.

My heart sank as I picked up my sword and left the room. An urgency filled me to not waste a single moment. Zhangwei was waiting outside, his black hair held up by a jade ring, silver mountains embroidered on his charcoal gray robe. His dark eyes went to my face, then moved down my dress. It was a soft lilac, a color I rarely wore. My hair was pulled high, a flower-shaped pin slid into one side, a mother-of-pearl comb tucked in the other. As his gaze shifted to it, his mouth tightened. Was he thinking of the one he’d given me? The one I’d discarded?

The skies were still cast in rose and gold, the last breath of dawn lingering. We walked in silence to the training field, except this time, Zhangwei led me to the river that bordered the grounds. It was wide and deep, flowing into the vast lake at the heart of Tianxia. This was a rich source of food for us, and also pleasure—where I’d first learned to swim, one of the few activities that hadn’t tired me too much before, that I could enjoy at my own pace.

Zhangwei pointed to a flat rock in the middle of the river. “That is your training ground today. Practice your stances on the rock.”

I stared at him blankly. “Why?”

“You’ve made good progress learning the different stances. However, fighting a real opponent—one who wants to hurt you—is much harder. It’s crucial to keep steady under strain, to avoid mistakes. Precision and balance are vital.”

He grinned as he dipped a hand into the river. “Nothing makes you more aware of it than the prospect of falling into cold water.”

While I could swim, it was a cool day, one of the last few of spring. I scowled, wanting to refuse. But I’d asked him to teach me, and this was the price of his lesson. I stepped gingerly upon the stones, making my way to the one he’d pointed out. My robe fluttered as shards of sunlight glinted over the water.

“First stance. Point your sword out and lean forward,”

he called out.

I did as he instructed. He was right that out here in the open, with the water rushing all around, I felt more vulnerable, uncertain. My senses were alert, the stakes higher. How would it be when survival was on the line?

Zhangwei leaned against a tree, his eyes fixed on me. “Now, stand on one leg and thrust your sword forward.”

I swallowed, struggling to keep my balance as I lifted one leg up and pushed my sword out. I’d done this countless times over the past week, though not this way, balancing on an uneven rock.

“Good,”

he said. “Now, sweep your sword to the right.”

I cursed him under my breath, not daring to look at him this time, all my attention on holding my balance. As he called out another command, I shifted again—then once more.

The sun beat down on me relentlessly, as it had all day. It was close to evening; I’d lost track of the number of stances Zhangwei had made me do. Sweat poured down my face, my robe sticking to my body. But I hadn’t fallen once, triumph surging. If he’d intended to make a fool of me, he would fail. Yet my limbs were aching, my head beginning to spin. I’d been holding this position for a while: my sword arm thrust straight, my left leg lifted high off the ground. Something buzzed around me—a fly, landing on my nose. It tickled, snapping my focus. I blew at it, the fly flitting away only to return. Annoyed now, I shook my head to dislodge it. Zhangwei shouted a sharp reprimand as one of my legs wobbled, my body weaving to try to regain balance—but then I tumbled headlong into the river.

The water was ice-cold, almost welcome after the heat of training under the sun. It rushed up my nose, searing my throat as I kicked wildly to stay afloat. Just as I was about to resurface, I swam away, burning with humiliation at my fall. Would Zhangwei laugh at me? A rash impulse stirred to drag him into the water, to get him as thoroughly soaked as I was—it would serve him right for his smug commands.

“Liyen!”

He called my name, then again, more frantically than before.

I ignored him, waiting for him to come closer, holding my breath until it felt like my lungs were about to burst. A shadow fell over the river: Zhangwei’s. But before I could pull him in, he dove into the waters—churning with his weight. He hadn’t seen me yet, and I quickly broke to the surface for a gulp of air, then dove back down. I wanted to swim away; he would be furious at my trick. But something wasn’t right . . . his arms and legs flailing like he was struggling in the water, only to sink deeper.

He couldn’t swim. Immortals wouldn’t need to, when they could fly. As I recalled the chill of his skin, the poison in his body, a new terror clutched me. I swam toward him as fast as I could, my heart pounding. Zhangwei had gone limp, his eyes closed, his skin almost bluish through the haze of water. At once I dove toward him, sliding my arms under his shoulders, struggling to drag him up. He was heavier than I expected—but I pulled harder, refusing to let go. I kicked violently as I held him, as I fought to reach the surface, the fading sunlight glimmering above almost tauntingly—

He spun around swiftly, breaking my hold as his arms slid around my waist, clasping me to him before I could dart away. His eyes met mine, flaring with intent, as he lowered his head—and kissed me. Fire shot through my veins, searing every part of me. I was shattering, coming apart, even as he held me together. One of my arms went around his neck and I was holding him too—my caution, suspicion, and resentment melting away, leaving me lightless, adrift, untethered . . . but for the feel of his lips, the tangle of our breath.

Such madness, yet why did it feel so right?

He pulled me effortlessly through the water, his arms still wrapped around me. We stumbled to the bank, and then somehow I was lying beneath him on the grass. As the weight of his body sank over mine, an ache swelled within, a hunger that silenced the murmurs of my heart, casting the last of my restraint aside. His mouth pressed hungrily against mine, his hands cradling the curves of my face.

The chill of the air was a shock, sanity returning in a rush. I pushed him away, suddenly afraid. As I wrapped my arms around myself, the wet silk of my robe clung to me—yet he looked only at my face, his eyes black with desire . . . and something more, something I couldn’t read.

“We can’t do this.”

My words tumbled out. I was grasping for reason as he remained silent, just staring at me intently. “I’m engaged.”

“You don’t love him,”

he said flatly.

The certainty in his tone angered me. “You know nothing about Chengyin and me. Our bond goes deeper than you will ever know.”

“If you loved him, you wouldn’t have kissed me back.”

“I was caught off-guard,”

I said quickly, to deflect the undeniable truth. “I thought you were in danger. Were you pretending to drown?”

“As much as you were.”

He thrust a hand through his wet hair. “I don’t want to talk about this; I’d rather talk about us.”

“There is no ‘us,’”

I said harshly. “You are immortal, I am mortal. We have no future together.”

“Don’t you believe that our destiny is in our hands?”

He held his out to me as his voice deepened. “Let’s make ours together.”

How he tempted me, but it was not enough—not for my kingdom, and not for me. Even if I could consider what he asked, I wanted to be more to him than a season in the span of his existence.

“No,”

I said adamantly, though it was hard to refuse.

“What are you afraid of?”

You. How you make me feel.

“What future would this be?”

I asked him bluntly. “I would age while you remained the same, the years marking me as they left you unscathed. I want to be with someone as an equal—to be their life, their great love as they are mine. I don’t want half a life with you, knowing you’ll forget me—”

“I will never forget you.”

He spoke with such intensity it bordered on fury. “You are more than my equal in every way. No one will ever replace you, whether you live for a hundred years more or ten.”

“But that’s the thing,”

I said slowly. “I don’t have a hundred years, no matter what you or I do.”

A sadness filled me suddenly, my shoulders folding inward. “This ends here. We have a deal; we’ll both get what we want, then we won’t see each other again.”

How bright his eyes, how his expression hurt me. Part of me wanted to take back my words, to let the moment carry us into the unknown, borne along the current of desire. But I couldn’t be reckless; I wasn’t just a girl in love with a boy. I was the Lady of Tianxia and he was the God of War. There was no happy ending in our story, and I wouldn’t let my kingdom pay the price.

“As you wish.”

He dropped his hand, looking away. “I will return to speak to my queen. When I come back, we will fulfil our obligations to each other—repay our debts.”

A sharp suspicion slid into my mind as I pulled my robe tighter. “Was this another scheme? Are you afraid I won’t be able to give you the lotus, and you were trying to convince me? I already promised you I’d do what I can.”

He moved toward me so swiftly, he caught me unaware. Though he didn’t touch me, he was so close, his coolness radiated from him. “Did it feel like a trick? Did any part feel false?”

No.

“Pretend to yourself all you want,”

he said wrathfully. “But don’t presume to read my mind, to make me a villain because it would be easier that way. I’ve given you my word: no more lies.”

The air around us seemed to contract, not the way it felt when Zhangwei’s magic flowed. In the distance, something gleamed, streaking across the skies like a fallen star. Zhangwei’s shield around us vanished abruptly, the sounds from outside rushing though, the sudden cry of birds jolting me. A flock of them darted through the heavens—unfamiliar ones, their pale feathers glinting, their crests a fiery orange. I was shivering in my sodden clothes, only now aware of how cold I was, inside and out.

Zhangwei’s face darkened as he gazed toward Kunlun, the silhouette of the mountain looming ahead.

“What’s wrong?”

I asked. “What do you sense?”

“This magic—I’ve never felt anything like it before,”

he said, looking up into the night. “Someone is coming . . . but I don’t know who.”

My throat went dry. “Do they know you’re here?”

His face was grave. “If they do, then they know where you are too.”