Immortal

29

The next morning, the mansion was deserted, the Ancient Grandmaster nowhere in sight.

“How do we thank him or bid him farewell?” I asked.

“When you have lived as long as the Ancient Grandmaster, you grow weary of farewells,”

Zhangwei replied.

We walked a long way through a bamboo forest, the leaves rustling with the wind. I was glad for the clothes left in my chamber last night: a blue silk dress embroidered with lilac flowers on the hem and an outer robe in a darker shade. The climate here seemed colder than back home. Once I turned to find the trees swaying in our wake, the stalks weaving into each other until all trace of our path had gone. Even if I tried to return, I wouldn’t know where to begin.

The path sloped down, a steep descent. I had to hold on to the bamboo to avoid slipping as we made our way. Ahead, a rock wall loomed, covered in moss. As Zhangwei placed his palm upon it, the stone seemed to soften, undulating like churned mud.

“We’ll have to go through this.”

“I prefer the way we came,”

I said faintly.

“That path is gone now,”

he told me, extending his hand.

I gripped it, holding my breath, trying not to think of what would happen should the stone solidify, entombing us alive. As we stepped into the rock, it felt slick over my skin, cool and heavy. Yet as we emerged on the other side, no trace was left on us, not even a fleck of dust. Sunlight fell upon my face as I dragged in a long breath. Behind us, the stone surface rippled, then hardened once more. It seemed impossible that we’d come through here.

Kunlun Mountain towered behind us, like we’d walked the length of a dragon this morning—from its head, along its spine, to emerge at the tail.

“The Ancient Grandmaster warned that the Wuxin are searching Kunlun,”

Zhangwei said. “We must get away from here, as far as we can—until Queen Caihong sends reinforcements.”

Until we reach the wall. No matter how far we ran, we were still trapped.

“What if the Wuxin manage to open the gateway all the way through?”

It was my worst nightmare, the one that preyed on me since I’d seen them in my home.

“It still holds; we have time yet.”

His face darkened. “Though their actions reek of urgency.”

An unwelcome thought unfolded in my mind; my insides clenched. “You said the gateway was weakened because the Divine Pearl Lotus was harvested. Is this why they’re seeking it? What if they’ve found a way to use the lotus to open the gateway?”

“Then you must stay out of their reach.”

He spoke gravely, without pause, like he’d considered this too.

We returned to where we’d left our horses. While they’d untied themselves, they had not left, trotting over without being urged. The stallion nuzzled Zhangwei, who stroked his mane. He had a way with animals, maybe because they didn’t view him with the innate fear we did—maybe because to them, he was not the God of War.

Zhangwei and I rode along dirt-crusted paths, through grassy meadows and fields of wildflowers, heading away from Kunlun. As the sun sank lower, setting the skies afire, the hills threw their long shadows over us. Our pace slowed to a canter as we traveled along a winding river, aglitter in the dwindling light. Feathery reeds twined with blades of grass, swaying in the wind like dancers. We halted by a shady grove and dismounted, leading our horses to the river, where we tied them to a tree.

As the sky darkened to indigo, the air cooled, welcome after the heat of day. The fire we built crackled softly, the flames flickering low as they bent to Zhangwei’s will. Magic was useful for concealing our trail. Glistening fish he’d caught earlier were speared onto a long stick and set over the fire. I sat on a rock watching him turn them over, a mouthwatering aroma lacing the air.

“How did you learn to fish?” I asked.

He grinned as his gaze swung to me. “I never did.”

“Did you . . . cheat?”

“It was just a trace. A nudge,”

he protested. “How is it cheating when no one was wronged?”

“Just the fish,”

I remarked pointedly. “You should have bested it in a fair fight.”

“If the fish had gotten the better of me, we would have no dinner,”

he replied. “But if your sensibilities are offended, I can always eat your share.”

I scowled, my stomach rumbling in protest. Leaning back against the grass, I lifted my face to the sky. Even when clouded over, the boundless horizons infused me with wonder. Such freedom, if only we would reach for it. How long had I trapped myself in my palace, in the court . . . in my mind? Some walls were built by others, while some were of our own making. The hardest to escape were those we chose to remain behind of our own will.

Rising to my feet, I plucked several large leaves from a tree, then rinsed them in the stream. Once the fish were cooked, Zhangwei dropped them onto the leaves. I lifted one with my fingers—still hot—and bit into it, tender flakes falling onto my tongue. Despite the lack of seasoning, it was delicious, the flesh tender and sweet. We ate in silence, picking over the fish until all that remained was a pile of bones.

Zhangwei’s expression was unreadable as he rested an elbow on his raised knee. What we were doing seemed utterly mundane, sitting on the ground with the sky as our roof. Yet how full life seemed, how content my heart, as long as I reined in my wandering mind. He bent to pluck a flower, then leaned over to tuck it behind my ear. I should have swatted his hand away, tossed the flower into the fire. Yet something in his gaze held mine fast, my heart quickening against my will.

“Have you decided?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Whether you will trust me,”

he remarked. “Since last night, you’ve drawn away again.”

I yanked out a blade of grass, twisting it around my finger. “Gods can lie as easily as mortals.”

It was what I’d told him once; it still held true. Yet even as my mind tried to pull me from him, my heart edged closer. “I want to trust you . . . I did. But after yesterday, I don’t know what to think.”

“Then you never really trusted me; real trust is not so easily shaken. Or perhaps you were just looking for an excuse to run away.”

His tone was unflinching, his mouth set into a hard line. “Stop being afraid. Stop running from me.”

“Then give me a reason to stay.”

The words slipped from me, my chest clenching. If he were not the God of War who needed the lotus from me, I would have trusted him long before—the moment he drew his sword to defend my people. I looked up at him, trying to gather the courage to speak, to give him the honesty that I craved from him. Lies were easier than the truth; they protected us, while the truth reached to where it hurt the most . . . to where there was the most to lose.

“There’s nothing I want more,” he said.

“But no matter what you say or do, no matter my feelings—the simple truth is that you need me to love you.”

My hand covered my scar. “You need this to live.”

As he reached for me, I drew back—afraid my resolve would fall apart. I wanted more from him than these tentative declarations. “We already have an agreement. Don’t play with my heart; I can’t bear it.”

“I’ve told you before, I’m done playing games.”

His voice roughened with emotion. “This is real for me; it’s always been real.”

“If I didn’t have the lotus, would it be different?”

I demanded.

“No,”

he said at once, light flaring in his eyes. “Because I’ll always need you to live.”

It was like I was walking into a storm, lifting my face to the wind and rain that beat down relentlessly. Reckless yet liberating, to embrace the intensity of the moment—to not care, hide, or run. I was tired of fighting, of struggling to do what was right. Right now, I wasn’t thinking of the danger that lurked, of our enemies, or what the God of War needed from me. Just for tonight, I would be selfish, surrendering to my own desires.

Let the rain fall. The sun would rise tomorrow in its luminous, merciless clarity.

I shifted toward him, tilting my head to his. As my lips parted, his eyes flicked toward them.

“Will you stay?”

he asked, his fingers grazing my cheek.

“I’m done running away.”

Something glinted in his gaze, something unleashed. As he clasped my shoulders, drawing me closer—I leaned forward . . . and kissed him. A current sparked within, stirring an elusive, glittering heat that swept into a part of me I never knew existed. Pride was forgotten, caution extinguished—I pressed closer as he held me, his kiss deepening as my mouth parted beneath his, his breath hot against my tongue. As one of his hands slid down my back, the other buried in my hair, I wrapped my arms around his neck. His skin was as soft as silk, as cool as moonlight—a balm to the heat searing my body, the ache that swelled from deep inside. He lowered me to the ground, hard against my back, yet I was numbed to all but these awakening sensations. My robe was loosened then pulled apart, slipping over my shoulder, his lips moving along the curve of my neck. I arched with pleasure, a tightness coiled inside me, straining to be released.

But even in this moment, my mind would not be wholly silenced. Desire was not enough; an immortal could never love me the way I wanted. I deserved more than what he offered, to be more than a brief interlude in his life, for us to belong together in every way. Because I knew if I gave him my heart, I would never get it back.

My heart was pounding as I made myself push him away. He stilled, a tremor running through him as he lifted himself from me. My traitorous body protested as I turned from him, my shaking hands taking far too long to straighten my robe. How I burned from what we’d done . . . with wanting to continue.

“This isn’t right.”

I was thinking of the impossibility of our situation.

“Is it your betrothed?”

he replied without a flicker of remorse. As I cursed myself for forgetting the farce of my engagement, he added in a somber tone, “I wouldn’t do this if you loved him, but you don’t—and he doesn’t love you as you deserve.”

Could you? The question hovered, but all I said was, “Chengyin is a good match for me.”

“Don’t marry him.”

He spoke with such emotion, it pierced me.

“If not him, it would be another. Maybe someone from the court, or I’d have to hold a tournament to find someone to marry.”

I added the last in an attempt to lighten the mood.

A grave mistake.

“A tournament?”

He spat the word. “Don’t marry your First Advisor, don’t marry any of them,”

he said wrathfully, light blazing from his eyes.

“Who should I marry then?”

This was as close as I would go.

Silence fell over us, my spirits sinking with each moment. But I would never show him my disappointment, or how this hurt.

“I can’t ask you now,”

he said in a low voice. “But I promise you—”

“Don’t say it.”

I swung to him, my hands clenched. “You demand that I keep myself free, yet won’t promise yourself. You want everything on your own terms. But I want more than what you offer—what you have to give.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, like he was struggling with himself. More secrets? Would there ever be an end to them? But then he stiffened abruptly, his body shuddering.

“What’s wrong?”

But I already knew.

“The symptoms are worsening. It’s becoming harder to control them, away from my realm.”

He sounded breathless, like it was an effort to speak. My anger vanished as I took his hand, trying not to flinch at the ice of his skin. I reached for the lotus within, to lend him the strength as I’d done before—but he shook his head.

“It won’t work this time; the damage is too far gone.”

He stood, weaving on his feet. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, which he swiftly wiped away as though unwilling to let me see it. I’d seen him weakened before . . . but not like this.

The air shimmered around us, crowded with flecks of light that streaked from him—a beacon to those hunting us. “I can’t control my magic. You must go. The Wuxin will sense this; they’ll come soon.”

His words emerged unevenly, his body pulled taut as he stalked to the horses, then untied mine and thrust its reins at me. “Find someplace safe to hide, far from here. Queen Caihong will send aid once the skies are unsealed. Don’t be afraid of her. Tell her what happened . . . she will protect you.”

I shook my head. Not just because I didn’t trust her but because I didn’t want to leave him. The halting way he spoke frightened me, as did the wildness in his gaze—like his restraint was about to snap. “What about you?”

“I will keep the Wuxin away as long as I can.”

“No!”

My vehemence startled us both. “I will not leave you—”

My voice cut off as he raised a finger to my lips. The hairs lifted along my arms and the back of my neck, my skin prickling with familiar dread.

The Wuxin were near.