Immortal

32

Once Lord Dalian left, I pulled at the doors—surprised when they came apart. I’d expected to be a prisoner, locked up like before. As I stared down the empty corridor, the tip of a boot at the end caught my eye. A guard? A spy? Maybe this was a test, and until I knew for certain, I would tread carefully. Closing the doors again with a decisive thud, I turned back to the room.

It was spacious, with large windows—so different from the cell I’d awakened in.

Gossamer silk flowed from the canopy over the bed, tied back with strands of amber beads.

Willow branches clustered in porcelain vases were arranged around the chamber.

The light from outside spilled through the windows, melding into those of the candles mounted upon bronze stands.

At the sight of the copper bath already filled, I disrobed swiftly, then sank into the steaming water.

It was a relief to scrub the dirt from my skin and hair, though my wounds stung.

After I dried myself, I pulled out a set of clothes from the closet, one of the more elaborate designs.

Appearances seemed to matter to Lord Dalian.

The dark-blue brocade was embroidered with waves, flecked with gold and pearl, and while the work was not as fine as the immortals’, the colors shifted seamlessly from turquoise to midnight.

Someone knocked on the door. An attendant entered, her white hair gathered into a plait down her back, her gray robe fastened with a red sash. “Lord Dalian sent me to help you prepare for the banquet tonight.”

“I am ready. Would you show me the way?”

I fell in stride with her as we walked, trying not to think of the vicious stories I’d heard of the Wuxin. “What is your name? What do they call this place?”

“I’m Mingwen,”

she said with a small smile. “This is the Endless Dawn Palace.”

A lovely name, surprising for those who dwelled by the river of death. But even here there was beauty to be found in the jeweled skies.

The girl was staring at my arm, frowning. “The marks left by Lord Dalian’s whip go deep. Do they hurt?”

“Not as badly as these.”

I lifted my palms to show her the cuts from when I’d yanked at the window.

“It means you’ve touched something you shouldn’t. I wouldn’t show those to Lord Dalian,”

she advised, then looked down like she’d said too much.

“I won’t,”

I assured her. “I’m grateful for your advice; I’m still learning the rules.”

She glanced behind her, then took my hands quickly, touching the torn flesh. I winced, unused to the chill in her fingers. As a soft gleam passed through them, seeping into my skin, the wounds closed a little, the pain dulling. It still hurt, but no longer with the sharp rawness of before.

“Don’t tell anyone I did this.”

Her tongue darted nervously over her lips. “This is the best I can do; our healing abilities aren’t strong. There are a couple of healers in the palace, but you’d need permission from Lord Dalian to see one.”

“Thank you, Mingwen.”

Her unexpected kindness moved me, more so because I had no right to it. I was a stranger and she’d risked herself to help me. She was nothing like the brutal Captain Rao or the malevolent Lord Dalian. I’d thought all the Wuxin were bloodthirsty monsters, hungering for strife. Were those like Mingwen the rare exception, or were most like her—just trying to make a living, no more evil or good than my own people? Acts of violence or war were often dictated by those in power. For those who had to struggle each day, what did they care for the varnish of glory when all they wanted was to survive?

My perception of the Wuxin had been colored for so long, it was hard to shift my perspective. I didn’t know enough yet . . . but what if they weren’t all enemies here? Maybe, I might find an ally. The thought buoyed me; it made me feel less alone.

“Do you know how your people came here?”

I asked. Stories changed depending on the narrator; sometimes what remained unsaid was as vital as what was shared. Learning more might help answer some of the questions in my mind.

“Once we lived among the immortals in the Golden Desert, until the grasping Queen Caihong seized power. She claimed she united the tribes—yet those who disagreed were persecuted under her rule.”

Her expression clouded, her lip trembling. “When they attacked us and murdered our beloved heir, it was Lord Dalian who led us to fight back.”

It was the first I’d heard of their heir’s death. I frowned, remembering that the Wuxin had killed the queen’s consort. If what Mingwen said was true, the waters of vengeance ran deep on both sides. Was this how Lord Dalian maintained control over his people rather than being blamed for their banishment? Or had the immortals glossed over their own history, plucking only the truth they’d wanted to share. When neither side could be wholly trusted, it was vital to keep an open mind.

“Why did the immortals attack your people?” I asked.

“Our ruler refused Queen Caihong’s demand for an ‘alliance’—a mask to her ambition to rule.”

She twisted a lock of white hair between her fingers. “They said she needed a villain to unite the others, and we were an easy target, different from the rest.”

I didn’t know the truth; I hadn’t been there. Yet history had not been kind to the Wuxin. As Mingwen walked ahead of me, maybe tiring of my questions, I chose an easier one. “Are you happy here? Do you miss the skies?”

She shrugged. “Most of us barely speak of it anymore. It’s beautiful here, and our people are together. The Wangchuan River sates our hunger—at least for now.”

She glanced at her waist, her forehead puckering. Only then did I see her bronze bell adorned with a tassel, just like those the other Wuxin wore.

“What is that bell?”

I asked curiously.

Mingwen ignored my question as she pointed to the doors ahead, flanked by soldiers. Their armor was a coppery red, black-tasseled spears in their hands. “We’re here,”

she told me, as the doors were thrown apart.

The skies had deepened to garnet, speckled with stars that glittered no less brightly here. A cool breeze threaded the air, the scent of leaves mingling with the distinct earthiness of the river. Beneath my feet, the ground crumbled like sand. Plants bloomed unlike any I’d ever seen, purplish vines with wide, flat leaves trailing the earth, climbing upon the branches of trees. Clusters of flowers hung from their tendrils in luminous blues and reds. Just ahead, the wide river glistened as it snaked around the base of the mountain.

A large barge was moored by the pier, two stories high, round lanterns strung along its roof. Its lacquered railings were a deep green, the sloped roof a brilliant yellow. A carved gilded bird with a jeweled crest ornamented the prow, its shining wings tucked around the sides of the vessel.

An eerie whistling split the air—the void birds circling the skies, their plumes as bright as flame. I shuddered at the sight of their needle-like feathers, recalling how easily they’d sliced through wood. At the sight of me, one swept down, eyes glinting, its beak parted menacingly. I leapt back, just as Mingwen moved in front of me, shielding me from the creature. As she called for the soldiers to escort me to the barge, sweat broke out along my back. I was sorry when Mingwen returned to the palace, a rare friendly face in this hostile world.

A low fence was built along the banks of the Wangchuan River, sharp stakes of wood thrust into the earth at an angle, sliding against each other to form a cross. From the distance, they appeared a nest of spikes, aglow with a subtle sheen—just like the bars of my cell. My hand curled instinctively at the memory. The waters beneath were streaked with greenish lights, glittering like beads of jade. Were these the tormented spirits, unable to find peace, adrift forever in these cold waters? Were they now the sole source of the Wuxin’s strength?

I touched my lock of white hair, the mark of the waters that flowed here—those that had almost stolen my life, forcing Grandfather to betray the queen. Who could have obtained such a thing in Tianxia? Unless it had been given to them.

As I followed the soldiers to board the barge, it swayed to the rhythm of the river. They led me up a flight of stairs to enter a large chamber. Rosewood columns were carved with birds, a red carpet thrown over the floor, gold chrysanthemums woven into the wide border. As a musician in a corner plucked his pipa, a delicate melody rippled from the lute. Brightly painted wooden tables were arranged around the room, laden with cups of wine, though only a little food: plates of walnuts, crisp seaweed, small cakes and pastries. No one seemed to be eating; their appetites not for food—my own stomach churning with unease and hunger.

Wuxin crowded the place, not the wraithlike forms that had invaded my home. The ones here wore finer garments, dressed in muted shades of blue and brown and plum, a foil to their surroundings that were flushed with color. Despite the crowd, the tables closest to the dais remained empty, as was the gilded throne upon it. Strange, when the places nearest to the seat of power were usually the first to be filled. Were the Wuxin afraid of their lord?

Just one woman stood beside the throne, draped in violet brocade, a long strand of pearls around her neck. Snow-white hair framed her face that she lifted to me—a scream catching in my throat.

Aunt Shou.