Immortal

36

Once in my room, I closed the door, then pushed a heavy desk in front of it. A mortal habit, for what could keep these powerful beings out? I scrubbed myself in the bath, inhaling the rose-scented steam. All the while, flashes of memories darted without order or meaning, yielding more questions than answers. After the bath, I dressed myself quickly. The robe stuck to my damp skin, my wet hair blotting the silk as I stared at myself in the mirror.

It was my face; it had always been my face. Any similarities had just been obscured when I was mortal, like a veil now torn away. My name came back to me too . . . except I wasn’t her anymore: I was Liyen. There was a humming in my body, a reverberation that reached into my bones, a newfound warmth coursing through my veins. I reached instinctively for the energy, bracing for a tussle—but it flowed into my grasp effortlessly. Everything I’d learned from before was returning to me now—my training, the remembrance of my magic as familiar as swimming after a long break. Some things, one never forgets.

“Ice,”

I whispered, my magic drawn like shining threads from the lifeforce buried in my mind. Frost speckled my fingertips, aglow with an azure light—yet I did not feel cold; our own magic could not harm us. “More.”

I was eager to test my boundaries, to feel that rush of power through my body. Spears of ice formed at my fingertips, breaking off to slam against the wall before me.

As I released my hold, the ice melted away, leaving scratches in the stone. Power was a heady thing, especially after being without it. Yet I sensed the difference—my magic blunted, not as strong as before. Part of my lifeforce had been irrevocably damaged, which the Divine Pearl Lotus could not undo. But I wouldn’t regret the little I’d lost. I was alive; I was myself.

I breathed deeply, fatigue pressing on me. Maybe I was still unused to channeling magic, or I had to learn to adjust to my new limits. As I lay on the bed, I slipped my dagger under the pillow—a necessary precaution in an enemy’s home. And when I closed my eyes, sleep claimed me at once.

* * *

I was standing on the edge of a battlefield. My gold armor was stained with blood, the black jade hilt of my sword in my grasp. Shouts rang out, blades clashing all around, magic surging through the air.

The Wuxin were fighting against us, hate curling inside me at the sight of them. What did they want? Chaos. Suffering. They thrived on it.

A broad-shouldered warrior in a gold helmet battled the creatures. Beside him was Queen Caihong—my mother—the recognition twinged, still edged with the unfamiliar.

Wuxin soldiers surrounded the pair, isolating them from their own. Was it a trap? I ran toward them—Zhangwei rushing to join me, his sword in his hand. Just ahead, a hooded warrior raised his arms, greenish lights crackling between his palms. The air thickened, rife with ominous energy. What power was this? I hurled my sword at the Wuxin just as Zhangwei released a bolt of fire—but they rebounded against an unseen shield. The Wuxin did not look our way, focused instead on his prey: my mother. As I shouted a warning, he hurled the lights at her. Her companion had swung around at my cry, pushing the queen to safety.

The malevolent lights struck him in his chest, crawling over his neck and face. His eyes went wide, his body thrashing, snared in the throes of this brutal curse.

Soldiers rushed to him but were flung aside by the force. Some of the glowing streaks fragmented from the warrior—to come, hurtling toward me.

At once, Zhangwei covered me, using his body as a shield—stiffening as the ominous lights plunged into him.

“No!”

I shoved at him, wanting to get him to safety, but he held me like he’d never let go. Despite his protection, a scattering of the spell struck me too—the pain as excruciating as nails being hammered into my flesh. A bitter cold sank over me, spreading throughout my body like ice. Yet Zhangwei’s skin was ashen, colder even than mine—he’d shielded me at the cost of himself. As we fell to the ground, my gaze fixed on the warrior who’d protected the queen. He’d borne the brunt of the vicious attack, those lights devouring his body like a ravenous beast—only fading once he went deathly still.

A cry split the air. Such anguish . . . it wrenched me within. Queen Caihong pulled away from those restraining her, weeping as she fell by his side, clasping him to her. I was crying too, grief crashing through me at the sight of my mother embracing the warrior’s body, shuddering in ceaseless grief. She tore the helmet from his head, cradling his face between her palms. He was striking: a broad chin, a sharp nose, dark-brown hair. Recognition was a bolt to my heart, a surge of pure joy that was drowned by despair.

Father.

He was dead . . . they’d killed him. I curled on the bed, awake now, my pillow wet with tears, a fist crammed against my mouth. A cruel thing to relive the death of your loved ones—to lose them all over again, just when you’d found them.

A shadow fell across the floor; someone was in my room. My skin prickled as I seized the dagger under my pillow. Why wait to be attacked? Silently, I rose from the bed, raising the dagger—then I sprang toward the intruder.

He towered over me, but I shoved him against the wall, the edge of my dagger to his throat. The man was well built and strong, but I was quick, my grip firm as I held him fast—or was it that he didn’t struggle? As he slanted his head away from me, a shaft of moonlight illuminated the smooth planes of his face, the column of his throat.

“Zhangwei,”

I breathed.

Wonder stirred in me, braided with shock and relief. And something else, warm and bright and endless. But what if this was another imposter? I didn’t drop my dagger; I didn’t dare. Instead of trying to break free, he leaned closer until the tip of my blade was tucked beneath a fold of his flesh. The barest touch, and his skin would tear. My hand shook as I shifted the dagger slightly.

His lips stretched into a smile. “I expected a warmer greeting, Liyen.”

“How do I know it’s you?”

I desperately wanted this to be real.

In a flash, he spun me around, until my back was against the wall, his arms fencing me in as his dark gaze pinned mine. Somehow, I felt no fear. His presence seemed to fill the room, the air tightening with the force of his aura—more potent than before. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been weakened by the poison, incapacitated by the lotus. And now . . . he was here.

“How do you want me to prove it?”

he asked in silken tones, his face cast in shadow. “Shall I show you where my dagger pierced your chest the first time? Shall I tell you what you said when you yielded the lotus to me? Or shall I show you how I kissed you when we were in the river—”

The dagger fell from my hand, clattering softly on the carpet. As he reached for me, I threw my arms around his neck. This was him; I knew it in my heart. Tears blurred my sight, those of joy, a lightness lifting me. He was here, he’d come for me. He clasped me tightly as I buried my face in the curve of his neck, his large hands stroking my back in a soothing rhythm, a warmth kindling inside me.

“Why were you crying?”

he whispered, gently brushing the tears from my face.

“A bad dream.”

My voice was hoarse, my pain still raw.

He nudged the fallen dagger with his boot. “Is that why you almost stabbed me? After all the trouble I took to find you?”

“What did you expect? Praise and grateful tears?”

I mocked, even as I wiped my eyes again.

“At least I have the tears.”

His gaze was startlingly bright. “But I’ll take a curse from you any day, over praise from any other.”

“A bad trade.”

“No trade is bad between us.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “With you, it doesn’t matter whether I win or lose.”

I grinned at him. “It matters to me.”

“I know.”

He laughed as he spoke, his tone jolting something in me—something elusive that slipped from my grasp. “Then let me be a fool.”

At his slow smile, heat surged through my veins. How close we stood, my leg wedged between his. As I stepped back, his hands slid around my waist, holding me lightly in place. “I’ll even take your dagger through my heart if you stay.”

My pulse raced as I traced his chest slowly. “Is that a challenge?”

There was a new assurance in speaking to him, my body attuned to his—like something had awakened inside me, like I’d been asleep all this while.

He bent his head to mine. “I’m yours to do with as you will.”

My face burned from the intensity of his stare. I wanted to linger in this moment, to savor it—but I made myself move away, regretting it as his fingers slid from me, my body still craving his touch. There were too many questions in my mind, and he was far too potent a distraction.

“How did you find me?”

“The moment I could move again, I searched for you. The skies were still sealed. When your sword returned to me, when I heard you scream, I rushed to you—but it was too late. You were gone.”

His face darkened. “There was only one place they would have taken you, for the reason they wanted to seize you.”

“The gateway. How did you get through it?”

I asked. “Lord Dalian said there were restrictions on who could pass through, that it was dangerous.”

“The Wuxin attacked me on my way back to Kunlun. I left one of them alive. He proved to be most informative, and not entirely fond of their ruler.”

“You killed the rest?”

I tried to recall the viciousness of their schemes, but found no satisfaction in their deaths.

“They took you from me,”

he said with deadly calm. “I was not inclined to mercy, nor did they seek it. One agreed to help me in exchange for his life, letting me take his place through the gateway, showing me how to slip through it unharmed.”

“You could have died.”

Though he stood before me, I went cold at the thought.

“Some things are worse than death. If I couldn’t get to you, you would have been lost to me. I couldn’t bear that again.”

“Again?”

Something stirred in me, something that slipped away when I tried to grasp it. “The way you speak to me sometimes . . . it’s like we’ve known each other long before we met.”

Zhangwei searched my face, light flaring in his eyes. “What do you recall? What happened to you?”

“I was taken to a temple. I looked into the Mirror of Destiny there, regaining some of my memories. Fragments. Disjointed pieces. I was an immortal, like you. My mother was Queen Caihong.”

I laughed; it seemed ludicrous when spoken aloud.

“She is your mother,”

he corrected me gravely.

“Does she hate me now?”

I asked haltingly. “Why did she try to hurt me?”

“She never hated you; she loves you,”

he replied. “When you were mortal, she couldn’t show her feelings. She had to pretend, even though it hurt her, because you weren’t meant to know—not until you’d regained your memories. Otherwise, our plan would have failed.”

It hadn’t been anger or loathing in her face, but pain? My heart ached, and I did not realize until that moment just how much I’d missed her. “What was the plan?”

“You and I both needed the Divine Pearl Lotus, the antidote to what we suffered. But there was only one, and it hadn’t bloomed yet. We had to wait. And the only way we could share it was between a mortal and an immortal; there wasn’t enough otherwise. If you’d regained your memories too early, before you’d given me the lotus—you wouldn’t be wholly mortal anymore. We wouldn’t be able to share it.”

“And you’d have died.”

I recoiled, unable to bear the thought. When had my feelings for him grown so deep? They frightened me a little, because I didn’t quite understand them.

“At least you would have lived,” he said.

Silence fell over us as we stared at each other. Was he thinking of all we’d almost lost? All we’d regained?

“It was fortunate our scheme failed the first time,”

he said somberly. “We didn’t know you’d been given the waters of death then. If we’d tried to restore your immortality without the gift from the Tree of Everlasting Life, your immortal self would have been irrevocably lost. You would have become Wuxin, your past a blank sheet of paper to write whatever they chose.”

I drew a long breath. “They plotted this all along. Fortunately, they knew nothing of the tree’s gift.”

“Who gave you the water from the Wangchuan?”

His voice dropped dangerously low.

“Aunt Shou. She is one of them.”

It hurt to say it aloud. “She did it to force my grandfather’s hand into giving me the lotus.”

“She always kept a distance from me. Her powers of concealment must be strong.”

His expression was grave. “I sensed the lotus when I first healed you by the wall, but I only detected the taint of the Wangchuan River later—when my enchantment bound us in the palace. I’d hoped the Ancient Grandmaster could remove it.”

“Was that what you asked him? What you couldn’t tell me?”

It all made sense now.

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t then. It was hard to keep everything from you.”

“You shouldn’t have tried to take the lotus from me the first time,”

I said, recalling the hurt when I thought he’d betrayed me.

“A mistake, that I ask your forgiveness for,”

he admitted. “I thought you loved me then. I wanted to believe it, impatient for us to reclaim our lives. There was nothing harder than pretending you were a stranger, seeing your mistrust and resentment whenever you looked at me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

I meant it. I now understood that he hadn’t wanted to harm me but to help us.

“If only we’d found you earlier. We’d been searching for you for years, the moment you descended to the Mortal Realm,”

he told me. “Discreetly, not to alert our enemies of your vulnerability—not just the Wuxin, but many at your mother’s court would leap at the chance to dispose of the heir. Our search was thwarted by the mortals’ fear and suspicion of us. Many lied, concealing their children’s birthdates, obscuring any information they shared.”

“Immortals have done little to earn our trust,”

I said, defending them. No matter what, they would always be my people. “The Wuxin also concealed me from you.”

“It was fortunate we met by the wall of Tianxia.”

“Fortune had nothing to do with it.”

I grimaced, recalling the spilled offerings and broken incense sticks. “Don’t you remember what I did to your shrine?”

His eyes narrowed. “Was that intentional?”

“For survival,”

I explained quickly.

“The Winged Devils were there to snatch you away, to hand you to the Wuxin.”

His face darkened as he added, “It terrifies me how close they came to succeeding. At how I almost lost you forever.”

“Fortunately, it didn’t work,”

I reminded him. “I was given a choice.”

His fingers brushed the streak of white in my hair. “You aren’t immortal—not entirely. What did you choose?”

I raised my chin. “Do you think me a monster?”

“Never,”

he said vehemently. “You are more than your face, more than your name. With you, I am whole.”

My heart was so full, I thought it might break. “The mirror showed me two destinies—one of the Wuxin, one of the immortal.”

I braced, afraid of disappointing him to not have chosen the latter. “I rejected both. I could not bear either: the war, the suffering, the loss of countless innocent lives. Tianxia would be destroyed. There must be another way.”

Zhangwei took my hands, lacing our fingers together. “Whatever you choose, I will be with you from now on.”

I couldn’t speak for a moment; I couldn’t find the words to describe this unadulterated joy. How I loved him—even as I marveled at the depth of our emotions, jarring a little with what I knew. What could I not remember?

“I have my magic now. Some of my memories,”

I said. “But I feel I’m missing something about us—something important.”

“Do you remember me?”

he asked fiercely, his intensity searing me.

I searched for any recollection of him, yet nothing emerged beyond the glimpses I’d seen. We must have been close before—all the signs were there, those that had teased my mind: our inexplicable connection, our matched swords, the way he spoke to me that slipped into familiarity, the feelings that didn’t feel wholly earned from him, those I felt for him in turn.

Why couldn’t I remember? Had I truly forgotten? Or was it because these memories were so precious, so vital . . . I’d buried them far too deep.

“Not yet,”

I said, biting my lip. “The Mirror of Destiny said it would take time for all my memories to return, to make sense of them.”

Light flared in his eyes like midnight fire. “Then let me help you.”

In one step, he closed the distance between us. He pulled me to him—not roughly, but not patiently either. It was like he was at the end of his tether, on the brink of snapping. I wanted this too, my heart racing as his fingers cradled my face. His eyes glittered dangerously bright—and then he kissed me. Our breaths mingled as his lips parted mine, a current running through me at the intimacy. I pressed myself against him, my arms arched around his neck, fire scorching my veins. Nothing mattered in this moment except the touch of him, his taste and scent as I inhaled, half-delirious with pleasure.

When he broke away, I wanted to protest—even as I was suddenly conscious of the thin robe I wore, the neckline gaping to reveal the curve of my chest. His gaze shifted, then darkened as he swung me into his arms and strode to the bed. This time, he did not toss me upon it but laid me down gently—almost reverently. His breath warmed my cheek, the scent of him suffusing my senses. His skin seared mine, hot or cold I did not know . . . just that I was burning all over, aching with need, craving more.

He lowered himself over me, leaving just a breath of air between us. “Liyen?”

There was no sweeter sound than my name on his lips. “I want you.”

Yearning twisted me at his confession.

I wanted him too, but the words stuck in my throat.

I reached out instead, pulling him to me.

His body covered mine, pressing me against the covers with his weight.

My hands sought his, our fingers lacing as he kissed me again and again, our legs tangling between the silken layers.

Hunger built within me, kindled from the moment he touched me.

I drew back, tugging at his belt—unsure of what I was doing, driven by a primal urge to be as close to him as I could.

A low laugh rippled from him, one that was almost a growl.

If he was amused, I did not care. What was pride in this moment, buried beneath this relentless desire? Whatever this was . . . even if my memories were still hazy, I knew deep down that it was right.

I clasped him tighter, arching against him.

One of his hands slid around my body again, the other sweeping the curve of my neck, his thumb brushing the sensitive hollow.

His lips were soft yet firm, his breath hot against mine.

Our tongues brushed, then entangled with hunger.

We kissed as though it were our first and last time, and I never wanted us to stop.

I wanted more; I would always want more of him, my heart beating to his.

As his nails dug into my waist, I relished his roughness, his urgency.

Beneath his hands, my sash broke away like a strip of paper.

My robes were pulled aside, his mouth moving to my bare shoulder, seeking and hot.

I curved closer, running my fingers along his back, winding into his hair that draped like silk over my face.

I yanked his head back as I kissed the column of his neck, gripping his broad shoulders, feeling the raised ridges of old scars upon them—almost familiar, like I’d touched them before.

How beautiful he was, how perfect.

A guttural sound slipped from his throat, his hold tightening as he pressed me closer, one of his hands sliding up my leg, near the part of me that burned like liquid fire.

Only once, my mind surfaced from this haze as I clasped him tightly, moving to his rhythm. His breathing was as rough as mine, my heart pounding as his, my palms against his bared chest—his skin like sun-warmed silk. A headiness consumed me like I was drunk on wine, in a dream I never wanted to awaken from, a divine moment when reality is more wondrous than fantasy. We were so close, so intimate—we were as one.

“I know you.”

My gaze searched his with aching certainty. “I knew you even before we met.”

He looked into my face, his eyes shining as the stars at dusk. “Welcome back, my beloved.”

Beloved.

The word resonated through me, healing wounds I didn’t know existed, making me whole once more. There was no doubt left in me, all of that had cleared away like the clouds after a storm.

This was happiness.