Immortal

38

The skies had blossomed into a radiant rose—beautiful, unexpectedly so. As I got up and pulled on a new robe, Zhangwei heated the water in the teapot, then prepared a cup for me. There was still an edge of newness in seeing him do such mundane things, though he’d done them for me countless times before.

“We must be careful.”

I glanced at the doorway. “They think I’m resting, but their patience won’t last much longer. Lord Dalian will want to see me . . . and I don’t know if he’ll believe my lies.”

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

“I don’t want them to hurt you either.”

When he stiffened, I squeezed his hand. “You are the God of War; there’s no one your equal in battle. But we’re not in our world anymore. We’re in theirs—and no matter how brave or strong a warrior is, no one can win against such odds.”

“Don’t go to them, it’s too dangerous. We can leave now.”

He handed me my sword, the one Dalian had tried to seize.

The sight of our blades together sent a shaft of warmth through me, their similarities threaded between their differences. Mine was of black jade and silver; his of white jade and gold, the scrollwork carvings on the hilts of a similar style.

“You gave this sword to me when we pledged ourselves to each other.”

I shook my head. “Anyone else would have offered me a hairpin or bracelet as a token of our promise, but the God of War gifted a sword.”

He shrugged unrepentantly. “You never showed much interest in jewelry. The sword kept you safe; it helped me identify you by the wall in Tianxia.”

“Because I was the only one who could draw it.”

“Yes. Even if you’d lied about you who were, it would not matter. I crafted your sword myself; it was meant for your hands alone.”

“Just as I crafted yours,”

I said, another memory falling into place. “It’s why I could carry your blade, why it recognized me.”

It struck me how everything twined and wove together, the lies he’d so skillfully told.

“No more lies,”

I reminded him.

“No more secrets, either,”

he agreed.

“I can’t take the sword now. Lord Dalian knows what it is—if they find it, they’ll suspect you’re here,”

I said. “How can we escape? Is the gateway the only way out? It will be heavily guarded. What about through the Wangchuan River?”

“Only those who have surrendered their memories forever are allowed to board the Eternal Boatman’s vessel, and his is the only one that can cross the realms.”

“What happens to those who don’t yield their memories?” I asked.

“They don’t get on the boat. They drift in the river.”

“For eternity?”

My throat tightened at the thought.

“Until their burdens are lightened, until they can surrender their regrets and cares. In a way, the Wuxin might help them, too. Though some are still unable to find their path, and a few choose not to.”

To never know Zhangwei again . . . both of us to forget each other forever. Even if it was the safest way out, I could not do it.

“Then we must go through the gateway.”

I frowned. “But I won’t leave without Chengyin. He is still a hostage, under Lord Dalian’s control.”

“If he was really your betrothed, I’d be tempted to leave him.”

Zhangwei’s expression turned grave. “Your family is mine, as are your enemies. We will save him.”

“Thank you. For not trying to convince me otherwise.”

“It won’t be easy,”

Zhangwei told me. “If we use force, we might hurt your friend. It would be safer if we found a way to make Lord Dalian relinquish his hold over him.”

“I must convince him that I’m on his side, that his plan worked. Only once he trusts me will he release Chengyin,”

I said. “Lord Dalian expects me to be one of them. He’ll be harder to deceive than Aunt Shou—more suspicious, and far more dangerous.”

Zhangwei’s gaze clouded the way it did when he was thinking. This was a different type of fight from the battles he usually led. “Let me come with you. I’ll follow at a distance.”

“No,”

I said flatly.

“I don’t want you to face them alone.”

“It will be more dangerous for us both if they find you,”

I reminded him.

He didn’t like this—nor did I. But he was unable to come up with a better solution. It wasn’t as simple as taking my place for a dangerous task; any slip on his part would endanger me tenfold.

“Can Lord Dalian force me to open the gateway?”

I asked. “What if he needs just my blood or my presence?”

“It’s more than your blood alone, else he’d have already slit your throat. The gateway will only respond to the imprint of your magic. That must be why they wanted to transform you into one of them, to access your power.”

My hands fisted in anger. “Then he won’t kill me, at least not yet.”

“Not while you are useful to him,”

Zhangwei told me. “From what I’ve heard, Lord Dalian only ever thinks of himself; everything and everyone else is only an accessory. He needs the gateway opened because to launch an invasion, he requires the full force of his army, not just a sliver that can slip through the cracks.”

“I won’t do it, no matter what he does.”

Yet fear needled me that he might find a way to force my hand.

“What if you do open it?”

Zhangwei asked, with an intent expression.

“No.”

I knew how his mind worked, that he was already scheming to ambush the Wuxin. “What if the skies are still sealed? What if the immortals cannot come to our aid? And even if you could somehow escape to gather the immortals—war will be inevitable then.”

My insides twisted as I recalled the horrors in the temple’s mirror. “Even if we win, many will die. I won’t let my people pay this price.”

He sighed. “You’re right. Nor will I cross the gateway while you remain here.”

“I will pretend I’m his ally,”

I assured him with more confidence than I felt. “It will be easier to escape if I’m not behind bars, if his guard is down.”

Zhangwei’s fingers deftly set the pieces on the weiqi board in preparation for a game. I was in no mood to play, but remembered he liked to play by himself on occasion, experimenting with different strategies—probably because there were also few opponents of his ability.

“You must convince Lord Dalian that you’re one of them,” he said.

“How can I?”

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. “I look just as I did.”

“Your aunt was convinced,”

he reminded me. “They want to believe their scheme worked, which is in our favor. Moreover, they know little of this; you are the first Wuxin transformed from a mortal. You set the rules. In their minds, nothing could have saved you.”

“Should I change the color of my hair? My eyes?”

He tilted his head like he was considering it, flipping a black counter between his fingers. “Act like there’s nothing to hide. If they sense any drastic attempt to alter your appearance, it will raise their suspicions. It will do more harm than good.”

“I’ve had some practice pretending to be someone I’m not. But if I don’t look at all like them, it will reinforce any doubt in their minds, a constant reminder of my difference,”

I told him.

He nodded then, brushing a finger across my eyes, a tingling gliding across them. As I glanced into the mirror, I started to see a thin copper ring around my irises. “A small illusion, one they can’t sense clearly with the aura of your magic. It will be easy for you to maintain, or discard this at will.”

He took my hand, holding it to his chest where I could feel the thud of his heart. “Be careful. Don’t trust anyone, especially your aunt. She’s already proven her treachery.”

“Not all Wuxin are evil,”

I said slowly, thinking of Mingwen and Miss Lin.

“Perhaps,”

he agreed. “But we cannot trust any of them. Being good and being brave are not the same. A compassionate coward can inflict as much damage as any villain. We also don’t know what they’ve been told about us, what set them against us. In a war, the first battle is for our people’s hearts. If they do not believe, they do not fight—and the war is already lost.”

“The Wuxin believe the immortals are the wicked ones, usurping their domain in the Golden Desert, banishing them to this place,”

I told him. “They claimed to be attacked and persecuted when they refused to support Mother’s bid for the throne. They saw it as ambition and greed, while Mother believed this was necessary to strengthen our kingdom.”

Part of me had always longed for her clarity, even as I dreaded the rigidity of her purpose.

After all, it had cost us dearly: my father, her husband. Zhangwei and me, poisoned by the Wuxin’s curse. All those lives lost across the realms. “I don’t think I could have done that,”

I said in a low voice. “I could never pay the price she did.”

Still, I loved and admired her, respected and feared her. Even now I wished I could feel her hand on my head, even as I shied from her anger and disappointment.

“Many saw it as ambition, but it was your mother’s vision for our future. The Golden Desert needed to unite, to maintain its position among the immortals. The Phoenix Kingdom was eyeing an expansion of its domain, as were the monarchs of the Northern and Southern Seas.”

He paused. “They might have swallowed us whole if we remained fragmented.”

“If only the Wuxin had been left in peace.”

Regret stabbed me at how events had unfolded, bringing us to this point where both sides demanded blood. “Aunt Shou’s daughter, the beloved heir, was killed during one of the attacks. The Wuxin were determined to seek vengeance. This was how Dalian ascended the throne.”

“I remember,”

he said slowly. “I demanded an accounting of that incident. One of our soldiers was struggling to control his magic—he was still young, new to the army. His magic flared out of control, striking the Wuxin heir. Their soldiers attacked in retaliation, and ours struck to defend themselves . . . just as the Wuxin believed they were doing.”

“A tragic accident. Yet it changed the course of the realms,”

I said heavily.

“Life is often a chain of small events with large consequences,”

Zhangwei said. “We can never predict any outcome.”

“They had their cause, and so did we.”

I closed my eyes. “Hatred cannot be uprooted as easily as it was sown.”

“Regardless, they are now our enemies. We must escape as soon as we can, the moment we’ve freed your friend.”

“His name is Chengyin,”

I reminded him. “When I returned to the skies as a mortal, no one there bothered to know my name.”

Zhangwei nodded. “I will not forget.”

“I must go now,”

I said reluctantly. “If I remain in my room, they will think I have something to hide. If they send someone here, it will be worse for us.”

His jaw clenched, his grip tightening before he released me. “It will be dangerous.”

“Only if they don’t believe me.”

“I don’t want you to go,”

he said tightly. “What if something goes wrong, what if I can’t get to you in time?”

“There’s no choice; we can’t hide here forever.”

I pulled on an outer coat and combed my hair, trying to hide the tremor in my fingers. “Is it safe for you to stay here?”

How I wished he could, but I wouldn’t risk his life.

“I will stay until I know you’re safe—that you convinced them.”

“Then leave as soon as you can. I will meet you afterward, away from here.”

“There is a bridge east of the nearest town that I’ll mark with a lantern. Cross it, and I’ll find you in the forest. If you don’t come by nightfall, I’ll return here for you.”

He spoke like it was a simple matter, like there wasn’t the entire force of the Wuxin Army between us.

I uncorked the bottle Aunt Shou had given me, then rubbed a few drops of the scent over Zhangwei’s wrists and neck—then over myself too, as a precaution. “This should shield you from the void birds,”

I explained. “In any case, stay out of their path.”

He touched my white lock of hair, curling the ends around his finger. “Being mortal has made you worry more. I can handle a few birds.”

“I’ve always worried about you,”

I told him honestly as I strode to the door. “And now I know all the things that can go wrong.”