Immortal

42

The barge rocked to the rhythm of the water as a thin breeze wound through the air. This time there were no musicians, food, or wine. Aunt Shou sat in a chair, clad in dark purple brocade. Her eyes followed Dalian dully. Did she see just her son or also my friend whom she’d abandoned?

Soldiers surrounded the room, quelling all thought of flight—though the only way off this barge was to plunge into the Wangchuan River, these lethal waters that had almost claimed my life. For an immortal, though, it was said just one cup would steal a lifetime of memories, and I dreaded to think what immersing oneself in its waters might do.

Dalian strode to his throne, Lin and Mei trailing behind him. He was staring at me with the appraising look of a farmer considering the purchase of a beast. I found myself folding inward instinctively.

“I confess to being disappointed,”

he drawled. “Mother spoke so highly of you, I expected a great beauty, someone with more impressive abilities than what you’ve shown.”

His eyes glinted with malice. “Mother hoped that I would consider you for my bride.”

I’d rather die. I suppressed my retort, the anger that choked me. But I shouldn’t ignore his slights; the Lady of Tianxia would never stand for such humiliation. After all, he’d said we were “equals”

now, though he’d meant none of it.

I smiled brightly; indifference would be the greatest affront. “Lord Dalian, I don’t think we’d suit either. Moreover, I’m already spoken for.”

His eyes thinned. “Do you prefer a weak mortal?”

“I am agreeing with you,”

I said innocently, leashing my temper with great effort. “Given your disappointment, it should be a relief that you don’t have to tie yourself to me.”

His jaw tightened, his lips rolled almost all the way in. He didn’t want me, but he’d wanted to hurt me with the taunt. Behind him, Lin’s shoulders quivered like she was suppressing a laugh.

Tired of being around him, of the mask I had to wear in his presence, I rose and bowed. “Excuse me, Lord Dalian. I would like some fresh air.”

Without waiting for his reply, I headed to the prow, relieved when the soldiers did not stop me. Tonight, the skies burned like the fires of a forge. A flapping sound rushed through the air, the void birds leading the way, their pale feathers gleaming. Despite the barge’s size, it swiftly outpaced the other boats which trailed after us like fireflies in the night. The waters of Wangchuan rippled beneath, beautiful yet haunting—those green lights twining through the inky waves like strands of onyx and jade.

The lines of an old rhyme surfaced in my mind:

Wangchuan waters, a curse and a gift,

A sip eases strife, casting sorrow adrift.

A cup erases the past, severing all ties,

To swim in its depths is to forget, to die.

If I were a stronger person, more valiant—I should dive into the river. Without me, Dalian could not open the gateway. But I was afraid for myself and for Chengyin. While some might think it was a worthwhile sacrifice—our lives for many—I could not do it, not while there was a chance to stop this. I wouldn’t sacrifice my kingdom—but neither would I stop fighting for Zhangwei, Chengyin, or myself, for the future we all deserved.

Yet now, trapped on this vessel in the bleakness of night—it seemed hopeless. I closed my eyes, reaching for calm. Zhangwei would be making his way toward the gateway. While he hadn’t anticipated us arriving so soon, few things caught him off guard—he wouldn’t miss this trail of boats. And I was not wholly alone here; Lin and Mei would help me if they could.

Footsteps padded from behind me. I braced myself to endure Dalian’s loathsome presence. It was wearying to strike the balance between not challenging him outright and not caving either—to act like I was one of them, his ally rather than his enemy.

But maybe to him the distinction was blurred; I’d seen how he treated his allies.

“Child, when you have that look on your face, I worry.”

It was Aunt Shou. I wished I didn’t think of her that way still, but I couldn’t help myself. She came to stand beside me, her presence familiar, though it was like we were strangers.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Aunt Shou.”

I smiled warmly to ease her suspicions. “Sometimes I just like to be alone. Particularly when the company grows . . . stifling.”

“I did hope you would like each other,”

she said, shaking her head. “You would be a good influence on him.”

My laugh was real; it was hard to pretend with her. “Aunt Shou, do you believe anyone could influence him against his inclination? I’m sure you’ve already tried.”

I added, “If Chengyin had behaved like this, you’d have thrashed him till he couldn’t sit down. Yet you make far more allowances for Dalian.”

Her lips trembled as she mashed them together. “It’s not easy to be a ruler, as you know, to bear the weight of your people’s future. Dalian is strained from his efforts because he tries to do too much. Since his childhood, he’s been sensitive to criticism, it makes him lash out.”

Convenient excuses for bad behavior.

“Aunt Shou, do you agree with what he’s done: erecting the barriers over the river, distributing its power in this manner, punishing those who disagree with him? The invasion?”

I kept my tone calm like I was seeking her opinion, rather than trying to influence it.

When she didn’t reply, I lifted the bell by my side. “You would have advised me better; you wouldn’t have let this happen in Tianxia.”

“He has his reasons,”

she said tightly.

“Or do you want the invasion, to avenge your daughter?” I asked.

“My thirst for blood has been long quenched.”

Her voice thickened with emotion. “I am sick of death; I’ve lived and breathed it for far too long.”

“Why don’t you stop him? Find a way to make him listen?”

I said slowly. “You were very good at making yourself heard back in Tianxia.”

“Dalian is headstrong, yet he has his own strengths. I should have tried to soften some of his edges earlier, before he grew too set in his ways.”

She looked down into the river. “I didn’t bring him up right, focusing my efforts on his sister because she was the heir.”

Was guilt behind this? Because she felt Dalian had been neglected in his childhood, she blamed herself for who he’d become? Regardless, she should stand up to him now rather than allowing him to continue along this treacherous path. It was never too late to become a parent. In some ways—much as I was reluctant to admit it—she was still mine. My guard was up, yet I couldn’t wholly shake the ease of familiarity. Sometimes being around her was harder than being around Dalian.

“How did your daughter die?”

Part of me wanted to help her unburden this ancient grief—and another hoped she’d let something slip so I could secure an advantage. I was neither as compassionate nor as heartless as I should be.

“I was away when Queen Caihong’s soldiers came to our territory; they’d been patrolling more often, seeking to quell dissenters. I heard they attacked without warning—killing her.”

“It was an accident,”

I said, recalling Zhangwei’s words.

“Does it matter?”

she asked harshly. “My daughter is dead. The immortals took her from me.”

Maybe it was easier to believe in villainy than in the cruel accidents of life. Anger and vengeance struck outward, while the wounds of grief remained within. It was harder to look inward, but in the end, this was how we healed.

Aunt Shou continued, her voice dulled: “Dalian was gravely injured, but he survived. He carried her body back to us. Since that day, he was never the same, nor was I—the day we’d learned to hate.”

“I’m sorry for her death.”

My tone gentled, her pain reaching me too.

“I blamed myself for not being there. In my grief, I relinquished the throne to Dalian when he asked. He had a plan to secure our vengeance, training in powerful magic that the immortals knew nothing of. He just needed the support of the court.”

And the army. I wondered at this magic he’d learned. Was that how he’d sealed the skies? Erected these barriers along the river?

Aunt Shou shrugged. “The rest you know. We lost the war. We were exiled here, though there was a kindness to it. In the beginning, we thrived here, supported by the wealth of the river. We were almost happy again.”

“Except for Dalian,”

I guessed.

“He yearns for what we lost. He’s always wanted more.”

The lines deepened along her forehead until she almost looked like the mortal aunt I’d loved. “I thought I was giving him his freedom in his childhood, while he imagined my neglect. This planted the seed in his mind that he was unfavored, unwanted—why he craves assurance, his inclination to dominate rather than persuade. How can you sway others when, deep down, you doubt your own worth?”

“We are more and less than what we’ve been taught, Aunt Shou. If one’s mind is closed, lessons fall on deaf ears. You can teach someone to shoot an arrow, but you cannot guide where it strikes.”

A long pause fell as she tilted her head back. “You don’t speak like you used to.”

“Maybe I’ve grown up,”

I said quickly. “I’ve lived more in this year than my entire lifetime.”

Her eyes slid to me, bright with knowing. “I know when you’re hiding something, Liyen. I know you’re not what you say.”

Was that why she’d given me the bottle of scent? Was she trying to protect me in her own way? “I don’t know what you mean, Aunt Shou.”

It was safer this way, no matter her intentions. “If I’m different, it’s because of what was done to me.”

“I won’t tell Dalian,”

she assured me. “I care for you, too. I just hope you’ll see reason. You’re clever; you must realize there’s no way back for you. Your mother would never accept you, what you’ve become.”

She didn’t sound spiteful or angry, just resigned.

I went cold inside, her words wounding deep—was it the truth in them? But Aunt Shou didn’t know my mother. Hate had a way of twisting one’s perspective.

I frowned, feigning confusion. “Aunt Shou, my mother is dead, along with my father.”

“I know you don’t trust me, but just listen.”

Her voice turned persuasive. “This can be your home. Marry Dalian, share the burdens of his throne. Help him become the ruler I know he can be.”

“Aunt Shou, even if I wanted to—which I don’t—he doesn’t want any help. He rejects even you, so why would he listen to me? This is something neither of us wants,”

I said gravely. “When I marry, it will be for love—because of who they are, not what they might become.”

Aunt Shou fell silent, looking into the horizon. The mountain loomed ahead, the gateway to Kunlun. How close it was, fear creeping over my heart.

“Do you miss Tianxia?”

I wanted her to remember, if there was a chance that she might help us later.

“Every time I see this place, I think of it and your grandfather. He was a good man, a kind one.”

A tear fell, which she let slide down her cheek. “But my first loyalties are to my people and my son.”

I took a deep breath, caging my resentment. Regardless, I needed her support in one matter, one I didn’t think she’d refuse. “Aunt Shou, will you help me keep Chengyin safe?”

Her gaze was piercing. “Will you keep your word to open the gateway?”

No.

“Yes,”

I lied. “But if things don’t go to plan, do you promise not to let Dalian hurt Chengyin?”

And though she nodded, I couldn’t help wondering if she was lying to me too. We were on dangerous ground, both of us making promises we had no right to make . . . that we weren’t going to keep.