Chapter 43
Emptiness. That was all Biyu felt.
Even in a dreamlike realm, she realized she had lost everything; the freedom she had gained had come at a cost she wasn’t willing to pay, and now she had made the biggest mistake of her life.
Nikator was gone.
She had gambled, and she had lost. Horribly.
It was another mistake to add to her long list. She didn’t know how to she was going to live with herself now that he was dead.
What was the point in life if her lover was violently taken away from her?
Could she ever move on from this? The pain in her chest told her no.
She would never be able to get over it. She would never fall in love again—loving him was enough for a lifetime.
The emptiness in her chest grew wider and wider, until it engulfed her completely in darkness.
The kind of bleak nothingness that brought no relief in being lost and forgetting everything; it was the kind of void that shredded her heart open and made her feel every drop of pain, every ounce of loss.
When her eyes fluttered open and she found herself in a cramped, unfamiliar room with a single bed, her memories crashed back to her in sickening detail.
The promise Muyang had given her, the freedom she had achieved, the final fight against Nikator, their kiss, his eventual demise at the hands of the man who had raised him.
Tears flooded her eyes and she curled up around herself. Sobs wracked over her body and she continued to cry until she had nothing left to give.
Nikator was dead and she was free.
He had given himself up for her.
For her freedom. For her life. For her.
She wanted to scream, to cry—anything that would lessen the feeling of her heart being cleaved in half.
She had never felt such a pain before. It was like she had lost something more important than air itself.
It was strange how she was still able to breathe, to move, to feel, when everything was so heavy, so excruciating.
She spiraled down a hole of self-doubt, allowing it to consume her with pitying thoughts and rage—why hadn’t she accepted his offer to go to Sanguis?
She would have been miserable, but at least he would have been alive.
She should have realized there were worse fates than death, and this was one of them.
She shouldn’t have tried to outwit a devilish man like Drakkon Muyang—he was cruel and he would never allow a slight to go unpaid.
No stupid promise from years ago could have changed that.
Another sound tore from her throat—half animalistic, half pathetic, and mostly desperate. She buried her face in the pillows and screamed into it.
She would never see those sapphire eyes light with mischief, soften with kindness, sharpen with fury, or dance with joy. She would never hear his rare laughter. Never listen to his dry remarks, his snappish words, his sarcasm. She would never feel safe with another person like she had with Nikator.
Her gaze skated around the room and a pure, burning hatred coursed through her violently.
She wanted to scorch this place to ashes.
She wanted the world—this wretched palace—to feel every iota of pain she felt.
She wanted everyone to feel the warmth of this place burning, because that was all she could do.
She wanted to light it all in a blaze. Watch it burn to nothing, so that she might feel something other than this aching in her chest.
But when she tried pulling on the threads of her magic, she came up empty.
She tried again, and again, but nothing happened.
Muyang must have redone the wards after her fight with Nikator so that she couldn’t use her magic anymore.
The realization made her shoulders slump and she chucked the pillow across the room with another scream.
Burying her face in the covers, her screams turned to sobs again.
What was the point in anything? She knew that Nikator wouldn’t like her thinking like that.
He would have wanted her to move on from him, to find happiness with other people, to create a life for herself, to find purpose.
He would have wanted her to make friends.
To marry. To have children. Everything that she was supposed to do with him.
She fisted the covers and placed them over her face. They stuck to her tear-stricken skin.
She loved him so much. Why had she waited so long to tell him? Why had she been so stubborn to admit it? Why hadn’t she spent more time with him? Why hadn’t she tried harder?
It was hard to breathe. Every breath felt like she was inhaling shards of glass. Each intake, each swallow, like she was slicing herself open.
She hated everything.
She hated everyone who had taken him away.
She hated how much she loved him. She hated how lost she felt. She hated herself. She hated—hated, hated, hated.
She loved him, and now he was gone.
“Biyu?”
She hadn’t heard anyone knock or enter, but they must have come during her fits of weeping. She didn’t even care anymore. Her chest was hollowed, carved clean. She didn’t have the energy to lift her head or greet whoever was there.
“Biyu, it’s me.” A warm voice. He touched her hand and she flinched.
That couldn’t be right. She knew that voice.
She jerked up in the bed to stare at someone who should have been a ghost.
Yat-sen was dressed in simple silk robes, his hair crown fashioned in the shape of a glinting silver dragon. His cheeks were abnormally pale and he had shadows beneath his eyes, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. But he was alive and well, by the looks of it.
How was he here?
More tears welled in her eyes and she took hold of his hand. He flinched at the contact, likely unused to anyone touching him. Her confusion sliced through the walls of grief and she shook her head in disbelief.
“Yat-sen?” Was her mind playing tricks on her?
He nodded slowly, taking in her appearance. She must have looked crazy to him. Hair unkempt, pale, shivering, wild eyed, overall grief-stricken.
“It’s me,” he said gently, like he didn’t want to scare her.
“You’re … alive.” It was more of a question than a statement. One that she couldn’t understand the answer to, no matter how much her restless mind tried to wrestle with it.
“I am.”
“But—” She tightened her hold on his hand as the memories of their last meeting resurfaced. Him lying there, bloodied and broken, his last surge of magic that had warped her far away. Her throat tightened. “You tried to save me.”
He bobbed his head again. “Our attempt failed.”
“But the emperor killed you …” She hadn’t seen him die, but she had assumed he had. It didn’t make sense that Drakkon Muyang wouldn’t kill him. What reason had he had to spare him? “Why are you still here?”
“The emperor defeated me in battle, but he didn’t kill me. I was kept away in a separate room until I healed.”
More confusion muddled her brain. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“I …” It didn’t matter if things didn’t make sense right now. Relief washed over her and a wobbly smile graced her lips as she squeezed his hand. “I’m happy you’re alive, Yat-sen. I thought—I really thought you died.”
The sparkle in his eyes seemed to fade. “I’m sorry, Biyu. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess.”
“It was my decision.” Her throat closed up. “Please don’t apologize.”
They sat in an awful silence for a beat longer.
She released his hand and wove her own fingers together on her lap.
She didn’t understand why Muyang had let him live, only that he had some sort of sinister plan concocted for him.
And maybe for her too. It was the only explanation why they were alive.
There wasn’t a shred of good in Muyang’s shriveled, evil heart.
As if on cue, the air around them began to shift. It grew heavier, colder, and denser as the electrifying, horrible sensation of Muyang’s magic filled the room. They both flinched and turned to the doorway. Waiting, with bated breath.
Muyang entered, slamming the door shut behind him.
He was dressed in black silks, gold dazzling from his hair crown, a sword with a dragon hilt gleamed with lethal intent at his hip.
He peered down at them with his midnight eyes; the same as theirs.
And yet his were filled with a wickedness Biyu could only hope to mimic.
His gaze flicked over them clinically, narrowing slightly at Biyu’s appearance.
“You both seem well,” he began.
“You!” Biyu lurched off the bed. The instant her feet touched the floor, her knees buckled and she collapsed.
Yat-sen quickly grabbed her by the arm to help her up, and she kept one hand steady on the bed frame to hoist herself up.
Nausea rolled over her, but she bit it down as she glared at him.
Through the haze of pain and grief, her rage intensified at the sight of him. “You killed him!”
Muyang lifted a dark eyebrow as she tried to lunge at him again. Yat-sen held her back, bracing an arm over her stomach and lifting her off her feet as she struggled forward. He was surprisingly strong, despite his lanky frame.
“Let me go, Yat-sen! Let me fight him!” Her screams turned to half-sobs as she pinned Muyang with a loathing stare.
“You killed him! How dare you stand there in this room and tell me I’m fine?
You’re a horrible monster! You raised him, didn’t you?
He trusted you! He was loyal to you! And what did you do?
You killed him! All for what? To get back at me?
Or was it because he fell in love and you didn’t like that my wellbeing had more control over him than his loyalty to you? ”
His expression of indifference didn’t change and that fueled her anger further.
She thrashed harder, managing to kick Yat-sen on the shin hard enough for him to loosen his grip. She elbowed his chest and he released her with a sharp inhale. She dove forward and grabbed the front of Muyang’s robes. Her hands trembled as she stared up at him.