Chapter 5 Yù’chén #2
Something sparks between my fingers and the hilt of the blade.
A flash of heat, and then a vision blooms, white, into my mind.
àn’yīng holds me, her hair falling over her shoulders, her outline haloed by the sun—and she’s smiling.
She’s smiling as she gazes at me, as she’s never smiled at me before.
“Yù’chén…”
The blade clatters to the floor as though it has leapt away from me. I blink in the darkness, disoriented, reaching for the empty space before me where she was just moments ago.
“àn’yīng?” My voice is raw with disbelief. What was that? It wasn’t a memory; it looked so real, it felt like a vision, but I don’t know how my mind could have conjured that. “àn’yīng—”
But she isn’t here, and I’m alone again in the dark.
Loving her was like drawing a blade deeper into my heart. Now she is gone, and so is the pain in my heart.
Now I find that I no longer feel much of anything at all.
—
The Temple of Dawn is a flurry of motion when I depart my chambers.
Since the mó captured it as their stronghold, the place has undergone a transformation, so that it is barely recognizable from the ethereal, sunlit structure I first set foot in when I arrived for the Immortality Trials.
The gauze curtains have been enchanted with scenes of the night, of a sickle moon hung lone and cold in a black sky.
Any fires that burned and lanterns that once lit the halls have been smothered, for the mó are creatures of darkness.
All the strongholds the Kingdom of Night has managed to capture in the Kingdom of Sky have gone through similar changes. When I look out between the gauze-draped pillars, the skies of the immortal realm are now peppered with patches of night.
My sword is strapped to my hip, and the long black robes my mother had made for me billow behind me as I walk.
The silk is stitched with patterns of stars that form the shapes of dragons—a joining of the symbols of the Kingdom of Night and the Kingdom of Rivers, a reminder of my position as heir to the mortal throne.
I trace the familiar path down to the great hall, where candidates once gathered in anticipation of the next trial. Back then, my greatest concern was to follow àn’yīng and learn the identity of the mortal heir to the Kingdom of Rivers through her.
The identity of my half brother.
Hào’yáng.
She let it slip in the healing chamber, right before everything fell apart. I recall the sorrow bright in her eyes, the feel of her hand against my heart, as she whispered, I’m going to make a safer world, for mortals and for halflings alike. For you.
And I betrayed her. I tricked her, did everything in my power to get close to her, all the while knowing I was the reason she had lost her family and her kingdom.
An old pain flares in my chest. My steps falter, and I press a hand to it briefly. Then I straighten as I approach the hall. Voices—loud, heated, accompanied by snarls and growls—drift to me.
Immediately, I sense the presence of my mother amongst the loitering courtiers.
There is no way to explain it, this bond between mó and their offspring.
While mortals can turn against their own blood and their history is riddled with such familial betrayals, the mó have seen less turmoil within their own lineages.
We are flowers blooming from the same tree, roots inextricably intertwined.
It is an age-old magic unique to our kind.
No matter how many times I try to run, my path always turns back to her.
My mother lounges on a seat on the dais, one I recognize as that of Dòng’bīn, the highest-ranking member of the Eight Immortals. Behind her is a hulking shadow the size of a small hill. I sense it stirring as I draw closer. Two eye slits crack open, blood red.
Drifting on enchanted vines are golden cups of wine; the mó wasted no time in raiding the immortals’ cellars for their finest peach blossom liquors and honey meads.
I snag a cup and toss its contents down my throat.
Sansiran notices me. Our realm’s finest blood garnets glitter on her pale neck and in her black hair as she turns to face me. Her eyes burn with a crimson glow, her magic rampant and stirred by the heat of battle.
She ought to be resplendent in her gown—a red so dark it looks nearly black—but the sight of it raises bile in my throat.
A few of her generals have returned, and even several of the Higher Ones, but most are still away—spread throughout the immortal realm, waging battles against an immortal army that has proven exceedingly difficult to defeat. The skies are their home domain, and they have drawn our forces thin.
Sansiran’s court officials stop their conversation and turn to look at me as I pass. Several are accompanied by lower-level mó as servants, escorts, prey, or all three. Among them is Niefuzan and his harem. He smiles at me, baring sharp teeth. Some of his group still have my blood on their chins.
I look away sharply. The sound of my steps gives way to silence as I stop before the dais.
My mother’s eyes glitter.
Sansiran has very little use for me, other than the fact that I am the key to the mortal throne. Interacting with her is like lying down in a pit of vipers.
I’m trying to guess at the reason she wants me here today as I sink to one knee and bow my head in my customary greeting. A matter related to the mortal realm, perhaps, or for a few sentences of mockery before she relegates me to the back of her court to listen to her strategy sessions.
I try not to think of the third possibility.
“Oh,” my mother purrs, a smile baring her sharp teeth as she watches me through her long lashes. “How filial and loyal my son appears in front of me.”
I remain kneeling, my every nerve tensed. Listening between the lines for the moment she reveals her intent today.
“I wonder,” Sansiran continues, “how he behaves behind my back?”
And there it is.
I lift my head to meet her gaze. I’m well practiced by now in keeping my face pleasant, dissociating any of my true emotions from the masks I wear. “Whether I am in front of you or behind your back does not change how I behave, Empress.” The lie slides smoothly from my tongue.
Sansiran’s smile widens. It doesn’t reach her eyes. Never does. “Just an hour ago, I received a report,” she says idly. “News, from the mortal realm.”
I keep silent. This, I’ve found, is the best response to any of my mother’s goading.
Holding my gaze, my mother stretches out a hand in an elegant twirl. I glimpse a dark, pearl-like object between her fingers. As the entire hall watches, it begins to dissolve, shifting to smoke and shadows.
In those shadows, a scene forms. Sunlight, golden and bright, crisp as morning.
A forest of pines in the background. A singsong voice drifts into the hall, as real as if its owner is here with us.
But I know what this is: a memory captured in demonic magic, like the feathers my shadowcrane can send me, or the spike Yán’lù used.
The memory crystallizes, focusing on a figure in a clearing—and the world falls away as I catch sight of her face.
àn’yīng.
It’s her, it’s truly her. She’s holding two crescent blades, her jaw tight and her eyes bright with caution and fury as she gazes at a mó. Through the memory, she might have been looking at us. At me.
I drink in the sight of her, taking in every detail. She’s wearing a black gauze dress in this memory, but her hair is bound in exactly the same way as the day we met.
My heart slams against my rib cage. Safe, it beats out. She’s safe. She’s safe. She’s safe.
Behind her, the rivers shift, and a figure rises in the midst of the currents.
I can’t make out his face, but I know it’s him. Hào’yáng, the man I once knew as captain of the guard at the Temple of Dawn…and àn’yīng told me is the heir to the Kingdom of Rivers.
My half brother.
The tides carry him like a throne of water. Sunlight gilds him, and even from here, I can make out the aura, elegance, and power that spills from him.
He is every bit the heir I am not.
àn’yīng raises her blade to defend him. Protectiveness tightens her features in an expression I have seen her wear when she speaks of her mother and her sister. Her loved ones.
As I watch, the ache flares again, hot and strong, like a blade slicing through my heart.
I want to call out to her. I want to step into that memory and hold her to me. I want to promise her everything I can’t and he can.
Most of all, I want to be on the other side of that expression she wears. I want to be someone she loves so much and so fiercely.
The words, the ache, build in my chest, burn up my throat. I swallow them all, hold myself very still in this hall I’m trapped in, gazing at an illusion I can never reach.
The memory vanishes like a flame flickering out, and then I’m looking into my mother’s face. I know I’m no longer smiling, but I can’t summon the strength in this moment.
My mother’s expression has twisted into a snarl, her eyes colder than the depths of our kingdom.
“Tell me, my son,” she says, and suddenly, her voice is low and terrible, “how the mortal heir and the girl you love ended up in the mortal realm?”
Shit.
I shrug. “Perhaps your defenses aren’t as impenetrable as you thought?”
Pain slams into me like white-hot lightning in my bones. I gasp and pitch forward, arms trembling as I try to hold myself up, to retain some semblance of dignity. Spots bloom before my eyes. What Niefuzan’s newborn mó did to me earlier feels like nothing compared to this.
It’s gone as suddenly as it came, and I’m left on all fours before the dais, panting and sweat-drenched. I hear titters around me as my mother’s most powerful generals and Higher Ones watch.