Chapter 14 Àn’yīng
àn’yīng
Palace of the Aurora, Kingdom of Night
I don’t know how much time passes until I next see him. As the sun never rises here, I’m only guided by the turn of stars, which seem to shift with a fluidity vastly different from the fixed constellations of the mortal realm.
Every few hours, red scorpion lilies bloom and a tray of food and drink appears in the chamber. The platters are delicately arranged, the dishes cooked to perfection in a way that reminds me of the food I consumed in the Kingdom of Sky.
I pace around the chamber, yet no matter how much I press against the walls or test the invisible wards on the terrace, I can’t find a single point of weakness I can leverage. No access to the outside…except through him.
When Yù’chén reappears from the shadows through whatever entryway he’s been using, I stand immediately. “Where have you been?” I demand.
He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t see how that concerns you,” he says, and a corner of his mouth lifts in that smirk. “Unless…Did you miss me after all? Is eternity with a monster starting to sound more palatable?”
He has always known how to draw a response from me. But this time, I only frown. “I want to know how you’re able to do that. Just…appear and vanish at will.”
In the near-unbearable stretch of time that has passed since our last interaction, I’ve been able to think things through.
I’ve held on to the memory of Mā and Méi’zi and Lì’líng and Tán’mù in that sunlit forest—and I’ve known that I will do whatever it takes to find a way out and back to them again.
I need to focus. Gain his trust.
“I told you before,” Yù’chén replies, still looking bemused, “we mó have the ability to fold distances and travel through passages of our own making. Only this time, I’m merely making a passage to a different part of my own wing in this palace. It’s how the Palace of the Aurora works.”
I straighten slightly at that. “Can you show me the rest of your wing?”
He cocks his head, studying me. “No feral cup-throwing this time? No cursing at me or furious demands for me to leave you alone? Why, keep this up, and I may mistake it for a declaration of love, little scorpion.”
Just like that, I want to discard the strategy I’ve come up with. “Are you here for any reason other than to goad me?”
“It may surprise you that I am,” Yù’chén replies steadily, and holds out a palm. The sight of the shimmering dark feather drives every other thought from my mind. “Your family has crossed into the Western Province. Would you like to see?”
“Yes,” I say quickly, and he obliges. This time, the feather shifts into a landscape of rolling sand dunes, golden sun, and fierce blue skies.
A line of travelers casts long shadows over the undulating desert.
I make out Méi’zi and Tán’mù leading a camel, upon which my mother sits.
Bounding by their side is a small white streak: Lì’líng in her fox form.
I stare at the memory until it flickers and the illusion ends. The image of blazing sands and blue skies and sun is seared into my vision as I blink, readjusting to the darkness.
“They’re safe,” Yù’chén says. “I’ll return when my shadowcrane sends word.” He turns to leave.
“Thank you.” The words slip past my lips; I don’t even catch them until I’ve spoken aloud.
Yù’chén pauses. Slowly, he glances back at me. “You’re welcome, àn’yīng,” he says.
“Wait.” I take a step forward, grappling for an excuse to keep him here. I need information on where my blades might be. I need to see more of this palace to devise an escape plan.
Yù’chén is staring at me, one eyebrow cocked. “Yes?”
I open and close my mouth as I try to come up with something that doesn’t sound too obvious.
He smiles suddenly, disarmingly. “Either you ask me to leave, àn’yīng, or you ask me to stay. Which is it?”
I swallow. “Stay.”
Yù’chén turns to face me. His eyes are bright as he approaches, then stops at a comfortable distance. “Is there any reason you’ve requested the pleasure of my company tonight, little scorpion?”
Precisely because I’m scheming your timely demise, I think, but outwardly I only reply, “How long have I been here?”
“A little under two weeks.”
That chills me. Two weeks, and while my family is safe…Hào’yáng is still dead. And I have no plan of escape, no chance of turning this war around to save my realm.
“Please don’t leave me alone for that long again,” I say quietly.
“I’ll stay for as long as you like, àn’yīng,” Yù’chén says with a shrug. “You need only ask.”
I wrap my arms around myself, only just remembering that I am in that thin, sheer nightgown. “Could I have a proper dress?” I ask.
Yù’chén’s gaze flickers over me. “It would take at least a few days to tailor a new one for you. But I can alter your clothes with my magic. Would that be all right with you?”
What I really want is a weapon. But I have to start small. Begin by gaining his trust. “All right,” I echo.
Yù’chén leads me onto the pavilion. I haven’t ventured outside in a while.
Fresh night air caresses my cheeks, and I could weep for the way the wind moves over me after having spent so long in the suffocating darkness of his chambers.
Overhead, the aurora dances and the jagged mountains and shifting clouds come alive with colors.
I catch myself admiring the eerie beauty of this world, at once frightening and breathtaking.
I look sharply away. I can’t think of them without thinking of the invisible wards at the edges of this terrace, imprisoning me here.
Yù’chén turns to face me. His eyes glow crimson as magic pools in his palms. I hear him draw a quiet breath, as though to steel himself, and then he begins.
The fabric stretches where he coaxes, his hand brushing featherlight against my skin as he guides an iridescent thread to weave sleeves over my bare shoulders and arms.
He moves to my bodice next. I suppress a shiver as the heat of his hands roams up my waist, the tips of his fingers grazing the sheer fabric.
When he reaches the top of my rib cage, Yù’chén pauses. He glances at the soft silk over my breasts before quickly averting his gaze.
“Bear with me,” he says, and then his hands move up. I close my eyes, waiting for nausea or disgust to rise in my throat.
Only it doesn’t.
Yù’chén’s fingers barely skim against the sensitive parts of my skin before they move to my collarbone.
When I open my eyes, he is already stepping away. A chill replaces the heat of his body. “I can change anything you don’t like.”
I step to the edge of the cold spring to peer at my reflection.
Yù’chén has completely changed my nightgown.
It holds the original structure, hugging my body and kissing my waist before spilling down in a sheath…
but he has enhanced it beautifully into a proper dress.
Silver twines with the black silk like a celestial river, cascading down to my feet.
My bodice glimmers and ripples like an ocean at midnight.
And my hair falls in waves down my back, pinned only by a glowing red scorpion lily.
Like this, fully dressed, I feel settled in a way I haven’t since I arrived.
And I feel powerful.
“I didn’t know your magic could do this,” I say.
“It’s stronger here,” he replies.
“You have an eye for design. I thought I was the seamstress.”
His lips curve at the corners. He’s still staring at me, and he seems to realize this, for he quickly looks away. “Is there anything else you need, àn’yīng?”
I take a step toward him. Something has eased in the dynamic between us, and I feel emboldened to ask, “Can I go outside of these chambers with you?”
He hesitates, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far.
But Yù’chén says, “The Palace of the Aurora is heavily guarded. My wing in particular has limited exit and entry. I’m not exactly popular in my kingdom right now after…
well, after some of the choices I made back in the Kingdom of Sky. We would need a reason to leave.”
I know exactly what choices he’s referencing. An image flashes in my mind: me, standing at the edge of the waterfall leading to the mortal realm, hand in hand with Hào’yáng as we prepare to escape. Yù’chén, stepping out from the shadows behind us, the red of his eyes burning into me.
He let me go.
“I have an idea,” Yù’chén says now, drawing my attention back to the present. He proffers his hand.
And because I have nothing more to lose by trusting him this once, I take it.
—
Caution tightens my throat as we step into his chambers and near those obsidian doors. I don’t know what might be waiting for me on the other side. By instinct, I keep flicking my wrists, grasping for my crescent blades.
Gain his trust, I repeat to myself firmly—the mantra that is at once keeping me moving and holding me together.
I touch the bodice of my gown, where I’ve pocketed that shard of the porcelain teacup I broke several days ago.
With it and a proper dress, I’m already in a better position than I was when I arrived.
The obsidian doors shimmer with a luster I thought to be mother-of-pearl, yet as we approach, I realize that it resembles stardust. When Yù’chén raps on the doors, the stardust ripples, revealing two silhouettes on the other side, like shadows through a screen.
Guards.
“Open the passageway,” Yù’chén demands, every bit the petulant prince of this realm. “I’m going to a moonsong revelry.”
A sly female voice responds, echoing as though she speaks to us through a long tunnel, “You and your mortal pet, halfling prince?”
“Need you even ask?” he drawls.
There’s faint laughter; he seems to have passed the test, for the doors open like drapes parting. Flowers bloom, their stems weaving into an archway: silver narcissuses, their petals like pale butterflies.
Yù’chén draws me close to him in the semblance of an embrace. “You know the rules,” he says to me, his breath grazing the shell of my ear. “Stay close to me. Don’t touch the flowers. And don’t believe anything you see or hear.”