Chapter 16 Àn’yīng
àn’yīng
Palace of the Aurora, Kingdom of Night
He doesn’t return until an entire day later—but he does send me food. Intricately planned meals on silver trays, appearing in my chamber amidst a bloom of red scorpion lilies. Most important, each tray comes with a silver-black feather: a memory of my family from his shadowcrane.
I wait for these small windows of joy. As I consume my food, I cherish the glimpses of Méi’zi and Mā’s whereabouts as they settle into the Western Province. Some part of me wonders—knows—there is a purpose to these tributes; a form of bribery, a reminder that things could be good.
Help me save your realm from the Kingdom of Night.
Slowly, as I savor bright, sunlit images of my loved ones, I formulate a plan.
When Yù’chén arrives next, I’m ready.
As always, he steps out of the shadows like a houseguest crossing through an invisible door. He looks immaculate in that same black robe swirling with dragons stitched of stars.
This time, I’m on my feet as soon as he enters.
Yù’chén takes in my proper appearance. I’m dressed—his servants have sent outfits, tailored perfectly to fit me by the magic of this realm—and I’ve bathed. My hair falls loose and straight over my back. The gown I’ve chosen is a silver one, a simple yet elegant sheath that allows for easy movement.
His eyes linger over my outfit for a heartbeat before he says, “Miss me?”
He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Thank you,” I say, approaching him, “for the food. And…the feathers.”
Yù’chén raises an eyebrow. I notice he looks paler tonight; there are bags under his eyes. His gaze doesn’t spark or tease the way it normally does.
“Where were you?” I ask.
He turns and flops onto a lacquered futon. Exhales as he brushes his fingers over his face and massages his forehead. “Nowhere important.”
“I should know, if I’m to consider the terms of your bargain.”
At those words, he falls very still.
I’ve thought about it—or, rather, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. At first, the possibility was overshadowed by the pain of losing Hào’yáng. Of knowing that considering this means, in some way, acknowledging that he’s truly, irrevocably gone.
But sitting there in the dark, with memories and enough grief to drown me, I found the answer in my boy in the jade, as I so often have in the past. I recalled a memory that Meadowsweet showed me in the moments before his death—the one of Hào’yáng, still a boy, being chastised for choosing to save me from drowning in that pond so many winters ago.
Love, family, friendship…you must shed everything in pursuit of your duty to your realm, to your people, and to your kingdom. My birth mother’s words to him rang in my mind. You would exist not for yourself but as a vessel to serve the Kingdom of Rivers. Can you understand that?
It was Hào’yáng’s response that changed my mind. I can, he said, but, Lady, it hurts.
The pain of having lost Hào’yáng would always be there. But I could choose to let it drown me—or I could choose to rise above it and serve my realm in a different way. I would be giving up everything I’ve held dear in this life for a chance to save all that I loved.
I closed my eyes and imagined Hào’yáng there by my side. It is fruitless to live in the shadows of the dead, àn’yīng, he told me through his golden characters in the jade in the first days after my father died. Look to life and do all that you can to make it better.
Even if Hào’yáng is gone, he is, in so many ways, still with me. A part of me.
Nothing can change that.
I straighten now, hands clasped together, and I round the futon to face Yù’chén. He’s slumped back with a hand draped dramatically over his face, yet as I approach, his gaze slides to me through the cracks between his fingers.
“You seemed adamant in refusing my offer last night, little scorpion. Has that changed?”
I stare at him and he stares back, neither of us relenting, neither of us able to read the other.
“I’m hungry,” I say instead, and without waiting for him to reply, I turn and walk out onto the pavilion.
He trails me as I step out onto the rosewood floors, which turn to soft grass beneath my bare feet as I pass beyond the pavilion. The barren trees come to life, scorpion lilies blooming in their eerie beauty.
At the edge of a cliff, where the waterfall flows into the abyss, a stone table appears. Steam billows from platters of food laid out on it. I glance over at Yù’chén, who waits several paces behind me. In the shadows, his eyes glow crimson from the magic he used to summon our meal.
He averts them as our gazes meet.
A mat woven of tiny starflowers appears beneath my feet, tickling my toes.
I sit, pick up the chopsticks, and begin helping myself to the meal.
Overhead, scorpion lilies grow in clumps from tree branches, their lambent light pouring over me.
They’re meant to mimic lanterns so I won’t have to eat in semidarkness.
Though there is something uncanny about a moonlit meal beneath glimmering flowers, I understand the gesture.
After a few moments, Yù’chén approaches. He sits.
This close, I realize how astonishingly wan his skin is, how pale his lips are. My gaze slides lower, and I catch a flash of red and black scales peeking above his collar, dissolving into black veins. All indications that he is overexerting himself on magic usage.
I take a small sip of plum wine. I need the courage, but I also need my head sharp. “What happened to you?” I ask.
He leans an elbow on the table and props his chin on his palm, glancing up at me through dark lashes. “Didn’t sleep well.”
He’s lying.
I’d normally call him out, but I need to aim for diplomacy tonight. Instead, I place a piece of braised quail on his plate. “Eat,” I say, and he stares at me as though he’s never seen me.
To my surprise, he picks up his chopsticks and begins to eat.
“Were you with Sansiran?” I ask. It’s what I assumed, after we ran into Xisenyin last night. She has asked us to remind you that she will be expecting the answers you promised her.
Yù’chén reaches for his carafe of plum wine. “Yes” is all he says as he takes a swig.
His flat tone chills me. I take in his pallor, the dullness of his eyes, and something tightens in my chest.
Did she hurt you? I want to ask, but I think I know the answer already. It’s a question that will get me nowhere in terms of my plans.
“What answers did she want from you?” I reach for a glutinous rice ball. Lì’líng and Fán’xuān used to bicker over these during the Immortality Trials.
Yù’chén glances at me over the rim of his porcelain carafe.
“Xisenyin said it last night,” I add. I put down my chopsticks and place my hands on the stone surface of the table. “If you want me to consider your offer, you’re going to have to tell me more.”
He blinks slowly as he takes another sip of plum wine. “You’re considering my offer,” he repeats.
“I am.”
“A rather drastic change in stance from yesterday’s ‘You will never be heir in the way he was.’ ” His laugh scrapes as he sets down his carafe with a thud.
“Did Xisenyin frighten you so much that a monster like me is beginning to look kind in contrast? Have the atrocities of my realm whetted your appetite for a half demon on your kingdom’s throne? ”
He’s looking at me, smiling, yet his eyes are dark with anger. An anger I’ve seen him use as a shield for grief.
I hurt him. I need to begin by making amends.
“I was harsh,” I say steadily. I take my time with my words, for the best lies are conceived from a kernel of truth. “Because I was afraid that if I chose you, I would be abandoning Hào’yáng. That I’d be a traitor to my realm and all the promises I’ve made to those I love.
“But I realize that the only way for me to save them and save my kingdom is not to dwell on the past, but to look to the future.” I’m convincing myself as I speak. “And the best path forward for me to keep my promises and protect my loved ones…is with you.”
The seconds trickle past. He’s staring at me, no longer smiling. “If you want me on the mortal throne,” he says at last, “you’ll have to help me figure out how to get it.”
Everything in me stretches taut. I try to keep my voice light as I ask, “What do you mean?”
“There seems to be some ancient magic in the Kingdom of Rivers that rejects me. A connection to the land I’m missing.”
My heart pounds so hard against my chest, I wonder if Yù’chén can hear it. “You tried?” I whisper. “After he—”
I can’t bring myself to say it, but he seems to read it from my eyes: After he died.
“Yes.” Yù’chén’s face is as smooth as the surface of the crystal spring in the garden. “I tried to take the throne today, upon my mother’s return. And nothing changed.”
The mortal emperor is crowned when his blood joins with the waters of the Long River. Hào’yáng’s voice rings out in my mind.
“And how,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, “did you try to take the throne?”
“I ascended it,” Yù’chén replies. “I took a seat on it.” His gaze is sharper than a sword. “Why, is there a different way? Some ritual I must complete?”
I’m careful to rein in any expression. “I don’t know. You said nothing changed—what were you expecting?”
“It is believed that if I am crowned, the mortal realm will fall into an eternal night not unlike ours. That the wards between our realms will vanish and our peoples will be able to roam freely between. None of that has happened.”
I think of the ways we clung to our shrinking hours of sunlight, of the mó we’ve had to fend off all these years. How I would be giving all of that up were I to accept his offer.
And yet. Help me protect it, he said last night.
You alone know the way to crown the mortal emperor, a small voice whispers in my head. You alone could change the fate of the realms.
“Say I could help you find the way to attain the mortal throne.” I watch his expression. “What would you give me?”
“What do you want?”