Chapter 16 Àn’yīng #2
“I have conditions of my own, if you’d like me to consider your offer.”
He leans forward. “I’m listening.”
It feels like we’re playing a game of chess, like my father taught me when I was young.
So I make my move. “First, I want the guaranteed position of High Advisor in your court, decreed by the laws of your realm. Then I want the war to stop as soon as you’re crowned, and I want iron laws set up by you and your mother to protect mortals.
Your kind must be banned from hunting them, preying on them, or any acts that harm them.
” I pause. My final condition is selfish, derived from that long-ago memory of plum blossoms in the sun, my family’s laughter, the light lancing off my sister’s braid.
“And I don’t want eternal night in my realm.
I want there to be sunlight,” I finish. “For now, those are my four conditions.”
Yù’chén shrugs. “I can declare those conditions before the Court of the Aurora,” he begins, but I shake my head.
“I don’t want just a declaration before your court.” I place my final chess piece. “I want a covenant. With you.”
I’ve thought this through ever since he told me of the magical bargain he made with his mother, which is unbreakable for eternity.
The perfect guarantee.
Yù’chén blinks, surprise edging into his face.
Then he laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“A covenant is for eternity. You want an eternal bond between us, little scorpion?”
I fold my arms. “How else am I to ensure you keep your word, considering your propensity for lying and betrayal?” That wipes the smirk off his face. “Can it be done, if I’m mortal?”
“I believe so. I would need to call upon the magic of my realm, but there have been cases of mortals bound to mó.” Yù’chén pauses. “Even so, àn’yīng, I cannot guarantee any influence over my mother and her decisions on ruling our realm.”
“But you would be emperor of both realms. You would be the reason the two are forged together. So long as your actions do not violate the terms of your covenant with her, she cannot stop you.”
And if I have a covenant with him, I hold the keys to both kingdoms, too.
“You know how she is.” Yù’chén looks away, and I think of how mercilessly she hurt him back in the Temple of Dawn even as he begged her to stop.
He doesn’t deserve that. No matter how much I will myself to hate his kind for what they’ve done to my home, I cannot bring myself to think he deserves that kind of punishment.
“We’ll find a way,” I say quietly, and I’m surprised by how much I mean it.
The corners of his mouth soften. “And when would we enact this bargain?”
The food before us grows cold, but my appetite’s gone. I’ve set out upon a path of no return.
I push away from the table. “Take me to the Court of the Aurora,” I say. “If I’m going to take a position in it, I need to know more about it first.”
Yù’chén considers. “There is a revelry tonight,” he says at last. “In the Palace of the Aurora itself. Many Higher Ones will be in attendance, along with their lower courts and subordinates. I can take you, but I’d prefer not to stay long.”
I recall Xisenyin’s teeth scraping against my skin. The wound at my neck gives a phantom ache of protest, but I brush it away. If I’m to remain in this world, I can’t live in fear of its monsters.
“Fine,” I say, glancing again at his pallor and the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Will your mother be there?”
“No. She left for other business.” Yù’chén sighs and straightens, running his fingers through his hair.
“Very well. If you’d like to attend a revelry at the Court of the Aurora, you must listen to the rules carefully.
A revelry in my mother’s court will be very different from the moonsong revelry we attended—or, indeed, any other revelries in the kingdom.
This is a gathering of the most powerful mó in the kingdom. One misstep could cost everything.
“First rule: Do not eat or drink anything. You already know of oleander nectar. There are much worse things. Rose petals laced with poison made to cause pain worse than death in humans. Poppy milk that will induce hallucinations until your body collapses. All hold pleasurable delights for the mó yet are lethal to mortals.”
I listen to Yù’chén, tamping down the combination of fear and excitement that spikes my adrenaline.
I feel as though I’m finally moving forward again, and though it may not be the direction I want, it’s the one my realm needs.
This is my chance to learn more of the Kingdom of Night and its mechanisms, including the most formidable opponents we may face.
“Second,” Yù’chén continues, interrupting my trail of thought, “in my mother’s court, the only mortals present are the ones that are…claimed.”
“Claimed?” I raise an eyebrow, but I have a horrible premonition.
“Claimed,” Yù’chén confirms, “by a Higher One, or a mó of Sansiran’s court. Either bound by dark magic or drunk on oleander nectar and used for entertainment and pleasure.”
“Is that what I’m purportedly being kept for?” I can’t help but think of Xisenyin’s words: He begged for you.
Yù’chén’s eyes are on the porcelain wine cup in his hands as he spins it. “It’s what everyone will expect of us,” he replies, and then stands. “Follow me, and…this will be difficult for you, but”—the corner of his lip curls—“you’ll need to pretend you’re infatuated with me.”
I roll my eyes and grip his hand hard. “You underestimate me,” I say, and then I tip my face to him and throw him a dazzling smile.
I’ve had half a lifetime to practice the role of the soft maiden before any mó that came across my path—right before they became very well-acquainted with my blades. “How’s that?”
Yù’chén’s smirk has vanished. “Disconcerting.” He clears his throat, turning to lead me toward his chamber doors. “We won’t be there long, so do not leave my side. Mortals who end up lost in this palace tend not to be seen again.”
I can’t smile anymore at that. I am walking into a tiger’s lair with no blades, no weapons, nothing other than the dress I wear and my own bare hands. The darkness presses in on all sides, and the only ally I have is Yù’chén.
As I step closer to him, I find myself wondering if this is what awaits me for the rest of my life.
But I think of those feathers holding precious memories of my loved ones, healthy and safe in the sunlit dunes of the Western Province’s desert—and I know I would never have it any other way. In every lifetime, I would choose to remain in the dark so that they can walk in the light.
I place my other hand on Yù’chén’s chest and lift my chin.
I am not afraid.
I will not be prey.
Yù’chén’s eyes are as black as moonless night; I cannot fathom the thoughts that run through his mind as his other hand comes to rest on my back. “Hold tight,” he says, and around us, scorpion lilies bloom in the dark.
I lean my cheek against his chest, remembering how I once searched for his heartbeat.
Shadows from his passageway swallow us whole.