Chapter 19 Àn’yīng
àn’yīng
Palace of the Aurora, Kingdom of Night
When I wake, I am in the bed. The drapes are fluttering, and across the chamber, Yù’chén is gone; he has not put up the wards to his side of the room. It must be around midday—I can now tell by the position of the moon and stars in the sky.
I recall what Yù’chén said last night about missing the sun, and I’m suddenly filled with a yearning that makes my heart ache. I can’t imagine living here for a decade, half a lifetime, after having known the warmth, fires, and laughter of the mortal realm.
I make my way to the crystal spring to bathe and dress. When I return, Yù’chén is waiting for me.
He’s wearing his crimson cloak again. It brings out the flush to his cheeks and his mouth, and I suddenly have the feeling I’m with that red-cloaked practitioner I first met in the bamboo forest of the mortal realm.
“Good morning,” he greets me.
“Good morning,” I reply after a beat, studying him.
Yù’chén clears his throat. He seems to be working up the courage to say something.
At last, he asks: “Would you have lunch with me today?”
—
He leads me to his part of the chambers this time.
Beyond his study is a dining space overlooking his open-air pavilion.
The gauze curtains have been pulled back, revealing the scythe moon and the mists rolling through the vast, empty night of this realm.
I find that the sight I’d thought eerie just weeks ago feels less so now, warmed by the soft light of lamps in the study.
Yù’chén draws out an intricately carved rosewood chair—one of two placed at the matching table.
I trace a finger over the patterns as I sit: dragons and phoenixes, lotuses and clouds—all emblems of the imperial family in the Kingdom of Rivers.
The dishes he has had prepared are simple but plentiful, and again I spot some of my favorites from the banquets during the Immortality Trials.
Egg stews steam gently from clay pots, glutinous rice balls glisten from atop spreads of bamboo leaves, and rounding out the spread of delicacies is a pot of tea and two porcelain teacups with little patterns of flora and fauna similar to the one I smashed on my first night here.
Yù’chén takes his seat across from me. There is a new, tense air of courtesy between us; neither of us has acknowledged what happened last night.
Something twists in my chest, and I blink away the image of him lying on the floor, alone and bloodied, barely breathing. “Thank you for this,” I say aloud. “It reminds me of home.”
The edges of Yù’chén’s eyes soften, and his mouth pulls in a tentative smile. It brightens his entire face. “I’m glad. It reminds me of the mortal realm, too.”
It’s interesting that he has chosen this type of decor for his private chambers.
The books and scrolls tucked in his bookshelves, the lacquered-wood furniture with inlaid gold and mother-of-pearl patterns, even the pale-blue sheen to the gauze drapes…
we could be enjoying a twilight meal in the Kingdom of Rivers.
I help myself to pickled fish and steamed egg.
Perhaps it is the light from the lamps hanging overhead—real candles lit within—or perhaps it is something else, but I feel warmer than I have in a long time.
“You should do this more often,” I say, gesturing around. “It chases away the cold and the dark.”
“I didn’t have a way to replace the candles after using them.
The fires in my realm burn from magic, not wax, and I’m not permitted in the mortal realm without reason.
” Yù’chén pauses, glancing at me over the rim of his teacup.
“Perhaps once I claim the mortal throne and stabilize the gateway between the two, we could have meals in the mortal realm.”
Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.
“àn’yīng.” Yù’chén places his teacup down on the table. “I wanted to ask you about what you said last night. About our alliance.”
My hands automatically go to my crescent blades. They’ve been strapped to the inside of my wrists ever since I rescued them from Xisenyin last night.
“àn’yīng,” Yù’chén repeats, and I look up at him. A wry smile curves his lips as he glances at my hands. “Are you wishing you stabbed me last night while you had the chance?”
My grip tightens. I must admit, last night, sitting in the dark with him wounded and weakened, it briefly occurred to me that I could overpower him and escape the Kingdom of Night.
But that thought was fleeting, born from an old instinct. I spent the rest of the night listening to make sure he was still breathing. Hoping that the healing talisman and spirit energies I poured into him were enough.
“That would have been rather foolish of me,” I say, holding his gaze. “I’d have ended our alliance before it truly began.”
Yù’chén falls very still. Only his finger twitches against his teacup. “Then are you officially agreeing to work with me?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Well. You could still stab me and run for it.”
“And get eaten alive by Xisenyin and your fellow mó? No, thanks.” I sigh and loosen my fingers from the hilts of my blades, setting my hands on the table again. “I’m working with you only so that I can protect the Kingdom of Rivers. And if I find you’re deceiving me in any way, then I’ll stab you.”
He lets out a startled chuckle and covers his mouth with his hand, but then he’s leaning back against his chair and holding his stomach as he laughs.
I stare at him. “What’s so funny? I meant it.”
Yù’chén purses his lips. “I know,” he says, and he’s grinning at me. I haven’t seen him smile like this in a long time—since our days in the immortal realm together. “That’s why.”
I roll my eyes and take a bite of a glutinous rice ball.
“I’m glad you have your stinger back, little scorpion,” Yù’chén says.
I raise an eyebrow. “You mean you enjoy threats and attitude?”
His smile fades slightly. “When you first arrived, you were a shell of yourself. I didn’t know what to do, so I figured I would try to check on you, even if you hated me. Having you react angrily to me was better than having no reaction from you at all.”
I draw a sharp breath. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I’m sorry.” He laces his fingers together. “I’m sorry that I can’t change everything, àn’yīng. But I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power to give you what I can of the world you wanted.”
“Then make the covenant with me,” I say.
“Before we meet Sansiran tonight. And in front of your entire court, announce the four conditions we discussed.” I pause and draw a deep, swift breath before I finish.
“Then I’ll tell you the method to ascending the mortal throne and being accepted by the land of the Kingdom of Rivers. ”
Yù’chén is watching me with an intensity that burns. “So you do know the secret to claiming the throne,” he says quietly.
I hold his gaze, all but confirming with my silence.
Yù’chén’s gaze is brighter than I have seen in a long time.
“I accept,” he says softly. Starlight dances across his face as he reaches beneath the table and draws out a lacquered-wood box.
“A formal token of appreciation for our alliance,” he says, and there’s a teasing drawl to his tone.
“Let us first prepare for our appearance tonight in the Court of the Aurora. Take your time. Whenever you’re ready to make the covenant, come find me outside. ”
—
Yù’chén has gifted me a gown. It’s an ethereal thing: rippling fabric of shifting blues with small, glittering diamonds sewn in.
It fits effortlessly over me, spilling down my curves in layers of silks and gauzes so that I look like I’m dressed in the colors of a midnight sea.
Stitched throughout are cherry blossoms, and when I move, it is as though the flowers are carried by star-strewn tides.
And inside my sleeves are three slots, one for each of my remaining crescent blades.
It’s so thoughtfully made that I can’t help but be touched by this gesture as I step into it.
A matching ribbon and a pair of silk slippers are laid neatly in the box.
I braid my hair as I always have and slide on the shoes.
Finally, I slip my blades into my sleeves.
When I finish, I feel more like myself than I have since I arrived here.
I spend the rest of the day perfecting the defensive talismans on my body.
The moon is nearly halfway through the sky—indicating late afternoon, I’ve come to learn—when I’m ready.
As I step toward the curtains leading to the open-air pavilion, I make out Yù’chén’s silhouette.
He’s standing at the edge of the crystal spring, gazing out at the distant aurora.
He has changed into his black cloak bearing the dragon and phoenix intertwined—imperial emblems of the Kingdom of Rivers.
As though sensing my presence, he turns. His gaze settles on me through the billowing drapes, and he goes very still.
Heat rises to my cheeks. “What?” I ask.
He blinks and looks away. The curtains between us cast shadows across his face. “Nothing,” he says quickly, and then: “It’s beautiful. The dress, that is. I wanted to—the water, for the Kingdom of Rivers, and the cherry blossoms—” He stops himself and draws a deep breath. “Do you like it?”
I run a finger over the intricately sewn flowers for which I’m named. “It was very thoughtful of you,” I reply, and I part the curtains to cross the threshold to him. “Thank you.”
Moonlight sparks in his gaze as I approach. He holds up a hand. “I have something else for you,” he says. “I thought you’d like it before tonight.”
My attention narrows to the shimmering black feather in his palm. I close the gap between us, my fingers brushing his as I take it.