Chapter 21 Àn’yīng
àn’yīng
Palace of the Aurora, Kingdom of Night
When the veil of darkness lifts, I hold tightly to Yù’chén to orient myself. The world settles: obsidian pillars, night skies, brightly colored flowers. The oleander passageway, having served its purpose, begins to fade.
We are back in the Court of the Aurora—only all signs of last night’s revelry are gone.
The center has been cleared to form one long aisle leading to a dais at the other end.
Mó, elegant and ethereal in their black robes, line up on the sides.
Tonight, there are no claimed mortals. The open-air chamber has been transformed into a proper throne room.
Sansiran’s passageway has deposited us at the back. I search for the demon queen, but she is nowhere to be seen; the dais sits empty, devoid of even a throne.
Immediately, my eyes are drawn to the center of the glade, where, looming over a crystal spring, is the ancient stone pái’fāng that caught my attention at the revelry.
As I watch, the vines circling its stone columns begin to glow.
Tiny aquamarine flowers bloom, and a vortex of darkness forms between the two pillars.
Ghostly silhouettes move from within, then two mó step out, both clad in pale azure garments that glimmer over their bodies like spiderwebs.
They round the dais and take their places amidst the rows of waiting courtiers.
The pái’fāng must be a gateway. The blue flowers crumble and disappear into the shadows, and the center of the pái’fāng clears.
I tear my eyes away to focus on my current predicament. I haven’t yet made the covenant with Yù’chén. If Sansiran somehow forces the true method to claiming the mortal throne from me tonight, I will have nothing left to bargain with.
Alcoves line the walls of the throne room, overhung with curtains of flowering nightshade. I pull Yù’chén into one of them, ducking beneath the flowers and turning to lean against the wall. To anyone passing by, it will look as though their crown prince is having a moment with his claimed mortal.
I pull him to me; his hands fall to my waist as I lean forward.
As I meet his gaze, though, my request dies on my lips.
The mirth and nonchalance with which he regarded me over the past weeks is completely gone; the way he looks at me burns with a rawness and desperation that catches fire in my heart.
I snap my head away, my pulse racing. After last night, something fundamental has shifted between us so that I no longer know what we are. Enemies. Allies. Friends.
Lovers.
No. “Yù’chén,” I begin, but he cuts across.
“You don’t have to explain. I understand.
” His voice is even, his hand steady as he takes my chin and tips my face to his.
“You wanted to forget about him, or you simply wanted someone to be with. I won’t take it to mean anything more.
” He pauses. “No matter what, I’ll still enter the covenant with you, àn’yīng.
I’ll work with you to save the Kingdom of Rivers.
” His hand falls to his side. “I made you a promise.”
I search his eyes, and I find that they are open to me. Raw and familiar, with the same intimacy I found in them when he held me to him earlier.
I swallow at the way my heart stutters in spite of everything I have told myself.
I’m the one to reach up and touch his cheek. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He leads me out of the alcove toward the mó lining up on either side of the dais.
It is easy to recognize the Higher Ones gathered closest to where the throne should sit.
There is an aura of pure, unadulterated power to them, as though they are an ancient, immutable part of this world, like rivers and winds and flames.
Among them, I spot Xisenyin, with her snow-colored hair; Niefuzan, a head taller than the others; and Weirufeng, with his pale-blue skin, half hidden in the crowd.
My blades are cold against my skin, hidden in the slits of my sleeves.
Overhead, the aurora suddenly grows frenzied, turning the color of blood. A cold wind sweeps shadows in, and red oleanders blossom on the stone pái’fāng.
From within steps the Empress of Fallen Darkness in a dress that seems cut from the sky.
Her hair flows long and loose, like wisps of smoke; her lips are a slash of crimson on her pale face.
The realm itself seems to shift with her every move: flowers springing up in the grass, trailing in her wake; the air and shadows curving around her; the stars brightening where she walks; the wind kissing her hair and dress.
Complete silence has fallen over the Court of the Aurora, and every crimson gaze is drawn to rest on her as though by a magnetic pull.
Sansiran, the demon queen, smiles, and she is just as alluring and terrifying as in all my memories.
She rounds the spring and stalks toward the dais. A throne rises from the ground, knitting itself out of vines and tree trunks and opening to her as she turns and sits.
“My loyal subjects.” Sansiran’s voice echoes across the clearing, drifting between trees.
“We continue to gain ground in our war against the Kingdom of Sky. But tonight, we are gathered here to celebrate an event that will help us tip the scales of this war once and forever.” She waves her hand.
“Bring forth my son and the woman he claims.”
The crowds part, and guards approach to escort us. My feet move of their own accord, and I’m gripping Yù’chén’s hand so hard, I cannot feel my fingers as we draw close to where Sansiran sits beyond the spring. The shadow of the pái’fāng looms over her.
Yù’chén kneels. I follow.
“My darling son has done so much in service of our realm,” Sansiran begins.
Her voice reverberates across the vast hall.
“Whether intentionally, that matters not. When he asked me to spare the life of the woman he loved”—by my side, Yù’chén tenses—“I made a generous decision.” Sansiran pauses, and her lips curve. “But for more reasons than one.
“Tonight, my decision pays off.”
Whispers of alarm tighten my chest. From around us come subtle movements as Xisenyin, Weirufeng, and Niefuzan and his underlings all emerge from the crowd to surround us from across the spring.
Yù’chén’s eyes flash. He, too, has taken notice.
Suddenly, he stands.
Sansiran pauses, her lips parted, eyebrows raised, as she beholds her son.
“Your Majesty,” Yù’chén says. “Before you proceed, I have conditions.”
Amusement glimmers in Sansiran’s eyes. “Conditions?” she repeats with a silken laugh. “What makes you believe you have the right to demand anything?”
“I exercise my rights as the prince of the Kingdom of Night and heir to the Kingdom of Rivers.” Yù’chén’s jaw is clenched as he stares down his mother. From this angle, I’m struck by how similar their profiles are: straight noses and sharp jaws, soft lips and raven’s brows.
Similar, yet so different on the inside.
Sansiran laughs. “I see,” she says, a finger stroking the armrest of her throne. A ring of oleanders grows beneath her touch, their spiky leaves glittering the color of emeralds. “Very well, then.”
Yù’chén blinks—the only show of his surprise, which mirrors my own.
“I will listen to your conditions, my prince and my heir,” Sansiran continues, her smile widening, “as soon as you prove yourself worthy of both titles.” Her gaze cuts to the Higher Ones lurking near the dais. “Seize him and reopen the gateway to the mortal realm.”
Dark magic clamps hard over my body, freezing me in place as the Higher Ones pounce.
Scorpion lilies shoot up from the ground, faster than imaginable, cocooning Yù’chén in a shield of his magic.
He has drawn his sword; the garnet on the hilt flashes as he slashes through the first two of Niefuzan’s underlings.
They dissipate in screeches of pain, ichor gusting past him like ashes in wind.
Weirufeng’s unyielding silver gaze pins me in place. He hasn’t moved, he looks almost bored, and yet his power over me is absolute. No matter how much spirit energy I push into the talismans on my body, I cannot budge.
Xisenyin and Niefuzan clamp their power over Yù’chén. I can feel the tremor in the air and ground as they descend upon him, the resulting clash as he pushes back with all his might.
Prince he may be, but his other half is only mortal—and he is no match for a Higher One.
His knees buckle, then he’s on the ground on all fours, veins darkening and eyes reddening as he fights. Scales begin to bloom on his skin, climbing up his collar and spreading across the back of his hands as he nears the limit of his power.
Niefuzan’s underlings leap on him, dragging him to the center of the throne room. They fling him beneath the pái’fāng and hold him there, hunger parting their mouths as they stare at the Higher One commanding them.
Niefuzan and Xisenyin approach. The underlings peel back Yù’chén’s sleeves to bare his arms.
Xisenyin makes a slashing movement with her hands, and blood sprays against the stone pillar of the ancient pái’fāng, dark red and glistening.
Yù’chén makes a low sound in his throat as gashes open on his palms, on his forearms, and one at his throat.
His blood forms droplets like red rubies, streaming toward the base of the pái’fāng, where the stone glows and absorbs it all.
Where Yù’chén’s blood joins with the stone, the vines twined around the pillars begin to shift. Scorpion lilies bloom, and shadows pour from them, twining with his blood to darken the center of the pái’fāng.
Beyond, the night of this realm vanishes and a new scene appears: Flowing silk banners. Cherrywood pillars. A throne carved of gold. And at the end of a very long, grand hall, a sliver of blue sky.
The Kingdom of Rivers.
Home.
The gateway ripples once and settles, the scorpion lilies framing it pulsing softly with energy. With Yù’chén’s lifeblood.