Chapter 30 Àn’yīng
àn’yīng
Imperial Palace, Kingdom of Rivers
Silence and shadows wrap around us, thick and oppressive, as we draw away from the main scene of battle. Hào’yáng conjures a concealment talisman similar to the one my lost blade Shadow had.
With the majority of the Kingdom of Night’s forces occupied in the battles at the Temple of Dawn and outside the Imperial City’s gates, the streets of their stronghold in the mortal realm are now eerily empty.
We keep beneath the houses’ curved eaves.
Broken doors and torn paper windows gape at us; here and there, I spot signs that mortals—families—once inhabited this place.
Children’s zodiac figurines line a windowsill; an open door shows a meal set upon an elegant table, the porcelain now coated in dust, untouched for a decade.
Unbidden, a dozen different scenes play out in my mind as I imagine the fate of the family who prepared the meal.
Hào’yáng, too, takes this all in, his eyes raking across the devastation left of his home city by the Kingdom of Night. “I can hear them still,” he says quietly. “From the day this city fell.”
“You did the only thing you could that day, the only thing that would give our kingdom any hope of fighting back as we are now,” I tell him. “You lived.”
“Sometimes, I wonder—why me? Why my life? I’m worth no more than any of the people who died here.”
I consider him, and I think of another who asked me the same question, with the same pain and grief raw in his crimson eyes.
“But isn’t that the greatest burden of all to bear?
” I say softly. “The knowledge that others died while you lived?” I take Hào’yáng’s hand, forcing him to look at me.
“When we are born,” I continue, “we are set on a path to walk. That is our fate. But how we choose to walk it—that becomes our destiny. I don’t think we should question why we are given the lives we are but, rather, how we should live them. ”
“How…romantic.”
The words ring out in the night, echoing across the streets as a surge of demonic energies hits us: wrath incarnate, laced through with centuries of hatred.
Sansiran.
I step forward, sword raised, shielding Hào’yáng behind me as we both turn to face the source of her voice: the Imperial Palace itself.
I can make out the marble steps leading up to the palace doors, which is writhing with shadows; the golden roofs and vermillion pillars, the jade-green and mother-of-pearl signs cast in night. A familiar scythe moon hangs over it inside a vortex of black:
The gateway.
It seems to have expanded since I escaped a few days ago. Now it has widened beyond the palace, spilling down toward the city crouched in its shadows.
My chest tightens as I think of what it takes to maintain that gateway—of whose blood wet the stones at the base of the pái’fāng, of the resignation on his face as he was forced to his knees. Of the blankness to his eyes as they cut him up like livestock.
I need to know that he’s all right, that he’s not hurting. Even if I know the ending to our tale, I don’t want him to be in pain any longer.
“Come greet me face to face, Crown Prince.” Sansiran speaks as though right next to us, her voice resonating through every street and alley, the sheer power of her energies shuddering through the derelict buildings all around. “Let me see what it is that rendered you the chosen one.”
Hào’yáng makes to move forward, but I catch his arm, tugging him back into the shadows of the house beneath which we are hiding.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “It’s a trap.”
His gaze lingers on my face. “There is no way around it,” he replies quietly.
“Hào’yáng, wait—”
“àn’yīng, you must be the one to close the gateway.” Hào’yáng lifts his gaze to the city walls, where bursts of light and the clamor of battle fill the air. His expression hardens. “While I engage her in battle, you need to find Yù’chén and end this once and for all.”
A violent wind stirs, whipping past us—a wind laced with shadows of the Kingdom of Night.
“Together, then,” I say to Hào’yáng, and I summon my spirit energies. An iridescent cloud forms at my feet, and I rise as Hào’yáng kicks off with a burst of qīng’gōng that sends him vaulting onto the rooftops.
The demon queen stands at the top of the marble steps, framed by the palace doors and exuding darkness as though the night warps around her.
Hào’yáng and I alight across from her on the open marble walkway. Lining the sides of the walkway are alabaster pillars with carvings of golden dragons twined around them: the symbol of the Kingdom of Rivers’ imperial lineage and a commemoration of the Azure Dragon, who gave life to this realm.
Sansiran tips her head to watch us, the garnets flashing in her hair. “At last, Crown Prince,” she croons, “we meet face to face.”
Hào’yáng grips the hilt of Azure Tide. Power rolls off him, beneath which flows a decade-long current of anger. “You may have forgotten my face, but I haven’t forgotten yours, Demon Queen.”
Sansiran gives a delighted laugh. “Ah, yes. Nearly ten years ago, was it, mortal prince, when I killed your family?”
I shift my sword in my hands. My spirit energies burn, their lights writhing like flames beneath my skin.
Hào’yáng’s voice, however, is steady. “Your memory is as good as mine, Demon Queen. But you made the mistake of leaving me alive. From a single seed, a forest springs.” His mouth curves in a triumphant smile.
“Yes, and now I’ve come to clean up the petulant little seed that has slipped through our fingers all these years,” Sansiran says, narrowing her gaze.
“You’ve been quite the annoyance, Crown Prince.
With you still alive, the throne remains contested and my son unable to secure his position in this realm.
” As sudden as an arrow, her stare pins me.
“And now the mortal girl turned immortal; the halfling with a claim on both realms. I admit, you have some value yet to me, for the sole reason that you could offer my son a link to the Kingdom of Sky and the Kingdom of Rivers…and my son—my foolish, stupid son—for whatever unfathomable reason, believes himself in love with you still.”
The air shifts and the shadows move behind Sansiran.
He emerges, standing tall behind his mother. His face, once so expressive with that wicked grin, is devoid of emotion; his eyes, once dancing with delight and so alive, are vacant. Yù’chén stares down at me, looking every bit the heir to the Kingdom of Night.
“If the Crown Prince wishes to face me, then I shall end his life by my own hands,” Sansiran purrs.
“My son will deal with you as he sees fit, immortal halfling.” Her gaze snaps to Yù’chén, her voice suddenly as sharp as a blade.
“Capture her. If you fail to bind her to you again, I will kill her this time.”
Yù’chén moves—so quickly that even with my enhanced senses, I fail to catch him.
One moment, he’s at the palace entrance behind Sansiran; the next, he is at my side.
His sword plunges toward me in a flash of crimson, and I lift mine to block, barely in time.
The strength of his blow rattles my teeth and bones.
I stumble away inelegantly and catch myself—just as his second attack comes.
I dive to one side as his sword comes down. With a crack like a whip, the marble walkway splits beneath the force of his blade; stone flies through the air, raining down around us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Hào’yáng moving toward me.
Sansiran strikes.
Hào’yáng leaps back as the force of Sansiran’s power hits where he stood half a heartbeat ago. Rubble erupts from the spot; when the dust clears, the marble is black, as though burned.
A trickle of blood winds down Hào’yáng’s temple. His sword radiates a turquoise glow that seems to light the skin of his hands and face.
As Sansiran closes in on him from the front, there comes movement to his sides.
Two massive shadows peel off from the pillars. At first, I have the illusion that the dragon statues are moving—but when I make out the figures, my stomach sinks with cold fear.
Two of the Four Perils emerge, one on each side of Hào’yáng. I recognize them: Qióng’qí and Táo’wú, the very hellbeasts that destroyed Xī’lín.
I move toward him—
Yù’chén steps in my way. The garnet on the hilt of his sword flashes the color of blood; his expression is as cold and unfeeling as death as he stares at me. For the first time since I’ve known him, I see him—truly see him—as what he is.
A demon.
There is nothing left of the man I knew.
I raise my sword again. “Finally showing your true colors?” I’m slightly out of breath.
He says nothing.
As the hellbeasts and Sansiran spring their attack on Hào’yáng, I summon my spirit energies. I surge forward on my iridescent cloud—
—only to ram into a wall of darkness.
I tumble back, barely catching myself as I land on the ground again. Yù’chén’s eyes glow crimson as dark magic flows from his palms, forming the shields behind him. Cutting me off from Hào’yáng.
At the same time, we thrust our palms out. Spirit energies explode from me, as bright as the sun against his magic of night. The resulting clash flings me backward in the direction of the palace doors.
Pain lances through my back as I slam into the ground. The world splinters with the acute pain of my ribs cracking. When I come to, it is to a bright-blue light streaking through the dark. Like a shooting star, it arcs across the eastern sky…straight toward us.
Snow falls from its tail—gentle, beautiful flakes of snow, drifting down toward us.
The light slows as it descends over the palace roofs, and I make out a shape within, serpentine and scaled and utterly familiar:
She of the Moon-Frosted Sea.
The dragon soars past me, making straight for where Hào’yáng faces off against Sansiran and the two Perils.
It has been a while, Lotus Immortal. Her voice, sweet and ancient, rings out in my mind.
I come of my own volition, not as a representative of the dragons of the Four Seas.
Our realm cannot declare an alliance with one of the two heirs to the Kingdom of Rivers—yet as Hào’yáng’s chosen companion since birth, I have the right to participate by my choice.
Outwardly, she utters a sound between a shrill cry and a melodic song. Qióng’qí and Táo’wù look up as her power hits them; even Sansiran pauses.
Hào’yáng, blood dripping down his arm, hefts his sword upright—and plunges it straight into Táo’wù’s core as She of the Moon-Frosted Sea descends upon the demon queen.
I push myself to my feet, spitting out blood. I’m shaking, my entire being aglow in the soft blush of my spirit energies as they rush to heal my broken bones. My vision slides in and out of focus.
A shadow falls across the floor. When I look up, Yù’chén is standing over me.
He reaches out with his magic: shadows forming vines, blooming with bright, beautiful scorpion lilies. I expect pain, a dagger in my back or thorns from his magic to pierce my heart.
But there is none of that. The darkness is almost gentle as Yù’chén lifts me into the air, high enough for me to glimpse the other side of this battle, for Sansiran to glance over and see me. The palace steps blur as we ascend.
Dimly, I feel myself being deposited on the floor. Something soft brushes my cheek; when I open my eyes, frayed blue carpets come into focus, threaded through with golden dragons. Dust tickles my nose.
Footsteps, sharp and clinical.
Then Yù’chén steps through the double doors, his shields of darkness expanding behind him.
Trapping me inside the palace.