Nikator’s gaze lingered on Biyu. He was carved from ice and stone, unfeeling and uncaring. But she could see the conflict, the pain, that radiated through the bond. He tried to wrestle a wall between them, shut her out completely, but he didn’t have a full grasp on his usual power. His grief was too intense, takinghimby surprise too.
Muyang followed his gaze, an eyebrow lifting. “Don’t tell me …?”
Nikator’s throat bobbed.
A silent conversation seemed to pass between them as Muyang gave Nikator a strange look. Fear struck Biyu into muteness, into freezing where she knelt beside her dying brother. She would die here, she realized.
No, she wouldn’t die yet. She would likely be thrown in the dungeons, starved, tortured; maybe the mages would strip away and analyze her memories to see how much she knew. And when Nikator finally found a way to break their cursed marriage bond, she would be murdered in cold blood. Tossed and forgotten into an unmarked grave.
“Biyu.” Yat-sen squeezed her hand and she didn’t miss the urgency in his voice. “Live a good life. This is the only thing I can do for you.”
She blinked down at him. “What are you talking about?”
“This.”
Magic warmed their joined hands, and her attention snapped over to Nikator, who was staring at her. His sapphire eyes were so cold, so devoid of anything. There was a cruel glimmer in them. She could read the answer in them—he would personally murder her when the time came.
I’m sorry, she mouthed to him, tears brimming her eyes.
Because she was.
Even though he was her enemy, even though he had her splintered heart in his hands, and even though he would likely be the death of her—she loved him, and she was sorry that she stabbed him in the back like this.
Yat-sen’s magic coursed through her quickly. So fast that Muyang and Nikator didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late.
Nikator’s eyes widened and Muyang shouted something. They both lurched forward, but the world was already spinning away as Yat-sen warped her out of the palace.
30
Biyu collapsedinto a heap on the ground. Waves of nausea rolled over her and she resisted the urge to vomit as she scrambled up to her knees. Tall trees swayed in the wind, and sunlight streaked through the gaps in the canopy of leaves and branches overhead. She was in the woods, it appeared, and there was nobody around her. Yat-sen hadn’t warped himself; had he only had enough magic for her?
For a moment, she fell back on her bottom and simply stared at the sky, then the trees in absolutely disbelief. It was jarring to be somewhere else entirely, when just seconds ago she had been in the palace, with His Majesty about to kill them both, with Nikator staring at her so coldly.
Her attention flicked down to her hands, which were still sticky with Yat-sen’s blood. There were streaks of it on her skirts, too. She blinked at them dumbfoundedly. And then it all hit her—how she had betrayed Nikator, the dawning horror on his face, the way his voice had trembled. And she was reminded of Yat-sen’s words; his grief, hisguilt. Her heart tightened, her stomach clenching, and her eyes quickly filled with tears.
Now that she was alone, she curled into a ball and sobbed onto her knees. She had gotten what she wanted—freedom—but it had cost her everything.
Her brother’s life.
Her relationship with Nikator.
Her heart.
She kept crying, and crying, until there was nothing left within her but a cold, cold void. The woods were unnaturally quiet, dead. Maybe nature realized that she was too wicked to have anything other than silence. That she deserved this loneliness.
Biyu didn’t want to get up and roam the woods to find out where she was. She didn’t want to do anything but curl in on herself and weep. But her tears had dried and she didn’t want Yat-sen’s sacrifice to go to waste. He should have used this on himself. He should have warped himself away. He should have left her to her own fate.
But he was too kind. Too guilt-riddled to do anything for himself.
She pushed herself to her feet and wandered the woods. It didn’t take her long to find a small stream and wash the blood off her hands. The water was wintry cold, and the shock of it jolted through her system as she splashed it over her face, arms, and the sections of her skirts that were bloodied. The stains remained, fading into a pinkish color against her pale dress. The discomfort was good for her, she told herself. It made her feel even more awful about herself, which she needed.
When she was done with the water, she continued to meander through the thickening trees. Her sense of direction was off—everything looked the same—but she kept going straight, her mind a jumbled mess.
She had done what she needed to do. Forfreedom, but it left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Thiswas freedom?
This miserable feeling in her chest? The gnawing guilt that made her feel empty? The splintering pain in her cracked heart? This is what she had wanted all along, so why couldn’t she just be happy?
