The harder I reach for the memories, the faster they slip through my fingers. Tiny grains of sand flowing through a sieve, draining until nothing remains. A soft laugh pulls from my lips. “I can’t remember anymore,” I confess.
He gingerly brushes a few loose strands of hair away from my face and tucks them behind my ear. “I’m sorry I’m no prince,” he says with a chuckle. “Were I as wealthy as one, I would have asked for your hand ages ago.”
My cheeks warm at his words. “That doesn’t matter to me.”
“But it matters to me.” He gestures, offering me a seat upon the picnic blanket. “I want to be able to give you a good life. One that you deserve. I have one last commission to paint for my patron inLonghao, but then we’ll finally have enough to buy that house up on the hill.”
I follow the direction of his gaze and spot the house in question. At this distance, it looks no larger than a bronze coin. It’s a cozy wooden structure with a roof of neatly laid terra-cotta tiles, the perimeter surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers, all of it resting beneath the swaying shade of the nearby ginkgo trees.
Sonam shrugs his shoulders. “Of course, if my patron decides he doesn’t like my work, I’d build you a house with my bare hands if I had to.”
I shift awkwardly. “I don’t think I deserve such kindness.”
“Of course you do,” he states firmly, as if what I’ve just said is egregious enough to offend the gods. “You’ve always looked down on yourself, and I won’t stand for it. When we’re married—and even now—I will make sure you want for nothing.” He takes my hands again and kisses my palms, my wrist; so sweet and loving that it brings tears to my eyes. “Let me make you happy. Let me keep you safe. Would you allow me, Yue?”
Excitement floods my veins, setting my heart aflutter. The sinking feeling I had earlier this morning is long gone, replaced with a rising hope that I want to cling to for the rest of my days. I lean forward and press my lips to his, melting against his chest as he circles his strong arms around my waist. He tastes of mangoes, the warmth of his embrace as soothing as the lazy summer sun.
Our kiss is tender. Soft and sweet and unhurried. It almost feels like a secret, one shared and closely guarded between the two of us. I think I might lose myself in the taste of his lips, could abandon the rest of the world for the promise of another. The heat between us grows, a fire left unchecked and burning wilder with every passing second, the two of us grabbing and caressing and kissing ravenously.
It’s when Sonam brings a hand up to stroke my right cheek with his thumb that I pause.
“Be mindful of my scars,” I murmur.
“What scars?”
I pull back and stare at him, perplexed. My scars, my greatest insecurities—does he not hate them as much as I do? I bring a hand to my face and allow my fingers to rest on the skin, confused and a little alarmed to find my cheek smooth. Why did I say that? My complexion has always been pristine.
Something isn’t right. I knew it from the moment I woke up this morning, yet now I’m more convinced than ever. Everything’s too wonderful, too perfect. And to make matters worse, I feel safe and loved—impossibilities, given what I am. I exist as though suspended in thick honey, every movement and thought doused in a sweetness that’s too good to be true.
“This is a dream,” I whisper, the realization dawning quickly. “None of this is real.”
Sonam stares at me, confused at first, before his expression goes blank. “A dream? You’re not making any sense.”
My stomach lurches, my skin suddenly feverish as a wave of nausea grips my mind. There’s magic at work here, I’m sure of it now. I was too wrapped up in the splendor of it all to notice it before, but now there’s no denying the sour twist of an illusionary spell—and a strong one, at that.
“I need to go,” I say, the words so desperate and heavy I nearly gag around them. “I have to wake up.”
Sonam takes my hands. “Stay with me, Yue. Don’t you understand? Iloveyou.”
Those three simple words are colder than a sea of ice water. Tears sting my eyes, and my heart twists mercilessly in my chest. “You could never love me, Sonam. No one can. Especially not you.”
32
“We want masks of our own,” Qin, the eldest fox demon said. “They’ll help us on our next hunt.”
“I can make them for you,” the Maskmaker replied, “but my work does not come free.”
“Is it fortune or flesh you seek?”
“I have need for neither.”
“Then, is there something you would have us do?”
The question inspired a most devious thought in the Maskmaker’s mind. He looked up at his loathsome brother, the Sun. He glared up at the Heavens with his blackened heart.
Alone, he never would have stood a chance. But with a small army of indebted demons at his side… He would have to play this carefully, to be sure, but if everything went according to plan, the Maskmaker would finally have his revenge—nearly a millennium in the making.
He cursed the Heavens and the Sun and mankind who betrayed him. He would blanket the world with these beasts leading the helm and take back what should have been rightly his. It was not enough to be a god, for clearly one ill-placed arrow could strip him of his power. The Maskmaker would not find satisfaction until he wasthegod, reigning supreme over a world built in his image.
