Terror slicked through her veins, burning and freezing. She recalled the scene in the Haak’gong pawn shop, the summer-green eyes of that soldier who had so casually, so cruelly, spoken of having his way with her. And as the patrol approached her, Lan made a choice.
Her hand went to the back of Zen’s head, fingers threading through his hair. The other, she placed on his cheek as she pulled him toward her and kissed him in her best imitation of a passionate, drunken embrace. Zen made a surprised noise low in his throat, but he obliged.
From beneath her lashes, Lan saw the patrol’s lips curl in disgust. She knew what the Hin in here likely resembled to him: trapped, lowly animals, fueled by fear and desperation and basic instinct.
She sensed Zen’s exhale. His hands twined around her, one brushing against the nape of her neck with his fingers, the other cupping the small of her back. His eyes had fluttered shut, and he kissed her slow and soft, with yearning and in tender disbelief. There was something so vulnerable, so open, to the kiss that, for a brief moment, Lan believed it. His lips on hers were so familiar, so gentle, that she couldn’t help but fall into a not-so-distant past when she had trusted him. Loved him.
Lan closed her eyes, the shell of anger she’d built over her heart cracking open to that dream she’d once known: the one of a village in the rain, drops sluicing off terracotta roofs beyond shutters that opened to misty mountains. There had been that boy who’d cupped her chin between his hands as though he held his entire world, and he’d tasted of snow andstarless nights—and hope. The boy who had held her in her loneliest moments and promised to follow her in this life and the next.
She wound her fingers tighter through his hair. An ache built in the back of her throat. He had broken his promise to her, shattered the trust she’d placed in him. With the memory of that rainy village came, inevitably, the knowledge of what had come next. Of what he had been there to do. Of his betrayal in stealing the star maps from her in order to seek out and bind the Black Tortoise.
Perhaps, after all, Zen was the most skilled liar she had ever known. Perhaps he had never loved her, merely used her. And even now, she was falling for it all over again.
Lan’s eyes flew open. The Elantians had gone.
She gripped Zen’s shoulders and spun him around, pushing him against the wall. Faster than a blink, she pressed her dagger into his chest.
Zen hissed in a breath. The cut was skin-deep, the tip of the blade caught on the bone of his rib cage. One slip of her hand, though, a shift in pressure, and she could slide it between his ribs, into the soft, open flesh of his chest, straight into his heart. And sheshould,for what he had done.
Zen’s eyes flicked down to the hilt of her dagger, then to her. Blood had begun to seep from the cut, winding down the length of her blade to her hand. He could have easily overpowered her, but he made no move. To anyone else watching, they were lovers leaning against the wall in an embrace.
Lan met his gaze. “So,” she said slowly, “you want me to conjure the star maps leading to the Demon Gods? Just like the last time? So that you can—oh, let me guess—use them to bind another Demon God to you and betray me all over again?”
He lowered his gaze. “I do not plan to bind the Crimson Phoenix.”
She frowned. “Then why do you need it?”
“To take down the Elantians.”
“You already have the Black Tortoise. Use its power, raise the Ten Hells upon them. Wasn’t that your plan all along?”
“It isn’t enough,” he replied. The implication behind his words, whether intended or not, was clear: She also held a Demon God within her. If they worked together, they might stand a chance against the Elantians.
Yet the last time they had unleashed the full power of their Demon Gods, they had nearly destroyed all that mattered to them. In attempting to protect Skies’ End and the School of the White Pines against the Elantians, Lan had almost lost control of the Silver Dragon’s power and razed everything in the vicinity. The Demon Gods were not merely sources of power, to be used and stopped at their binders’ whims. They were sentient beings with their own goals, and once their power grew unfettered, they could overwhelm their binders’ wills. History had taught them this.
Zen’s great-grandfather had shown them this.
That was why she had to find the Godslayer, the weapon made to destroy the Four Demon Gods. That was the only way to protect her people.
She sobered, recalling the true ending to it all, the purpose of her journey to Shaklahira. There was no known way to separate a soul from a Demon God, once bound. And if Lan wanted to destroy all four, she would need to destroy herself and Zen along with them.
The thought softened her slightly. Lan plucked the tip of her blade from Zen’s chest and held it to his neck again. He only watched her. A lock of his hair had fallen in his face; the fire in his eyes had dimmed.
“Then why?” she asked. “Why do you seek the Phoenix?”
He did not look away from her as he spoke, and shedespised how easily he surrendered his guard to her. “There is an army my great-grandfather once led—one preserved in magic that the Phoenix has stolen. I plan to take back this magic to call upon this army so that I may wage war upon the Elantians. And then I plan to reestablish the Ninety-Nine Clans upon this land, just as it was and just how it should be.” His hand came up, his fingers touching her hand that held the knife. “We want the same thing. Am I wrong?”
She watched his blood continue to drip down his skin, stain the blade of her dagger red. Zen did not seem to care. His gaze trapped her, searing in its intensity, and she had the feeling he would let her cut his throat open if she wished.
“It does not matter what we want,” Lan said. “It matters how we get there. I do not wish to defeat the Elantians only to find myself the victor in a path of blood. I will not use our Demon Gods’ power to win this war if it means harming innocents along the way.”
She had been one of those innocents—one of the common folk, one of the village girls, pawns in a game of chess. She would not risk any more lives for a quick victory.
“No war has been fought without bloodshed,” Zen replied. “And no better life has been won without war.”
“Is that what you would call the games of power the emperors played over the past eras? The Mansorian clan defeating other, smaller ones to gain power? Was that all for a better life?”
“A necessity. Without power, my clan would never have stood a chance in rising up against the Imperial Army.” Zen tipped his head. The motion caused her blade to dig deeper into his skin. Blood trickled down to his collarbone. “Perhaps in this world, it is the way of things for those with power to devour those without.”
