Hóng’yì withdrew from it another golden lotus seed. Popped it in his mouth. Swallowed.
Lan stood, ensuring that the mental wall between her and the Silver Dragon was back up.
Something was happening to Hóng’yì. He was shuddering, and beneath the surface she sensed his qì roiling, crescendoing, so that the entire chamber seemed to tremble. When it faded, he placed the porcelain jar back into the cabinet—and Lan saw that the shelves were filled with row upon row of identical jars.
With a sigh, the imperial heir turned back to her. Color flushed his face, the ethereal golden tone having returned to his skin. His cheeks were pink again, his lips carnelian red and his eyes fever-bright. He approached her.
“I knew it,” he murmured. “Since the night I felt your qì as you battled my water demon, I knew—I suspected.”
She searched his face, unsettled by the unnatural vitality to his appearance. He had hidden away his family’s greatest secret and source of power, had outright lied to her so fluidly and easily. A cord tightened in her chest.
If he had held on to the power of the Crimson Phoenix for twelve long cycles, her goal of finding the Godslayer might very well stand in direct conflict with him. Would Hóng’yì know about it, or had his family hidden it from him as well?And if he had bound the Phoenix for so long, how much of him would it have corrupted?
She had wanted to be his ally, but the game had changed. And a game, indeed, it would become.
Lan tipped her head, pushing sincerity into her tone. “Why didn’t you ask me?” she said softly.
“I was uncertain,” Hóng’yì said slowly. “How would you have reacted if a stranger had asked you about your Demon God?”
She forced a small smile onto her face. “Not well.”
“Precisely.” He was breathing hard. “Who are you, really?”
The ruse was over. “My name is Sòng Lián,” Lan said quietly.My mother Sealed the Silver Dragon within her to hide it from your family. To destroy it.She said none of this aloud but wondered whether the prince would remember her mother, one of their imperial advisors, who had fled the palace on the eve of the Elantian invasion. History had written their bloodlines as enemies, but it was possible to change the course. The question was on which side the crown prince would stand.
“Sòng Lián.” Hóng’yì tasted the name on his lips, as though searching for a memory. “Of the Sòng clan?”
“Yes.”
His gaze darkened with something like desire. “Well, Sòng Lián. Now we know each other’s secret. A stalemate.”
It was no stalemate yet, not until she found out what he knew of the Godslayer—if anything. And she had one last secret of her own that she held close to her chest: that she was here to destroy the Demon Gods.
She took a step closer to him. “What do you propose now?”
Hóng’yì took her hand, his skin hot to the touch. “I would’ve thought you’d have guessed by now,” he said softly. “I want what all emperors want, and more. I want my kingdom back.I want a home. And I want an empress who can fight by my side, and rule by my side, withpower.”
Her breath hitched. There it was again, that word,power,from the lips of the man who had been born into all the power in their land and who still craved more. The question was whether he sought power as a means to an end—or whether he sought itasan end.
“And what if I am unable to control that power?” Lan asked.
He tilted her chin to him. “Then I will teach you,” Hóng’yì said gently. “I told you, Sòng Lián, that I would make you powerful.” His finger caressed her cheek. “Be my empress.”
She hadn’t become Lan of the Rose Pavilion Teahouse for nothing. All those cycles of learning to please her patrons, to hide behind a mask of sweet smiles and fluttery silks, had taught her where her strengths lay. Both the directness and the speed of the proposal shocked her, yet she was careful not to let it show.
She lowered her lashes, blushing prettily as she stalled. “You honor me, Your Highness.”
He caught her other hand. His fingers were hot against her wrists, and she forced herself not to flinch. “Forgive me for being so forthright,” Hóng’yì said. He was so sincere, she might have believed it again—had he not sounded exactly the same when he’d lied last night about the Crimson Phoenix. “We could begin as allies, Sòng Lián, but we could become more—whatever you’d like. Perhaps you could learn to love me, just as we both love this kingdom.”
Lan lifted her eyes to his. Looked into them and remembered the yellow rosewood doors cracking open to reveal fiery red wings that seemed to ensconce the world. Thought of the secrets still hidden within.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Make me your empress.”
I walked beneath the pái’fang and the world shimmered a moment. When I emerged, I knew I was not on the other side but in another world. Pockets of such boundary-realms exist, held together by unknowable rules I can only ascribe to magic.
—Scripture of Mountains and Seas,Book Five:On Otherworlds
Zen stood at the same cliff’s edge beneath a dark, colorless sky. In place of a bone-dry valley, a river had appeared, its waters as clear as glass and utterly silent. When he looked into its depths, he could see nothing of its bottom.
