The next mó ducks my blade and rams me into the ground. Its face, in the form of a young man’s, is frenzied with bloodlust as it sinks its teeth into my shoulder.
Striker finds the mó’s stomach just as Hào’yáng drives his sword through its core. He rips the mó off me and holds out his hand. I take it, and he pulls me up, his hand steady on my waist as he supports me.
Behind him, something shimmers in the night. Small at first, but growing larger as it weaves through the stars and plunges down toward us.
A snowy dragon lands right in front of us, scales glimmering white. Ancient, powerful magic clings to its body like frost, sending the mó around us scattering. As the dragon turns its large brown eyes to us and gives a shake of its ocean-colored mane, I realize I know her.
It’s Meadowsweet—in her dragon form.
Hào’yáng pulls me to her. “Hold on to me,” he says, throwing his legs over the dragonhorse. “I need to get Shi’ya.”
I settle over the dragonhorse’s back and grab onto Hào’yáng’s waist. Despite the scales and the heaving muscles of the serpentine body beneath us, this is familiar: me holding on to Hào’yáng as Meadowsweet takes us through the skies.
“Shi’ya is still inside,” Hào’yáng tells the dragonhorse.
She huffs, steam curling from her nostrils as she bares her teeth. Then she plunges forward.
The world rushes by, night and ichor and stars, until we burst through the doors of the healing chamber.
The darkness is overwhelming. It roils from Sansiran as though she is an endless well, an abyss. She is aglow, as though moonlight spills from her, outlining the red of her eyes and lips, that garnet at her neck and her imperial robes.
Shi’ya’s hands are thrown up before her. The circle of light has shrunk to envelop just her body. There is a crease between her brows, which I have never seen before.
Sansiran fists her hands. Her magic shifts, the darkness sharpening into a blade.
Hào’yáng shouts, but it’s too late. Sansiran’s magic strikes, piercing what is left of Shi’ya’s shield. The immortal lets out a cry that tears through the night.
Watching her fall is like watching a blossom fall from a tree. Time seems to slow as Shi’ya’s body arcs, graceful even in her pain. That ethereal glow haloing immortals flickers for a moment, and then begins to drift from her like ashes.
Sansiran’s face is alight in triumph even as Meadowsweet circles behind Shi’ya, even as Hào’yáng catches her in his arms. The demon queen whirls, aiming a bolt of her lethalpower at Hào’yáng—but Meadowsweet deftly ducks it as she pivots for the door.
“This is the end.”Sansiran’s voice echoes behind us, amplifying, her darkness seeming to wrap claws into us as we soar toward the light.“My army has arrived. The wards to the Kingdom of Sky are falling. We will hunt you to the ends of the realms.”
We burst free into the night, the white dragonhorse’s back rippling as she canters for the Hall of Radiant Sun. I hold on tightly to her, to Hào’yáng.
In his arms, Shi’ya’s light dims, sparks of it trailing off like a dying star.
29
The grounds near the Hall of Radiant Sun are a flurry of movement. The night skies are filled with streaks of light—immortal guards and warriors astride clouds, descending upon the mó on the ground. Already, sounds of swordfights and battle ring out.
We circle around to the back of the hall, where the bridge splits off to the immortals’ residences in the clouds. As we plunge through the layers, our vision becomes a blur of fog and shadows. I reach for my blades, waiting for monsters with teeth and red eyes to appear—but the dragon seems to know where she’s going.
The clouds clear. An island appears, adrift among the stars, large enough for a single courtyard house. The first thing that strikes me is the great cherry tree that spirals from its center, flowering branches reaching for the moon. A stone bridge arcs over a pond, and the curved eaves of tiled roofs appear as we circle lower. Flowing drapes ripple gently in thewind, stirred by our presence when we alight on the rosewood patio.
Hào’yáng carries Shi’ya into the house. I can’t help pausing at the sight of the peaceful courtyard, at the cherry tree whose flowers fractal into the sky, petals brushing against stars. Something stirs in me—a strange feeling of destiny, of foreboding, of a secret tangled between its roots that I am about to unearth.
I hurry after Hào’yáng into a room. Besides a cherrywood bed, on which he has laid his mother, and bookcases filled with tomes, the chambers are simple. A waterway trickles in from the outside, pooling into a small pond at the center. Blush lotuses drift on its surface, and I realize this must be Shi’ya’s house.
“Niáng’qin.” Hào’yáng’s voice is gentle. It is the first time I have heard him address her as “Honorable Mother,” and there is something so profoundly tender to the gesture. He kneels by her bed, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other clasping the immortal’s. “Rest. I am here.”
Shi’ya murmurs something, and Hào’yáng turns to me. “Àn’ying,” he says, “she would like to see you.”
As I approach, my alarm grows. The immortal bears a gash across the center of her chest. From within spills a glow from a core so bright that to look at it is like attempting to look into the sun.An immortal’s core,I think, my stomach tightening. The light that bleeds from it scatters into this realm and dissolves even as I watch.
I know immortals cannot die, at least not in the mortal sense. If fatally wounded, they reincarnate without any of the memories or powers they once held. Their experiences andlives may differ, but their souls are one and the same: permanent in the endless churn of realms and time.
Shi’ya’s gaze is dim, but it brightens as I kneel by her side. I bow my head. “Honorable Immortal, you asked for me.”
