I’d recognize Yán’lù’s twisted snarl anywhere.
I lash out, but he’s locked both of my wrists in his grip. The courtyard is empty and dark, moonlight pooling around pockets of shadows. I can hear sounds of laughter and conversation from the banquet drifting toward us beyond the unnatural fog Yán’lù has cast.
“You should’ve died back at the Immortals’ Steps when I pushed you into the sea. But someone’s been helping you all along, eh?” Yán’lù inhales deep, like he’s scenting me. “Who is it?”
Black spots erupt in my vision as his hand squeezes tighter over my throat. He’s not only trying to kill me; he’s turning it into a sport. And he’s havingfun.
“I want to know who it is,” he whispers. “And until I find out, I’m going to enjoy hunting you down. I’m going to enjoy watching yousuffer.” His laugh is low. “What are you going to do now, my little flower? There’s no one here to help you.”
“There is someone here,” comes a voice, masculine and pleasant, though tinged with frost.
The pressure on my throat loosens; as I lurch away, Yán’lù shoves me, hard. The world swings off balance, and a crack of pain streaks up my wrists as I slam against the marble floor of the bridge.
I clench my teeth and look up. My vision’s blurred, but between the distant lights and the white osmanthus trees at the end of the Celestial Gardens, a figure has emerged, approaching with sharp, steady footfalls.
Clack. Clack. Clack.With each step, tremors of spirit energy roll through the marble bridge.
“We were just having a friendly chat,” I hear Yán’lù reply. “Isn’t that right, my flower?”
I grit my teeth against the pain in my wrists. “That’s right,” I say. My voice shakes, but I swallow and try again. “We’re fine.”
I blink the haze from my eyes. In the moonlight, between the softly shifting flower trees of the gardens in the distance, stands a tall, pale-robed silhouette. He’s broad-shouldered, dressed in white silks, his lamellar glinting like gold scales.
Not a candidate—a guard. Through the fog, I can’t make out any of his features except for the jut of his chin, the cold, stern line of his mouth. There is a silent air of power to him, like the deep undercurrent of a flowing river.
The guard addresses Yán’lù, ignoring me. “The Temple of Dawn’s Precepts state there is to be no slaughter on temple grounds—”
“—outside of the trials,” Yán’lù sneers. I’m shocked at his audacity, to interrupt an immortal like that. He seems to sense how this one holds no power over our fates in the tournament. “Trust me, I’m well aware of my rights as a candidate in the Immortality Trials.”
The newcomer takes a step toward Yán’lù, and it is as though thunder rolls over our bridge. Spirit energy, stronger than any I have ever felt, reverberates from the immortal’s core, stirring a wind and bringing with it the scent of rain.
Yán’lù suddenly looks less smug.
“I care nothing about your status as a candidate of the Immortality Trials.” The immortal’s tone is cold enough to freeze oceans. “My duty is to the Temple of Dawn. My job is to protect it and its guests according to the values of the Kingdom of Sky and the Heavenly Order.”
“As I said, we were having afriendly chat,” Yán’lù spits, though he backs away slightly. He turns to me, and his eyes glint with the promise of unfinished business. “Sweet dreams, myflower.” He steps past the immortal, making for the banquet again.
The spirit energy in the air shifts, and the thick fog from Yán’lù’s talisman begins to dissipate as the guard approaches me. I tense. He’s seen me at my weakest; he could report this to the Eight Immortals, ending my chances of winning the trials.
The immortal’s shadow falls over me, mirroring its owner to extend a hand.
I look up, and the world around me seems to fade until I am back in the ocean. Between the silent and vicious currents, between dreams and reality, I’d seen a face sobeautiful I’d thought him a god of the sea, expression gentle as he inclined his head to me.
I blink the memory away and I’m back on the bridge, the immortal guard bending toward me with his hand outstretched. It’s him—there’s no doubt about it—I’m gazing up at the man who saved me in the sea: chiseled face and sharp, angled jaw, long eyes framed by eyebrows like a sweep of ink. His hair is neatly cinched, and not even a single golden thread embroidered on his collar is out of place.
He gazes back at me, eyes clear and steady beneath his lashes. I search them for a flicker of recognition, but there is only a cool detachment to his expression, his face too still and too smooth to read. Almost as if it’s a practiced mask.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he says, though his words are no longer bladed. “I promise you I haven’t a say in the trials. As I stated, my duty is to the Temple of Dawn. My job is to protect it and its guests.”
I hesitate, then at last place my hand in his. A tingle rushes through my fingers, along with the heady realization that I am touching an immortal for the first time in my life. His skin is surprisingly callused, in a way I hadn’t imagined immortals’ could be. Easily, he lifts me to my feet, placing one hand on my shoulder to steady me. Then he retracts his hands and places them behind his back.
“You…” I swallow.You appeared before me in the ocean today.I realize how mad I would sound.
He’s waiting for me to finish my sentence. The heartbeats stretch out between us.
“Yes?” he prompts, lifting an eyebrow.
I can’t look away from him. Skies, I need to get a grip.
