He tilts his head and casts me a sly look. “Perhaps. For a price.”
I roll my eyes. “What do you want?”
His palms are very warm against my waist, his gaze even more so as it lingers on my face. “What can you offer me, little scorpion?”
I remember when we first met, I wondered how far I would go to get what I want. It has been only one week, but I am a different person. I have seen the deaths of innocents. I have associated with yao’jing. I have told myself I am willing to beat out and kill other practitioners to win this tournament if I must.
What shifting line of moral righteousness am I holding myself to?
None,I think, my eyes flicking to his mouth. Nothing matters anymore, not when I have vowed to kill for my own gain.If there is a price to get a message through to my sister, I will pay it.
I swallow, steadying my heartbeat. “Whatever you ask of me,” I say quietly.
Yù’chén’s eyes lock on mine. He is no longer smiling. His fingers tighten a fraction against my waist, and as his gaze roams to my lips, I find myself unable to turn away.
“I think I’ll save my price for later.” His eyes begin to glow again as he reaches out his hand. Ahead of us, the night seems to darken. From that pocket of shadows comes the flutter of wings as something approaches us.
It’s a crane. Its snowy feathers flit between darkness and light like an illusion. When it lands beside us with a gust from its wings, I make out the red of its eyes.
It’s from the demon realm.
“A shadowcrane,” Yù’chén says. “It’ll carry the message to your sister.”
I study the creature. I thought all beings from the Kingdom of Night were flesh-eating monsters, but the bird only studies me back. It ruffles its feathers and clacks its beak, exceedingly normal in every way but for its flickering form.
“She heeds my word,” Yù’chén continues, seeing my hesitation. “She’s conjured of shadows and feeds on starlight. I promise she’s not like any of those other creatures we encountered.”
The shadowcrane watches me with intelligent eyes. Slowly, I reach into my bodice and draw out Méi’zi’s gloves. I hold them out to the crane. She blinks and clasps them in her beak with practiced care, then dips her red-crowned head to me.
“Touch her head and think of the destination,” Yù’chén tells me. He’s watching the exchange with an inscrutableexpression, his eyes lingering on the gloves and the clouds and temples of the Kingdom of Sky I’ve sewn onto them.
I do, picturing Xi’lín, the faded words on the old pái’fang, the dusty roads that lead to the old plum blossom tree bent over our house. I think of Méi’zi’s large brown eyes and easy laughter.
I do not want her to see this creature.
The thought leaps into my mind before I can stop it. The crane draws back. She blinks at me, then dips her head.
“She won’t be seen by your sister,” Yù’chén says quietly as the shadowcrane takes wing. We watch her rise into the skies, breaking nary a ripple in the ocean. “But she’s not a monster, you know.”
I tear my gaze from the shadowcrane’s flight and find Yù’chén’s gaze on me, dark and heady.
“She’s a demonic being.” My voice sounds uncertain, my words half-hearted even to me.
He’s no longer smiling. “Now my price,” he says. He is still looking at me, the moonlight bringing out the red of his eyes.
His earlier reference to a midnight escapade takes on a darker meaning as I remember what the mó tend to do to pleasure themselves with mortal bodies. I try to keep my tone light, but I cannot help the fear that colors my words. “Never a favor without something in exchange?”
“I’ll let you decide on the charitableness of my nature,” he replies. “I want you to walk on water.”
My heart stutters as I gape at him, wondering if I heard wrong.
“Go on.” He smirks, but there is a touch of frost to his tone now. “For my entertainment this evening, as you haven’t much else to contribute.”
“Here?” I say. I can’t even do it on a still pond, let alone a sea writhing with currents.
“Learning to walk on water is the best way to elevate your qing’gong skills, which, if I wasn’t clear enough, are terrible. You won’t survive the trials without more practice.”
“Why do you care?” I say, stung.
