“Just try.”
I glance at the shifting waves and swallow. They’re tumultuous, crisscrossing in every direction possible. “I can’t. I know the theory, but with water…the currents of energy…they’re like threads that are all tangled up.”
“Threads that are all tangled up,” he repeats, then raises an eyebrow. “You’re a seamstress. Can you think of it as sewing? Each current of energy is a thread being stitched, and you simply have to stitch the opposite way, in tune.”
I look back down at the shifting water, and this time, I latch onto the thought. If I can think of each flow of qì as a thread, perhaps I can learn their magic.
Between one blink and another, the world seems to click into place. I begin to see them all now, the crisscrossing currents of energy, only this time, they’re no longer a messy whorl that I can’t decipher.
This time, they’rethreads.Living, moving threads I’m trying to pull together. I follow one, then another, and concentrate on one spot.
I lean out with my foot and tap the wave.
It taps back.
“Did you see that?” Excitement bubbles in my chest.
“Honestly, no,” Yù’chén says flatly.
But I feel like a child who’s discovered the use of my limbs.I poke my foot out again, and this time, I manage to stand on a wave for one heartbeat.
Yù’chén straightens slightly. “Good. Now move with it. Water is always changing, and so must you. Here.” He lets me spin around so my back is pressed to his chest and my heels sit on his toes. His hands fall against my body, one at my hip, the other on my rib cage, holding me steady. When he speaks again, his voice is in my ear: “Read the way the currents flow; you have to always be preparing for the next wave. Try.”
I focus on one spot, watching how the waves swell, one after another after another. I strike out with my foot and manage to stand for a breath before my concentration breaks.
Yù’chén’s laugh rumbles low in his chest. “Don’t strike out like you’re spearing fish. Think of yourself as a drifting leaf, riding the wave.”
This time, I place one foot on the water, then another, and suddenly I’m balancing on the surface of the ocean as in the paintings of practitioners in all the legends, just as I’ve read in all my childhood stories.I am walking on water.
“I did it!” In my elation, I half turn. “I did—”
My focus slips, and my word becomes a sharp gasp as the water gives way and my foot splashes in. Yù’chén easily lifts me back up, setting me onto his boots. I’m giddy with my success, and he’s smiling, too. It lights up his face, softens his mouth, curves his dark eyes. I’m dipping back, his hands on my hips, and he’s leaning forward slightly, looking at me in a way that shouldn’t be right.
The air between us heats. Yù’chén’s smile flickers as he senses it, too. His gaze darkens as he reaches a hand up andbrushes a lock of hair from my eyes. His fingers linger on my cheek.
I tense. This is all wrong. No matter how his heart beats, no matter how red his blood runs, he is half amó.Half of one of those monsters that destroyed my family and my realm.
I am certain he can feel the beat of my heart through my chest as he holds me. Watches me, eyes narrowed, mouth tightening as he feels my hands shift into a position where I can easily access my blades.
But I do not reach for them. Instead, I say, “Why are you here, Yù’chén?”
“Here, in the middle of the ocean at night, with you, Àn’ying?” The way he speaks my name sends a shiver up my spine.
“Here, as in the trials.”
“Same reason you and the other forty-two candidates are here.”
“But you’re”—I suck in a breath, stopping myself sharply as Yù’chén’s expression flickers—“different.”
Yù’chén draws back slightly, cold air swirling between us. “Because I’m half-mó?” There is frost to his tone once again. “Because I’m not meant to be the same as you? Because I’m incapable of desiring a better life, one away from bloodshed and violence?” His grip is tight on my waist now, in a way that almost hurts.
“I—”
“Say what you mean, Àn’ying.” His eyes are glowing again, and I feel his dark magic stirring. “You think me incapable of wanting what you and other full humans want.”
“I don’tknowwhat you want,” I say quietly. “Yù’chén, I’ve spent half my life fearing the kingdom that is at war withmine, the beings that…killed my parents.” I swallow, for it is the first time I’ve confided this to him. “I can’t simply undo that just because you’ve…helped me.”
“Helpedyou,” he repeats, and before I can do anything, he takes my jaw in his hand and angles my face to his, fingers digging into the soft curves of my throat. “Am I toocharitableto fit your image of mó, Àn’ying?” His thumb traces the curve to my lower lip. “Should I wish to drink your soul, demand that you use your body to serve me in exchange for myhelp?” His other hand begins to roam up my rib cage as he lowers his mouth to within inches of my neck. His breath is hot against my skin as he whispers, “Should I be the monster you want to see?”
