“You have summoned me,” he says, his voice crackling like ice. “The rest of the Heavenly Army is not far behind. Unhand her.”
Sansiran’s smile stretches wide and red. Cold fear pierces my heart. I have seen that smile before—in the moments before she drank my mother’s soul.
“That is quite all right,” Sansiran says softly. “I’ll be finished with you by the time they’re here.”
She strikes.
A flare of light arcs like the edge of a curved blade, so bright that I squeeze my eyes shut. When I look again, Hào’yáng’s sword is out. A glow pulses from it, driving back the darkness of this chamber, the darkness emanating from Sansiran. An ancient power, strange and foreign and containing unimaginable depths, vibrates from Hào’yáng and his weapon. A rippling turquoise light fills the chamber, undulating against the walls as though we have fallen into the sea.
Sansiran hisses and throws up her arm. Behind me, Yù’chén staggers slightly from the sheer force of Hào’yáng’s spirit energy. His magic wavers; his grip almost slips, but I go careening backward with him. We crash into the wall. He makes a pained noise and lifts his hands, and I notice his fingers and palms blistering beneath the light emanating from Hào’yáng’s blade.
I take my chance. I ram my elbow into his ribs and hear him grunt; I manage to shift my legs just slightly, almost enough to swipe my feet at his ankles.
“Such a neat toy the immortals have gifted you,” Sansiran snarls at Hào’yáng. A pulse of her power thrums across the chamber. His light—his sword’s light—flickers.
“Wrong,” Hào’yáng replies, but I hear the strain in his voice. “This isn’t from the immortals.”
“No matter who it’s from,” the demon queen purrs, “you’refinished.”
I shout as a coil of dark magic whips out from behind Hào’yáng. He hears my cry and pivots, lifting his sword just in time. The shadows ram into him, driving him to his knees.
When Sansiran raises her hand again, Hào’yáng is vulnerable.
This time, her darkness meets a light brighter than the sun.
Warmth fills me, seeping through my veins into my core. At the same time, the chamber reverberates with the sheer magnitude of the new magic. Sansiran screams; Yù’chén moans in pain. The mó, I realize, are affected by immortals’ magic in a way that I am not. His hands slide from me as he falls to his knees; I go down with him, our limbs tangled and his arms heavy against my shoulders. His magic falters and dissipates, releasing me from its hold.
The light in the chamber dims to reveal a silhouette within.
Shi’ya stands before Hào’yáng. Instead of her lotus flower, she now holds a sword that glimmers petal-pink, the hilt a deep leaf green. Power radiates from it in waves, as inexorable as the heat of the sun, flooding the room. Shi’ya’s expression is calm, her eyes belying nothing but still waters.
“Demon Queen Sansiran,” she says gently, but somehow, her voice seems to echo. “Your reputation precedes you.”
Sansiran’s lips curl. “As does yours,” she replies coldly, “Yi’lín Shi’ya, the mortal-lover.”
Shi’ya only blinks slowly. “The Heavenly Army will arrive at any minute. The High Court has been alerted. Take your army and retreat now, Sansiran, before it’s too late.”
“Not until I have what’s mine, Yi’lín Shi’ya,” the demon queen growls. “For so long, the immortals have taken theglory and respect across the realms, dictating the Heavenly Order and the laws across the kingdoms. The mó have been vilified, so much so that even a mere mortal emperor refuses to show respect to his own son and rightful heir!”
“There is much to the Heavenly Order that should be changed,” Shi’ya says steadily, “but waging war against an entire realm is not the way, Sansiran.”
“Do not stand there with your holier-than-thou attitude and preach to me when you have benefited from the very structure that gives you and your kind the most privilege!” Sansiran’s voice rises with the static in the room, the frenzied way the shadows shift. As the demon queen’s magic explodes, Shi’ya counters with a shield of her own. The sheer power in the chamber rams into me, choking me. I can’t breathe. I can’t see.
The room shifts; I feel the wall against my back, and suddenly, a shadow falls over me. The unbearable pain and power dim.
Yù’chén stands between me and the battle. His entire face is contorted in pain, but he props himself up, hands splayed against the wall on either side of my head. Shielding me from the painful, overwhelming clash of magic. Blood drips down his nose, and ichor darkens his veins.
For a moment, I only stare at him, confusion giving me pause.Why?
Then his gaze meets mine, shaking me from my stupor, and I know what I must do.
When I reach for my blades, Heart slides into my hand. I remember now that it is Yù’chén who placed my crescent blades back in their sheaths one by one.
I angle the dagger, and I thrust.
I mean to pierce his chest, to where his heart beats. I mean to kill him.
But I made a fatal mistake in selecting Heart, and in allowing my own heart to take charge.
