In the dark, the memory of its last moments flashes through my mind. Its glow as, in the form of a sword, it arced through the air toward the hellbeast, the shock on my face reflected in its blade as it shattered. Glimmering fragments, flickering like embers, swirling onto my skin.
I hold my hand out before me, turning it to examine my skin. There is no remaining trace of the lotus’s glow, and I have no answer to the question of how an immortal’s vessel could simply shatter and vanish without a trace.
I sense his presence before he appears: a shift in the shadows, a knowing in my bones. He stands in the corner of my vision, halfway across the vast chamber. I don’t know where hehas come from—I’ve searched every corner of this room, but the doors have remained locked and warded and there are no other exits.
Yù’chén approaches, stopping far enough from me that I can’t strike him again. He sets something on the floor before me. “Drink it,” he says, and then with a touch of wryness: “And before you say anything, one: no, it’s not poisoned—if I wanted you dead I wouldn’t have gone through all this effort—and two: if you want me to poison-test it anyway, you only have to ask. Nicely.”
It’s a cup of dandelion tea. The smell is a painful reminder of home. Of the time I made him this exact tea in my kitchen. Allowed him near Méi’zi and Ma.
I hurl the cup at him with all my strength. He reacts too fast, making a sharp gesture with his hand, and the teacup explodes in midair, hot liquid and shards of porcelain clattering to the gleaming obsidian floor in a violent mess.
Yù’chén raises an eyebrow as he surveys the damage. “Good thing I didn’t use my favorite cup.”
I activate the talisman for swiftness I’d drawn during this moment of distraction. In a spurt of spirit energy, I charge him, snatching up one of the jagged pieces of teacup from the floor. I swipe at his throat—
His fingers close around my wrists. It’s disconcerting how effortless he makes it seem to hold me off. His eyes are blazing crimson, his jaw tight, as he studies my face.
“Would it please you to hurt me, Àn’ying?” he says. “Would you feel better if you cut me and drew enough blood to turn my floors red?” His hands slide away from mine, and he opens his arms. “Go ahead.”
I’m too surprised to react for several heartbeats. But myanger returns at the hint of a smile playing on his lips, the cocky way in which he tips his head back, baring his throat for me. He can’t die from being cut by a piece of teacup, and he knows I know this. I’ve seen the way his skin stitches itself back together with his dark magic, leaving no scars behind.
I curl my hands into fists. “I won’t be satisfied until I watch you die before my eyes,” I snap, driving every ounce of vehemence I feel into those words.
Yù’chén laughs. “You break my heart,” he says, pressing a palm over his chest in a way that makes me wish I’d tried to slit his throat after all. He clears his throat, fixing me with an inscrutable gaze. “But I didn’t come only to ask to be stabbed by you. I bring news.” His tone prompts me to look up at him. I’d thought him impossibly beautiful once, in the mortal realm—but here, the shadowsworshiphim. Darkness pools at his feet, kissing his black cloak, the silver threads on the fabric gleaming like constellations. “Your family is well.”
Instantly, the fight drains from me. Every nerve in me stretches taut as I say, “You can have your way with me, but please”—my voice cracks—“don’t play with me on this.”
“Always assuming the worst of me,” Yù’chén says, and twirls his fingers. A familiar black feather appears as though he plucked it from the shadows, its edges shifting from light to dark. An illusory memory from his shadowcrane.
He releases it. Like before, the feather dissolves, reshaping itself into a rippling surface, so that I have the impression that I gaze at a scene on the other side of a clear spring.
Sunlight pours through, as golden as syrup. In a forest of red-and-gold camphor trees, a small group of people cluster around a fire and a girl serving broth.
Méi’zi.
The fight goes out of me as I watch her chatter with Fú’yí. My mother is seated just several steps behind her, a weary but hopeful smile on her face. Then there’s Lì’líng, slurping merrily from a bowl, steam wafting in her face. Leaning against a tree just beyond, Tán’mù stands with her arms folded.
“Méi’zi,” I whisper. “Ma—”
Tán’mù straightens suddenly, her gaze snapping toward me. For a giddy moment, I think she’s heard me—but as she draws her two-pronged spear, I remember that this is a memory, perhaps from earlier in the day when Yù’chén’s shadowcrane happened upon them.
The vision shifts as the shadowcrane turns to take flight, and then the scene fades until all I’m left with is the echo of laughter and their faces seared into my mind.
“This was near the border to the Western Province,” Yù’chén says. But instead of giving me comfort, fury surges in me as I remember whose forces attacked my village and tore my loved ones away from me.
“What are you going to do to them?” My voice shakes.
He blinks. “Nothing—”
“Don’t lie to me,” I spit, “youmonster.”
I relish the flicker of his easy grin. “My tenure here forbids me from doing anything to harm my kingdom. But I am not obligated to report to my mother everything I do, either.”
“Don’t tell me you showed me out of thegoodness of your heart.”
“Ah, I forget how hard that is for you to believe.”
I let out a cold laugh. “Harder now that I know youusedme to let the Kingdom of Night infiltrate the immortal realm.”
