I do not know if I am ready. I don’t know if I ever will be—to fight in a war I wanted no part of, to put my life and my family’s lives in danger again without the promise of a happy ending.
All I ever wanted was sunlit days sitting beneath my plum tree at my mother’s feet, watching her and Méi’zi sew; evenings spent traveling the realms with my father along silvered rivers beneath pearl-dust stars in the night sky.
An ache rises in the back of my throat. In my dreams, my father’s face is already fading.
But I know I will never see those days again if I do not choose to fight.
I nod.
Hào’yáng releases me and steps back. The river waters swirl, lifting me by his silent command, and the world seems to hold its breath to watch.
I’m not certain what I expected. In my hands, the lotus remains still. Yet as I watch, its glow seems to be dimming; itsleaf is wilting, and the pink petals are curling at the edges, losing their blush. Faint sparks of light drift from its core.
A horrifying thought comes to me: Without Lady Shi’ya in this world, the lotus, too, is dying because I, her daughter and heir, am not strong enough to keep it alive.
I am not worthy of being her heir.
Please.I send a silent prayer to the vessel.Please answer me. Give me a sign.
At last, Hào’yáng approaches, gazing down at the flower, an inscrutable expression on his face. His hands wrap around mine. “Keep it safe,” he says. “I may not be familiar with the magic of the immortals, but I do believe in destiny. The lotus is yours, Àn’ying, and it will show its true powers when the time is right.”
I can’t meet his eyes. He’s being kind, and I’ve just failed catastrophically in the first step of our plan. The lotus was meant to recognize me and allow me to summon Lady Shi’ya’s immortal army.
Now we still have nothing.
I do as he says, tucking the precious flower into the innermost pocket of my dress, nestled against my heart. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I’m so sorry, Hào’yáng.”
Instead of answering, he cups my cheeks in his palms and presses a kiss to my forehead. The move is so swift, imbued with such familiarity, that I don’t have time to react before he’s drawing back, his dark brown eyes warmed by sunlight as he gazes into mine.
“I have something to show you,” he says.
Then he tips back and falls into the waters, and without his magic holding me up, I go with him.
The plunge is a disorienting shock of cold at first. ButHào’yáng’s grip is strong against my waist and my back, and I hold on to him tightly, eyes squeezed shut.
A laugh sounds through the water.Open your eyes, Àn’ying.Hào’yáng’s voice echoes through the muted silence, just as it did when he saved my life in the frozen lake, and then again in the Four Seas, when I fell from the Immortals’ Steps.I’m here.
I do.
It’s more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. The surface of the river overhead has come alive with sunlight stitched through like gold threads upon a lapis-colored tapestry. Silver-bellied fish dart around us, scales glinting like crystals. And before me, drifting in the currents as though he belongs here, is Hào’yáng.
My surprise must show on my face, for his lips part in a rare, full smile. It’s a distraction to take my mind off the lotus—but it’s working. Ever since my near-drowning, being underwater has been a terrifying thought. But with him, I know that I’ll besafe.
I stretch out a hand as a school of speckled carp swim by—only to have them dart away.
The currents come alive, pulling us in the direction of the carp, until we’re swimming in their midst. Slowly we spin, sunlight sparkling overhead and the school of carp circling us, their scales the color of flower petals. I have the strangest feeling I have stepped into a fairy tale, one that has no place in the realm I live in.
That feeling swells as Hào’yáng takes my chin in his hand and tilts my face to his. His eyes flicker to my lips.
Then he lowers his face to mine and exhales.
Life energy springs from his mouth, golden and threaded through with bubbles. As it flows down my throat, his magicturns to breath. Fresh air fills my lungs, pure and sweet, tasting of pine and sunlight, the salty tang of the sea.
I inhale, leaning forward as I marvel at the sensation of breathing underwater. My fingers wind through his hair—and in the shift of the current, my lips brush his.
It’s as though a whisper of wind touches my heart: rippling the surface of an ocean I didn’t know I held within me. Hào’yáng’s hand tightens almost imperceptibly against my waist; his eyes have fallen closed.
I blink and lean back slightly from the dizzying sensation that races through my head.
