I straighten slightly at that. “Can you show me the rest of your wing?”
He cocks his head, studying me. “No feral cup-throwing this time? No cursing at me or furious demands for me to leave you alone? Why, keep this up, and I may mistake it for a declaration of love, little scorpion.”
Just like that, I want to discard the strategy I’ve come up with. “Are you here for any reason other than to goad me?”
“It may surprise you that I am,” Yù’chén replies steadily, and holds out a palm. The sight of the shimmering dark feather drives every other thought from my mind. “Your family has crossed into the Western Province. Would you like to see?”
“Yes,” I say quickly, and he obliges. This time, the feather shifts into a landscape of rolling sand dunes, golden sun, and fierce blue skies. A line of travelers casts long shadows over the undulating desert. I make out Méi’zi and Tán’mù leading a camel, upon which my mother sits. Bounding by their side is a small white streak: Lì’líng in her fox form.
I stare at the memory until it flickers and the illusion ends. The image of blazing sands and blue skies and sun is seared into my vision as I blink, readjusting to the darkness.
“They’re safe,” Yù’chén says. “I’ll return when my shadowcrane sends word.” He turns to leave.
“Thank you.” The words slip past my lips; I don’t even catch them until I’ve spoken aloud.
Yù’chén pauses. Slowly, he glances back at me. “You’re welcome, Àn’ying,” he says.
“Wait.” I take a step forward, grappling for an excuse to keep him here. I need information on where my blades might be. I need to see more of this palace to devise an escape plan.
Yù’chén is staring at me, one eyebrow cocked. “Yes?”
I open and close my mouth as I try to come up with something that doesn’t sound too obvious.
He smiles suddenly, disarmingly. “Either you ask me to leave, Àn’ying, or you ask me to stay. Which is it?”
I swallow. “Stay.”
Yù’chén turns to face me. His eyes are bright as he approaches, then stops at a comfortable distance. “Is there any reason you’ve requested the pleasure of my company tonight, little scorpion?”
Precisely because I’m scheming your timely demise,I think, but outwardly I only reply, “How long have I been here?”
“A little under two weeks.”
That chills me. Two weeks, and while my family is safe…Hào’yáng is still dead. And I have no plan of escape, no chance of turning this war around to save my realm.
“Please don’t leave me alone for that long again,” I say quietly.
“I’ll stay for as long as you like, Àn’ying,” Yù’chén says with a shrug. “You need only ask.”
I wrap my arms around myself, only just remembering that I am in that thin, sheer nightgown. “Could I have a proper dress?” I ask.
Yù’chén’s gaze flickers over me. “It would take at least a few days to tailor a new one for you. But I can alter your clothes with my magic. Would that be all right with you?”
What I really want is a weapon. But I have to start small. Begin by gaining his trust. “All right,” I echo.
Yù’chén leads me onto the pavilion. I haven’t ventured outside in a while. Fresh night air caresses my cheeks, and I could weep for the way the wind moves over me after having spent so long in the suffocating darkness of his chambers. Overhead, the aurora dances and the jagged mountains and shifting clouds come alive with colors. I catch myself admiring the eerie beauty of this world, at once frightening and breathtaking.
I look sharply away. I can’t think of them without thinking of the invisible wards at the edges of this terrace, imprisoning me here.
Yù’chén turns to face me. His eyes glow crimson as magic pools in his palms. I hear him draw a quiet breath, as though to steel himself, and then he begins. The fabric stretches where he coaxes, his hand brushing featherlight against my skin as he guides an iridescent thread to weave sleeves over my bare shoulders and arms.
He moves to my bodice next. I suppress a shiver as the heat of his hands roams up my waist, the tips of his fingers grazing the sheer fabric.
When he reaches the top of my rib cage, Yù’chén pauses. He glances at the soft silk over my breasts before quickly averting his gaze.
“Bear with me,” he says, and then his hands move up. I close my eyes, waiting for nausea or disgust to rise in my throat.
Only it doesn’t.
