I turn sharply toward her—only to find my path blocked.
A mó stands in my way. He seems to have come from nowhere, as I’m certain he wasn’t there just a second ago. His skin is the pale blue of frost, and his eyes pure black. He is slight, and though he is flanked by two taller, more muscular mó, there is something singularly terrifying about him.
Higher One, my instincts hiss.
Yù’chén’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly on my waist; he shifts, drawing me closer to him, and this is how I know the danger we’re in.
“Weirufeng,” Yù’chén greets him. “The Wind Messenger. Did the night breeze sweep you back into this realm, or did my mother?”
I glance over Yù’chén’s shoulder at where I spotted Xisenyin, but she’s nowhere to be found.
The Higher One—Weirufeng—seems to shift his gaze to Yù’chén, though it’s difficult to tell where he is looking, with those eyes of swirling silver. “Neither, Princeling.” His voice is a whisper, like the wind he is named after. “It is your affairs that have summoned me back. Tell me, is your prize treating you well?”
“Very,” Yù’chén replies, tipping my chin up and looking at me with a blithe smile. His eyes, though, are tense. His thumb trails a stroke across my cheek, a silent reassurance.
Behind him, through the crowds, comes another flash of snow-white hair in the night.
I dart another glance over his shoulder and catch the tail of Xisenyin’s frost-laced gown as it slips between dancers. I think of Fleet—and perhaps my other blades—trapped in the layers of her despicable gown.
“She seems…distracted,” comes Weirufeng’s voice, and I realize I’ve been staring for too long.
Quickly, I school my features into some semblance of the vacant expressions I’ve seen the other drugged mortals in this hall wear. But the Higher One’s gaze pierces me.
“After all that our princeling put on the line for you and allthe resources spent on preserving your life, I would think you should show a little more gratitude,” Weirufeng says, addressing me directly.“Please him while we speak.”
His command comes out of nowhere, the dark magic sinking its claws into my skin, squeezing me tight as it attempts to bend my will with steel-like power.
Only it doesn’t.
I’ve had time to prepare for this. After that close call with Xisenyin back at the moonsong revelry, I’ve spent the hours Yù’chén left me alone in the darkness re-creating the talisman my father engraved on my crescent blade Shield. It is one that blocks attacks, including magical ones. Incredibly powerful if done well, yet incredibly difficult to conjure.
Despite all my training back at Xi’lín, drawing talismans still doesn’t come easily to me. I’ve nearly exhausted my spirit energy, yet tonight, my body bears the talisman written in blood on my stomach, my thighs, and my shoulders—the parts of me hidden under my dress. The shield talismans activate now, resisting the pull of Weirufeng’s command.
I’ve defied the call of a regular mó back in the mortal realm; the magic of a Higher One is different. Even with five shield talismans on my body, it feels like fighting a tidal wave as Weirufeng’s command closes over me. My muscles tremble and my limbs shift of their own accord as I lose ground.
But I don’t need to resist this particular command. All I wanted to know was that I had a fighting chance.
As the slightest hint of suspicion tightens Weirufeng’s eyes, I yield. His dark magic rushes through my veins, moving my body sharply: one single step forward to close the gap between myself and Yù’chén. My hands slip beneath his shirt to skim the hard, toned muscles of his abdomen.
He stiffens and jerks back, then grasps my wrists and pins them against my body. “She is neither your plaything nor yours to command, Weirufeng,” he says irritably. “You forget the bargain my mother made with me.”
“And you forget, your mother’s Wind Messenger shall carry a report of her son’s activities to her tonight,” Weirufeng counters. “Lest you wish to impress upon me that you intend to disavow the reason we bring mortals into our realm? Or…worse…” His impenetrable silver gaze slides to me. “Do you mean to tell me you have broken a sacred rule and allowed a lucid mortal—a former enemy’s ally, nonetheless—into our highest court?”
Yù’chén’s fingers tighten against my wrists. “Of course not,” he says after a slight pause, and his grip loosens.
Weirufeng’s command surges inside me, and I let it lead me forward. I have to put on a performance to convince Weirufeng that I am claimed and drunk on oleander nectar.
I lean close to Yù’chén. His familiar scent of midnight wind and the sharp sweetness of scorpion lilies envelops me as, slowly, I press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. His skin is hot and he’s tense, his grip tight on my waist as though he’s preparing for a fight instead of for pleasure.
I understand: This is a game of power and humiliation. Like Niefuzan and Xisenyin the other night, Weirufeng is putting him in his place.
I suddenly wonder what else these Higher Ones have made him endure.I’m not in the mood for games tonight, Niefuzan.He greeted Niefuzan with cold indifference—but I recall the smirking, red-cloaked practitioner I met in the mortal realm, the nonchalance he wore like a second skin.
My touch turns gentle. I let Weirufeng’s command carry me,guided now by my own sentiments. I place my palm against Yù’chén’s jaw, tracing a thumb across his cheek—a silent signal of reassurance back to him. He shifts his head slightly, his lips brushing against my fingertips. An answering signal.
I’m unprepared for how my hand tingles in response.
“Surely the empress’s most esteemed Wind Messenger has better things to do tonight.” Yù’chén’s tone is cool, but his hands fist in the fabric of my dress, keeping my body a handbreadth from his. “Deliver your message and run back to her like the good dog you are.”
