“The Realm of Dragons is said to reside somewhere within the Four Seas—beyond the seams of the mortal realm. No mortal has entered it in a long, long time, and legend has it thatto do so requires passing a test of sacrifice.” Hào’yáng grins at my expression. “One thing at a time. If all goes according to plan and the land acknowledges me as emperor, the dragons will come to us; there will be no need to journey to them. The other realms, though, we’d need to seek out: the Clan of Phoenixes, the merfolk of the Southern Sea, the fox spirits of the Kingdom of Green Hills…They are not tied to the mortal realm as the dragons are.”
“But if you’re crowned emperor and the dragons accept you, we would have a formal title and banner under which to seek the others’ allegiance in this war,” I finish for him.
Hào’yáng nods and draws his longsword. Azure Tide gleams as he brings it to his side. “Only one way to find out.” His smile turns grim. “When I offer my blood to the river waters and the land, I’m going to be vulnerable. I need my most trusted warrior to defend me should anything happen.”
I draw my crescent blades. They clink gently as I tap them to his sword. “I’ll be here,” I say, “always, Hào’yáng. You need never ask.”
He touches my cheek. “I know,” he says, and straightens. “Let us hope this is the beginning of the end of this war.”
As Hào’yáng turns and strides toward the river again, he sheds his pale shift. Sunlight sweeps across the hard planes of his stomach, the ridges of muscles on his arms and his broad shoulders. I catch sight of scars, so many scars, crisscrossing the golden tan of his skin and vanishing into the waistline of his pants. Scars, he once told me, accumulated from years of sparring and training, when the immortal instructors hit him for being weak and mortal and he was determined to prove them wrong.
Thisis my boy in the jade now: captain of the immortalguard, heir to the mortal throne, and a man, tall and powerful and beautiful.
Again, I have the feeling of shifting currents in my chest as I watch Hào’yáng cast his shift onto the riverbank and stride into the water. Azure Tide glimmers as if it were made of the river itself.
Hào’yáng bows his head as though in prayer.
Then Azure Tide arcs sharply through the air as he plunges it down. Two slashes: one to each forearm, unlocking a flow of bright-red blood. As it trickles into the river, the river reacts.
Currents swirl in a circle around him, forming a whirlpool as the entire river pulls toward him, churning faster and faster, until all of a sudden—
Hào’yáng goes under.
I swallow a shout.
I’m running before I can think, my blades at my sides and my heart slamming against my ribs. I’ve survived too much to take anything lightly; I’ve lost too many people I love. Fear is an emotion stitched into my bones.
“Hào’yáng!” I gasp, but the tides are too strong and I’m forced to stop at the river’s edge. “Hào’yáng!”
I scan the water for him, but they are frothy and it’s impossible to see anything.
“Hào’yáng!” I call again, and then I hear it.
A high-pitched giggle sounds from somewhere near.
That’s when I notice that the forest around us has grown eerily still. A shadow shifts between the trees as a lovely, singsong voice drifts toward me.
“O princeling, young princeling…”
The sun vanishes behind clouds, and I raise my crescent blades to greet the mó approaching through the pines.
—
It’s a female. I’m struck by how much she resembles a fairy from mortal paintings, all billowing silks and black hair and porcelain skin, and she’s holding a lyre. The only thing that gives her away as a demon is her eerie stillness as she watches me—and the purple horn protruding from her forehead.
A demon who can no longer hold the camouflage of her mortal appearance is weakened—starving, perhaps—and reliant upon the strength of her dark magic.
“O sweetling, O sweetling,”the mó sings softly, strumming her lyre.
She pauses and breaks into a sudden smile. The muscles of her face are out of sync: One eye falls shut, and only half her mouth lifts while the other half sags, like a broken puppet. “I smell blood.”
I don’t dare to move from the river where Hào’yáng remains underwater. I cock my head at the mó. “Come closer and I can give you a taste,” I say.
The mó stares at me, still attempting that gruesome half smile. But for the wind stirring her clothes and her hair, she might have been carved of stone. Then, slowly, she tilts her head.
“Blood, bright and sweet as nectar, O, imbued with a drop of…the other.”
Her song lyrics send a shiver through me.
