21
Àn’ying
Palace of the Aurora, Kingdom of Night
When the veil of darkness lifts, I hold tightly to Yù’chén to orient myself. The world settles: obsidian pillars, night skies, brightly colored flowers. The oleander passageway, having served its purpose, begins to fade.
We are back in the Court of the Aurora—only all signs of last night’s revelry are gone. The center has been cleared to form one long aisle leading to a dais at the other end. Mó, elegant and ethereal in their black robes, line up on the sides. Tonight, there are no claimed mortals. The open-air chamber has been transformed into a proper throne room.
Sansiran’s passageway has deposited us at the back. I search for the demon queen, but she is nowhere to be seen; the dais sits empty, devoid of even a throne.
Immediately, my eyes are drawn to the center of the glade, where, looming over a crystal spring, is the ancient stone pái’fang that caught my attention at the revelry.
As I watch, the vines circling its stone columns begin to glow. Tiny aquamarine flowers bloom, and a vortex of darkness forms between the two pillars. Ghostly silhouettes move from within, then two mó step out, both clad in pale azure garments that glimmer over their bodies like spiderwebs. They round the dais and take their places amidst the rows of waiting courtiers.
The pái’fang must be a gateway. The blue flowers crumble and disappear into the shadows, and the center of the pái’fang clears.
I tear my eyes away to focus on my current predicament. I haven’t yet made the covenant with Yù’chén. If Sansiran somehow forces the true method to claiming the mortal throne from me tonight, I will have nothing left to bargain with.
Alcoves line the walls of the throne room, overhung with curtains of flowering nightshade. I pull Yù’chén into one of them, ducking beneath the flowers and turning to lean against the wall. To anyone passing by, it will look as though their crown prince is having a moment with his claimed mortal.
I pull him to me; his hands fall to my waist as I lean forward. As I meet his gaze, though, my request dies on my lips. The mirth and nonchalance with which he regarded me over the past weeks is completely gone; the way he looks at me burns with a rawness and desperation that catches fire in my heart.
I snap my head away, my pulse racing. After last night, something fundamental has shifted between us so that I no longer know what we are. Enemies. Allies. Friends.
Lovers.
No.“Yù’chén,” I begin, but he cuts across.
“You don’t have to explain. I understand.” His voice is even, his hand steady as he takes my chin and tips my face to his.“You wanted to forget about him, or you simply wanted someone to be with. I won’t take it to mean anything more.” He pauses. “No matter what, I’ll still enter the covenant with you, Àn’ying. I’ll work with you to save the Kingdom of Rivers.” His hand falls to his side. “I made you a promise.”
I search his eyes, and I find that they are open to me. Raw and familiar, with the same intimacy I found in them when he held me to him earlier.
I swallow at the way my heart stutters in spite of everything I have told myself.
I’m the one to reach up and touch his cheek. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He leads me out of the alcove toward the mó lining up on either side of the dais. It is easy to recognize the Higher Ones gathered closest to where the throne should sit. There is an aura of pure, unadulterated power to them, as though they are an ancient, immutable part of this world, like rivers and winds and flames.
Among them, I spot Xisenyin, with her snow-colored hair; Niefuzan, a head taller than the others; and Weirufeng, with his pale-blue skin, half hidden in the crowd.
My blades are cold against my skin, hidden in the slits of my sleeves.
Overhead, the aurora suddenly grows frenzied, turning the color of blood. A cold wind sweeps shadows in, and red oleanders blossom on the stone pái’fang.
From within steps the Empress of Fallen Darkness in a dress that seems cut from the sky. Her hair flows long and loose, like wisps of smoke; her lips are a slash of crimson on her pale face. The realm itself seems to shift with her every move: flowersspringing up in the grass, trailing in her wake; the air and shadows curving around her; the stars brightening where she walks; the wind kissing her hair and dress.
Complete silence has fallen over the Court of the Aurora, and every crimson gaze is drawn to rest on her as though by a magnetic pull.
Sansiran, the demon queen, smiles, and she is just as alluring and terrifying as in all my memories.
She rounds the spring and stalks toward the dais. A throne rises from the ground, knitting itself out of vines and tree trunks and opening to her as she turns and sits.
“My loyal subjects.” Sansiran’s voice echoes across the clearing, drifting between trees. “We continue to gain ground in our war against the Kingdom of Sky. But tonight, we are gathered here to celebrate an event that will help us tip the scales of this war once and forever.” She waves her hand. “Bring forth my son and the woman he claims.”
The crowds part, and guards approach to escort us. My feet move of their own accord, and I’m gripping Yù’chén’s hand so hard, I cannot feel my fingers as we draw close to where Sansiran sits beyond the spring. The shadow of the pái’fang looms over her.
Yù’chén kneels. I follow.
