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Our cloud glided through the sky, carried by a gentle breeze. It was a clear day, and we could see all the way to the mortal world below—though I stared blankly ahead. In the distance, sunlight glinted over the gold dragons poised on the roof of the Jade Palace.

Black-armored soldiers appeared on the horizon, soaring upon violet clouds to sweep between us and the Celestial Kingdom. At once, they surrounded us, only parting to let Wenzhi through. He stood before me now, his dark gray robe swirling around his ankles, the emerald in his crown flashing with jade fire. While he wore no armor, a sword was strapped to his side.

Liwei stiffened beside me, his anger rolling off him in waves. “Traitor. Are you here to confess your crimes?”

“There is nothing to confess. Nor have I heard any accusation from the Celestial Court.” Wenzhi’s silken tone was cultivated to infuriate.

“You know what you did, as do I. And you will pay for your offenses,” Liwei snarled.

“Perhaps. But not today. And certainly not at your hands.” Wenzhi deliberately turned from him, his gaze locking onto mine. “I didn’t come to fight you today.”

I gestured at the arrows and spears which his soldiers aimed at us. “This would imply otherwise.”

“I didn’t say anything about him.” His head jerked toward Liwei, though he did not look away from me. “Give me the pearls,” he said, like he was asking for a pin from my hair.

I would give him nothing more of me, not now, not ever. “It’s too late. The pearls are of no use to you now.”

He frowned, searching my face. “What do you mean?”

“The dragons’ essence is gone; returned to them.”

A sharp hiss of breath. “Don’t lie, Xingyin. It doesn’t suit you.”

“This is no lie.” I spoke gravely. If he did not believe me, if he took the pearls again—he would snatch away the last hope for my mother’s freedom. Digging the pearls from my pouch, I cradled them in my palm as I walked to the edge of the cloud.

“You’ve seen what they were before. Can you say they are the same?” My pulse leapt to an erratic rhythm. Though I wanted him to see how diminished they were, this was the very thing I feared the emperor would discover and punish me for.

He stared at the pearls, unspeaking. “Why?” he ground out, at last.

His voice throbbed with such shock, dismay, and disappointment, it was as music to my ears. I did not expect this rich satisfaction to course through me, this exulting triumph that despite everything he had done, the intricate web he had snared me in—it was all for nothing.

“Because of you,” I told him.

“What?”

“I want to thank you for showing me what needed to be done, of what would happen if the pearls fell into the wrong hands. I could not let that happen again.” I tipped the pearls back into my pouch. “Now we have nothing you want, let us pass.”

Instead, his cloud drifted closer, the anger easing from his expression. I braced myself for more lies.

“What if I told you I’m not here for the pearls alone?” he asked.

“I don’t give a damn what you’re here for.” Liwei stepped closer to me, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword.

I gripped his sleeve. “Liwei, don’t attack him.”

“After everything, do you still care for him?” he asked in disbelief.

“How can you think that?” I seethed, releasing him. “I am sick to my core of bloodshed, terror, and grief. Our best chance is to convince him to let us go. If you attack him, his soldiers will strike us. And if he hurts you again,” I raised my voice so Wenzhi would hear, “he’ll have a lightning bolt through his heart.”

“You’ve already broken it, Xingyin. What other damage could you do?” he said quietly.

My laughter rang sharp and bright. “I shall be pleased to try.” In the next moment I had unslung the bow, Sky-fire blazing between my clenched fingers—yet undeniably muted from before.

Wenzhi’s gaze fixed upon the blood trickling down my hand, from old wounds torn anew. “What happened to you? Why are you weakened?” His tone was rough with urgency.

We had fought together so many times, it was little wonder he could sense my diminished strength. I did not answer, stifling a hiss of pain.

“Don’t exhaust yourself,” Liwei warned.