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I lifted my head from the ground yet remained on my knees. I would give the empress no reason to dismiss me.

“Honorable Mother, Xingyin was only late this morning because of my task.” Liwei looked at me. “Did you find the snow ginseng root?”

“Yes.” I was glad for his quick thinking.

“Could you give it to the kitchen to be brewed into a tonic? Ask them to send it with the afternoon meal to Their Celestial Majesties.”

Conscious of the watchful attendants, I pressed my forehead to the ground in acknowledgment. Rising to my feet, I hurried to the entrance, eager to escape.

The empress’s voice drifted after me, a more pleasant tone now that I was gone. “Liwei, you’re a filial son,” she praised him. “Tomorrow’s banquet will be a grand event. The Flower and Forest Immortals will join us, as will the sea monarchs—a rare chance to affirm our goodwill toward the Four Seas. We will also be honored by the attendance of Queen Fengjin and her daughter.”

“Princess Fengmei?” Liwei asked, with a catch in his voice.

“Of course. The Phoenix Kingdom is our most important ally—more than ever, with the threat of that cursed Demon Realm still hanging over us.” She added, in a tone laden with meaning, “I hope you’ll be an attentive host. And that you know what’s expected of you.”

Beyond the doorway, I glanced back at Liwei in sympathy. He did not enjoy such occasions, avoiding as many as he could. But it would be impossible for him to escape his own celebration, particularly with the sharp eye of his mother watching his every move.

Liwei and I had planted a small garden in a corner of the courtyard. Grabbing a shovel, I dug up the snow ginseng root, grown from a seed just a month ago. While it usually took years to cultivate ginseng, Liwei’s enchantment helped the plants mature faster. Admiring the perfectly formed root, its flesh so white that it was almost translucent, I deemed it a worthwhile sacrifice to save my hide.

In the bustling kitchen, I found Minyi, whom I had grown to know well. After passing her the ginseng, I decided to wait while she prepared our food.

She scrutinized me, her nose wrinkling. “Xingyin, you’re so pale. Are you eating enough?”

“I was late this morning and Her Celestial Majesty scolded me,” I told her.

She sighed in commiseration. The empress was much feared for her temper—fierce, malicious, so easily roused—and few were spared it.

“Our empress has too much fire in her. Those from the Phoenix Kingdom have such hot tempers,” she remarked.

“Phoenix Kingdom? Isn’t she a Celestial?”

She shook her head, casting a furtive look around. Minyi was privy to the stories and gossip from the many attendants who visited the kitchen. It was a simple matter to trade a delicacy for the latest news and in the evenings, a cup of wine loosened even the stiffest tongues. And the one thing she loved more than collecting gossip was sharing it with her friends.

“Before she wed the emperor, Her Celestial Majesty was a princess of the Phoenix Kingdom. She was not so ill-humored at first, but her disposition worsened after the death of her beloved kin.”

It was the first I had heard of it. I did not think it possible, yet pity flared in me at the thought of her loss. “What happened to them?”

Minyi’s face clouded over. “A tragic tale. The empress is a relation of Lady Xihe, the sun goddess who dwells in the Fragrant Mulberry Grove in the eastern sky. Lady Xihe had ten children whom she used to take upon her phoenix-drawn chariot—one at a time—to ride across the heavens. Her children were powerful creatures of pure light and heat, revered as the sun in the mortal world.”

I went cold inside. “Ten children? Ten suns? The kin of the Celestial Empress?”

Minyi stirred a simmering pot of noodles, thankfully oblivious to my mounting distress. “The phoenixes are a close relation of the three-legged sunbirds.”

Sunbirds. The word seared me. “What happened?” I choked out.

“Many years ago, Lady Xihe was gravely injured. To aid her, the empress sent a trusted general to the Fragrant Mulberry Grove to drive the chariot on her behalf. Only one sunbird was permitted to join him, but they disobeyed, all ten leaping into the chariot at once and flying away before the general could stop them. The sunbirds did not wish to return, soaring through the skies night and day.” Minyi paused for a moment. “It was a terrible time, of blinding light and blistering heat. The mortals suffered most, their fragile world scorched to the brink of destruction.”

She continued, “The Celestial Emperor sent messengers to reprimand the sunbirds, but they ignored them all. They were so swift, no one could catch them. The emperor might have struck them down himself, but the empress shielded them from attack. Under her protection, the sunbirds would have burned the world to a cinder—but they were finally shot down by a brave mortal.”

My father. My legs trembled. I clutched the side of the table, my elbow knocking over a bowl of yellow plums that rolled onto the floor. Avoiding a glare from an irate cook, I bent down to pick up the fruit, glad for the opportunity to hide my face. I sifted through my faded memories of the book I had read once—my father’s story as retold by the mortals. The sunbirds were said to be favored by the gods, under their protection. But the Celestial Empress’s blood relations? It was little wonder that she had sought to punish my father for slaying them.

I swallowed to moisten my parched throat. “The mortal . . . what of him?”

Minyi sprinkled chopped green chives over two bowls of noodles, then lifted them onto a tray of polished wood. Almost as an afterthought, she added a small dish of vegetables and a plate of dumplings. I suppressed the urge to grab her arm and shake the rest of the tale from her.

“Oh. The mortal’s deeds were praised by the emperor and he was rewarded with the Elixir of Immortality.”

“Wasn’t His Celestial Majesty angry with him for killing the empress’s kin?” I could not conceal the urgency in my voice.