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“Only enough to harvest its seeds.” An unwelcome thought. “Why would His Celestial Majesty send Wugang? The emperor could have seized our home if he wished.”
“Because His Celestial Majesty’s position is no longer unassailable. Too many eyes are upon him, and voices that were long silent have been roused to question.” General Jianyun paused, rubbing his chin contemplatively. “The gods among us bear an additional burden—the desire to be worshipped, whether through fear or love. While they might believe themselves above such things, they dread its loss. Other immortals, such as us, have fewer concerns. We care less how our actions appear to the world, and whether we will be maligned or adulated.”
“Too jarring a move might also alert our enemies,” Liwei observed. “If they descend upon the moon, it might cause an unwanted tussle. My father’s hands are tied for now, unless he has just cause.”
I would not give it to him. While the laurel’s power seemed benign, to heal instead of harm—I did not trust the emperor’s intentions.
A clang reverberated through the air, a gong struck by a mallet. Everyone turned toward the thrones where the empress had risen, raising her jade cup high. “A toast to His Celestial Majesty, the Emperor of the Immortal Heavens. To ten thousand years more of his glorious reign. Tonight, the moon shines brightly in his honor.”
With a sweep of the empress’s hand, the malachite roof disintegrated into shards—scattering into the night like emerald fireflies. Yet where the moon should have glowed in its full glory was a void of darkness.
As I searched the sky frantically, gasps erupted from the guests, their upturned faces taut with shock and foreboding. Whispers swirled through the air like a pestilent wind.
“Where is the moon? It should have risen long before.”
“An eclipse, on His Celestial Majesty’s birthday? An ill omen indeed!”
“What does Chang’e intend with this insult?”
At the last, ice seeped into my bones. My mother … what had happened to her? Never had she abandoned her task of illuminating the moon—not through heartbreak, grief, or loss. I spun to the entrance but my feet would not move, as though they were embedded in stone.
“Daughter of the Moon Goddess, what do you and your mother mean by this?” The empress’s fingers were clenched around her cup.
“I must go to my mother. She might be in danger!” Again, I tried to move, struggling against her enchantment. I gathered my energy to break it but caught Liwei’s eye, that slight shake of his head in warning. To use my magic here would be in blatant defiance of Their Celestial Majesties’ command. I had to tread carefully, at least for now.
General Wu stepped forward, his features arranged into a veneer of solemnity. “Chang’e is daring indeed to bring about such an ominous omen, this terrible insult to our beloved emperor. Unsurprising, as we are all aware of the Moon Goddess’s grudge against Their Celestial Majesties.”
How dare he malign my mother who had treated him so graciously? I swallowed a furious retort, casting my eyes down in a guise of humility—though inside, I burned. It was safer if Their Celestial Majesties thought us meek and afraid, rather than vengeful and proud.
“My mother bears Your Celestial Majesties no ill will,” I protested.
“What of you?” General Wu interjected.
“I … I do not wish Your Celestial Majesties ill.” The barest crack in my tone, yet all in this discerning court heard what remained unspoken: that I did not wish Their Celestial Majesties well either.
Liwei clasped his hands together and bowed. “Honorable Father, Mother. Xingyin and her mother are no threat to you. Allow us to find the Moon Goddess, to ensure her safety and request an explanation.”
The emperor’s expression hardened, his knuckles white over the carnelian armrest. “Liwei, do you not care for your own family and the insult paid to us today?”
That tone, curling with menace, was the one that echoed in my worst nightmares, the moment before he had struck me down.
“Honorable Father, they mean you no harm. Those of the moon only wish to protect their home.” Liwei spoke calmly, and I was glad for his steadiness in times as these, when my emotions crested and broke.
“Enough, Liwei,” the empress said sternly, despite her pallor. As she threw her hand out, the air between us gleamed with magic, the enchantment on my feet loosening. “She can go. You must stay for your father’s celebration.”
“You say they mean no harm, Your Highness,” General Wu said silkily to Liwei. “How do you know what thoughts lurk in their minds? Or perhaps you do not care, your loyalties clouded by your feelings—”
“Remember your place, General,” the empress snarled. “Do not reach above yourself. My son is not to blame.”
“Of course.” He bowed, even as an insidious smile stretched over his lips. “His Highness must have been deceived.”
How strange to see them at odds when they had united against me in such accord before. Yet the empress was vigilant against those who threatened her son, even past allies. My throat closed tight at the skillful picture General Wu was painting: my mother and I, treacherous and false, while Liwei was a fool whose opinion was to be disregarded.
I raised my voice to be heard. “This is an innocent mistake, Your Celestial Majesty—”
The emperor’s hand shot up, silencing me. His lips were ringed with white, his eyes bulging. “Liwei, where do your loyalties lie? With your family and kingdom, or this deceitful girl? I warned her once, there would be no mercy if Chang’e, or she, ever shirked their duties.”
“Imperial Husband, Liwei does not mean that,” the empress began, but when the emperor swung to her, she shrank back against her throne.
