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“He has fulfilled his obligation to me, he will never relinquish it again.”

Despair swelled through me, heavy and bleak. “What can I do, Father?”

His smile struck the years away; I saw the man my mother had loved, with gentle humor and warmth in his eyes. Then the shadows descended once more, cloaking him in gray. “This is enough, more than I had hoped for—to see you this once, to hear you acknowledge me. Don’t endanger yourself. There is nothing you can do, for the doctors say I have just a little time left.”

I lifted my chin, studying the paintings of his accomplishments upon the marble grave. A miracle, and yet almost a curse, that I had found my father only to learn he was dying. Joy, tainted with the promise of sorrow. No, not a curse, I corrected myself—an opportunity. It was not too late, not while he lived. We had a chance to be a family again, to mend that which had been broken. A prize beyond my wildest dreams, though I did not delude myself into thinking it would be easily won.

“I am your daughter,” I told him. “And I will bring you home.”

From the Mortal Realm, the moon shone like a silver disc against the black of night. My mother had completed her task, though it would do little to assuage the Celestial Emperor’s wrath—a stark reminder of its absence yesterday. My spirits sank at the thought of my mother and Liwei cast in his disfavor; it would have mattered less had he been infuriated with me alone. I had confronted his wrath before and survived—though barely.

I could not let that daunt me now. My father was ill. Dying. I had to help him, and who knew more about the mortals than the Keeper of their Fates? He had been a teacher to Liwei and me before, if only I had been a more attentive student. I could have sought him in the Jade Palace, except there were too many prying eyes and loose tongues. Fortunately, I was familiar with his routine and how he descended to the world below each night.

I searched the sky eagerly but there was no sign of him. Flicking the long blue panels of my robe aside, I sank upon the cloud. A wide belt was fastened around my waist from which hung my pouch and tassel. The sleeves tapered at my wrists, bound by silk cord, enchanted to hold fast or unwind upon my command. While less flattering than the gown I had worn to the emperor’s banquet, this attire was far better suited to my current needs. Ping’er had helped me craft this garment with deliberate sighs and shakes of her head. I had returned home only briefly to change—keen to avoid my mother and Liwei, and the probing questions they might ask.

The air stirred, a cloud soaring ahead. A white-haired immortal clutching a jade staff stood upon it, with a younger woman beside him, her black hair coiled into a neat bun. I frowned, wishing the Keeper were alone. Stealthily, I tailed them through the skies, landing at the outskirts of a mortal town ringed by a gray stone wall. All was quiet at this late hour, dinners long eaten and beds filled with dreamers.

Leaping to the ground, I followed them at a discreet distance. When they stopped abruptly, I drew back into a cluster of bamboo, their stalks silvered by the moonlight.

“Who are you? Immortals are forbidden from coming here without good cause.” The Keeper of Mortal Fates’ tone rang with reprimand.

I stepped out, cupping my hands before me and bowing from my waist. “Honored Teacher.” While he had not taught me for a long time, this bond linked us forever.

“Xingyin?” He spoke slowly, fragmenting my name. “Why are you here? Where is His Highness? Many are concerned for him.”

I recalled the dense silence when Liwei had knelt before the thrones. “Perhaps they should have spoken up when it mattered.”

“That is unfair. Only a year has passed since you left the Celestial Kingdom, surely you have not forgotten how things are there.” His tone was stern, as though he were instructing me once more. “Who can challenge His Celestial Majesty without fear of repercussion? Would it have changed anything if another spoke up, or merely stirred the emperor’s wrath? Do not scorn those who bide their time, awaiting the right opportunity to act. Not all battles are won at the point of a sword, nor are they decided at the first strike.”

I dropped my head. “Forgive me. I spoke rashly.”

The Keeper sighed. “Please inform His Highness that while the predators are circling, there are many who would support him upon his return. Bear in mind, His Highness is most vulnerable when absent.”

My teeth caught my lip as a selfish dread consumed me. I would have been glad to see the last of the Celestial Court. Happiness seemed an elusive prospect, trapped beneath the censorious judgment of Their Celestial Majesties, bound to a duty that did not call to me. I had no loyalty to the Celestial Kingdom. What did I care for the power that came alongside royalty, the chance to leave your mark on the realm, to mold it to your beliefs? I would choose a flowering forest or a tranquil shore over all the banquets in heaven.

Yet Liwei’s heritage was an integral part of him, interwoven with his identity, honor, and pride. The emperor and empress were his family, the only one he had. I could not ask him to give them up, not even at the price of my happiness.

“I will tell him.” I glanced at the woman, hoping she would leave so I could speak freely. As the Keeper turned toward the mortal town, I discarded caution. “Honored Keeper, I have a private matter I wish to seek your advice on.”

His gnarled fingers stroked his beard. “I trust Leiying, my apprentice, in all matters.”

Did he desire a witness to our meeting? I dared not imagine what the emperor might do should he discover my father was alive. I had to tread cautiously.

“Is the elixir the only way for a mortal to become immortal?” I kept my tone light as though this were idle curiosity.

“Yes.”

My heart sank though I expected no less; it was as General Jianyun had said. “How might one obtain the elixir?” The question came out too quickly, my urgency unmistakable.

His gaze shuttered. “Why do you ask?”

How easy it would be to use Liwei’s name to gain the Keeper’s compliance. He had been his student far longer, their bond went deep—yet I could not choke the lie out. I could not risk harming Liwei’s reputation further, inflaming his father’s suspicions should the Keeper report our conversation.

“I can’t say,” I admitted. “Though it is important to me.”

“Such information cannot be freely shared.”

I clasped my hands, resisting the urge to plead. What did pride matter when weighed against my father’s life? Though from the set of the Keeper’s face, it would be futile. Before I could speak, the woman shook her head, flicking her eyes toward the bamboo grove in an unmistakable invitation. Hope flared. As the Keeper’s apprentice, she might have the information I sought and be more willing to share it. There would be a price, undoubtedly—but less onerous than others had demanded of me before.