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He shook his head. “It’s not severe.”

“Do you have the elixirs?” I was already imagining my father’s face alight with pride. My mother’s joy when I brought him home.

Tao slipped his hand between the panels of his robe, drawing out a small bottle the size of my thumb. It was crafted in translucent white jade, with delicate gold filigree adorning its stopper. A glowing liquid swirled within, its honeyed scent almost drowning my senses.

I smiled, reaching out for it—but then Tao’s shoulders slumped as the air around him shimmered, his face and body blurring like he was shrouded in mist.

“What’s the matter? Are you all right?” I reached for his arm to steady him, but my fingers passed through his flesh like smoke.

“I … I’m sorry. There was only one.” His face crumpled, his voice cracking with remorse as it melded into the rushing wind.

I stared numbly back at him, dread crashing over me. To have risked so much and come this far! Anger blazed as I sprang at him, clawing at the shadow of the bottle in his hand, but it was like trying to grasp a shred of sky.

It was too late; he had gone. I had been played for a fool, risked myself for nothing—and worst of all, I had failed my father.

Dawn streaked across the skies as the last flickers of light dwindled from the moon lanterns. I almost longed for the return of night, as dark as my thoughts. I had come so close to bringing my father home, and now … the elixir was gone. My fingers curled as I cursed Tao and his sister, and myself for trusting them. Yet Tao’s distraught expression as he had vanished tugged at me. Had he expected two elixirs, only to find one? Would I have chosen differently—sacrificed my father’s life, my mother’s happiness, for a stranger’s? Regardless, if I ever found him again, I would repay his selfishness in kind. I had risked my life as he had; the elixir was no less mine, and his theft had nullified all claim he once had upon it.

The Celestial soldiers standing guard outside were unfamiliar to me. Feimao’s shift must have ended. Just yesterday I had strode through these doors without hesitation, and now I was forced to break in like a thief. Stealthily, I made my way to the back, clambering up a mother-of-pearl pillar, then swinging myself onto the balcony. As I discarded my garments and pulled on a lilac robe I had hidden there, my gaze fell upon the realm below, awash in the soft haze of morning. A heaviness sank over me as I recalled the nights spent in idle contemplation here. Would I ever regain the peace I had known then?

The corridor was deserted as I made my way to my room. Sliding the doors apart, I entered—startled to find Shuxiao sitting at the table, along with General Jianyun. Their teacups were drained, Shuxiao’s sword lying on the floor. Had they been waiting for long?

“You shouldn’t be here,” I blurted. Recalling my manners, I bowed to General Jianyun. “The emperor’s edict—”

“I heard,” Shuxiao said, her forehead wrinkled. “Where were you? You weren’t supposed to leave.”

I glanced at General Jianyun. He was still one of the emperor’s advisors, moreover it was safer for him to not know. Though his unexpected presence here sent a sliver of trepidation through me.

“Do you have news of Liwei?” I asked, evading Shuxiao’s question.

“No one is permitted to visit His Highness. The emperor has commanded that he remain isolated in his quarters,” General Jianyun said grimly.

My teeth gnawed the soft inside of my cheek. “Has Liwei spoken to his father?”

General Jianyun shook his head. “His Celestial Majesty refuses to grant him an audience until His Highness apologizes—which he has not done. Nor will the emperor hear reason from the few advisors who voiced their concerns regarding the treatment of the prince.”

“But that’s not why we’re here.” Shuxiao’s expression was somber. “Soldiers are assembling as we speak. They are coming here, led by General Wu.”

Fear jolted down my spine. “Why?”

“The emperor has passed the sentence for your mother. For all of you.” She released a drawn breath. “Confinement in the tower.”

My insides hollowed at the thought of my mother, Ping’er, and me trapped in such a place. The tower was a Celestial prison on the outskirts of the kingdom, where vicious monsters as the Bone Devil had been confined. It was a place of utter desolation, sheathed in darkness for there were no windows or doors within its walls, nothing to yield a glimmer of light.

“How long?” I choked out.

It was General Jianyun who replied. “No length of time has been set.”

“It could be forever.” Despair writhed in my gut, burrowing deep. The emperor had done this to my mother and to the dragons, their punishment dragging on indefinitely without a chance for clemency. Our names would be buried, forgotten, as the years flew by—becoming no more than another cautionary tale of defiance against the Celestial Emperor.

“Some tried to argue on your mother’s behalf. Chang’e had never failed in the performance of her duty before; it must have been an innocent slip.” General Jianyun’s face darkened. “But others twisted our words, arguing that her unprecedented lapse that day, on His Celestial Majesty’s birthday, must have been intentional. Some took it further, claiming the insult to His Celestial Majesty was treason to weaken his standing, embolden his dissenters, and bring misfortune to his reign.”

“They think too highly of us. It was just a harmless mistake.”

“No mistake is ‘harmless’ in the Jade Palace. Particularly none which earns the emperor’s wrath,” Shuxiao said.

“What will you do?” General Jianyun asked.

“How many soldiers? When are they coming?” I made myself ask.