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“Isolated, Your Majesty?” I tried to conceal the lift in my tone, my surging relief.

“The path here is not easy to traverse, and we have ways of keeping out unwanted guests.” Queen Suihe searched my face as she spoke to me, her curiosity evident. She did not know me; it had been years since Liwei’s banquet, and I would have been beneath her notice.

“This is my daughter, Xingyin, and her friend Shuxiao,” my mother said.

“The Celestial archer.” Recognition thrummed in the queen’s tone. “Prince Yanxi of the Eastern Sea spoke highly of you.”

“His Highness is too kind. I was glad to be of aid.” I breathed a little easier. “I no longer serve the Celestial Army, Your Majesty. I left to return to my mother.” I hoped she would not probe further.

“A dutiful daughter.” She settled back against her throne, satisfied that we were figured out, no longer a riddle where danger might lurk unseen. “The monarchs of the Four Seas are gathering here soon. If you wish, you may remain as our guests until then.”

I was tempted to accept, my exhaustion reaching deep—but I recalled Wenzhi’s warning. “We are honored by your invitation, Your Majesty, but we cannot stay. We do not wish to impose on your generous hospitality and—”

“It would be no imposition,” the queen interjected, a frown flitting across her brow. She was unused to being refused. She leaned forward, addressing my mother instead. “Your loyal attendant’s funeral will take place in a few days. Do you not wish to pay your final respects to her?”

My mother’s throat worked, her fingers gripping her skirt. The eyes she turned to me were bright with hope. Oh, I wanted to stay too, to see Ping’er laid to rest. But would we be safe until then? Yet another refusal might rouse the queen’s suspicions, for who would turn down a royal invitation without good cause? Moreover, I believed the emperor would conceal the attack for now, given he had acted so furtively before. Which meant we had a few days respite, to regather and grieve.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. We are grateful for your consideration,” I said, as my mother and Shuxiao lowered themselves into another bow.

Two immortals hurried into the hall then, clad in indigo robes, their hair tucked into silver headpieces. At the sight of the younger immortal, shock coursed through me. There were echoes of Ping’er in the set of her eyes, the arch of her nose, though her chin was more pointed and her face leaner. Was this her sister? An urge gripped me to embrace her, for no other reason than she was Ping’er’s flesh and blood … and that she shared our pain.

The pair knelt on the floor to greet the queen, who gestured for them to rise. “Chief Attendant, this is Chang’e, the Moon Goddess, and her daughter.”

As the woman’s face brightened, her lips parting to speak—a sharp cry rang out from the younger girl.

“Sister!” she gasped, falling to her knees by Ping’er’s body, holding her in a futile embrace.

The chief attendant staggered back, her gaze swinging to us, hard with accusation. “What happened to my daughter? What did you do to her?”

“Chief Attendant, compose yourself.” The queen’s tone was a knife sheathed in silk. “Allow our honored guests the chance to explain.”

Tears shone from my mother’s eyes, spilling down their corners. She did not wipe them away. “I am grateful for your daughter’s company for all these decades. Ping’er has been a loyal companion and … my dearest friend. She died, protecting me from a heinous attack. We brought her here to be laid to rest because it was her final wish.”

Queen Suihe shook her head. “A great tragedy for her family and you. Chief Attendant, you have leave to proceed with the funeral proceedings.”

The chief attendant’s chest heaved, her throat working with unspoken words, but a stern look from the queen silenced her. “Ping’yi, bring your sister’s body,” she called out harshly.

Without another word, the chief attendant bowed to the queen and left the chamber, her steps unsteady and hurried. I wanted to call to her, to explain, to tell her what Ping’er had meant to us, to share our memories—except that would be a cruelty rather than a kindness. For the life Ping’er had with us was only possible because she had been parted from her family. Foolishly, I had imagined we would weep over our shared sorrow, a release to the anguish coiled tight in my chest. After all, Ping’er had intended to leave me in her family’s care here—this was where I might have spent my years if we had not been chased by the soldiers, if I had not leapt to the Celestial Kingdom.

As Ping’yi stared at her sister’s body, her nose reddened, a tear sliding down her cheek. The clear liquid shifted to a milky white, gleaming as it morphed into a pearl that fell to the ground.

Bending down, I picked it up. Smooth and warm between my fingers, it looked just like the one around my neck. Its luminosity reminded me of the laurel seeds, but with a softer glow instead of their harsh glitter. Silently, I passed it to her.

“Thank you.” As she raised her hand, light surged forth to envelop Ping’er, her body rising into the air.

“Wait! Where are you taking her?” I was not ready to let go.

“My sister will be laid to rest with the spirits of our ancestors, eventually becoming part of the ocean we love.” Her gaze flicked to me, lingering on the pearl around my neck. Unlike her mother, there was no animosity in her expression, just a deep sadness, which hurt more.

“Why did she leave?” I wanted to learn everything I could; the stories Ping’er never had the chance to share with us.

Ping’yi hesitated. “It was my fault. I was in love with our childhood friend, though he offered for Ping’er instead. We fought that day. I accused her of selfishness, of scheming to have him for herself. She left the next day.” Her shoulders hunched inward. “I thought she would return after a year or two. Ten years passed, then decades more. When she finally wrote to us, she said she was happy to serve the Moon Goddess and that she had found her place in the world.”

“She was better than we deserved.” My sight blurred, tears catching in my lashes.

Ping’yi studied my face. “Your tears … do they contain a part of you too?”

“No. Why would you think so?”