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“What if I think he should stay? Beg his father for forgiveness? Accept the betrothal with Princess Fengmei in exchange for his freedom?” She spoke slowly, savoring the barbs in her words.
I stifled a spurt of anger as I met her gaze. “I am sure you have attempted that, and the fact you are here means Liwei refused.”
“Sometimes, it depends on the stakes.” Her lips curled into a crimson crescent. “Ask yourself, why do you think I came today? To barter with some useless girl who can offer me nothing, or to gain something I did not have before?”
There it was, her game revealed. I had invited her in good faith, yet she had devised a trap. She wanted to take me hostage, to trade me for Liwei’s compliance. My stomach roiled in revulsion, and I was relieved for the absence of fear. And most of all, that I had anticipated her deviousness and was not quite the fool she had expected. In dealing with vipers, I had learned to think like one. I swung with deliberate measure to the corner of the teahouse where Wenzhi sat, his great sword lying on the table in full view. As my gaze collided into his, he raised his cup in a mocking toast—even as his other hand clasped the onyx scabbard of his weapon in a barely veiled threat. He need not fear offending the Celestial Empress; she had no hold over him or his family, which was why I had asked him to come instead of Shuxiao.
The empress’s eyes blazed. “The traitor. Is my son aware of this?”
“Is he aware of your scheme to force his choice?” How liberating to not mind my words, to discard the mask of humility I had been compelled to wear in her presence.
Shoving back the stool, she uncoiled to her full height. “I have nothing more to say to you.”
“I have plenty more to say to you.” I bit back several choice insults. “Tell me, what happened to Liwei?”
A long pause. I thought she would leave, but then she sank back onto the stool. “He’s being held captive, under watch by those who should rightfully bend their knees to him. It would have been prison had I not intervened, he had infuriated his father so.”
“Liwei did nothing to deserve such treatment,” I said fiercely.
“It’s that vile pretender, Wugang, pouring venom into my husband’s ear about our son.”
“Wugang?” Hatred seared me like a burning coal. I drew a long breath to calm myself, to focus on what might be done. “What of General Jianyun? Can he intercede?” Selfish of me to ask, with the general’s own troubles.
“General Jianyun has been retired with an honorary title. Wugang convinced my husband to grant him full control over the Celestial Army. I always believed that was the pinnacle of that upstart’s plans. It is now clear he intends to usurp my son’s rightful position as heir—to taint the throne with his mortal blood, and rule after my husband.”
Did she despise me for my mortal heritage too, that I was not merely low-born but “tainted”? I did not care. The empress was of the noblest blood in the realm, and yet I could not stand her.
“Would the emperor displace his own son for Wugang?” This seemed a step too far, even given his unforgiving nature.
Her lips peeled back into a snarl. As much as she detested me, it was clear she hated Wugang more. “Wugang once endangered himself, performing a great service for my husband. Since then, honors have been showered upon him. My husband treasures loyalty above all, and Wugang was ever compliant, fulfilling his every command. I favored him, too, until his ambition grew clear: his desire to rule instead of serve.”
“Why would Wugang serve your husband after the humiliation heaped upon him?” I probed.
“Would not any mortal be eternally grateful for the gift of immortality?” she asked scathingly.
As the empress glanced at the doorway impatiently, I stifled my curiosity. The answers I most wanted were for myself. “Why did the emperor send his soldiers to the moon? What does he want with my home?” The official reason—that my mother had slighted the emperor’s pride—felt hollow, incomplete. There was little reason nor justice in this, beyond the fact he wanted us gone. It would not have changed our decision to flee, but I wanted to learn what else we might have to fear.
The corners around the empress’s mouth creased. “What does it matter, now that it’s done? You do not need to know,” she replied harshly, yet I caught the crack in her tone. She did not know, and that unnerved me, for the emperor’s ambitions were a mystery even to those closest to him.
“It does matter,” I ground out. “My home was destroyed, my loved one killed. It means nothing to you, but it is everything to me.”
“Blame yourself for all that happened.”
“This was not my fault.” I had done all I could to steer clear of court politics; I wanted no part of it.
“You disrupted our peace. The army bowed to you. General Jianyun came to your defense. Liwei defied his father’s command before the court, as he had never done before. One by one, you destroyed my husband’s pillars of support until just Wugang remained—and now that ambitious pretender is the only one he will listen to.”
My gut twisted yet I did not look away; to show her any weakness was to invite retaliation. “None of this was intended as a challenge. When greatness runs deep, it need not fear such shallow ripples.”
Her eyes narrowed to slivers of loathing. “Ripples turn into waves.”
“Sweeping them away will only create more. No power is absolute, nor is obedience.”
She drew herself up, her movements taut with fury. “I did not come here to listen to your foolishness. You say you want to help my son. How?”
“Liwei can’t remain at the Jade Palace. Wugang will kill him to secure his position.” Speaking these words sickened me, but I laid them bare in hopes of convincing her.
The empress’s hands clenched on the table. She knew I spoke the truth, perhaps she had suspected it herself but not given it voice. Our worst fears were those we most wanted to silence.
