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“I would rather—”
“Just a promise, in exchange for mine. That you’ll stay alive.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “What did you think I would ask for?”
Heat crept across the back of my neck. “I fully intend on staying alive.”
“If anyone hurts you, they will regret it,” he declared ominously. “But it is a good plan,” he conceded.
High praise from one who had plotted each step so meticulously that he had fooled the Celestials for years, and betrayed me so thoroughly. We were on civil terms, now. Allies, almost? Yet whenever he spoke, I could not help weighing his words for deceit. Trust was infinitely easier to destroy than restore.
Still, I had to know one thing that ate away at me whenever I saw him. “The Celestial soldiers who marched to your border—would you have killed them all?”
“No,” he answered without hesitation. “The mist was meant to confound them, to make them easier to subdue. Hostages are of greater use, to force the Celestial Kingdom’s surrender. Some would have died, an unavoidable circumstance of war, but I would have spared those I could. The effects of the mist were unexpected in the chaos of battle—inflaming bloodlust, inciting violence. I take no pleasure in tormenting others. That is my brother’s specialty.”
The mist had affected me too. I had been disoriented, frightened, confused, until the Black Dragon bore me to safety—but felt no urge to hurt another.
His gaze bored into mine. “Did you really think I intended to kill them all?”
“Yes,” I said bluntly. “For I did not think you would lie, steal, and imprison me either.”
“I would have released you after the battle with the Celestials; I could not risk our soldiers’ safety before.” He paused, speaking with emphasis, “I am sorry, Xingyin.”
“Would you do it again?” I demanded. “If so, you do not truly regret it.”
“I am glad to be free of my brother’s control, that those I care for are safe. I feel no remorse in betraying the Celestial Kingdom—they are my enemy; they have hurt and threatened us. In the end, both our kingdoms have wronged each other and there were no true heroes in that war.” His expression turned contemplative. “The Celestials are the glittering saviors of the realms, sweeping in to destroy monsters, graciously lending a hand to allies, dispensing aid which varnishes their glory—yet how often have they ignored those no less in need? Why do they get to dictate who is evil and not? While there is good in what they have done, as much wrong has been concealed.”
His words struck deep. I thought of my mother’s punishment, my father’s exile, the dragons’ imprisonment—of how long Xiangliu had been left to terrorize the villagers, the sunbirds destroying the Mortal Realm. Was it a callous cruelty or indifference? To cultivate desperation, so the savior might be twice as celebrated? Yet I said nothing, giving no hint that our thoughts might be aligned—not liking these unsettling emotions he roused in me.
“Yes, you know well the power of perception. How easily you vilified me when it suited your needs,” I said instead. Scorn was a useful shield.
“If they believed ill of you so quickly, their good opinion is not worth having.”
“You should hear what they say of you.” A petty response for I had none else.
He shrugged. “It does not bother me. The only opinions that matter are from those I care for. Yours, for one.”
“You would not like to hear my thoughts.”
He tilted his head toward me. “Is that an invitation?”
I recoiled at once. “Never.”
“I would not, without your consent, but I confess to being most intrigued.”
“You would be sorely disappointed,” I retorted.
A faint smile. “Perhaps. Though I hope you are mistaken.”
As my throat went dry, I forced my mind to safer ground. “The Celestial Emperor might be wrong, but that does not make you right.”
“At least we do not portray ourselves to be the heroes we are not.” He added pointedly, “I feel no shame for defending ourselves, just as you did not when fighting against those invading your home.” A breath slid from him, soft and drawn. “I do not regret the fruits of my endeavors, but I wish I had done it differently.”
“Why?” I asked without thinking.
“You know why. As much as you try to ignore it, to pretend what lies between us does not exist.” The ache in his tone caught at me against my will, against all sense.
“You say these things because you want what you can’t have. You just want to ‘win,’ ” I said harshly, echoing what Liwei had said once.
“Oh, I could have had you.” He spoke with infuriating assurance. “I could have taken you and your beloved that day by the Jade Palace. A tempting thought, and I would have done it, if all I had wanted was to ‘win.’ I want so much more than that; I want you to want me, too.”
