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Only you can ease Lady Xihe’s pain. Only you can make amends. The grove is the home of the sun, and yet, all these decades—the darkness is all they have known.

How can I do this? I wondered, almost beseechingly. What would satisfy Lady Xihe except my father’s death or mine?

Death need not be repaid in kind, but the chain of vengeance must be snapped, and the hatred spawned extinguished—else they will flame into an untethered blaze. Catastrophic, in times as these, when our world hovers on the brink of destruction.

The dragon stretched its neck out to the skies. Who could have imagined that the fate of the realm now rests upon a single feather? Ease the Sun Goddess’s torment. Don’t let the woodcutter turn her to his side, or devastation will surely follow.

My father’s voice rang out. “What is the matter, Xingyin?”

“Father, you must not go,” I said quickly, evading his question. “Lady Xihe would show you no mercy. You won’t be safe there.”

“She will show you no mercy either,” he reminded me.

“She does not know me, but she would recognize you and Mother at once,” I reasoned. “Your presence will only enrage her further. You don’t have your powers; you can’t defend yourself against her. You should go someplace safe, along with Shuxiao.”

Come with us, the Long Dragon offered. We will tend to your wounded.

“Can you heal her?” I asked the Long Dragon.

Yes, though it will take some time to remove the taint from her blood.

I lowered my head. “I am grateful.”

I crouched down beside Shuxiao, placing my hand over hers. “I will see you soon, my friend.”

She smiled weakly. “Count on it.”

The Long Dragon cocked its head toward my father. Will you return to your home?

My father nodded as he handed the Jade Dragon Bow to me, and after a brief hesitation, I accepted it. Relief flooded me that they would be safe with the dragons, out of harm’s way.

The Long Dragon straightened, its tail lashing the air. A luminous mist flowed forth, surrounding my parents and Shuxiao, and lifting them upon its back. As it took flight, my mother and Shuxiao sat stiffly with their hands clenched, while my father showed no trepidation—he must have ridden upon the dragons countless times before.

Clouds were summoned to bear us away. As I started toward Liwei’s cloud, Wenzhi caught my arm in a light hold. Before I could snatch it away, Wenzhi cast a meaningful glance at the Celestial Empress. “Would you prefer to ride with her?”

My gut recoiled at the thought. As I strode to Wenzhi’s cloud, Liwei’s guarded expression pricked me. The moment we were out of sight, I pulled free of Wenzhi’s hold, though his touch—anyone’s touch—was a thread of comfort amid this sea of sorrow.

The wind blew incessantly against us, and I was glad for its howling to drown my thoughts. Wenzhi was silent at first, perhaps sensing I was not in the mood for conversation.

“Don’t blame yourself, Xingyin,” he said at last. “Prince Yanming’s death was an accident, a great misfortune. No one could have foreseen it. Perhaps this is fate, as the mortals would say.”

“No,” I said fiercely, a fire roused in me. “I don’t believe in fate, destiny, or letting things take their course. If so, I would still be serving an unworthy mistress in the Celestial Kingdom, my mother would be a prisoner on the moon, my father would have died in the Mortal Realm and … Ping’er and Prince Yanming would be alive.”

The tightness in my chest squeezed harder. “If only we had not fled, if only I had killed Wugang earlier. If only I had not gone to the Southern Sea—”

“Stop this.” Wenzhi gripped my shoulders, his tone urgent. “Were you wrong for wanting to protect your family, for wanting to take back what was yours? Should we have surrendered on the beach and let Wugang take us prisoner? He would have killed us all—if not then, eventually.”

“Not Prince Yanming.” My voice was hollow. “He would have been safe.”

“Would you have traded him for your mother? Your father? Shuxiao? Your … beloved?” Brutal questions, impossible to answer—yet it yanked me from the pit of my misery, yielding a moment’s respite to the pitiless anguish.

His tone gentled. “Do not take on the burdens that are not yours to bear. Wugang’s actions are not your doing; he would have come for the laurel and your mother regardless. Prince Yanming died protecting his brother. If he had not, Prince Yanxi would have been killed instead—both terrible consequences. Never forget, this was his choice, just as it had been Ping’er’s decision to save your mother. Do not belittle their sacrifices when they should be honored. Do not let them have died in vain. Do not let this break you.”

“I have made so many mistakes.” My voice was choked with suppressed emotion.

“Xingyin, no one is infallible. Use the past to guide the present, but do not let it trap you. Grow from your mistakes, don’t let them become a weakness.” He lowered his head to mine, his voice throbbing with intensity. “There is good in what you have done. You saved the Celestial Army. You freed the dragons—though I will admit, I was furious then.” His lips pulled into a wry smile, before drawing straight once more. “You reunited your parents. You fought for what you believed was right, when so many others would have given up.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, his unexpected gentleness tearing down the last of my barriers.