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The empress laughed as she threw a sly look my way. “You were ever single-minded and ruthless in your purpose, Captain. Regardless, you cannot enter the grove.” As she swung to me, the empress’s smile widened. “Daughter of the Sun Slayer. Will you enter the home of your greatest enemy?”

In response, I raised my hand. Swiftly, the empress pressed our palms together, heat rushing from her skin into mine, a soft white glow suffusing us unlike the harsh light that had jolted Wenzhi before. When she dropped her hand, I examined mine, discerning no visible difference.

“It is done,” she said flatly.

Striding to the entrance doors, I pressed my palms against the carved feathers to push them apart. They tingled, flushed with sudden warmth, amber light rippling across the golden wings of the phoenixes. Slowly, as though awakening from a dream, the phoenix heads twitched, twin beaks parting as their eyelids snapped open. Rubies glittered from their pupils, tiny flames dancing in their depths as their wings lifted away, leaving the path clear to the domain of the Goddess of the Sun.

Liwei caught my sleeve. “Don’t tell Lady Xihe who you are. If there is even a hint of danger, leave at once. We will find another way.” He added quietly, “I cannot lose you.”

“You must be careful too.” I wished that I could say more, that I could promise him what he wanted to hear.

“Come, Liwei,” the empress urged. “We must go.”

He strode stiffly toward the empress’s cloud, stepping upon it. As it soared into the night, he turned around once to look at me.

“He is right,” Wenzhi said, after they had vanished from sight. “Under no circumstances must you reveal your identity to Lady Xihe. Wait till she is asleep, then take the feather and flee.”

It would be the safest way. If I stole the Sacred Flame Feather from the slumbering sunbird, I could escape unscathed in both mind and body. It would be a kindness for us all … except it would be rooted in cowardice. Such an act would only feed Lady Xihe’s wrath, thicken our enmity, and we would end the worse for it.

What if the goddess did not survive? an insidious voice within me whispered. Was this not a worthwhile cause, to save the realms above and below? Was this not the choice my father had faced? Yet a sharp ache pierced my chest at the remembrance of the goddess’s grief, the sight of the lone sunbird in the chariot when once there had been ten. I could not wrong them further. I could not do this craven thing; I would be as contemptible as Wugang if I did.

I did not believe Wugang had been born evil. Perhaps the seed of it lay in us all. But while Wugang had been betrayed, most cruelly—he had chosen this path. So much in life was left to chance. Some had to curve and twist to get ahead, forced to bend with the wind to remain standing, suffering storms that left others unscathed. Yet we could not blame fate for the choices we made—the rewards were ours to reap, as were the consequences ours to bear. And it was moments as these that formed who we were … what we would become.

“I can’t,” I told Wenzhi. “Not after all we’ve taken from her and her family. I will ask it of her.”

Wenzhi stiffened. “Xingyin, consider this carefully. Lady Xihe is no benevolent immortal who will stroke your hair and praise you for your honesty as she sends you on your way, feather in hand. She has nursed her pain for as many years as you have lived. If she learns who you are, she will kill you.” His voice roughened with emotion. “And if she does, rest assured that I will kill her.”

A tremor ran through me at the vehemence in his tone. Was this why the key could not be given to him? “I won’t tell her who I am. I will convince her of our need.”

“You would lie to her but not steal?” Wenzhi’s eyes blazed. “Xingyin, what is honor to your life?”

“What is life without honor? Untethered, we are no better than Wugang.”

“No better than I was,” he said bitterly.

“That is not what I meant.” Once I had believed it of him. And now, I was no longer sure. “Lady Xihe will see reason; Wugang is a threat to us all. If she tries to attack me, I will defend myself.”

Wenzhi sighed as his hand came down on mine. Before I could pull away, his power enveloped me like a dense mist, tingling and cool—a powerful shield gleaming from my skin. “This will help protect you. If she attacks you, run. I will wait for you here. She cannot fight us both together.”

I nodded, concealing my trepidation. If Lady Xihe discovered who I was, she would never yield the feather, she would seek vengeance—and I dared not imagine what she would take from me in recompense.

Shining globes of light floated in the air like a hundred tiny moons had descended, casting their luminous glow all around. Mulberry trees rose from the grass, as golden as the summer harvest in the Mortal Realm. Their lush fruit clustered upon the branches like strands of garnets twined between the leaves. A rich sweetness pervaded the air, that of ripened berries, their juices spilling from fragile skins. The trees were beautiful, yet there was something eerie about their gnarled forms, a wretchedness in the twist of the branches, the sharpness of the roots jutting from the ground. Towering above them was a building of fiery carnelian, flanked by agate pillars and a tiered roof of gilded tiles. Panels of silk fluttered from the walls, delicate and light as they danced in the breeze.

There were no guards, no one to announce my presence as I approached the entrance. I was glad for it; fewer to combat should the need arise, should I need to flee. Something clinked above, a wind chime hanging from the ceiling. As a breeze drifted past, copper tubes and jade discs collided in a soothing melody. My heart thudded to a frantic rhythm as I lifted my hand to knock, my knuckles grazing the door. An ancient power pulsed from within, the same one woven through the walls encircling the grove. Light flared from the foot of the entrance, crawling over me as the door swung open to reveal Lady Xihe, the Goddess of the Sun.

Though we were of a similar height, Lady Xihe seemed to loom above me, even without her headdress of shining stones. Her black hair was coiled upon her head, held in place by a circle of ruby pins, the tips as sharp as daggers. Her black eyes were ringed with gold like a hawk’s and her cheeks were flushed with the radiance of dawn. Delicate lines traced her skin in intricate imprints of feathers as the rounded curves of her face flared from her pointed chin. Talons arched from her fingertips, a glossy red like they were dipped in blood. The light from the chamber beyond cast shadows across her, lending her a forbidding air. Or was it the way her lips pulled into a thin slash, the power that emanated from her like heat from a flame? She looked as different from my mother as ink from water, the sun from the moon—and utterly striking in her own way.

“Who are you?” She neither inclined her head nor invited me in—prudent, as that might be an unnecessary complication. After all, it would violate the rules of hospitality to kill a guest.

The lies I had practiced stuck in my throat. In the silence, the goddess’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Tell me who you are,” she repeated, this time in a tone of command.

Caution warred with my heart, honor battling self-preservation. Prince Yanming’s face flashed through my mind, my chest squeezing with agony. Such lies might have fallen glibly from my tongue before, but they stuck in my throat now, and I knew they would ring false. Something in me was forever changed since death had shadowed my life. I hurt for all the goddess had lost, for what she suffered. Had I become weaker? Perhaps, but I preferred to believe this was a different type of strength. Oh, I did not intend to sacrifice myself to her vengeance, yet this was a chance to do what the dragons had wished of me, to say what should have been said a long time ago—to try to ease the goddess’s anguish.

Cupping my hands together, I stretched them out and bowed low. I was not begging for mercy, nor was I deluded enough to think this adequate recompense. “Lady Xihe, I am Xingyin, the daughter of Chang’e and Houyi.”

“I know.” Her words rang with indisputable certainty, seething with fury. “Whoever gave you the key did you no favor. It reveals your identity, for I tolerate no pretenders in my grove.”

Inwardly, I cursed the Celestial Empress, and myself for not suspecting the trap. She had yielded it too eagerly—purposefully, I had no doubt. She would be glad for my death, or was I intended as her peace offering to the Sun Goddess?