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The light in the globes wavered, the air rolling into wild gusts that tore through the mulberry trees. Above, the wind chime clanked in jarring bursts, swinging so forcefully I thought it might snap. Dread sank through my flesh—the same gray chill as when I had entered Xiangliu’s cave, when Governor Renyu’s venom had frozen my limbs, when I awoke in the Demon Realm and discovered my love had become my worst enemy

I shielded myself instinctively—just as Lady Xihe flicked her palm forward, waves of crimson flame surging toward me. They engulfed me whole, searing even through the barrier, the scalding heat more potent than the Celestial Empress’s attack.

The gold in the goddess’s pupils had spread across her entire eyes, light radiating from her skin. “How dare you come here? Did you wish to gloat over my misery, to tempt my wrath?” Each word pounded like the beat of a drum.

“No, Lady Xihe. On behalf of my family, I ask your forgiveness—”

“Forgiveness?” She spat the word like a foul thing. “Never.”

“I do not presume to understand your loss, but I grieve for it nonetheless.” I spoke through gritted teeth, struggling beneath the force of her might. I did not attempt to extinguish her fire, I did not want to challenge her—I was her enemy, but she was not mine.

She stilled. “Why aren’t you fighting? Do you think to trick me into mercy? You will find none.”

“I ask your forgiveness,” I repeated hoarsely, channeling more of my energy into my shield as her flames raged across it, unabated. “And I am here to beseech your aid.”

A laugh rang out, arched in bitterness. “How convenient that your conscience affects you now. That you only came here when you needed something.”

I stiffened at her derision, though it was well-deserved. “Only recently did I learn more about the circumstances behind this tragedy. While the threat to our realm drove me here, I mean what I say, nor did I attempt to lie to you when I could have.”

“If you had, you would already be dead,” she snarled. “How can you imagine I would ever aid the kin of the Sun Slayer, the one who murdered my children?”

Even as shame flushed me, I made myself say, “This is not for me alone. The Immortal Realm is in grave peril, for the Celestial throne has been usurped. A terrible evil threatens the realms above and below, and the only way we can vanquish it is with the Sacred Flame Feather.”

“I do not care.” Despite the heat of her fire, her voice was like ice. “The Celestial Kingdom failed me, their empress most of all. Regardless of who sits on the Celestial throne, the sun will rise and set as it did when I had ten children, as it does when one remains.”

Her aura undulated like storm-ridden waves, her hunger for violence stamped on her face, glowing as bright as a sword from the forge. “You are an arrogant fool to come here. Today, I will avenge my dead children. Today, your father and mother shall weep over your body. Today, they will taste unimaginable loss and live the greatest nightmare of any parent.”

Terror spiked through me, yet I forced myself to meet her gaze. “No, Lady Xihe. You have not earned my death. It would be dishonorable to strike me when I came to you in good faith.”

“A simple formality, one easily rectified. Run. I will hunt you down, and then my vengeance will be complete.” A carved silver handle appeared in her hand, from which coils of flame sprang forth—the same weapon that had wrenched such agonized cries from the phoenix.

My throat constricted, my mouth going dry. “The Mortal Realm was in danger. My father—”

“Murdered my children!” she cried wrathfully. “Reasons have no place or meaning here.” Light rippled in her eyes like molten metal. “I have just one daughter left. Now I will take one life—yours—for the nine who were slain. A pitiful exchange, yet it will suffice.” As she raised her hand, the ropes of flame writhed like snakes.

Sweat broke out over my skin, cold and damp. Her power was immense; I could not fight her alone. I might make it beyond the grove to where Wenzhi waited, we could challenge her together … although that would not earn us the feather. I fought to preserve a veil of calm, for revealing my fear might feed her rage, inflame her bloodlust—and set us on a path from which there would be no return.

“Will it ease your pain to kill me? Will it bring your children back?” I spoke quickly to hide the quiver in my voice. “I did you no wrong. If you hurt me, I will fight back, and I am no weakling. Even should you take my life, it will not end there. My family and friends will seek vengeance. You have one daughter left, would you risk her too? What if she was to grow up motherless, after losing her siblings?”

Her gaze shifted to the stairway behind her, perhaps where her child slept. A low blow, to strike at a mother’s terror. How I despised these vile threats, but I hoped they would give her pause, stem her vengeance, steer her from the exquisite temptation of killing me. Far too much blood had already been shed.

“I did not come to anger or hurt you,” I said quietly. “A common enemy threatens us all, and the feather is our only hope. Will you give it to us?”

“I will never give anything to you. I do not care what happens to the world.” Yet her tone hitched with a note of uncertainty.

“If the immortal and mortal realms are destroyed, who will care if the sun rises or falls? You do care for the mortals’ worship, that you are needed, that they love you and your child. You cherish it, the only time of day when you can lose yourself in your task rather than dwell on your sorrow.”

It was a guess, and yet it was not. For as long as I could remember, I had seen my mother toil over the lighting of the lanterns each night, a reprieve from the torment of her mind. And when she had stood on the balcony, gazing at the world below, hearing the songs sung and seeing the offerings laid out in her honor … she had found solace in the mortals’ adoration. It brought new meaning to her life, all the more precious after what she had lost—to know she was wanted, needed, and loved.

When Lady Xihe did not speak, I continued, “Killing me will only yield a fleeting satisfaction, for vengeance is no cure. My father did what he had to. Your children were destroying the world; you would have stopped them yourself if you could have, because you care for the mortals—because they give these infinite years meaning.”

The gold receded from her eyes, though her aura still churned ominously. As she drew her arm back and lashed the air with her whip, sparks showered down like rain. I braced myself—but then a shriek broke the stillness, a blazing creature rising in the horizon and soaring toward us, magnificent and utterly terrifying. The phoenix that had borne the sun chariot glided down to land beside the goddess. Its crest was the golden brown of a pheasant, while its body was shaped like the snug barrel of a mandarin duck attached to long, graceful legs. Beyond its ink-tipped wings, its plumage was a breathtaking riot of color, a peacock-like tail sweeping across the grass in feathers of crimson and yellow, blue and green—each one blazing like it was afire. Dark, liquid eyes swept over us, its pupils flecked with light, its curved claws spanning the breadth of my palm. As its beak parted, the tips glinted sharper than spears.

The phoenix bent its neck in subservience to the goddess, even as an untamed wildness flared in its eyes. A strong yet frenetic energy pulsed from it like a hundred dragonflies beating their wings. It spread its tail wide, its feathers fluttering like a rainbow, though their swish was that of arrows whistling through the air.

The goddess pointed at me with her whip. “If you are sincere in your desire to seek forgiveness, you must face my champion—the fire phoenix. While its heat is not as potent as my beloved sunbird’s, it is a far more skilled fighter. Defeat it, and you will earn your life, along with the feather you seek.” She raised her head high as though daring me to object. “Blood must be repaid in blood. Perhaps then, my children’s restless spirits will be appeased, their eternal cries silenced.”

I nodded, my fear braided with relief. Lady Xihe would never have been satisfied by words; I would not have accepted them as recompense for Ping’er and Prince Yanming. Pain and suffering, these were the currency in which such debts were repaid. But I hoped this might be the end of it … or at least, a new beginning.