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I willed Wenzhi to lift the blade, to slice the tender veins of his brother’s throat, to stab the core of his lifeforce. His half-brother had poisoned his father, tormented Wenzhi, plotted against him at every turn, even tried to slay him in cold blood. Prince Wenshuang had earned his death ten times over. Still, Wenzhi said nothing, even as his hand remained steady and his gaze, hard.

“I will not kill you. In our father’s name, I exile you for eternity. You will take nothing with you, you will say no farewells. Leave now, and never return.”

I did not think he would show mercy to his brother. I had thought, hoped—he would kill him as just vengeance. After today none would fault him. It was what Wenzhi had taught me himself, long ago: To show mercy in a battle was to leave your back unguarded. A lesson I wished he had remembered today. Yet even as my heart sank, a part of me already fearing this mercy might be his undoing—an undeniable warmth suffused me.

As a shattered gasp broke from the king, Wenzhi’s face creased with worry. He turned, starting toward his father—a mistake, my instincts screamed—as Prince Wenshuang sprang at him, swift as a striking serpent, a drawn dagger glinting in his grasp. The metal gleamed with an unnatural brightness, coated in a shining liquid—some malevolent magic or venom. My mind went blank, my arm drawing back as I hurled my sword at him. It sliced through the air, plunging into the base of Prince Wenshuang’s skull. His eyes went wide, a wet gasp sucked into his mouth, his body jerking violently before crumpling onto the floor. As his blood pooled, the metallic scent of salt and earth entwined with the lingering sweetness of flower petals crushed beneath our feet.

Adornments for a wedding, now gracing death.

A scream rang out, racked with anguish. The Virtuous Consort ran to Prince Wenshuang, falling down to cradle him in her arms, raw sobs choked from her throat. His gaze slid to me, glazed with disbelief, the thrum of his aura fading away. His mother’s desperate cries stabbed me. I was trembling, cut by remorse—yet Prince Wenshuang had been a monster. I would waste no tears on him.

A stunned silence settled over the pavilion. Most of the guests had fled, leaving the remaining soldiers and the weeping consorts amid the bodies of the fallen.

King Wenming coughed, a withered, hacking sound. Wenzhi fell to his knees on the ground beside him, his lips moving in a question I could not hear, though the healers’ sorrowful shakes of their heads were an answer itself.

The king clutched Wenzhi’s hand, pressing it to his chest. His arms trembled, though his words rang clear. “My true and faithful son,” he rasped. “My heir and … the king.”

He released Wenzhi then as he cupped his hands, engulfed by a sudden glow. An imperial seal of purple jade appeared within his palms. Then an onyx ring, a bottle carved of jasper, and finally—the scrolls, slender pieces of golden bamboo rolled together. The treasures the king had guarded with his body, his very life.

Wenzhi’s eyes were bright with unshed tears as he grasped his father’s shoulders, leaning closer to him. Their relationship was neither tender nor loving, but the bond of parent and child was eternal—even when buried beneath mistrust and resentment. The king’s eyes were wet as his gaze flicked toward Prince Wenshuang’s body, and I sensed it was with grief rather than rage.

What whispered words Wenzhi and his father exchanged, I did not hear—still, I ached for him. A father and brother lost in a day. No matter how they had treated him in life, sorrow was inevitable. There would be no chance to repair that which had been broken, of speaking the words that might have healed the hurt. Death was the final parting.

As a shadow fell over me, I looked up to find Liwei. His hand pressed my shoulder in silent comfort, a welcome relief. As agonized shrieks erupted from the king’s consorts, Wenzhi lifted his head, meeting my gaze across the pavilion, a storm swirling in his expression. Grief warring with gratitude, shock entwined with knowing.

He knew this had been no accident, that my aim had been true. Prince Wenshuang’s death was on my conscience. This I had done for myself, and for Wenzhi. Prince Wenshuang was a true demon; he would never have stopped until one of them lay dead. He would have threatened me, too, for his hate went deep. And so I had taken from Wenzhi the burden of slaying his own kin.

He had not lied to me that day, so many years ago, in Xiangliu’s cavern. Killing did get easier.

I stood by the malachite pavilion, surrounded by violet clouds. How different it appeared, devoid of the crowds—the petals swept away, the bloodstains scrubbed from the stone floor. My hair swung across my back in a loose tail when just a few days ago it had been coiled into a headdress of coral and gold. I had knelt before the altar to be married, and since then, the Cloud Wall had buried a king and crowned a new one. Wenzhi had moved with ruthless swiftness, elevating those loyal to him and removing those he mistrusted. His mother, the Noble Consort, was raised to the rank of Dowager Queen—an unassailable position of authority, second only to his. While Captain Mengqi, whom I had escaped from in the past, was now the general who led the army. I had not attended either funeral or coronation. My existence was best forgotten, for I was an ill omen; a bride drenched in blood.

How they must have sighed with relief that I was not their queen. Our farce of a marriage had been officially annulled before the court. No questions had been asked, for the deference accorded to a king was different from that to an heir. A prince could be questioned, plotted against, supplanted—while a king was to be obeyed.

There was no time to observe the customary mourning period. News had reached us that Wugang’s forces were advancing upon the Cloud Wall, gathering along the border. How strange the turns life could take—when I was last in this place, the Celestials had been my savior and now … they were our promised doom.

Had Wugang heard of the recent shift in power here? Unlikely, as Wenzhi had sealed the palace to prevent news from slipping out. Or was Wugang eager to claim the prize Prince Wenshuang had promised him? The keys to infinite power would be an irresistible temptation. The only thing certain was that the kingdoms teetered on the brink of war as precariously as a coin rolling on its edge.

Sensing the presence of other immortals, I turned to find Liwei coming toward me, along with my parents. My mother and Shuxiao had arrived just before Wugang’s forces closed in on the Cloud Wall. A relief to be reunited, yet I might have been more at ease with them away—for this had become the most dangerous place in the Immortal Realm.

“Wenzhi has studied the Divine Mirror Scroll. He will cast it when I am ready,” I told them without preamble. “With Wugang so near, we must move quickly.” A chill glazed my skin, yet there was nothing to be gained from dreading the inevitable—the best I could do was ready myself for it.

I recalled Wenzhi’s frown when he had inspected the scroll, holding the slender bamboo strips up to the light. He did not like this plan any more than I did, but if there was another way, none of us had thought of it. “You must be careful,” he had reminded me. “While the scroll will confer your mother’s attributes upon you, you must heed your actions and words. You must trick Wugang’s mind, as well as his eyes and ears.”

My mother cleared her throat, her fingers digging into her skirt. “I can do this, if you tell me how. Don’t risk yourself when it is me he wants.”

“No, Mother,” I said gently. “Without magic, you can’t bear the Sacred Flame Feather, you can’t unleash it. Wugang will use your blood to harvest the laurel seeds—an endless cycle, as new ones will sprout. Even if the entire realm was to unite against him then, it would be too late.”

“What about you? What if you fail?” my father pressed. “Wugang will show you no mercy.”

“Then at least Wugang won’t get the laurel seeds.” My voice faltered, but I leashed my terror before it devoured my fragile resolve.

My mother placed her hand on mine. “We could leave this place, return to the Mortal Realm. Our real home. We do not have to stay here.”

My mind drifted to the indulgence of a dream, a life without the cares of discovery, capture, or danger. Without the unwelcome fate of the world crashing upon my shoulders—not an honor but a burden. There would be no shame in running away, for what did I owe the Immortal Realm?

I shoved aside these dangerous wants. A temptation to leave such weighty matters in the hands of greater people. Yet those were the fantasies of someone with no ties to the world. It was my loved ones whom Wugang hunted, whom he had hurt … and the Immortal Realm had become our home.

I did not want to do this, yet who else could? It was not arrogance or pride that drove me, but the irrefutable fact that I alone had the best chance of deceiving Wugang, of getting the feather close enough to the laurel, of destroying it. If I did nothing, I would lose everything, and all whom I loved would die.