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Aunt Shou rushed toward us. Her hands glided over Chengyin’s injury as she tried to stanch the blood flow, magic gleaming between her fingers as she muttered feverishly. Still, his wound did not close—healing was a rare skill among the Wuxin, much less for an injury this severe.

I grasped my magic, but Zhangwei shook his head in warning. Where was Dalian? He hadn’t emerged. Tears of fury pricked my eyes; I couldn’t help Chengyin yet.

“Heal him!” Aunt Shou cried to me, almost pleading. “Why are you hesitating? There is nothing Chengyin wouldn’t do for you.”

My nails dug into my palm as I forced myself to play this despicable part, to not waste the one chance Chengyin had seized for us. If we didn’t force Dalian out, it would all be for nothing.

“Chengyin would not have wanted this, Aunt Shou. He would never want us to sacrifice the kingdom for his life, to be used as a puppet for evil.” The words left a bitter taste, but I couldn’t relent.

Aunt Shou clutched my arm, weeping now. “You can’t let him die.”

I steeled myself, though inside grief racked me, terror clawing that it might be too late. “You know, deep down, that Dalian won’t release Chengyin—and if he does, it will only be to kill him. Dalian is cruel, vicious, and envious—especially of those better than him.” I hurled each insult, hoping they’d strike to pry him loose.

I bent to touch Chengyin’s cheek, loathing myself in this moment. “I love you . . . but I won’t save you.”

My heart twisted until it was on the cusp of breaking. I wanted to take back these vile words, but Aunt Shou’s gasp rooted me to the spot. My eyes darted to Chengyin, his form wavering as I’d seen it do once before. A mask seemed to split from his face like a shadow separating from a body—the features settling to form Dalian’s, solidifying to flesh.

He loomed over Chengyin, who was curled on the ground, the earth dark with his blood. “Why do you weep for the mortal, Mother?” Dalian spat, his white hair falling over his face.

“I weep for your brother and for you.” She wasn’t hiding her feelings anymore, like something inside her had snapped. Had she realized that no matter how she loved him, Dalian would only see the ill in the world?

As Dalian lunged toward me, Zhangwei blocked his path, his sword thrust out. The Wuxin soldiers rushed to protect their leader—just less than twenty remained, but their reinforcements would arrive at any moment.

I swooped down to Chengyin, freed at last from the cruel captivity. Gathering my magic, I laid my hand on his wound. He was cold, his skin ashen. Each breath came shallow and weak. He was fading fast. Our magic could not heal injuries formed by age, or from natural causes. But this tear of flesh, I could heal, if it wasn’t too late.

My magic flowed in a ceaseless stream. But although Chengyin’s wound was closing, it wasn’t fast enough. I held him tighter, channeling as much of my power as I could into him—until at last he stirred, the bleeding stemmed. Yet he was still weak, gravely so. I had to get him back to Tianxia, away from the danger. But I couldn’t do it alone, almost exhausted from the strain.

I caught Aunt Shou’s eye. “Help me get him home.”

She nodded without hesitation. Her eyes shone as she bent to kiss Chengyin’s pale cheek. As his eyes fluttered apart, his face twisted with the awakenings of pain.

“Mother,” he whispered. “Are you well?”

“I am now, my son. Remember that I love you—always.” She touched his face tenderly. “The soothsayers called you unlucky when I brought you into my family. How wrong they were. I was lucky to have you in my life.”

A gentle smile stole across his face, tears shining in his eyes before he closed them once more. I was crying too, pierced by their sorrow, their love. Aunt Shou’s power encircled Chengyin, melding with mine to form a powerful barrier around him. Her magic summoned a wind that rose up to bear him away—through the slit in the gateway, back to the safety of Kunlun.

A howl of rage erupted from Dalian. His gut was still bleeding, a mirror to the wound Chengyin had inflicted on himself. Captain Rao and his soldiers were fighting Zhangwei, yet he held his ground against them with ease, closing in on Dalian with each foe he brought down. If we could kill Dalian now, this would end. An eagerness seized me, an impatience for this to be over—for us to be free.

My resolve hardened as I advanced toward Dalian, my sword raised. He didn’t seem to notice as he threw his head up, gripping the bell at his waist—not of gold as I’d originally thought, but streaked with bronze too. As light flowed from his hands, the bells of the soldiers surrounding him chimed once—then shattered with a startling crack. Captain Rao’s eyes went wide as he groped for his bell, but it was too late; the metal breaking apart like the others.

Glittering streams of copper and gold glided from the shards, flowing into Dalian’s bell like rivers merging into the sea. It blazed like living flame, the light seeping into Dalian—the color returning to his face as his wound healed, his hair gleaming like polished silver.

Lin and Mei backed away, exchanging wary looks. Their bells were intact, a shield cast over them. After all, they’d never trusted their ruler. Aunt Shou’s remained untouched; even Dalian wasn’t as heartless as to hurt his own mother.

A groan rose from the Wuxin soldiers, collapsing to the ground. “Lord Dalian,” Captain Rao rasped through clenched teeth. “Why are you doing this to us? We are loyal to you. It’s forbidden to harvest our strength; you are killing us.”

“Your sacrifice will be honored.” Dalian’s voice rang with a new resonance, a cruel indifference.

“Just as you honored the Winged Devils?” the captain raged. “You promised to help them if they attacked the immortals, that they would rule the Golden Desert. You sent them to their deaths—a sacrifice that you did nothing to honor. You lied to win their service, just as you lied to everyone about the Wangchuan River—”

“Enough!”

Dalian flung his hand out, a flash of green light striking the captain right between his eyes. They went white at once, then closed, his body going limp.

The other soldiers shuddered, their expressions marked with fury and sorrow. “We are your own people,” one gasped. “We don’t want this.”

Already they were fading to watery reflections of themselves. Hollows caved in their cheeks, their hair turned translucent, their skin papery and thin. Their cries melded into the whistling of the wind, their bodies disintegrating, leaving just the shells of their armor.