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I stifled a protest. It was safer to lean into their suspicions, to better conceal my intent. The immortals were so arrogant, they’d readily believe us fools for love of them. “It was only because he was commanded to do so by Queen Caihong,” I said, as though uncertain. “Even in Tianxia, we’ve heard of his devotion to Her Majesty.”

Ningxi shook her head. “No one can make Lord Zhangwei do anything he doesn’t want to—not even Her Majesty. Lord Zhangwei could have found rooms for you in the palace or sent you to live with one of his many subordinates. For some reason, he wanted you here.”

My curiosity was sparked, though not for what she implied. Was the queen’s hold on him weaker than I’d assumed? If so, I might be able to persuade him to aid us. Our kingdom must be a burden on the God of War, who had to protect us, unless he thrived on the worship of the mortals.

Ningxi was looking at me expectantly. “How do you know Lord Zhangwei is much admired?” I asked quickly.

“Do you have eyes?” She grinned, continuing what seemed to be a favorite subject. “Everyday gifts and tributes arrive for Lord Zhangwei, hoping to win his favor—”

“Or his mercy?” I couldn’t help adding.

“Some, to be sure. But many are from those who hold him in high regard, the families hoping to secure a union.” As a choked sound slipped from my throat, Ningxi glanced at me. “You seem surprised.”

“No, Lord Zhangwei is . . . attractive,” I managed to say. Beneath her scrutiny, I found myself thinking of the God of War—not just the weapons he bore, though he never seemed to be without them—but the black of his eyes, the sculpted planes of his face, his thin lips that yielded an air of gravity even when he smiled. A flush crept up my neck; suddenly this claim didn’t feel like the lie I’d thought it was. He was handsome—just as this place was beautiful. But that didn’t mean I wanted to stay here, nor did it mean I wanted him.

Ningxi scowled, disdaining my lukewarm praise. “His Lordship has been courted by almost every eligible person of marriageable age—”

“You are right, Lord Zhangwei is handsome and intelligent and . . . powerful.” I took a gulp of tea to wash down the bitterness, eager to end this discussion. “And let’s have the wine tonight.” I wouldn’t drink it, but it was a useful distraction for Ningxi as she headed toward the kitchens.

At once, I made my way from the hall. I’d already explored most of the grounds but found nothing of use. All that remained were the South Courtyard and the God of War’s private rooms. Maybe he’d left the red jade ornament there. And if he was away, there was no better time to search his quarters—as long as I could find a way in.

High walls cleaved the East Courtyard from the rest of the manor, the red lacquered doors closed. The threat of discovery flashed across my mind, but I ignored it, pushing at the heavy wooden panels. I was growing impatient, afraid that despite my grand ambitions I’d leave this place with nothing. As the door creaked open, I slipped into the courtyard. Bamboo shaded the stone pathway, sunlight filtering in watery shafts. To the side lay a large pond circled by willows, their slender leaves gleaming silver as they trailed through the glistening waters. Smooth, flat stones formed a path that led to a black-roofed building flanked by mahogany pillars.

My heart raced. If I could find something of use here, it might change the course of our future. As I drew closer to the building, a melody sprang to life—achingly poignant, the strings reverberating with emotion. The qin was my favorite instrument, its sound solitary yet rich in depth. While I’d taken lessons as a child, my playing made my tutors wince. Fortunately, there were always musicians at court.

Caution reared as I spun around, seeking this talented musician. The music drifted from a pavilion nestled in a corner, behind a grove of trees. A man sat there with his back to me, his unbound hair flowing down his back, his plain gray robe pooling on the floor.

The song soared, a sweeping melody of yearning, of loss. The musician could not be the god. An immortal might master technical perfection over the years, but not the passion that flowed through these notes. They whispered of a reverence for life, a sensitivity that a brutal killer could not possess, a tenderness that made me ache for some unknown reason. I slipped back among the stalks of bamboo, their shadows falling in slivers upon my face. Was this stranger why the god chose to keep to his rooms? Was he a friend, or the god’s lover? The thought pricked, but I forced myself to think how to shift this to my advantage. Could I make an ally here? Or should I flee, to avoid discovery? The latter seemed safest—as I took a step back, treading over a twig that crackled faintly.

The music stopped. A loud twang erupted as a gold cord snapped free from the qin and sprang toward me, swifter than a striking snake. I gasped, darting out of the way as its end sliced my cheek, blood oozing from the cut. The cord curved back, flying toward me again, but I dropped down—just as another cord tore free, wrapping around my ankles. As I staggered, trying to catch my balance, a third qin string shot forth, coiling around my wrists.

I fell, crashing against the stone path, pain flaring along my body. As I struggled where I lay, the thin cords bit deeper into my flesh. So stupid—so careless, to end up bound and helpless! Footsteps neared, ominously quiet. Fear slithered down my spine as I turned onto my back, a shadow falling over me. I squinted, trying to make out the face against the glare of the sun—

“You!” I seethed.

The God of War crouched down, the loose strands of his hair sliding down to graze my cheek. Silken soft, even as his gaze speared me, all trace of the courteous host gone. “You dare much, coming here uninvited.”

I shoved my wrists at him, glaring though I had no right. Safer to attack, than to admit wrong. “How dare you tie me up?”

His eyes narrowed. “How should I treat a trespasser?”

“I did not trespass,” I said boldly, widening my eyes. “You said I could go where I wished. You only forbade me from the South Courtyard, not your quarters.”

“Isn’t it common courtesy to not invade a host’s rooms?” As his tone lightened, a little of my tension eased. “Had I known you desired a private encounter—”

I laughed aloud, even as my face burned. “Do you think everyone desires you? I don’t—not now, not ever,” I declared rashly, something about him stirring the reckless devil within.

As his eyes blazed, I cursed myself for baiting him. He bent closer then, the coolness from his body flaring across mine. My limbs froze, snared by the predatory gleam in his gaze, the harsh slant of his lips. As his fingers brushed my cheek, something sparked at his touch—something that frightened me. His hand slid lower to clasp my neck, his hold light yet intent . . . as though wanting to disprove my claim, as though knowing he could make me want him. He was wrong, I told myself fiercely, fighting a wave of doubt.

As he lowered his face to mine, sweat broke out across my skin. “I’m here upon your queen’s command.” I hated the quiver in my voice. “You promised I’d be safe.”

“Don’t be so stupid to trust fully in another’s word, especially a stranger’s. Learn more caution if you want to survive here. Safe just means I keep you alive. I could imprison you in your chamber. I could bend your mind to my will, to obey my every command with utter delight. I could keep you in a state of endless slumber, safe—yet some might argue, better off dead.” He remained as still as a statue, the dangerous glitter in his eyes holding me fast. “Be more careful in your demands, be more discerning in whom you trust.”

“Are you so deceitful? Can a god’s promise be broken?” I demanded hoarsely, refusing to cower.

“Anything can be broken. The question is whether it can be remade.” He released me, tracing the cut on my cheek, tingling with the now-familiar sensation of his healing.

I twisted away from his touch, refusing to show my fear; someone like him probably thrived on it. “Are you done trying to terrify me?”