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“It depends. What have you heard of me?” he countered.

“All mortals know the God of War possesses a heart of ice, a desert of a soul.” As soon as I spoke, I wished I could take it back. But once uttered, words take on a life of their own, sometimes detached from their meaning. I’d told him exactly what he’d asked, yet I’d not been kind—wanting to strike at him because I was afraid. Because I didn’t like how he made me feel: vulnerable and uncertain.

His face darkened. “If you think that of me, you should leave.”

A dismissal. My heart twinged at his expression but I hardened myself, stalking purposefully toward the jade tablet lying in the grass—the one I’d torn from him earlier. Sensing his watchful gaze upon me, I bent to adjust my shoe, then surreptitiously slid the ornament into my palm. As I rose, I tucked it into my sleeve. My breath caught as I braced for accusations, but there were none. Triumph reared, yet it was tempered by a lingering heaviness from our encounter, an unfamiliar weight.

The God of War might not be the monster he was rumored to be, but that did not mean he wasn’t dangerous. Part of me wanted to retreat from this perilous game—yet the stakes were too high. He held many things in his palm, including the safety of Tianxia. If I wanted to gain anything of worth, I needed to push the door between us wider to win his trust, to hide my resentment and loathing, to make him think I cared.

And above all . . . I must never forget that I was pretending.

9

I stood before the South Courtyard, clutching the jade ornament I’d stolen from Lord Zhangwei earlier. Eager to return it before it was missed, I pressed the carving into the gilded hollow. It slid in with a soft click, a perfect fit. Light rippled in waves across the wall as a section vanished, large enough for one to walk through. Holding my breath, I stepped inside.

When the god had forbidden me from the South Courtyard, I imagined it housed a trove of magical artifacts, weapons to pierce immortal flesh, potions to drain their might. Maybe prisoners who could be turned to allies once I’d helped secure their freedom. And in my wildest imaginings, the Shield of Rivers and Mountains itself.

Not this exquisite, useless, taunting beauty. My insides knotted; something about this place setting me on edge. A shimmering lake took up most of the courtyard, lotuses blooming in a violent riot of color. The water was calm, not a single fish breaking the surface, not even the flutter of a dragonfly’s wings. Encircling the lake were willow trees, the namesake of this place—their vines billowing in the air like silvery ribbons. A stone bridge arched across the lake, leading to a hall that rose from the water. The deep-green roof was curved at each corner, the ridges adorned with gilded sculptures of phoenixes.

The stillness sank deep, like an unearthly slumber. Despite the tranquility, my pulse raced as I crossed the bridge. Who lived here? This place was too lovely to be uninhabited, such care taken with every detail. Sliding the doors apart, I entered a magnificent chamber, rosewood pillars soaring from malachite bases. The ceiling was an intricate mosaic of turquoise, gold, and mother-of-pearl, resembling the sky. A wide bed was placed in the middle of the room, the gauze curtains tied to the posts, the green brocade covers neatly tucked under the mattress. A table at the far end was crowded with small wooden boxes. As I opened one, jeweled ornaments glittered: amethyst hairpins, sapphire earrings, lacquered combs, ropes of pearls.

I tugged open the doors of a cupboard, smothering my conscience at this violation of privacy. Silk and brocade were piled in rich hues of emerald, topaz, and lapis. The robes were embroidered with silver and gold, pearls studding the sashes and the hems of cloaks. Exquisite garments that even a queen would have delighted in.

A lacquered qin rested on a table, flowers carved into its wooden frame. As my fingers brushed the taut strings, a memory flashed of the haunting melody Lord Zhangwei had played—of the way his body felt against mine when we’d fallen together. A tremor coursed through me as I set the qin aside and turned to examine the rest of the chamber.

Everything gleamed as though newly polished, yet an air of abandonment shrouded the place. These beautiful quarters must have belonged to someone cherished—a family member, or a beloved concubine, perhaps? One who had fallen out of favor, which might explain the desertion of this place and the god’s grim demeanor.

Perhaps here lay the God of War’s weakness.

I continued my search with newfound enthusiasm, yet gleaned no clue of the occupant’s identity or why this courtyard had been forbidden. Beyond the jewels and fine clothes, there seemed to be nothing of note. As I left to search the gardens, the air outside was suffused with the heady fragrance of lotuses.

One of them caught my eye—a soft rose, the tips brushed with white. It reminded me of the lotuses in Tianxia, those that bloomed wild over the lakes and ponds. As my fingers brushed it, the petals shriveled, leaving a shimmering powder on my hands. The other flowers shuddered in eerie unison, a whispering rush gathering in force.

Terror snaked around me. I turned to run, but vines sprang from the waters, scattering droplets like rain. Thick tendrils coiled around my ankles, binding me fast. My heart thudded, the air choked from my lungs. What magic was this? I pulled out my dagger and slashed at the stalks, as tough as cutting through wood. Tiny, needle-like thorns dug into my flesh as a thick brownish sap leaked through the sliced stems, searing me. Tightening my grip on the hilt, I slammed the dagger down again, sawing through the thick stem until it broke, freeing one of my ankles. The skin was torn, the wound burning like fire. Gritting my teeth, I slashed the binds on my other leg with renewed vigor, severing the remaining vines. Relief surged as I raced away, ignoring the pain in my legs. Behind me, the rustling swelled as more vines broke the pool’s surface, lashing toward me—

A rumble crackled above, clouds moving swiftly across the heavens. A bolt of light struck the path ahead, erupting into thorny plants that blocked my path, glinting menacingly. As I staggered to a halt, staring in horror—clouds descended from the skies, bearing soldiers in gold armor. Ahead of them flew a woman clad in violet brocade, her cloud sweeping down to land before me. Pearls the size of my thumb dangled from her ears, framing her angular face. A gold headdress studded with amber glittered from her black hair.

As her wide eyes fixed on me, her lips pinched into a knot. “This place is forbidden to all. Who are you?” she rasped, her tone reverberating with fury.

“I am the Lady of Tianxia.” Fear thinned my voice, turning it hollow. “I am Lord Zhangwei’s guest, upon the order of Her Majesty Queen Caihong.”

Titles were useful as a shield from danger. Maybe they’d help temper this woman’s wrath—except it struck me then, she was the one who’d sat on my grandfather’s throne: Queen Caihong, herself.

The queen’s eyes thinned to slits. “Is this how you greet me, Lady of Tianxia?”

I was still standing, looking her in the face. At once, I forced myself to drop to the ground and bow my head—though anger twisted and writhed within.

“Your Majesty, I am honored to meet you.” I spoke stiffly, resentment weighing my tongue. The intensity of her stare unnerved me, as did her rage. Her temper should come as no surprise when my kingdom bore its marks.

“Who permitted you to enter these quarters? Confess now, or your punishment will be tenfold worse.”

Punishment?

My mouth went dry. Was she the mistress of this courtyard? I kept my head down; it was easier than looking into her face. “No one gave me permission, Your Majesty. I was told not to come . . . but I was curious.” I wasn’t trying to protect the God of War, but lies would gain me little. As a taut silence fell, I added with more prudence than sincerity, “If I caused offense, I ask your pardon, Your Majesty.”

The corners of her mouth dipped; she appeared deep in thought. If these were her rooms, how else was she connected to the God of War? I’d thought the god’s dedication stemmed from loyalty to his monarch—but was it more that bound him?

Something slithered between my ribs at the thought, my chest squeezed tighter. I dared not move or speak, acutely aware that I was hovering on the brink of disaster. One wrong move and the pledge of fealty would be the least of my worries, the queen demanding my head instead.