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Chengyin’s pace was slowing; he was tired after bearing my weight all this while. I tapped his shoulder. “You don’t have to carry me anymore. I can walk.”

When he lowered me down, I weaved on my feet. Aunt Shou caught my arm to steady me, her gaze searching. “How do you feel?”

“I’m all right, Aunt Shou.” I paused, trying to decipher these changes. It was like a shell around me had broken, and I was just beginning to emerge. The fatigue, the cold, my aches, were gone. This should have been a moment of joy and relief, but it was rife with bitterness. I would trade it all back for my grandfather, but death struck no bargains once its victory was sealed.

“Liyen, what do you want to do now?” Chengyin asked. “Rest here a while, or head to the wall?”

I straightened, raising my head. “We must go on. We can’t risk being found yet.” I wanted to delay the moment when I had to face the immortals, not just because of the lotus but until I could safely leash my anger and grief.

“Will we be safe by the wall?” Chengyin wondered. “There are only a few guards posted there.”

What need was there for guards when none could get in or out?

“Maybe that’s why Grandfather told us to go there,” I replied.

We made our way as quickly as we could, and for once I did not fall behind. A gift, but at what price? In the distance, the wall towered, the red stone flecked with gold. If the heart of Tianxia was Kunlun Mountain, the wall was its body, fitted to the contours of our lands. It was said to be crafted by the immortals, for who else could have polished the stone until it shimmered like copper, enchanted to withstand any weapon, attack, or attempt to scale it. Nor was there any hope of tunneling beneath, for the magic of the wall seemed to extend into the very foundations of the earth—cleaving us from the rest of the Mortal Realm. The only way it could be brought down was if the immortals chose to do so.

Grandfather had told me the wall was built to conceal us from the outside world, to protect us from those who desired our secrets. But I was starting to believe it was also to keep us in.

It was quiet here, not even a single guard present. Were they all asleep? Had they become lax in their duties, dulled by peace? Shrines were built along part of the wall, the largest of which was painted bright ochre, the roof tiles gilded. A small statue carved in the supposed likeness of the God of War was housed within, wielding a spear in one hand and a sword in the other. While all gods were immortals, only those worshiped by the mortals were deemed a “god.” The God of War was revered by those who strove to excel in his arts, warriors praying for his favor before any battle or skirmish. Offerings had been laid out of roasted meats, fruit, and small cakes. Before it lay a brass burner crammed with incense sticks, wisps of smoke spiraling to the heavens. The God of War reaped the finest of offerings, for the fear of death opened the purse strings of even the tightest miser.

The statues in the temples seemed so cold and distant, but as a child, it had comforted me to reach for them in times of need—when there were fears and wishes I dared not share with another.

“Do you pray, Aunt Shou?” I asked numbly.

“Not since my daughter died.” She gestured toward the shrines, her lip curling. “The gods ignore these humble, well-intentioned offerings, those desperate for their favor. It is the slights to their pride that snare their attention, causing them to strike us with misfortune.”

She faced me as she continued, “It was not prayers that saved you today but your grandfather’s sacrifice, his bravery in defying the immortals’ wishes. They would have killed him, had his heart not given out first.”

My chest clenched, her words resonating. “They didn’t deserve Grandfather’s devotion. Why do we still serve them, all these years after the war?”

Aunt Shou sighed, shaking her head. “Who will dare refuse? The immortals are selfish, showing little compassion or mercy when we falter—as they did with your grandfather today. They terrify, demand, and bend us to their will.”

“Devotion should be earned, not demanded,” I said bitterly.

“Yes, my child,” she said sadly. “But it’s far easier to demand it than to earn it.”

Aunt Shou led us toward a small building, the tiles chipped, paint peeling from the walls. Yet the courtyard was newly swept, sacks of provisions stacked within.

“I hope we don’t have to stay too long. I must see to Grandfather’s burial. The court will be in chaos.” Already the burdens of duty weighed a little heavier. Though I’d been the heir, I had not liked thinking of ascending the throne, imagining my grandfather’s death.

“We’ll stay as long as we need to. As your grandfather said, we must be sure the lotus has bonded with you,” Aunt Shou advised.

I touched the scar that had formed, the intensity of the heat mellowing to a soothing warmth. “I think it has.”

Chengyin was staring at the skies, frowning as he gestured to me. A fragrance wafted in the air, sickly sweet with a sourish undertone like rotted plums. It was growing darker, like the moon had been swallowed—unease prickling across the back of my neck. Had the immortals found us? Tall forms appeared on the horizon, drawing closer with the velvet steps of a cat. Their faces were like ours, though I recoiled from the sharp points of their teeth and the waxy sheen of their skin. Claws arched from their fingers, and small gray wings flared from their backs, something bright shining from their foreheads like a yellowish gem.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” A tremor broke my tone.

“Why are you here, Lady of Tianxia?” one of them asked patronizingly, a glint in its eyes. “Are you fleeing from your new mistress?”

The title jarred . . . as did the realization that they knew who I was. Terror surged, even as their contempt seared me. “Our land is under the protection of the Queen of the Golden Desert,” I declared. “Leave now.”

Bold words, yet meaningless when we had little means of defending ourselves against such beings. We were a kingdom of warriors, trained to serve—yet mortal blades could not shed immortal blood, whether god or monster. The queen was reluctant to arm us with the tools that could wound them too, relinquishing just a few weapons to us, barely enough to outfit a single troop. Grandfather had given a dagger to me and a sword to Chengyin, and I never imagined I’d see them used.

“What is the Queen of the Golden Desert’s protection worth? Where are her soldiers?” The creatures grinned as they closed around us at a languid pace. No need for haste when we were trapped.

Chengyin moved in front of Aunt Shou, his sword drawn. My hand shook as I grasped my dagger. I was no warrior—unable to train as rigorously as the others in my childhood, with neither the appetite nor inclination for battle, the sight of blood turning my stomach. Life in the palace surrounded by guards and attendants had draped me in an illusion of safety—one that had been swiftly ripped away tonight.