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Immortal

Page 79

by Sue Lynn Tan

No more lies and secrets, I’d demanded of him. As least he’d been honest when he’d replied: No more lies.

A bitterness lingered. After he’d defended us against the Wuxin, our kiss by the river, everything he’d said and done since—he’d almost made me believe in him again. If all this had been false, the Wuxin were more honorable than him.

Footsteps tread closer. Zhangwei was crouching down beside me, my senses attuned to him though my eyes were still closed. As he lifted me in his arms, I resisted the urge to push him away. He carried me with great care through the winding corridor, my body stiffening whenever it jolted against his.

I hated this uncertainty, just when I’d thought we could finally trust each other. And I hated that I didn’t know what to do; whether to confront him or conceal what I’d heard.

It was a long way back to the Ancient Grandmaster’s home, or at least it felt that way. Once, Zhangwei stumbled, his hold tightening protectively around me. I stirred, intending to end the farce—but the Ancient Grandmaster’s voice rang out.

“You may both share the chamber in this courtyard.”

No.

“Ancient Grandmaster, separate rooms would be preferred. Otherwise, I will remain outside,” Zhangwei said without hesitation.

My jaw clenched, my hands curling. I didn’t want to share a room with him—but irrationally now, I was annoyed that he didn’t want that either.

“As you wish, Lord Zhangwei.” The Ancient Grandmaster sounded amused. “Take the chamber beside hers.”

Zhangwei carried me into a room, the lamps flickering to life as we entered. Without warning, he dropped me unceremoniously upon a bed, my skirt tangling between my legs.

I sat up, glaring at him. “How dare you.”

Zhangwei leaned against the bed frame. “If you wanted to be carried, you could have just asked.”

“I want nothing less,” I hissed—though it defied what I’d just done. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

His eyelids lowered, a corner of his mouth curving. “Shall we put that to the test?”

“No.” I meant it. I wanted him, but every time I drew too close, I ended up burned. Fire was his Talent, after all.

I looked away from him, examining the room. It was simply furnished, the bed crafted of light-colored wood, the coverings softer than any I’d lain on. A set of robes was folded and left on the bamboo table, though the shelves were bare.

“Were you hurt getting here?” he asked.

Such concern . . . was it real? I shook my head. “What about you? How did you get away from the Wuxin?”

His voice thickened with suppressed fury. “Their plan was to separate us, to capture you.”

“Do they know about the lotus?” I asked.

“It’s likely,” he replied tersely. “After the fight, I searched for you in the pavilion—all around the lake. You had gone, no trace of you left. Fortunately, I knew you weren’t with the Wuxin because they’d been looking for you too—at least until I found them.”

As his eyes glittered dangerously, I asked, “Did you kill them?”

“Those who hurt you, are my enemies too.” The darkness of his tone sent a chill through me. “Some escaped, as did their captain—the one I most wanted.” He added, “I knew you could swim, that you’d jumped into the lake, though I was worried you couldn’t find your way here.”

“I had little choice; they cornered me in the pavilion.” Quickly, I told him about the boy, the beast who’d attacked us, the Ancient Grandmaster’s disguise.

“I heard the Ancient Grandmaster tested the few mortals who reached his shores,” he said.

“What of those who failed?” I asked.

“No one knows.”

My throat tightened. Even though the Ancient Grandmaster had been kind to me, there was another side to him—the ruthless deity alongside the benevolent, childlike god. Yet mortals were not objects to be judged; we were more than a single choice. We deserved to be weighed for the sum of our deeds, rather than one plucked from a moment of urgency. Immortals could never understand the despair the threat of death roused in us, how much we wanted to live, to delay the inevitable end. To ourselves, we were everything—and yet our inevitable fate was to become nothing.

“Where do we go now?” I asked, breaking the silence.