Page 49

The last of my power fades into my palm, and the air feels cold, despite the sun blazing over the roof.

“Also, I know you may not believe me or care much for my opinion,” he goes on, the harshness dissolving from his tone, “but you are better than any other god to have walked the earth. They do not deserve you as their healer.”

How strange that he seems to mean it. Slowly, my fists loosen. When I speak again, my voice is almost as calm as his. “You can feed me pretty words all you like, but you cannot expect me to work with you.”

“Why not?” He tilts his head. “We’re after the very same thing: for the crown prince not to end up dead in a ditch—which is remarkably common for mortals—before he can ascend to godhood.”

“But—”

The front door creaks open, and we both fall quiet just as the crown prince in question emerges from his house, blinking into the sunlight at the two of us.

“Be careful,” Keran whispers to me, his voice pitched for only me to hear. “He may be a mortal, but by nature, he is ruthless and manipulative and vile—”

“Who are you?” the mortal asks. He takes a short, tentative step closer, his hands clasped together within his long sleeves, his confused gaze wandering between us. Once again, doubt creeps into my mind. How could he be the same person as the crown prince, the god who seemed to have been made just for the universe to do his bidding, who is the subject of countless sonnets, whose quick, sure grin is said to work like an enchantment? But then there is the jade pendant in my pocket, searing my skin and shaking furiously, straining toward its owner. “What . . . are you doing?”

With a jolt, I realize I’m still pinning Keran back against the wall with my body, my arm crossed over his chest to hold him there. Keran raises his brows at me, and my frustration boils, thick and violent and useless. Now that we have been spotted together in such proximity, I may not even have a choice in whether I work with him. We are connected, regardless. In fact, it would not surprise me if he had heard Junyi coming and chosen not to warn me for this exact reason. I grind my teeth together and slowly, reluctantly release him, half expecting him to call upon his dark powers and set the entire city ablaze the instant he can.

But all is calm.

A few heart-shaped leaves drift down from the lone tallow tree in the yard. A swallow chirps and rustles its iridescent feathers atop the gate. The Death God does not attack. He only straightens his robes as though we were interrupted in the middle of something entirely normal.

“My wife and I were looking for a bit of privacy,” Keran says smoothly. “We thought the house was empty.”

My wife.

It takes all my self-control not to stare at him or to slap him again. My shock is so absolute that I would be less stunned if he had swept the crown prince into a warm embrace.

“Oh—I see . . .” Junyi’s face has gone quite crimson. His eyes drift to the blood swelling at the corner of Keran’s lips.

“She likes to bite me sometimes when we kiss,” Keran says in the same offhand manner, answering the unspoken question. “No need for concern. I like it too.”

“Oh,” Junyi repeats, the color in his cheeks fanning out to his neck. “Well, I’m very sorry for disturbing you. Both of you. I heard noise and was afraid there were thieves, which—I mean to say, I obviously know now that you mean no harm. Though if you were thieves, there is not much for you to steal in here . . .”

“An act,” Keran mutters into my ear. “Look how he pretends to be clueless and meek.” He turns to face Junyi, then speaks at a normal volume, with just barely hidden vehemence, “What would you do, if we had been thieves? Skin us alive? Tear our arms from our body? Flay us and hang us from the gates to warn others not to enter?”

Junyi recoils, his eyes widening. “No, no, of course not. I would never— That would be cruel beyond measure. And I understand, of course, that some thieves act out of desperation, because they have their own mouths to feed. I am merely a bit cautious, as the last few not only stole most of my books and grain for the month, but also spat on me and bashed my head on their way out.” He gestures to an unpleasant, mottled yellow bump peeking out just under his hairline. It is not the only visible injury. The thick callouses on his fingers have split so many times I wonder how he manages to pick anything up.

“Please, no matter how great the temptation, restrain yourself from healing him,” Keran warns me.

I glower at him. I can admit that the thought had passed my mind, but I am not impulsive enough to use my powers on the crown prince’s mortal body. Everything would be infinitely more complicated if Junyi were to deduce that we are gods. And I had been more focused on something else.

“They stole your books?” I ask, remembering his fate. A scholar, filled with envy, drags him to the lake to take his ranking. This must be it. This should be where the path to his tribulation begins. He must take an exam and achieve such an enviable ranking as to be hated and harmed by someone else. “You are a scholar, then?” I smooth my urgency into kind interest, then lean forward with a smile. “You seem like one. You have such a scholarly air.”

He flushes. “You are too generous. I would hardly call myself that; I am only a lowly commoner.”

“That is too generous,” Keran supplies under his breath. “It would be fairer if he called himself a rat.”

Not hearing him, Junyi continues, speaking softly with his head down. “I do have a keen appreciation for literature and politics. And of course, like every candidate across the empire, I dream of success and recognition and one day entering the imperial palace, of the security and comfort of a government sinecure . . . But I may not be suited for it. I had barely passed the very first stage of the civil service exams, and that was after nine failed attempts . . .” When he glances up at me, I quickly school my expression into one of reassurance instead of rising panic. Nine attempts? I had assumed that Junyi would be a prodigy here in the Mortal Realm, just as he had been in the Celestial Realm, where his reputation for being well-read was as polished and impenetrable as a god of war’s armor. He ought to have aced the first round of exams in his sleep.

Perhaps he was sick, or exhausted, I reason with myself. Perhaps he coincidentally drank spoiled soup before every exam. Perhaps he was so nervous he kept dropping his brush. Perhaps the examination room was too hot and he fell asleep. Perhaps somebody had sabotaged him, repeatedly—

No. I must find out more.

“What matters is that you passed,” I lie to him. Then I heave a long sigh and make a deliberate show of fanning myself. I do not really have to pretend. The sun has climbed higher over the hills, its severe white light beating down on our necks and solidifying the shadows beneath the trees. I can feel the sweat sticking to the back of my robes, the places where the rough stitching presses into my skin.

Thankfully, Junyi notices. “Would you like to come in, perhaps?” he offers, almost shy. “It must be fate of a kind that we’ve met today. I may not have much, but I can make you some tea . . .”

“Would it be too much trouble?” I ask as I fan myself with more force while wiping the moisture from my brow. “We’ve disturbed you enough, and I’m sure the heat will go away eventually—”