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I wonder if the Heavens can see it all. The blood that drips from his lips when he draws upon the deepest reserves of his power. The shadows that shoot up from his outstretched palms and push back at the massive, heaving wall of water, inch by inch, forcing it back to the coast. The sharp set of resolve in his jaw, even as his hands tremble and his breathing grows shallow. The moment when the Death God, grand king of the Night Realm, most feared immortal of them all, staggers backward into my arms.

Chapter Thirty

“I can walk on my own, you know,” Keran murmurs against my hair.

I ignore him, tightening my grip on his arm where it’s slung around my shoulders. My boots slosh through the freezing water as we make our way down the narrow alley, each splash and ripple echoing through the air. The flood appears to have uprooted the world. Broken everything down into small, haphazard pieces. Strange things float past us: the gray, curved tiles of a roof; the brightly colored silk scraps of a dudou; square handkerchiefs stained with mud; a child’s leather ball; a butterfly hair ornament; books soaked so thoroughly their faded pages have started to melt and split from the threads. It feels invasive to see such everyday objects lying out in the open, swept up onto strangers’ doorsteps and tangling into tree roots.

Others trudge through the flooded streets, pushing in different directions, their expressions bleak with grief and disbelief. A little girl is crying as she walks, frantic, searching, the water lapping at her grazed knees. In one hand, she holds a loose rope.

“Mianmian,” she calls out urgently, clapping her hands together. “Mianmian. I—I know you’re there. Please, don’t be scared. Come back to me, Mianmian. Come home.”

The guilt that’s been simmering inside me boils up to my throat.

This is because of me. All of this—it’s because I’m alive.

“Rujia,” Keran cautions, as if he has guessed exactly what I’m thinking. His breath is warm, brushing my cheek; it is the only warmth I can feel, the only gentleness I know. Autumn seems to have abandoned us in the space of a single night. Ice plasters my hair to my face, freezes my flesh to my bones. The sky presses down from above, black clouds spreading over the city like the wings of a giant crow, casting everything in its shadow.

“I’m fine,” I tell him. I can see his face in my peripheral vision, his ashen complexion, the resolve hardening his lips, despite everything. “We can rest here.”

I stagger up the doorsteps to an old inn nestled between two teahouses. All the lanterns hanging from the eaves have been extinguished, the yellow paper ripped by the teeth of the wind or the claws of the rain. Cold, murky water spills out the instant I push the front door open, and the smell of wet dirt and decaying wood hits my nostrils.

It’s empty inside. I leave a pouch of coins by the only table that hasn’t been washed away and begin the slow climb up the stairs, feeling my way around the darkness. Everything is slippery, soft with rot. I move carefully, one foot at a time. Left foot. Right foot. The fifth step groans when I shift my weight onto it. Stops when I lift my other leg. Creaks again, louder—

Then it gives way, splintering underneath me.

My stomach drops. I grab on to the railing just in time, hoisting Keran up with me.

“Almost there,” I get out. Even after I have steadied myself, my heart continues hammering against my eardrums, convinced that we are still in freefall.

When we reach the next level, I stumble into the first room I see. Miraculously, the windows have remained locked shut, leaving most of the single bed and floorboards dry. The only signs of damage here are the toppled-over vase by the table and the rain that’s seeped through the gaps and pooled into the corners of the room. Within a few weeks, moss will start to creep up, feeding on the damp. I do not even dare imagine what will have happened by then.

“Let me see,” I instruct Keran as I help him sit down by the foot of the bed.

“See what?” he asks warily.

I unfasten the buttons of my cloak, which is so saturated it feels as though it has been made of clay instead of blue brocade. I grab the basin set beside the drawers, wring my sleeves over it, and roll them up. At last, I stand before him, aware of his attention on me as I peel back the outer layer of his robes with quick, determined efficiency, then the white, near-translucent inner layer, exposing his left shoulder.

“Don’t—” he says.

A strangled breath escapes my lips. It’s just as I predicted.

The black veins have traveled all the way up to his neck, forking out like the twisted branches of a dead tree. But that is only the surface. Beneath it, I can sense the currents of his power and the encroachment of another power, deadlier and even more ancient. His energy has always felt cold and quiet, like frost; like snow-capped mountains; like the silver beauty of a sword, the slanted light of the moon. Now, throttling that energy and threatening to replace it, is something very different. Wild like flames, corrosive as poison. It exists in direct opposition to who he is, what he is. It will devour him.

When I reach out, tentative, the tips of my fingers tracing the lines from his arm to the base of his throat, I’m horrified to find that his skin is no longer just warm. It’s burning.

My head spins. Everything is happening too fast. There’s not enough time to fix this—to think of a solution—to stop the damage before it catches up to us.

“Leave it,” Keran says softly, his eyes black and heavy-lidded, tracking my movements. “There are plenty of other things we could be doing.”

I glare down at him. The back of my throat aches. “How could you be such a fool? How could you let it become this bad?”

“I didn’t notice it—”

“Don’t lie to me,” I snap, stepping closer, into the space between his knees. My nails press into his skin. “That’s like saying you didn’t notice you were being burned alive.”

“How violent you’ve grown,” he says, smiling with exquisite, heartbreaking beauty. All those times, I had wondered what his smile would look like, how it would feel if he were to smile at me. I had not considered the price. “I have to confess, I like you this way.”

I manage to ignore him. “You can’t do this,” I say, my voice grave. “We can’t keep doing this, Keran. It’s not—it’s just not sustainable. Even your power has limits and we don’t know what’s next, but it will only get worse and worse. The earth could shatter. The skies could split in two. It was naive of me to think I could just—just escape my fate, without any consequences. The Heavens won’t allow me to live; they will force my hand, one way or another—”