Page 3 of Immortal

As he folded me into his arms, a gray anguish clouded my heart. If I closed my eyes to this nightmare, I could almost imagine I was back in bed and he was bidding me good night—if not for the salt of fear that clung to his skin and the tears wetting the cheek pressed to mine.

Hate engulfed me at the gods who demanded our obedience yet did not answer our prayers, who threatened our lives for the slightest offense, lashing our world with misfortune when they were displeased. I cared not whether the rules were on their side this time, that their actions were deemed justified—

If they hurt my family . . . they would pay.

Grandfather bent to unfasten an ornament that hung by his waist, then tied it to mine. The imperial seal, the yellow jade carved with a round shield, said to be a sacred relic of our kingdom. My grandfather had never been without it, and for him to yield this now broke my heart.

“Live a good life, Liyen. Don’t waste yourself in grief or vengeance. I want no regrets for you.” Grandfather’s words rang clear. “Watch over Tianxia: seek peace and happiness for our people, rule with compassion and strength. Serve the immortal queen loyally and maybe you can secure what I failed to—our people’s freedom. We can’t live behind these walls forever. The world beyond is part of ours too.”

He hugged me tight, and when he released me and strode away—such pain pierced me, worse than any poison. How I willed myself to break free to stop him, my pleas buried in the silence of my mind.

Aunt Shou took my hand in her papery one. “Liyen, you must be strong. Your grandfather knew the risks of stealing from the gods. If you offend the Queen of the Golden Desert, you will condemn not just yourself but your people too.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I hate this, but the price must be paid. Your grandfather accepted it, so must we. Whatever happens, I will honor my promise to your grandfather to keep you safe.”

As Chengyin clasped my hand, my gaze beseeched him for aid. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s too dangerous here. We must get you to safety.”

Aunt Shou nodded to Chengyin, and he hoisted me upon his back with ease. I had lost weight over the past weeks, my body frail.

“The Eastern Gate is closer,” he suggested with a glance at me.

Hope flared, mingled with gratitude. We had to pass the main hall to get to the Eastern Gate. Chengyin was trying to help, bringing me to where my grandfather would be. As we hurried through the courtyard, I recoiled inwardly from the screams throttling the air, the drift of ash, the flames devouring the wooden beams—and most of all, from the gleam of the immortals’ armor as they stalked through my home.

Closer to the main hall, Chengyin’s steps slowed as he lagged behind Aunt Shou. He shifted so I might see within, to catch a glimpse of my grandfather. A tall immortal stood in the center of the hall, his black armor edged in gold, a cloak falling from his shoulders. The hilt of a large sword protruded from his back, carved of white jade and gold. Danger emanated from the tautness of his form, the weapons he bore—not just the sword, but the bow slung over his back, the daggers tucked into his waistband. The God of War, the one who’d set my home afire. And seated behind him, upon my grandfather’s throne, must be Queen Caihong, the ruler of the Golden Desert. Her shining headdress reflected glimmers of the flames outside, her dark-red lips pulled into a hard slash.

Grandfather knelt before them, his forehead pressed to the ground. Gray hair poked from his topknot, his robe wrinkled and stained. As he rose, he said something I couldn’t hear. The God of War raised his hand, alight with a crimson glow—my heart quailing—but his magic streaked through the doorway, settling over the flames beyond, that extinguished as suddenly as they’d flared to life.

As the cries outside subsided, my grandfather’s voice carried from where he knelt on the floor. “Thank you, Honored Immortal.”

“You have surrendered. The people have done no wrong,” the god replied, his voice resonant and clear.

Anger flashed. This was no mercy but to gild the image they wanted to portray, to parade the immensity of their power that we were helpless against. For the gods desired to be seen as great and wise, thriving on worship and admiration. And they cannot bear insult or defiance, to be thought of as weak, infallible . . . or mortal.

“Zhao Likang.” The queen enunciated each syllable of my grandfather’s name. “Where is the Divine Pearl Lotus? When it bloomed on Kunlun Mountain, I ordered you to bring it to me. As the ruler of Tianxia, you are the only mortal who can enter there to harvest the flower, so it was you who’d plucked it. Yet now we can no longer sense its presence.”

Kunlun Mountain? I’d wanted to go with Grandfather before, and now I knew why he’d refused. It was our kingdom’s most important duty to watch over this place, as Kunlun was once the sole pathway to the heavens and to the Netherworld—though the immortals had sealed the way there.

“Your Majesty, I harvested the Divine Pearl Lotus as commanded and brought it here. It was closely guarded . . . but was stolen.” Grandfather bowed his head. “I have failed you, and will endure any punishment you impose.”

Grandfather lied so flawlessly, more in what he concealed than shared. While he disliked deception, it was a vital skill when dealing with the court. Once, he’d told me: “There are lies of necessity and those of malice. Those you choose to tell will define your character.”

And now he’d done this to save us all, to ensure none suffered the immortals’ wrath but him.

“Stolen? How did that happen?” Queen Caihong’s voice sharpened. “Rise, and come closer so I can read the truth in your face.”

Grandfather pushed himself slowly to his feet. He was afraid, of course he was. The immortal queen’s displeasure had borne bitter fruit in the past, not just of fire but harsh storms, torrential rain, relentless floods. But his pallor sent a rush of unease through me, his movements uneven and halting as he walked toward her. A gasp tore from his throat as he collapsed—his hand pressed to his chest like it hurt.

His heart!

Terror choked me. I tried to cry out for a physician, struggling to move, to go to him. The God of War stalked forward and laid his hand on my grandfather’s chest. As his fingers glowed like the burning tips of incense, I wanted to shove him away.

“Can you help him?” Queen Caihong asked.

“This injury can’t be healed by us. It is bred by time, formed of the mortal body,” the God of War said coldly, like it meant nothing to him.

“Find one of the mortal physicians,” the queen ordered.

Aunt Shou was hurrying toward Chengyin and me. Her eyes rounded at the sight of my grandfather in the hall, a hand pressed to her lips. As she started forward, Chengyin caught her arm. “Mother, if they find us—they’ll find Liyen. We must send a physician, then go.”

Before Aunt Shou could reply, a frail cry slid from within the hall. Grandfather’s head had fallen back, his body jerking, then going terrifyingly still. The God of War bent to pick up his hand. After a moment he shook his head, his palm brushing down my grandfather’s eyelids.