Page 46 of Immortal

“If we cling only to tradition, we will be left behind,” I said firmly.

“You will marry the winner? Regardless of their appearance or situation?” Minister Guo probed pointedly. “Even a stranger?”

I blanched inwardly, imagining him scouring the land for the most brutish and vicious warriors, bribing them to his side.

“If he is worthy. Everyone will be given the same opportunity to participate, the same weapons and challenges. A warrior is valued not just for their physical form, but also the sharpness of their minds.” I swiftly conjured rules to give the impression I’d thought this through, rather than it being a haphazard plan cobbled together.

“Weapons?” Minister Chen repeated shrilly. He was a thin man with a straggly mustache, and—if memory served me right—three children of marriageable age.

I leaned my head upon my hand, dealing the final blow, one to ensure this plan never saw the light. “It will be a fight to the death. The winner will be the last one remaining.”

Maybe this bloodthirsty suggestion would finally deter them from the prospect of my marriage. Fewer suitors would be willing to enter the fray once a deadly price was attached to the crown.

Or it might leave those more determined, my mind reminded me drily.

Faces paled, whispers slithering around the hall. I’d caught them off-guard. The thought that I’d even consider this would make them hesitate, doubt their assessment of me as a puppet, easily led. If they couldn’t read me, they could not trap me . . . and maybe I would keep my throne a little longer.

I’d meant each word I’d said to Queen Caihong. I wanted to be a good ruler, to earn my place. But first I needed the support of the court—and if I couldn’t secure it by playing by their rules, I would make my own.

17

Night had fallen when I left the throne room, the moon illuminating my path. As I entered my courtyard, I plucked a handful of jasmine from a bush, inhaling its rich fragrance. A relief to discard the mask of decorum here, the need to guard every word.

In my study, I sat behind the mahogany desk, recalling how Grandfather used to sit here as he worked tirelessly into the night. This was how I liked to remember him, in these quiet moments—not the chaos and anguish of the night he’d died. My breathing hitched as I lay my head down against the cool wood. Remembrance was both the solace and bane of the living.

The doors slid apart, Yifei ushering in Aunt Shou and Chengyin. As I straightened, they sat across from me. Yifei set down a tray with walnut cakes, winter-melon pastries, and a bowl of mandarins. She poured the tea, then nudged the fruit closer to me, ever concerned for my health since the poisoning. Even now, the memory of it made me shudder: the bone-deep weariness, the feverish pain that burned yet left me cold. A familiar anger rose at the unknown enemy who’d inflicted this upon me.

“Being the First Advisor is more a punishment than an elevation,” Chengyin said with a sigh. “Now that you’ve returned, I gladly surrender my position. My ears hurt from all the ‘advice’ the ministers have been trying to dispense. I would rather spend my afternoons—”

“Drinking wine and spouting bad poetry with Minister Xiao’s eldest son?” Aunt Shou interrupted, glaring at him. “Or is it his sister you’re casting your eyes at?”

Chengyin flushed. “Our poetry is not ‘bad.’ Besides, he’s one of the few around here who doesn’t say one thing and mean another.”

“Surprising, given his father,” Aunt Shou remarked with a sniff. “Minister Xiao is one of Minister Guo’s closest allies. Who knows what his children have been taught.”

“Children shouldn’t be held accountable for the bad choices of their parents,” Chengyin replied with an irreverent grin.

“Children should respect their elders,” Aunt Shou chided him, yet there was a tenderness in her eyes when she looked at him.

“Chengyin, could you bear it a while longer?” I asked. “There aren’t many I can trust at court who are also capable. Once things are stable, I’ll find you a new position where you can host all the questionable poetry-reciting banquets you wish.”

“Can I be the Minster of Revelry?”

I frowned. “Do I have one?”

“You will soon.” He grinned as he lifted his cup to me. “I accept your proposal.”

I laughed, raising my own cup to him. As Chengyin picked up a pastry and bit into it, Aunt Shou smacked his arm like he was a boy once more. “Remember your manners. Serve Her Ladyship first.”

He shot her an aggrieved look. “Mother, this is the same shameless person who used to snatch my favorite books and toys, who broke your precious porcelain vase. She even gave me this.” He pushed his sleeve up to show a scar on the underside of his wrist, one I knew well.

“You deserved it,” I said loftily. “We both broke that vase, and you were just clumsy enough to cut yourself on the pieces.”

“You pushed me into them.”

“Because you shoved me in the first place,” I retorted, restraining the urge to laugh.

He scowled. “You shouldn’t have wailed so loudly, then. Mother heard you, when we could have swept up the pieces and buried them in the garden like I wanted to.”