Page 4 of Immortal

“He is dead.”

Grief wrung me, twisting my heart apart. I was screaming inside, though no one could hear.

The God of War rose as he raised his voice to his warriors outside. “Seal the gates. None are allowed out until we find the Divine Pearl Lotus.”

“Chengyin, hurry!” Aunt Shou tugged at him, tears running down her face. “We must go now.”

Chengyin carried me away, following her. I didn’t want to go, but there was nothing I could do now—whether to weep, rage, or even mourn.

As we slipped out the gate, a gong was struck, the bleak sound reverberating through the night. Four times it clanged, plunging through the stillness left in its wake. The end of a reign. A blink, a breath—a lifetime gone.

I would never see my grandfather again. All that remained were his words to me, unfinished lessons, unfulfilled dreams . . . those the immortals had crushed. Something hardened in my chest. I would not go the way Grandfather had, kneeling before the immortals, dedicating my life to their loyal service, fearing their merciless justice. He deserved better, as did our people. And I would forge a new path for us, to set us free of these ruthless gods.

2

The stillness of the forest was startling after the chaos of the palace. Above, the trees loomed like shadows of giants, blanketing the night. The darkness was eased only by the curve of the moon, the lantern of the skies.

I was crying, my tears soaking through Chengyin’s robe. Tonight, the pillars of my life had vanished as though the earth had split apart and swallowed them whole. All that was left were fragments I was trying to pick my way through: heir to an uncertain throne, descendant of the dead.

I missed my grandfather—a bitter realization dawning, that I would miss him for the rest of my days. For so long, I had leaned on him, and now I was truly alone. It didn’t feel right leaving his body behind, though we had no choice then. If we’d been caught, everything my grandfather had sacrificed would be in vain. The moment I returned home, I would prepare the offerings that would pave his journey to the afterlife, build him a great tomb, and lay his memorial tablet with our ancestors.

A drawn breath slid from me. At last, the effects of the Divine Pearl Lotus were wearing off; I could move a little. But what use was this now?

“He’s gone,” I whispered brokenly, my heart brittle with pain. If I said it again, would it hurt less?

“I’m sorry,” Chengyin said quietly, shifting me upon his back. “I will miss him. He was stern but always fair. Kind too, especially to those less fortunate.”

“We all loved him.” Aunt Shou’s eyes were red, her voice raw with weeping.

“Grandfather is dead . . . because of me.” Such heaviness sank over me, my grief bound with guilt.

“You can’t blame yourself for being poisoned, you might as well blame the Divine Pearl Lotus for flowering,” Aunt Shou said fiercely. “Your grandfather didn’t do this because of you, but because he loved you.”

I closed my eyes, unable to stop my tears. Aunt Shou stroked my head, brushing the lock of silvery hair from my face—the one some recoiled from, the mark of the waters of death. Most days, I preferred to tuck it beneath the rest of my hair to hide it, but nothing mattered anymore.

“I know it hurts. It will take time. Though the pain won’t ever go away, it does get easier.” Her eyes were haunted, as whenever she thought of her daughter.

“Does it still hurt when you think of her?” I asked haltingly.

“Every day,” she admitted. “But it would hurt more if I didn’t. And I’m fortunate to have another child.” She took Chengyin’s hand, brushing her thumb across it.

Grandfather used to hold my hand that way, during those feverish nights when I’d been clasped in the poison’s grip. “If only I could trade my life for yours,” he’d whisper when he thought I couldn’t hear.

And now he’d found a way.

I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest. It would be easy to spiral into despair, festering in anger and regret—but I would not waste the life Grandfather had secured for me.

Live a good life . . . I want no regrets for you.

His last words were a comfort, except the thoughts in my mind were not those he’d have wished. I would find my peace after I’d secured our dream for Tianxia, after I made those who’d wronged him pay.

Yet a small voice inside me whispered that the immortals were not wholly to blame. My grandfather stole the lotus, and his heart was already weak when he faced them. They hadn’t killed him . . . though it was easier to blame them, easier to hate than to bear the unadulterated sorrow. Still, his fear of them had caused his death; they weren’t without guilt. A god’s anger was far more dangerous than a mortal’s, capable of inflicting far greater suffering. It shouldn’t be this way; such power should be used to protect the weak instead of to harm them.

The immortals might not have been Grandfather’s enemy, but they were mine. I did not possess my grandfather’s calm temperament, his steady patience and devotion—only broken once through his love for me. Despite the misgivings of the court, he’d raised me to rule, entrusting the kingdom he loved into my hands. Our dreams were the same: for Tianxia to be released from the immortals’ service, to bring down the walls that kept us in—yet our minds followed different paths.

What the gods did not give us, I would take.

My fingers curled, my strength returning in a rush, like falling headlong into a lake. My body tingled, my senses alive, the fog in my mind clearing. Something burned in my chest, searing against my skin. I rubbed it to find a hard ridge the size of a coin—a pale scar, newly formed. What did this mean? Had the lotus bonded with me?