Page 54 of Immortal

“A delicate negotiation. If I can come to terms with the Lady of Tianxia,” he replied.

Chengyin nodded sagely. “I defer to Her Ladyship in these matters.”

“A most accommodating consort.” Lord Zhangwei’s tone reminded me of silk yanked taut.

“Yes, he is. Unlike others I can think of.” I searched the hall, seeking a way to loosen the coiled tension, to divert the guests who were staring at us. “Do we have any entertainment planned for tonight?” I asked aloud.

A musician came forward, a slender woman in a peach robe. Her instrument was shaped like an elongated pear, lacquered in black. As she took the seat in the middle of the hall, her hands plucked the strings of her lute with the skill of a true master.

The God of War’s attention shifted to the musician, and I hated how acutely aware I was of it. A vigilant attendant was refilling his cup, which he’d emptied with startling speed. My chest tightened. Was he attracted to the lute player? He was not the only one; the crowd watched her with reverence. Moreover, as an accomplished musician, it was natural to admire the talent in another.

“Would you like an introduction? Perhaps you might join her in a duet?” On the surface, I sounded like a solicitous host, yet it was plunging the knife in deeper.

“I can introduce myself.” He rose and walked over to the musician, indifferent to the attention he was stirring.

The musician started at the sight of him, her fingers halting mid song. But then she rose and greeted him with a graceful bow. He spoke to her in hushed tones, gesturing for an attendant to bring another chair and instrument. As he arranged the qin across his lap, the musician stared at him, her turn to be transfixed. The melody they played rippled forth in seamless unison, a joyous one. They played exquisitely, his hard features a foil to her delicate loveliness.

As though enchanted, the guests smiled as they stared at the pair. I fought to remain indifferent. Once I had let the beauty of his music cloud my mind, imagining there were other layers to the God of War. A costly mistake. Let him be attracted to another; it was better this way.

Yet how it rankled, how it gnawed at me. At the end of the song, the guests rose, clapping in earnest. Lord Zhangwei invited the musician to sit beside him at his table—it was his right as a guest, though how it stung. I buried the sensation, smiling until my jaw ached, wishing I were anywhere but here.

20

After the last course was served, Chengyin and I left the hall, walking in silence to my courtyard.

The moment the door closed behind us, he turned to me. “Cancel our ‘betrothal.’”

“Why?”

He shuddered. “Didn’t you see the way the God of War glared at me throughout our meal? Nothing is worth the end he’s planning for me for having a claim on you—even an imaginary one.”

“Don’t be a coward.” His insinuation rankled. Even now, the immortal might be leading the musician to his room. The thought seared like a hot coal in the pit of my stomach.

“Oh, but I am a coward.” Chengyin grinned. “Very much so, and I’m proud of it. It’s kept me in good health all these years.”

I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in a long while—taking in his large brown eyes, wide mouth, high forehead, the mark on his temple. He was no longer the scrawny boy I’d squabbled and brawled with. For those closest to us, we no longer saw them clearly, relying instead on familiarity to fill the gaps. Chengyin was handsome, though I didn’t desire him—nor did he want me that way. But he was my best friend, someone I trusted, someone I could be myself with. I had no illusions of love. The one I married would be wedding the throne, and the most I could hope for was an ally who had no desire to supplant me . . . and that children would follow to secure the line of succession. Could I ask for more in a life partner?

So much more. My traitorous mind conjured unwanted flashes of memories: the frantic beat of my heart, the ache of desire, the heat pulsing through my blood that I fought to smother. Dangerous for anyone—more so with a kingdom at stake. I needed someone who would support my reign, not destroy everything I’d fought for.

“Would you marry me? For real?” I asked Chengyin, ignoring the way my chest constricted.

His burst of laughter died when he looked at me. He reached out and took my hand, his gaze thoughtful. Maybe he sensed my hurt and was being kind, even as he shook his head. “I’m not the one for you, as you’re not for me. I want more, Liyen. I want love.”

Relief swelled at his rejection. I’d asked as the Lady of Tianxia, not for myself. “You don’t love me?” I asked lightly.

“Not that way,” he replied. “I love my friend. You are my family, but I don’t love you as a husband should.”

I didn’t love him that way either. Yet my mind still argued that this was an ideal solution, ignoring the protest of my heart. “I would like to be married to my friend. Love can be . . . complicated.” Fickle. Vicious. Treacherous.

“Then it’s worth having because it means something, because it makes you feel.”

“We like each other well enough.” I was being selfish, convinced this was the answer. A quick resolution, a cowardly one. Once I was safely married, maybe the hollow in my chest would vanish, along with the fevered dreams of a false future.

“‘Like’ and ‘love’ are not the same, though the happiest unions often have both.”

“I don’t need love. It makes you weak. Stupid.” I spoke more vehemently than intended.

“Yet there is much wonder in it, and strength—when you aren’t just fighting for yourself but for another.” He peered at my face. “What happened in the Immortal Realm? You aren’t the same as when you left.”