Page 72 of Immortal

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Chengyin said. “I can accompany them—”

“I need you here, as does your mother,” I told him, though I wished he could join me. “As the First Advisor, I grant you the mandate to rule the court in my absence.”

Chengyin hesitated, but then he bowed. “As you wish, Your Ladyship.”

I crouched down by the bodies of my fallen soldiers, beside the one who had died defending me. I made myself look at the gaping hole in his chest, his vacant gaze. I would never forget this; his death wouldn’t be in vain. An unspeakable weight fell over me as I laid my hand over the soldier’s eyes to close them. How tired I was, wishing I could fold over and weep. But with everyone watching, I had to be strong.

“What was his name?” I asked Captain Li hoarsely.

“Wang Pengyu.”

“Does he have family?”

“A wife. A daughter, just turned three.”

A child too young to understand her loss. A widow struggling to make ends meet. My hands balled into fists at this needless death, at how little these monsters cared for the lives they’d destroyed tonight.

“Grant them a generous pension. I will bear all funerary expenses—not just for him but for the fallen today.” It would not replace a beloved member of the family, but it would secure their futures, allowing them to grieve unhindered.

“When will you return?” Chengyin wanted to know. “Will you be safe?”

“Right now, no one is,” I said in a hollow voice.

Except it would be safer for everyone once we left, drawing the Wuxin away. A chill shrouded me at the thought. How bleak it was to be surrounded by enemies, with little hope on the horizon. Yet as I looked up at the God of War, I found myself remembering that at the end of every night, no matter how long, comes the rise of the dawn.

26

According to the ancient tales, the path to Kunlun once lay unhindered. Any adventurer could attempt the journey, and many had, seduced by dreams of eternity. Most failed to find it, some perished on the ascent. As for the few who vanished without a trace—it was whispered that they’d died at the threshold of the Immortal Realm, divine punishment for daring to reach above themselves. How cruel this would be, destroying a dream at the cusp of its fulfilment.

Back then, the Celestial Emperor had commanded the immortals to distance themselves from our world. Magic had upended too many of our lives, ruining some upon a whim while elevating others without merit. The immortals who ventured to our world were governed by strict rules of conduct, those that kept them hidden, that kept us safe.

But everything changed when the Wuxin invaded, sowing catastrophe and chaos. It was the immortals from the Golden Desert who saved us, driving the Wuxin away. Queen Caihong banished them to the Netherworld, crafting a powerful spell to seal the gateway that lay in Kunlun. Since then, Kunlun was barred to all except our ruler, the only mortal permitted to enter its grounds. It had been Grandfather’s duty to watch over this place—and now it was mine.

Zhangwei and I rode in silence. My face was numbed from the wind, my head throbbing from the incessant clomp of hooves striking the ground. I had learned to ride as a child, a skill one didn’t forget. How did Zhangwei ride with such grace, his horse obeying his every command? When he’d suggested this means of travel, part of me had hoped to see him fall flat on his back.

We halted by the edge of the forest, bordering the foothills of Kunlun. The trees towered, folding into one another like the bars of a cage. “I didn’t think immortals knew how to ride,” I said as we dismounted. “Are there horses in your realm?”

“No.” As he stroked the stallion’s mane, the creature leaned into his touch. “But I find joy in the sport, beyond its need. A slower pace allows one to appreciate the passing scenery.” He looped the reins loosely around a shady tree. “It would be a waste of eternity should one choose to stand still in life. Few things are more satisfying than the pursuit of knowledge, to better oneself through study or reflection.”

“The God of War possesses the heart of a scholar,” I remarked after a moment’s pause.

His eyes slid to mine. “You sound surprised. What did you think of me?”

Warmonger. Killer—

I flushed, quelling such thoughts. I was wrong, used to thinking of him within such narrow confines, filling in his character with my own prejudice and the tales I’d heard. There was a time all I did was look for his flaws, to ignore all he was. Ill-advised, for it meant I’d underestimated him.

“Silence is an answer in itself.” He sounded amused rather than angered.

“My grandfather taught me courtesy.”

“Yet you’ve shown no restraint, insulting me to my face.”

Laughter crept up my throat. “I had good reason.”

As he grinned, an unexpected lightness lifted me. These rare moments when we let down our guard . . . somehow, they felt so right.

“This is the first time I’ve been here,” I admitted to Zhangwei. “Grandfather always came alone.”