Page 15

I addressed the waiting courtiers. “Honored Ministers, in my absence Minister Guo, Minister Dao and Minister Hu will review the petitions, while Lord Chengyin will assume the role of First Advisor, providing the final judgment in all rulings.”

The courtiers bowed as they intoned, “We hear and obey. Long live the Lady of Tianxia, may she rule for a hundred years.”

Despite their words, their backs were stiff, their expressions sour. Such evident unease assured me of my decision. Minister Guo and Minister Dao were rivals. Given my precarious position, it was wiser to not favor any faction at court. Let them plot against each other rather than me. Chengyin would also ensure that my interests were protected, and he was only doing this as a favor.

He came forward, dressed in the dark-red robes of court, his black hat set with a piece of jade. Lowering his voice, he said, “Choosing sworn enemies to work together will ensure little will be agreed on while you’re away.”

“Maybe they’ll leave the kingdom intact then, rather than carving it up among themselves,” I replied. “I leave you to oversee matters, to ensure those that need attention aren’t neglected. And keep watch in case of any unforeseen alliances.”

Chengyin sighed in mock despair. “You’ve just ensured my workload will be the heaviest.”

“Thank you, my friend,” I said quietly.

He grinned at me. “Bring back a bottle of wine from the immortals as compensation and all will be forgiven. I hear they brew the finest wines.”

“I’ll bring two, and hide them from Aunt Shou,” I promised, trying not to laugh.

The God of War was studying our exchange, his eyes narrowed. Did he think we were speaking of him? “We must leave now,” he said abruptly.

For one with endless time at his disposal, he was impatient. As I stared at the cloud beneath his feet—pearl-white and petal-soft—I frowned. “Is this safe? It seems far too frail. Why not a chariot or flying mount?” Even walking would be preferable, if one could ascend to the skies that way.

“The clouds we travel on are enchanted. No harm will come to you while I’m here.” A pause as the god’s gaze flicked to me. “Now that I know your preference, I’ll ensure we travel differently next time.”

Was that a promise or a threat? I stared at his impassive face, deciding it was likely the latter. Holding my breath, I stepped upon the cloud, relieved to find it solid beneath my feet, cool tendrils coiling around my ankles. As the god raised his hand, the wind swept us into the skies. My fingers curled as I glanced down, my head swimming. From up high, my home appeared no more than a pile of stone, forests shrinking to patches of moss, rivers dwindling to slivers of thread. Overwhelmed by the endless horizons, the vast emptiness beneath, I caught myself leaning toward the god. Silence fell over us but for the thud of my heart, the rush of air as it surged against my face. I peeked down again, glimpsing the red marble wall that snaked around Tianxia like a trail of blood. Mist cloaked the borders beyond, concealing it from sight—was it part of the magic that shrouded our kingdom?

The higher we soared, the more violently my stomach churned. As the cloud swerved, avoiding a flock of birds, I stumbled, treading upon the god’s foot. His arm ringed my shoulders to steady me, his touch ice-cold. At once, I pulled away, thinking of how he’d slain the Winged Devils and how easily he could kill me should he choose.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No.” I smiled tightly, leashing my emotions. Alone at night was when I unraveled, though even then I pressed a fist to my mouth to stifle my grief.

He tilted his head to one side. “Yet your smile is false.”

“You don’t know me well enough to judge that.”

“We don’t need familiarity to sense falseness,” he replied.

“Do you really want to hear a mortal’s thoughts?” I asked sharply.

“All you will tell me, and more.” He examined my face, adding, “You seem surprised.”

“It doesn’t fit with what I’ve heard of you.”

“They also say I have skin the color of blood, fangs for teeth, and that I carry a polearm taller than a cypress,” he scoffed. “Don’t just choose the stories you want to believe.”

The way he spoke . . . for some reason, I flushed. A ridiculous impulse; he should feel ashamed for what he’d done.

“Did you accomplish all you’d wished during this month? Your grandfather’s funeral?” he asked.

I remembered how Grandfather had looked in the coffin, the hollow in my heart when his body was lowered into the earth. Unable to speak, I nodded in reply.

“I know you’re grieving,” the god said quietly. “I know what it’s like having part of your heart wrenched away—how hard it is to pretend life is normal when your world has fallen apart.”

Was he confiding in me? Or trying to learn my mind, to test my loyalty to the queen? “Why are you telling me this?” I asked cautiously.

He shrugged. “Because I’m tired of you looking at me the way you do.”

“How should I look at you? My grandfather died because of you,” I couldn’t help saying, though it was rash, unwise. A little unfair.