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Until we reach the wall. No matter how far we ran, we were still trapped.

“What if the Wuxin manage to open the gateway all the way through?” It was my worst nightmare, the one that preyed on me since I’d seen them in my home.

“It still holds; we have time yet.” His face darkened. “Though their actions reek of urgency.”

An unwelcome thought unfolded in my mind; my insides clenched. “You said the gateway was weakened because the Divine Pearl Lotus was harvested. Is this why they’re seeking it? What if they’ve found a way to use the lotus to open the gateway?”

“Then you must stay out of their reach.” He spoke gravely, without pause, like he’d considered this too.

We returned to where we’d left our horses. While they’d untied themselves, they had not left, trotting over without being urged. The stallion nuzzled Zhangwei, who stroked his mane. He had a way with animals, maybe because they didn’t view him with the innate fear we did—maybe because to them, he was not the God of War.

Zhangwei and I rode along dirt-crusted paths, through grassy meadows and fields of wildflowers, heading away from Kunlun. As the sun sank lower, setting the skies afire, the hills threw their long shadows over us. Our pace slowed to a canter as we traveled along a winding river, aglitter in the dwindling light. Feathery reeds twined with blades of grass, swaying in the wind like dancers. We halted by a shady grove and dismounted, leading our horses to the river, where we tied them to a tree.

As the sky darkened to indigo, the air cooled, welcome after the heat of day. The fire we built crackled softly, the flames flickering low as they bent to Zhangwei’s will. Magic was useful for concealing our trail. Glistening fish he’d caught earlier were speared onto a long stick and set over the fire. I sat on a rock watching him turn them over, a mouthwatering aroma lacing the air.

“How did you learn to fish?” I asked.

He grinned as his gaze swung to me. “I never did.”

“Did you . . . cheat?”

“It was just a trace. A nudge,” he protested. “How is it cheating when no one was wronged?”

“Just the fish,” I remarked pointedly. “You should have bested it in a fair fight.”

“If the fish had gotten the better of me, we would have no dinner,” he replied. “But if your sensibilities are offended, I can always eat your share.”

I scowled, my stomach rumbling in protest. Leaning back against the grass, I lifted my face to the sky. Even when clouded over, the boundless horizons infused me with wonder. Such freedom, if only we would reach for it. How long had I trapped myself in my palace, in the court . . . in my mind? Some walls were built by others, while some were of our own making. The hardest to escape were those we chose to remain behind of our own will.

Rising to my feet, I plucked several large leaves from a tree, then rinsed them in the stream. Once the fish were cooked, Zhangwei dropped them onto the leaves. I lifted one with my fingers—still hot—and bit into it, tender flakes falling onto my tongue. Despite the lack of seasoning, it was delicious, the flesh tender and sweet. We ate in silence, picking over the fish until all that remained was a pile of bones.

Zhangwei’s expression was unreadable as he rested an elbow on his raised knee. What we were doing seemed utterly mundane, sitting on the ground with the sky as our roof. Yet how full life seemed, how content my heart, as long as I reined in my wandering mind. He bent to pluck a flower, then leaned over to tuck it behind my ear. I should have swatted his hand away, tossed the flower into the fire. Yet something in his gaze held mine fast, my heart quickening against my will.

“Have you decided?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Whether you will trust me,” he remarked. “Since last night, you’ve drawn away again.”

I yanked out a blade of grass, twisting it around my finger. “Gods can lie as easily as mortals.” It was what I’d told him once; it still held true. Yet even as my mind tried to pull me from him, my heart edged closer. “I want to trust you . . . I did. But after yesterday, I don’t know what to think.”

“Then you never really trusted me; real trust is not so easily shaken. Or perhaps you were just looking for an excuse to run away.” His tone was unflinching, his mouth set into a hard line. “Stop being afraid. Stop running from me.”

“Then give me a reason to stay.”

The words slipped from me, my chest clenching. If he were not the God of War who needed the lotus from me, I would have trusted him long before—the moment he drew his sword to defend my people. I looked up at him, trying to gather the courage to speak, to give him the honesty that I craved from him. Lies were easier than the truth; they protected us, while the truth reached to where it hurt the most . . . to where there was the most to lose.

“There’s nothing I want more,” he said.

“But no matter what you say or do, no matter my feelings—the simple truth is that you need me to love you.” My hand covered my scar. “You need this to live.”

As he reached for me, I drew back—afraid my resolve would fall apart. I wanted more from him than these tentative declarations. “We already have an agreement. Don’t play with my heart; I can’t bear it.”

“I’ve told you before, I’m done playing games.” His voice roughened with emotion. “This is real for me; it’s always been real.”

“If I didn’t have the lotus, would it be different?” I demanded.

“No,” he said at once, light flaring in his eyes. “Because I’ll always need you to live.”