Page 182 of The Immortal’s Mark

Chapter 29

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Emperor Ren

She sleeps against my chest, and I have stopped counting the hours.

The horse moves beneath us in a rhythm I no longer notice. The road unfolds ahead—familiar terrain, the route back to the palace—but I am not watching the road. I am watching the rise and fall of her breathing. The way her fingers have curled, unconsciously, into the fabric of my sleeve.

She is alive. I observe this. I catalog it: the warmth of her back against my ribs, the weight of her head tilted toward my shoulder, the soft sound she makes when the horse jostles her. These are facts. I collect them the way I once collected intelligence reports, with the same clinical attention.

I am aware that this is not normal behavior for an emperor.

I am aware that the emperor does not ride with an assassin in his arms through open country, does not refuse to let her take her own horse, does not spend the journey memorizing the way she breathes instead of reviewing strategy for the return to court.

I am aware. I do not correct it.

You are staring, Tianlong observes. He is coiled around her wrist in his smallest form—a bracelet of ancient scales, golden eyes half-lidded. He has not left her since she woke. Neither have I.

“She is sleeping,” I say, though this requires no saying.

She has been sleeping for three hours. You have been staring for three hours. I am simply noting the correlation.

“Your observations are—”

Accurate. Yes. I know.

She shifts against me. A small sound—not pain, not distress. Just the sound of someone dreaming. I find that my arm has tightened around her waist. I note this. I do not loosen my grip.

“She died yesterday.”

I am aware.

“She should not be riding alone.”

She is not riding alone. She is riding with you. This is, I suspect, the actual point.

I consider arguing. The effort seems excessive. Tianlong is correct, and we both know it. She could ride her own horse. She is immortal. She does not need me to hold her upright.

I am holding her anyway.

She is weaker than usual, Tianlong observes. The resurrection took more from her this time.

I do not respond. He does not require confirmation.

She sleeps too much.

“I am aware.”

More than usual. Something is different.

I feel him studying her through our bond—those ancient senses reaching, cataloging. Then his voice again, quieter now.

Many things are different now, little flame. Some of them you will understand soon. Some of them I suspect you already understand and are simply not yet ready to name.

I do not ask what he means. I am not certain I want the answer.

She makes another soft sound. Her hand tightens on my sleeve. I adjust my grip to accommodate her, shifting so that her head rests more securely against my shoulder.