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Convenient excuses for bad behavior.

“Aunt Shou, do you agree with what he’s done: erecting the barriers over the river, distributing its power in this manner, punishing those who disagree with him? The invasion?” I kept my tone calm like I was seeking her opinion, rather than trying to influence it.

When she didn’t reply, I lifted the bell by my side. “You would have advised me better; you wouldn’t have let this happen in Tianxia.”

“He has his reasons,” she said tightly.

“Or do you want the invasion, to avenge your daughter?” I asked.

“My thirst for blood has been long quenched.” Her voice thickened with emotion. “I am sick of death; I’ve lived and breathed it for far too long.”

“Why don’t you stop him? Find a way to make him listen?” I said slowly. “You were very good at making yourself heard back in Tianxia.”

“Dalian is headstrong, yet he has his own strengths. I should have tried to soften some of his edges earlier, before he grew too set in his ways.” She looked down into the river. “I didn’t bring him up right, focusing my efforts on his sister because she was the heir.”

Was guilt behind this? Because she felt Dalian had been neglected in his childhood, she blamed herself for who he’d become? Regardless, she should stand up to him now rather than allowing him to continue along this treacherous path. It was never too late to become a parent. In some ways—much as I was reluctant to admit it—she was still mine. My guard was up, yet I couldn’t wholly shake the ease of familiarity. Sometimes being around her was harder than being around Dalian.

“How did your daughter die?” Part of me wanted to help her unburden this ancient grief—and another hoped she’d let something slip so I could secure an advantage. I was neither as compassionate nor as heartless as I should be.

“I was away when Queen Caihong’s soldiers came to our territory; they’d been patrolling more often, seeking to quell dissenters. I heard they attacked without warning—killing her.”

“It was an accident,” I said, recalling Zhangwei’s words.

“Does it matter?” she asked harshly. “My daughter is dead. The immortals took her from me.”

Maybe it was easier to believe in villainy than in the cruel accidents of life. Anger and vengeance struck outward, while the wounds of grief remained within. It was harder to look inward, but in the end, this was how we healed.

Aunt Shou continued, her voice dulled: “Dalian was gravely injured, but he survived. He carried her body back to us. Since that day, he was never the same, nor was I—the day we’d learned to hate.”

“I’m sorry for her death.” My tone gentled, her pain reaching me too.

“I blamed myself for not being there. In my grief, I relinquished the throne to Dalian when he asked. He had a plan to secure our vengeance, training in powerful magic that the immortals knew nothing of. He just needed the support of the court.”

And the army. I wondered at this magic he’d learned. Was that how he’d sealed the skies? Erected these barriers along the river?

Aunt Shou shrugged. “The rest you know. We lost the war. We were exiled here, though there was a kindness to it. In the beginning, we thrived here, supported by the wealth of the river. We were almost happy again.”

“Except for Dalian,” I guessed.

“He yearns for what we lost. He’s always wanted more.” The lines deepened along her forehead until she almost looked like the mortal aunt I’d loved. “I thought I was giving him his freedom in his childhood, while he imagined my neglect. This planted the seed in his mind that he was unfavored, unwanted—why he craves assurance, his inclination to dominate rather than persuade. How can you sway others when, deep down, you doubt your own worth?”

“We are more and less than what we’ve been taught, Aunt Shou. If one’s mind is closed, lessons fall on deaf ears. You can teach someone to shoot an arrow, but you cannot guide where it strikes.”

A long pause fell as she tilted her head back. “You don’t speak like you used to.”

“Maybe I’ve grown up,” I said quickly. “I’ve lived more in this year than my entire lifetime.”

Her eyes slid to me, bright with knowing. “I know when you’re hiding something, Liyen. I know you’re not what you say.”

Was that why she’d given me the bottle of scent? Was she trying to protect me in her own way? “I don’t know what you mean, Aunt Shou.” It was safer this way, no matter her intentions. “If I’m different, it’s because of what was done to me.”

“I won’t tell Dalian,” she assured me. “I care for you, too. I just hope you’ll see reason. You’re clever; you must realize there’s no way back for you. Your mother would never accept you, what you’ve become.” She didn’t sound spiteful or angry, just resigned.

I went cold inside, her words wounding deep—was it the truth in them? But Aunt Shou didn’t know my mother. Hate had a way of twisting one’s perspective.

I frowned, feigning confusion. “Aunt Shou, my mother is dead, along with my father.”

“I know you don’t trust me, but just listen.” Her voice turned persuasive. “This can be your home. Marry Dalian, share the burdens of his throne. Help him become the ruler I know he can be.”