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His mouth drew into a thin line. “We did not kill him, nor was it in our power to heal him either.”
“Would you have saved him if you could?” Why did I ask?
“Yes.”
Against my judgment, his answer moved me. I stared at him, trying to uncover the lie in his words, but found none. Unsure of what to say, I fell silent, unable to shake the unwanted revelation that he might not be as heartless as I wanted to believe.
Our cloud approached a peak of blue-white stone rising from the glistening sands. In the distance, a mansion of dark wood and gleaming stone sprawled over the grounds, tucked within groves of bamboo and flowering gardens.
“Is this Her Majesty’s palace?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “Intruders tried to break into the Palace of Radiant Light earlier today, causing my delay. Queen Caihong commanded that you are to remain in my house for now, until the palace is secure. Accidents here can have dire consequences for mortals.”
“Why not send a messenger to delay my departure?” I demanded, forgetting to soften my tone.
“Her Majesty wanted to keep you close, in case of other attacks—whether here or in Tianxia. While your palace is guarded, the rest of your kingdom is not. She could summon you at any moment.”
“I am at Her Majesty’s disposal,” I said tersely. “Can I send word to my people? I don’t want them to worry at my absence.”
“I will send a messenger.” His gaze was piercing. “If you wish to return, I won’t hold you here against your will.”
I wanted to go home, but this was a rare chance that I’d be stupid to cast away. The Shield of Rivers and Mountains was here, maybe even in the God of War’s home. And if it wasn’t, I might be able to learn where it was instead of returning empty-handed.
“Will I be safe in your home?” I asked, as though considering my decision.
The god’s eyes flashed. Had I slighted his honor? If he was this easily offended, it was fortunate he couldn’t read my mind.
“Do you think I brought you here to harm you?” His voice was low, like he was holding his anger in check.
“I meant safe from these other dangers. If you wanted me dead, you’d have killed me before.”
“You should be more careful with your life,” he chided me. “Just because someone didn’t kill you yesterday is no assurance they won’t today. Alliances change, priorities shift, intentions are thwarted with ease.”
I quashed a spurt of fear. “I value my life greatly. If you prefer that I not stay with you—”
He made an impatient sound. “It was advice, no more. You are overly careless with your safety. Rest assured, no one has ever invaded my home. You will be safe there—as long as you obey me, and do nothing to endanger yourself.”
I nodded, even though the commanding way he spoke made me grit my teeth, even though I had no intention of obeying him.
“Give me your hand,” the God of War said abruptly.
Instinctively, I tucked it behind my back. “Why?”
He held out a strand of red thread with a gold bead in the middle. “Mortals are not allowed into the Immortal Realm. Her Majesty summons the rulers of Tianxia to visit her for the pledge of fealty, so an exception is made as part of our agreement with the Celestial Kingdom—but only once in a mortal’s lifetime. While you are in our realm, you are our guest, and your actions are our responsibility to bear. Once your time here ends, the bracelet unravels.”
“What happens if a mortal stays beyond that?” I was curious about these rules set in place to keep us out. Maybe the Celestial Emperor was concerned at the precedent this might set if every mortal under his domain wished to visit him.
“They die,” he said flatly. “There are no exceptions, and neither Queen Caihong nor I can do anything to prevent this.”
He knotted the string around my wrist, but not tight enough to cause discomfort. As his fingers brushed my skin, our eyes met—a shiver running through me.
I drew away at once, raising my chin. “Then it’s fortunate that I don’t intend to stay.”
6
The cloud set us down by tall ebony doors, inlaid with an intricate mosaic of mother-of-pearl. Gold-flecked lapis tiles lined the rooftops, with sculpted dragons and phoenixes rearing up from the ridges. The pathway was flanked by pear-blossom trees, their branches laden with tiny white flowers. An ebony plaque hung above the entrance, engraved with the characters: “Silver Willow Manor.”
I didn’t want to admire the God of War’s home; I wanted to despise it as much as I did him. But against my will, I was entranced, unable to look away from the ethereal vision. Immortals were rumored to carve jade from stone, weave silk from rain, pluck flowers from the clouds—and only now did I believe it. Yet this magnificent place was a jolting reminder of how shallow the god was beneath his harsh exterior. How could one who thrived on destruction live in such gloating, ostentatious splendor? It was clear the god didn’t care what became of his victims and the families he tore apart. How easily he must set them from his mind once he returned to his shining abode, where he evidently indulged his every whim.
