Page 19 of Immortal

“Thank you. I am grateful for your hospitality,” I told her, already eager to sink into the water.

She inclined her head. “You are Lord Zhangwei’s guest.”

Without another word, she left the room. I waited until her steps had faded before closing the door. For want of a lock, I dragged a side table across the entrance and set a porcelain vase upon it, where the slightest jostle would cause it to crash. None of this would yield any protection in a household of immortals, but it offered the illusion of safety.

Alone, I sank onto a stool, my heart racing. It didn’t feel real that I was here. It was wondrous, as my grandfather had said, but I understood now what he meant—for despite the extravagant beauty here, I still longed for home.

Shaking my head, I pulled myself up. The Queen of the Golden Desert might summon me tomorrow, and I could find myself home by nightfall. I wouldn’t waste my precious time among the immortals. I had to find a way for us to be free of them, and it would start here. Guilt pricked me at my plans to violate the god’s hospitality, but I extinguished it. No matter the glimpses of consideration the God of War had shown, they didn’t change who he was—and how Grandfather had died trying to protect us from the immortals’ wrath. Bitterness surged as I unsheathed the sword that Lord Zhangwei gave me, angling the blade to catch the light. I’d almost been afraid he’d ask for its return. Maybe to him it was a common weapon, maybe he believed I was no threat to him, yet this meant I was no longer helpless here, for only an immortal weapon could hurt a god.

7

I spent the next morning exploring the buildings clustered around the main hall, connected by the pathways through the gardens. The flowers and trees were immaculately tended, the ponds filled with glistening carp. While there were fewer rooms than my home, each one was beautifully furnished. To the east were the God of War’s quarters, while the rooms in the west were vacant except for mine. The library, kitchens, and attendants’ quarters were situated in the north.

As for the South Courtyard—I headed there the first chance I got, surprised to find the place unguarded. The grounds were surrounded by a high wall, one without an entrance or window. Gilded stars, intricately carved with eight points, were set evenly in a single row. Peach-blossom trees towered from within the courtyard, their blooms clustered along the branches like rose-tinted clouds.

My pulse quickened, my senses stirred. Something vital lay within, something the god wanted to hide. An enemy’s secret could be a powerful weapon. I dug my fingers into the stone crevices, as slippery as half-thawed ice. Was this some magic to deter trespassers? I scrambled up a short way, clawing at the wall—but slipped, falling against the grass. A bruise darkened my knee, fortunately the worst of my injuries. From the pouch by my sash, I dug out a small porcelain jar and applied some of the ointment to the swollen flesh, a blend of aloe and pomegranate. As the ache eased, a memory drifted back of how the god had healed me before, though my wounds then had been far worse. How easy everything was for the immortals, with the effortless power they possessed.

As I studied the wall again, one of the gilded stars gleamed brighter like it was polished more often. I traced its carving, set a little deeper than the others. Was this for a key? When the God of War forbade me from this place, he’d touched a carved ornament by his waist, one that just might fit here if I could take it from him.

After dusting the soil from my robe, I headed to the library. There were no guards, just a pair of stone lions flanking the entrance, their bulbous eyes gleaming as I walked past them to enter the chamber. Wooden pillars stretched from the tiled floor to the ceiling, inscribed with the characters of a poem. Lanterns with colored tassels hung from the beams, low tables skirting the walls, each one stacked with paper, inkstones, and bamboo brushes. A painting mounted on black brocade hung in the middle of the room—an elaborate scene spanning palaces on clouds, pagodas on earth, mountains and waterfalls, phoenixes soaring in the skies. As a breeze darted through the windows, the delicate tinkling of a windchime broke the silence.

All around were wooden shelves crammed with books and scrolls, each promising a safe escape to magical realms, a glimpse into the mysteries of our world, excitement and wonder in their pages. This was wealth. Eternity would be well spent within these walls. My eyes darted around, unsure where to start, afraid to miss something. It would take more than my lifetime to read everything here . . . and I had days, at most, or as long as the red thread remained knotted around my wrist.

“Knowledge is one of the greatest weapons,” my grandfather had told me. “Arm yourself well, for there are times words can reach where a sword cannot.”

I picked up a book from a nearby shelf, flicking through its pages before laying it aside. Then I reached for another, one of poetry. More followed, books piling on the tables around me. I almost resented the urgency of my search when all I wanted was to run my hands over each volume and slowly unravel its secrets. If only I had a month here, a year, a decade. If only this place did not belong to the God of War so I could admire it without feeling this spike of resentment.

I lingered over a book that detailed the magic of immortals known as Talents. Their powers intrigued me, aligned to the elements of Fire, Water, Earth, and Air, with some even possessing the ability to heal. The God of War must be skilled in Fire, my home still bearing the marks of his assault. According to the book, there were also several things that all immortals were able to do regardless of their Talent: flying on clouds, healing minor wounds, summoning small objects, and shielding themselves from harm.

The doors creaked open, as someone strode into the library. I looked up, expecting a guard or Weina, but it was the God of War in a robe of midnight brocade, his long hair gathered into a silver ring. His sword was slung across his back, it shouldn’t be a surprise that he carried it even in his own home. At the sight of me, he stilled—as I did at seeing him.

“I didn’t expect you to be here.” I gestured at the books, feeling a little foolish given this was his home, his library.

“Why? Because you didn’t think I could read?” he asked coolly.

It cut a little close to the truth. “I didn’t think you liked to read.”

He folded his arms as he leaned against a wooden pillar. “What did you imagine I liked to do?”

Fight. Hunt. Kill. I couldn’t say that aloud, my mind searching for a more suitable reply. As his gaze slid to the piles of books scattered around, a frown creased his face.

“I’ll put everything back,” I said at once, flushing at my thoughtlessness.

“Do you know how?”

His question seemed almost a challenge, one that offered an opportunity. “Yes, if you’ll tell me how the collections are organized,” I said quickly.

“By color.” He plucked a book from a shelf, angling it to reveal a green streak at the base of its spine, then glanced at the tassels of the lanterns hanging above.

“What do the colors mean?” This would make sifting through the texts much easier.

He nodded at the painting I’d admired when I entered. “Use that as the guide.”

Only now did I notice the tiny characters inscribed above each section in different colors. As I studied the details of a painted dragon, I asked, “Blue is for mythical creatures?”

“Mythical?” A note of amusement rang in his tone.

“Of course they are real here,” I corrected myself, wonder battling with fear. Dragons were revered by my people for their wisdom as much as their power, but they were still frightening to behold with their fangs and claws.