Page 85 of Immortal

“Zhangwei is near.” I grinned, trying to figure out where he was, wanting to rush to him. “We must find the soldiers and join him. We’ll be safe now.”

“Zhangwei?” Chengyin repeated, his eyes pinched together. “You’re on familiar terms with the God of War.”

“We’ve been through a lot. Let’s find him first,” I suggested. “He might need help.”

Chengyin’s lip curled. “It’s unlikely the God of War will need any mortal’s aid.”

“Mortal?” I repeated slowly, the disdain in his tone jarring me . . . a hateful suspicion unfurling in my mind.

“Come, I’ll take you to our soldiers first.” He extended his hand to me. As his sleeve slid back, I caught sight of the scar on the underside of his wrist—the one I’d given him when we were children. It had never wholly faded, still a faint purplish red like it was newly inflicted.

I nodded at the scar, furrowing my brow. “Does it still hurt? You should be more careful when training with the soldiers.”

Just the barest pause as he smiled. “I will. It won’t happen again.”

The most powerful Wuxin can even steal another’s form.

This was not Chengyin. The scar was one I’d given him, years ago when we’d broken his mother’s vase—and he’d never let me hear the end of it.

I swallowed my terror, stamping it down, forcing my lips into a rictus of a smile. My only chance lay in being the better liar. “Show me the way. I’ll follow you; I can’t walk as fast.”

As the imposter stalked ahead, I slowed my steps to fall behind, my hand closing around the hilt of my sword. I had one chance; I mustn’t falter, recalling all Zhangwei had taught me. Drawing my blade, I raised it to strike—but he spun around, a flash of green light erupting from his hand. I ducked, then drove my sword at his chest. He swung back swiftly—my blade piercing his shoulder instead, a fierce satisfaction surging through me. The Wuxin hissed in fury, blood oozing from the wound. How vicious he looked, eyes slitted with malevolence.

“Try that again and I’ll bring you back in pieces,” he snarled.

“You need me alive, or you’d have killed me already,” I shot back. If I gave up now, I’d stop fighting.

As I lifted my sword again, a whip appeared in his hand, seething with greenish light. He flung it toward me, wrapping it around the length of my arm—the pain almost blinding, worse than the immortal queen’s punishment. I gasped as my blade fell from my hand.

He was studying it, his eyes alight. “Your weapon is the companion blade to the God of War’s. How did you get it?”

I stared at him blankly, dazed by this revelation. Why would Zhangwei entrust me with this sword? Was it because I had the lotus?

“I’ll tell you nothing,” I said with feeling.

“It doesn’t matter.” He picked up the sword—but as his fingers touched the black jade hilt, it glowed with an unearthly light. An unseen force shoved him back, red welts forming across his fingers. The sword shimmered, then abruptly disappeared. I hoped Zhangwei sensed this, that he was near.

The imposter was nursing his hand, still searching for the sword. I scrambled away—but he lunged at me, wrapping his hand around my throat. In the same move, he brought me to the ground, pinning me down effortlessly like I was a doll in his grasp. As I struggled, the pins fell from my hair, the coils unraveling down my back.

“Liyen!” Zhangwei’s voice called out, ringing with urgency and fear.

Hope flared, even as despair mounted. I kicked wildly at the Wuxin, gathering my strength as I screamed—a piercing cry, the sole defense left to me. Zhangwei would hear it; he would come. My scream was cut off as the Wuxin’s fingers squeezed my neck tighter, choking me. I was lightheaded, dizzy, yet his grip was relentless, his nails digging into my throat. His eyes shone, ringed with copper. How could I have ever thought he was Chengyin? I clawed at him, clinging to consciousness, but as his hands clenched harder, I was lost—the night rising up to drown me.

Part Three

31

I lay on a hard surface, my body numb, my head pounding. As I inhaled, an unfamiliar scent wafted into my nose of cedarwood and earth. My neck was tender where the imposter had throttled me; when I swallowed, it hurt. Pain throbbed along my arm where his whip had struck, the welts still raw.

I opened my eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness. Sunlight fell in amber shafts through the window. A quick glance assured me that my garments were intact, the ones I’d worn yesterday. Yet the sword from Zhangwei had gone, vanished when the imposter tried to take it.

The thin mattress beneath me was covered with a rough sheet, stained in places. Revolted, I scrambled up, fighting a wave of panic at the sight of my surroundings: the closed door, gray stone walls, a solitary window fenced with bars that gleamed with an eerie light. I tried the door first, wrenching it—but it was locked as expected. Climbing onto the chair, I peered through the window. The sky beyond blazed with rose and vermilion like dawn and dusk entwined. It was beautiful, if only terror did not spear me at the sight.

I was no longer in my world.

Reaching toward the window, I yanked at the bars. A humming ripped through the air, the metal scorching my hands. I cried out, staring at the cuts crisscrossing my palms. How they seared, like I had scraped them against a bed of nails.

Footsteps sounded from outside. Something clinked, a lock unlatching as the door swung open. A man strode into the cell, his purple brocade robe trimmed with white fur. It was Chengyin—the false one. This monster had stolen my friend’s body. My hands balled into fists. Anger was good; it helped me forget my fear and misery, the very thing these creatures thrived on.