Page 96 of Immortal

If you were restored through the Elixir of Immortality, it would be a smoother transition. However, you regained your immortal awareness here. Your memories are still fragmented; it will take time to recall your years. Rest will hasten the process.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

A brief silence. Don’t thank me; I gave you nothing. This path is of your own making.

* * *

The guards were waiting outside. They closed around me when I emerged from the temple, though I was relieved to find the loathsome Captain Rao had gone. We walked in silence down the stairs, back to the pier. Lord Dalian’s barge was no longer there, a small wooden boat in its place, the prow carved with a bird, its plume painted bright orange.

Aunt Shou sat within. At the sight of me, she rose to her feet. “Is it done?”

Her knowing tone hurt. She was Dalian’s accomplice; she had plotted to take my choice from me. But I hid my emotions, fixing a smile on my face. Aunt Shou would be hard to deceive; she had known me since I was a child.

“Yes,” I told her, stepping onto the boat.

It set off at once. The vessel was small but swift as it glided along the river, heading back toward the palace.

Aunt Shou’s eyes flicked to my hair. A frown lined her forehead, but she returned my smile. After all, she had no reason to doubt; she knew nothing of the gift I’d received. “This is for the best. You are powerful now. Eternal.”

She was careful not to say “immortal,” careful to avoid any mention of my true heritage, the one they’d try to steal from me. I swallowed my anger; I had to convince them their scheme had worked. It was the only way to gain their trust, to secure a chance for Chengyin and me to escape.

The void birds shrieked, a pair breaking away to soar toward me, their beaks and talons glinting like spear tips. I cursed in my mind, afraid they would attack me, revealing my farce—but light shot from Aunt Shou’s hand toward them, the birds flying away at once.

“They might take a while to get accustomed to you.” She pressed a small amber bottle into my hand. “It’s our scent that they’re attuned to. Yours might differ from ours, given your transformation. Wear this fragrance for now; it will keep them away.”

“Thank you, Aunt Shou.” Her expression did not waver, though I searched her for any sign of suspicion. I uncorked the bottle and shook out a drop of clear liquid, then rubbed it over my wrists—an earthy sweetness rising in the air.

“It reminds me of the fragrance of the desert,” she said, a trace wistfully. “I miss it sometimes. Though we’ve made a new home here, part of us was left in the skies.”

As another void bird circled us, I stiffened—but it ignored me this time.

“Do you feel well, child?” Aunt Shou asked.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to hide my unease. “I’m tired, Aunt Shou. The mirror said I needed to rest.”

She patted my shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

Home? A chill shot through me. I fell silent, staring at the reddish skies in the horizon, the gleaming waters of the Wangchuan River beneath us.

“There was no taint in the pond.” I was careful to keep the accusation from my tone.

“Not in the Temple of the Crimson Moon,” she admitted, touching the bell by her waist. “But it’s true that the power drawn from the Wangchuan River has diminished of late. No one knows why, but this affects us all. Once, these waters satisfied our needs—yet now it must be rationed. We will weaken if this continues; this is why we need the Mortal Realm.”

I looked ahead, straining to appear indifferent. “How are the waters rationed, Aunt Shou? How do you feed from it?”

Aunt Shou bent to dip her hand in the river as she closed her eyes. The bell by her waist glowed, a soft chime ringing out as specks of greenish light rose from the water to settle over her skin. When she opened her eyes, the copper rings around her pupils gleamed brighter, her skin flushed. “Once you grow more adept at this, you can choose the emotions you wish. The Wangchuan River holds many memories—not just sorrow, but also joy and love so great it was hard to relinquish.”

Aunt Shou reached into her pouch, drawing out a gold bell like hers, like the one Lord Dalian and Captain Rao wore. As she tied it to my waist, it clinked against the seal of Tianxia. I suppressed the urge to tear the bell away. It did not belong there, just as I didn’t belong here.

“Why are ours crafted of gold?” I asked. “Most of the others wear bronze ones.”

Her expression clouded, her mouth pursed. “Dalian devised this scheme to ration the river’s power. Different restraints are set upon the different bells. Once we reach our limit, we cannot feed from the river until the next week.”

“Who sets the limits?” I already knew, but wanted her to acknowledge it—sensing her disapproval.

“Dalian.” She continued quickly, not wanting to dwell on this. “Your hunger may be different because you were mortal; you may not suffer the same cravings as us. Let your body guide you. When you feel weak, you should feed as I did.”

“What if we don’t feed?”