He then stood to his full height, the size of a child of five years, and strode away with such confidence one never would have guessed he could not see. Ai Ling drew another deep breath; was drained, but not in pain. She sat up, and the world spun momentarily.
“Silver Phoenix never loved you.” Gui Xin glided toward them. “I can’t believe you are such a romantic fool, Zhong Ye.”
Ai Ling’s heart lurched. She wanted to scream, run from him. She jabbed her nails into bloodied palms. He stood too near, unmoving.
“I’ve subjugated legions of demons, made them do my bidding. Your precious Silver Phoenix would be dead again, cast back into the underworld, if she hadn’t proven to be so . . . lucky.” Gui Xin paused in front of them, so close Ai Ling could see the individual gold threads of her sheath.
Zhong Ye tilted his head. “You talk too much.”
Ai Ling watched as if removed from her own self. She turned to see Chen Yong, surrounded by the faceless guards. He met her gaze.
She had led him into this. She would cry now, if she had the strength.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have targeted your true love.” Her melodic voice did not diminish her sarcasm. “Perhaps I should have aimed higher.”
A movement from the back of the chamber caught Ai Ling’s eye. The dagger Gui Xin had used to stab her rose into the air and flew like a silver streak toward Zhong Ye. Before she could grasp what was happening, the dagger erupted in a plume of dust a few feet from him.
“You surprise me, Gui Xin,” Zhong Ye said. His expression and stance had never changed. “You’re smarter than I thought . . . and more naive as well.”
He raised a hand. Two guards strode forward and caught Gui Xin by both arms, intent on dragging her out. The same guards who had been at her bidding just moments before. But two men were not enough. She thrashed on the floor. Two other guards grasped her by each leg, and hoisted her off the ground like a sow going to slaughter.
She writhed even then, in midair. A green sheen flared around her, and the guards let go, yelping. Ai Ling smelled burned flesh.
Gui Xin stood, smoothing her hands over her sheath. “Don’t be a fool, Zhong Ye. Reconsider.”
A green glow still rippled about her. The guards stood at a distance, wary.
“No.” Zhong Ye spoke in a quiet voice so filled with threat that Ai Ling shuddered. “Accept your fate, Gui Xin.”
“Like you accept yours?” Her smile was cutting.
The green glow suddenly evaporated with a faint buzz. Gui Xin’s head snapped back, and she gasped, the cords of her neck standing taut.
“Kill her,” he ordered the guards.
They picked her up and she was stiff, rigid as a plank. The room spun as her rabid screaming reverberated through the hall.
“Wait.” Zhong Ye raised one hand. Gui Xin had the sense to quiet herself.
“Don’t burn all of her.” Zhong Ye smiled coldly. “She can dwell forever with the restless spirits of the underworld.”
Gui Xin gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. “I’ll meet you there, Zhong Ye. You cannot live forever.”
He waved the guards away, and turned from her without another glance. He kneeled down beside Ai Ling and caressed her cheek. She flinched. “My blind one healed you,” he said, pulling her to her feet.
She stared into gray eyes. His hair was black, streaked with silver and plaited in a long queue. His eyebrows were so light they were nearly indistinguishable on his pale face. She willed herself to hold his gaze. And a sense of recognition sent terror ricocheting through her. Zhong Ye released her with gentle hands.
“You finally return to me.” He paced across the hard floor without sound, the flaps of his ornate robe whispering with each step.
Ai Ling felt light-headed. She tried to raise her hand to touch her wound, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen in place—just as Gui Xin had been. Her heart thumped harder against her chest. She took a breath, felt hysteria welling within her. She looked toward Chen Yong, who stood rigid, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. He was bound as well. She fought the urge to scream, to sob.
Zhong Ye slipped a hand inside his tunic, drawing out a long piece of red silk. A breast binder. He raised the fabric to his nose and breathed deep. “To think you hanged yourself with this on our wedding night, Silver Phoenix.” He fingered the delicate material. “I’ve waited over two centuries for you to come back to me, love.”
“My name is Ai Ling.”
He smiled. His brows lifted ever so slightly as he approached her, tucking the piece of fabric back into his robe. “Yes. And to think Master Wen brought you into this world. I nearly had him executed.” He chuckled.
“Fate amuses me. Who knew my worst enemy would be the one to bring my love back?” He raised his hand and stroked her cheek again. She jerked her head away, wanted to step back, but she could not move.
“You’re taller in this life. Not so womanly in shape. But still beautiful, if in a different way.” His hand glided down to her shoulder, the palm clasping the back of her neck. His fingers massaged the roots of her hair.
She didn’t realize her one braid had been freed until her hair floated around her face, settling against her neck and cascading across her chest. But Zhong Ye had not touched the ribbon that bound her hair. He had somehow loosened her braid without his hands. Ai Ling bit her lip until she tasted blood, mortified that she stood with her hair loose in front of Chen Yong and this stranger who spoke to her like a lover.
“Still beautiful indeed. And still untouched.” He smiled, pale lips drawn over perfect teeth. “Yes, I can sense it. You are pure. My fruit to pluck and taste.”
She spat at him. Her aim was true, and the glob of saliva hit his cheek.
Zhong Ye did not flinch. “Still feisty, too, I see.” He grinned and ran one elegant forefinger across his cheek, wiping the saliva off his face, then licked the same finger with his tongue.
“And still sweet as well.”
“I’ve come for my father,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Indeed. He was the bait that lured you to me. He is safe—the guest of honor at our wedding banquet this evening.”
“No,” she whispered.
“If you want to see your dear father alive, you will say yes, love,” Zhong Ye said.
He suddenly cast a look toward Chen Yong. “You have feelings for that mutt?” A small smile played on his mouth.
Ai Ling stared straight ahead, felt the color drain from her face. She refused to look at Chen Yong.
“Ah, but you waste your time. He has nothing to give you. He’s but a shell of a man.” Zhong Ye tutted his tongue. “Why waste your affections on a half-breed?” He wandered over to Chen Yong, and stood before him, considering him coldly.
Ai Ling finally looked at Chen Yong. The cords of his neck were taut, his jaws clenched tight.
“Your mother was a whore.” Zhong Ye enunciated the words, and they hung heavy in the air, like a living thing. “She rutted willingly with a foreigner, one of those pale barbarians from across the sea. Spread her legs like a bitch in heat.” Zhong Ye turned, walked a few steps forward.
He flicked a hand, and a faint image began to take shape beside him. It solidified into a woman, not much older than Ai Ling. She was regal, with a swanlike neck, her arms clasped before her within long silken sleeves. Her black hair was pulled to her nape and bejeweled. Her peach dress cascaded to the ground, and she seemed to float.
Her complexion was as fine as porcelain, her large black eyes filled with a sadness beyond anything Ai Ling could grasp or describe. This young woman gazed at Chen Yong, who raised his head to meet her eyes. Ai Ling saw his face crumple for an instant, then change to stone in the next.
“I made sure your mother paid for her whorish ways. Poisoned ever so slowly; she lost her sight first, then the feeling in each limb.” Zhong Ye flicked his hand again, and the figure blurred, wavered like a mirage on a scorching day. He pursed his lips and took a breath, and the image of Chen Yong’s mother swirled into his mouth in a fluid stream. Zhong Ye’s eyes glittered with pleasure, triumph.