“Father, you must not go,” I said quickly, evading his question. “Lady Xihe would show you no mercy. You won’t be safe there.”

“She will show you no mercy either,” he reminded me.

“She does not know me, but she would recognize you and Mother at once,” I reasoned. “Your presence will only enrage her further. You don’t have your powers; you can’t defend yourself against her. You should go someplace safe, along with Shuxiao.”

Come with us, the Long Dragon offered. We will tend to your wounded.

“Can you heal her?” I asked the Long Dragon.

Yes, though it will take some time to remove the taint from her blood.

I lowered my head. “I am grateful.”

I crouched down beside Shuxiao, placing my hand over hers. “I will see you soon, my friend.”

She smiled weakly. “Count on it.”

The Long Dragon cocked its head toward my father. Will you return to your home?

My father nodded as he handed the Jade Dragon Bow to me, and after a brief hesitation, I accepted it. Relief flooded me that they would be safe with the dragons, out of harm’s way.

The Long Dragon straightened, its tail lashing the air. A luminous mist flowed forth, surrounding my parents and Shuxiao, and lifting them upon its back. As it took flight, my mother and Shuxiao sat stiffly with their hands clenched, while my father showed no trepidation—he must have ridden upon the dragons countless times before.

Clouds were summoned to bear us away. As I started toward Liwei’s cloud, Wenzhi caught my arm in a light hold. Before I could snatch it away, Wenzhi cast a meaningful glance at the Celestial Empress. “Would you prefer to ride with her?”

My gut recoiled at the thought. As I strode to Wenzhi’s cloud, Liwei’s guarded expression pricked me. The moment we were out of sight, I pulled free of Wenzhi’s hold, though his touch—anyone’s touch—was a thread of comfort amid this sea of sorrow.

The wind blew incessantly against us, and I was glad for its howling to drown my thoughts. Wenzhi was silent at first, perhaps sensing I was not in the mood for conversation.

“Don’t blame yourself, Xingyin,” he said at last. “Prince Yanming’s death was an accident, a great misfortune. No one could have foreseen it. Perhaps this is fate, as the mortals would say.”

“No,” I said fiercely, a fire roused in me. “I don’t believe in fate, destiny, or letting things take their course. If so, I would still be serving an unworthy mistress in the Celestial Kingdom, my mother would be a prisoner on the moon, my father would have died in the Mortal Realm and … Ping’er and Prince Yanming would be alive.”