Though we were of a similar height, Lady Xihe seemed to loom above me, even without her headdress of shining stones. Her black hair was coiled upon her head, held in place by a circle of ruby pins, the tips as sharp as daggers. Her black eyes were ringed with gold like a hawk’s and her cheeks were flushed with the radiance of dawn. Delicate lines traced her skin in intricate imprints of feathers as the rounded curves of her face flared from her pointed chin. Talons arched from her fingertips, a glossy red like they were dipped in blood. The light from the chamber beyond cast shadows across her, lending her a forbidding air. Or was it the way her lips pulled into a thin slash, the power that emanated from her like heat from a flame? She looked as different from my mother as ink from water, the sun from the moon—and utterly striking in her own way.

“Who are you?” She neither inclined her head nor invited me in—prudent, as that might be an unnecessary complication. After all, it would violate the rules of hospitality to kill a guest.

The lies I had practiced stuck in my throat. In the silence, the goddess’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Tell me who you are,” she repeated, this time in a tone of command.

Caution warred with my heart, honor battling self-preservation. Prince Yanming’s face flashed through my mind, my chest squeezing with agony. Such lies might have fallen glibly from my tongue before, but they stuck in my throat now, and I knew they would ring false. Something in me was forever changed since death had shadowed my life. I hurt for all the goddess had lost, for what she suffered. Had I become weaker? Perhaps, but I preferred to believe this was a different type of strength. Oh, I did not intend to sacrifice myself to her vengeance, yet this was a chance to do what the dragons had wished of me, to say what should have been said a long time ago—to try to ease the goddess’s anguish.

Cupping my hands together, I stretched them out and bowed low. I was not begging for mercy, nor was I deluded enough to think this adequate recompense. “Lady Xihe, I am Xingyin, the daughter of Chang’e and Houyi.”

“I know.” Her words rang with indisputable certainty, seething with fury. “Whoever gave you the key did you no favor. It reveals your identity, for I tolerate no pretenders in my grove.”

Inwardly, I cursed the Celestial Empress, and myself for not suspecting the trap. She had yielded it too eagerly—purposefully, I had no doubt. She would be glad for my death, or was I intended as her peace offering to the Sun Goddess?