“Father, you must stay on the cloud, out of reach,” I urged him. “It’s too dangerous without your magic; we might not be able to protect you.” I added the last to force his hand. My father was not one to remain on the sidelines of a battle.

He nodded grimly. “I will cover you from here.” Raising his silver bow, another arrow gleamed between his fingers.

Guests had fled the pavilion, running across the clouds. Shouts rang out, confused and afraid. My father’s arrows plunged forth in swift succession, our bolts of magic streaking through the air, crashing against the soldier’s shields as Liwei and I fought our way back into the pavilion. At last I saw him, the tall figure clad in crimson, his robes a match to mine.

Wenzhi and his brother circled each other. Sweat glistened on their faces, light streaming from their palms into their swords. Prince Wenshuang swung his weapon in a wide arc, slashing at his brother’s head—Wenzhi driving his blade up to catch the blow. They struggled, metal scraping, faces taut with strain. Wenzhi’s hands whitened around the hilt, ice crystals rippling along the blade as he pressed forward, breaking his brother’s hold—Prince Wenshuang staggering back. Catching his balance, Prince Wenshuang hurled streaks of crimson flame toward Wenzhi, who summoned waves of water to engulf it. Their magic arced through the air, dazzling and dangerous, their blades crashing in a frenzied rhythm until my insides recoiled at the sight. While Wenzhi fought with his usual grace and skill, he held back each blow, tempering his strikes … unwilling to kill.

As more of Prince Wenshuang’s soldiers advanced toward Wenzhi, I channeled my magic to summon a gale, hurling them back. Beside me, Liwei unleashed waves of flame, keeping the rest at bay. This fight would be a fair one, the victory clean.

Fire and ice scattered in a hellish storm. The combatants were tiring, their skin glistening with sweat and blood. Wenzhi raised his sword high, only to drop it low at the last moment, spinning around to drive it through Prince Wenshuang’s gut. Blood spurted out in a crimson stream. Prince Wenshuang cried out, his sword falling from his hand—as Wenzhi’s arm swung down again, pressing the edge of his blade against his brother’s neck.

Triumph soared through my veins, tempered by a churning unease. Victories tainted by blood were not easy ones to relish.

“Finish it,” Prince Wenshuang snarled, his eyes squeezed with loathing.

I willed Wenzhi to lift the blade, to slice the tender veins of his brother’s throat, to stab the core of his lifeforce. His half-brother had poisoned his father, tormented Wenzhi, plotted against him at every turn, even tried to slay him in cold blood. Prince Wenshuang had earned his death ten times over. Still, Wenzhi said nothing, even as his hand remained steady and his gaze, hard.