The Celestial Emperor stilled. Had Liwei’s words reminded him of the many speculative eyes watching? Silent tongues which might withhold their judgment here might not be so restrained when they returned home. Had he been deemed just and benevolent? Or capricious and cruel? As for me, Liwei had irrevocably linked our fates together. “My” choices had become “our” choices. My punishment would be his, too. I had fought for Liwei in the Eternal Spring Forest, just as he was fighting for me here. Then I shook my head to banish such thoughts. As he had told me before, there was no need for such accounting between us. No matter how our paths diverged, our bond remained intact.
“Your Celestial Majesty,” the silken tones of Minister Wu slithered forth once more. “I humbly advise you to quash such defiance at once. This girl and her mother will make a mockery of the Celestial Kingdom. Do not forget how Chang’e concealed her child’s existence from you, just as her daughter attempted to deceive you now. What if others believe they can trick you so and escape unscathed?”
Liwei rounded on him, pointing to where I lay slumped upon the floor. “Unscathed? Can you bear the Sky-fire as she did? She has more than paid for any offense—”
“Silence!” the emperor lashed out, gripping the armrests of his throne.
The air was stifling, thick with tension. No one dared to move, not even the empress, as she stared at Liwei with wide disbelieving eyes.
The Celestial Emperor’s mouth clamped into thin lines. Ice glistened in the air once more as my body recoiled in remembrance of the torment, bracing for death’s embrace.
The sharp click of boots against the tiles broke the stillness. An aura approached—steady, resolute, and strong—that of General Jianyun. Before the dais, he sank to his knees.
“Your Celestial Majesty. Before you pass judgment, it is your loyal servant’s duty to remind you that the First Archer saved the Celestial Army from the Demon Realm’s heinous trap today. The soldiers wish to show her their gratitude and even now, they await outside.” He raised his head, gesturing to the entrance of the hall.
I looked up in disbelief, staggering to my feet, ignoring the pain that bloomed with each movement. Slowly, I turned, following the sweep of General Jianyun’s hand. The courtiers before me parted, whispering among themselves.
Shuxiao stood near the entrance—and just behind her, beyond the hall, was a sea of Celestial soldiers, stretching out farther than I could see. As one, they bowed, sunlight rippling over their armor, a wave of golden-white fire. My heart caught in my throat as the pain in my body subsided. Tears sprang into my eyes as I lowered myself to them in return.
I was not loyal to the Celestial Kingdom. But I was loyal to my friends; those I had fought with, those I had bled with. As I straightened, my eyes met Shuxiao’s. I lifted my hand to her in greeting. I suspected I had much to be grateful to her for. Who else would have informed General Jianyun and brought the army here?
The army of the Celestial Emperor.
My skin crawled along the back of my neck. Recalling myself, I spun around and sank to my knees again. I would not plead or beg; it would do no good. “Your Celestial Majesty, I am no traitor. I fulfilled the terms of our bargain and I await your justice.” My words were graceless, my voice hoarse from my screams—yet whatever came after, there was a peace in knowing that I had done all I could.
The murmurs in the hall swelled louder, several courtiers shaking their heads. While the soldiers did not disperse, remaining at the entrance of the hall.
The Celestial Emperor’s face was a mask of regal poise, without a trace of his vehemence and rage from a moment ago. And when he spoke, his tone was steady and calm. “First Archer Xingyin. In gratitude for your noble service, we will grant your wish. Chang’e is pardoned and will henceforth be free to leave the moon. However, she is not to shirk her responsibilities. As the Moon Goddess, it still falls upon her to ensure the moon rises each night—without exception.”
A heartbeat of silence. Then the cheering erupted, within and beyond the Hall of Eastern Light. If there were those who disagreed, the empress or Minister Wu, their protests fell on deaf ears. I sank back onto my heels, feeling the tension slide from my body, even as my mind whirled. The emperor’s pardon was generous. Magnanimous. Wholly unexpected. I knew as he did, that I had not truly fulfilled my quest; I had not done what he wanted. He was within his right to deny his side of the bargain, when he was also my judge. His grace was well calculated, reading the mood of the court and of his soldiers—to preserve his honor and reputation. And I heard, too, the threat in his words. All was not well. And there would be no mercy a second time.