Steelfire Province; Steelfire Capitol; 2,253 Miles From Tianhai

Shika Truthsworn weaved through a crowd of heretics, sickened by what she saw. Men drank from goblets designed to look like the head of a dragon with six horns and a long flowing mane . . .

Jada, the Celestial Dragon.

And these men were drinking from the relics of her mouth. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Women wearing coal black kimonos stitched with crimson zigzags shuffled toward a community dance. Moonlight played with their serpentine earrings, reflecting off ruby-studded eyes.

Bashe, the Python of the Nether.

Shika clenched her fists, hands shaking. Did these people have any respect for their gods?

“You’re getting that bloodthirsty look again,” a little girl’s voice whispered to her mind. “I like it!”

Shika tugged on her long sleeve, making sure it covered her pitch-black hand. She was robed in tight kimono. It was the nasty hue of coal, with a broad crimson stripe stretching diagonally across her chest. A pattern of bright red flames spotted the garment.

She wore her traditional white and black robes beneath the choking disguise. She’d even managed to procure a dark wig, because a hairless woman would stand out in the capital of the Steelfire Province.

The air smelled of smoke, and ash drifted from the sky, making her miss the fresh winds of the forest. Coal stained everything, from people’s fingers to their fine shoes. Which is probably why black was the color of choice.

“My good lady!” someone shouted from a booth. “Would you like—”

She ignored the vendor, hustling along a vast, crowded street. She passed merchant tents made of a dark cloth; red paper lanterns hung from their awnings, glowing with light.

She reached an expansive plaza, and would have cut straight through the middle, but that wasn’t a possibility. Not if she didn’t want to attract anyone’s attention.

Dozens of ladies were dancing around a vast tree sprouting from the center of the public square, providing entertainment for hundreds. As they swayed in tune with plucked instruments and tooting flutes, men in dark uniforms—with the symbol of red-hot fists sewn onto their backs—joined in.

“Their movements are too . . . perfect,” Yuèliàng whispered. “Push one of them over.”

Shika moved to obey, but as she lifted her foot to take a step toward the dance, she caught herself, foot hovering in the air. “No . . .”

“Do it.”

Shika forcibly slammed her foot down. “No!” She hurried along the outer edge of the square. “I am in charge. You answer to me.”

“You answer to me,” the spirit mimicked, mocking her.

Shika’s black hand grew cold. She clenched her dark fist as she felt something detach from it. A tiny ball of ink hovered up to her shoulder. She watched it in the side of her vision, refusing to look at it straight on.

Her gaze was fixed on a black, foreboding tower on the other side of the square. The multi-tiered structure reminded her of a Kaithist temple, though none of them were quite so high. While most temples were twenty to thirty stories tall, this skyscraper had to be at least seventy.

Her shoulder went frigid. Goosebumps puckered her flesh, and she shivered, glancing over. A young girl, no taller than the length of Shika’s hand, sat on her shoulder. Shadowy strands of hair swayed with a life of their own, while the sleeves and the hem of her dark robe fluttered in the wind. She was completely black, almost featureless.

“I hope that tower falls over.” Yuèliàng smiled, leaning back and staring at the top of the wáng’s headquarters.

There were seven wángs in the Dreadblade Empire, and each acted as lord over their individual province. They were a team, united under the banner of Emperor Taozong, the supreme heretic . . .

Shika had to breathe deep to keep her blood from boiling over. But she couldn’t help but hate the man. It was his fault the world was coming to an end. And the only way to stop that was to find Tàiyáng!

It was a widely known fact that Taozong had one of Tàiyáng’s shattered pieces, but facing the Emperor to acquire the spirit was a death wish—even with Yuèliàng’s chaotic power. It pulsed in Shika’s dantian, melding with an interweaving web of silver energy. Blade-maqi slid through her meridians like the sheathing edge of a sword, scraping against her veins. If she’d been anything less than Gold Core, they’d have been sliced to ribbons. The Path of a Thousand Blades was a merciless ally.

It had nearly killed her as a teen . . .

Her master had trained ten others, she being the eleventh. On the day of their advancement, only she managed to break through to the Lesser Gold Core without shredding her soul to a million pieces. She could see still hear the screams of her fellow disciples, still feel the warm spatters of blood on her skin as their bodies were sliced from the inside out.

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It appears that the Heavens favor you, Shika, her master had said, smiling down at her, his expression warm and inviting. He took her hand, and a decade of training followed, preparing her for this very task.

Yuèliàng and Tàiyáng have been shattered, her master told her. Find a piece of each of them. Bring them to me. For they are the key to healing our ever-dying world.

Shika had a part of Yuèliàng, though she never wanted to bind with the spirit. Her goal was to keep the spirit contained, and bring it to Master. All that changed the moment her supposed allies cornered her, pressing the points of their swords against her neck . . .

Without Yuèliàng, she would have died that day.

“Oh, that’s right!” Yuèliàng said in a cheery voice, dangling her legs over the edge of Shika’s shoulder. “I remember that fondly.” Her lips spread into an eager grin. “Are we going to kill more people soon?”

“Hush, Yuèliàng,” Shika said, approaching pristine stone steps. She marveled at how clean they were! As she ascended, she glanced over her shoulder. Her bare feet left ashen prints in her wake. Servants wearing red cloaks appeared from behind the statues of fists, scrubbing the stairs clean.

“Just so you know,” Yuèliàng whispered. “You can stop calling me Yuèliàng.”

Shika cocked a brow. “What would you have me call you instead?”

“Chaos. Destruction. Immanent Doom.” Yuèliàng shrugged.

“How about Yuè?”

“Yuè?” Yuèliàng scratched her chin. “Hm . . .”

Shika pulled an envelope from her pocket. It was stamped with the crest of the Steelfire Province—a fist punching toward her.

Weeks ago, when she reached this capitol, she signed up for an audience with the Steelfire Wáng. He was booked out months in advance, but when she mentioned her master’s name, the wáng’s clerk adjusted his schedule, and managed to squeeze her in for a meeting this evening.

Shika wasn’t even sure if the wáng held a piece of Tàiyáng—or Tài, if she was going to call Yuèliàng Yuè now. If he didn’t, he could at least point her in the right direction. Most would kill her for seeking out the remnants of the Harmonized One . . .

But not the Steelfire Wáng.

He was an old friend of Master’s.

Which is why she was surprised he made her wait two weeks to meet.

“Well, he is a busy man,” Yuè said, standing on her shoulder, hands on her hips. “Let’s hope he doesn’t like you.”

Shika frowned, clasping her hands in front of her, trying to keep them from shaking. Going into any meeting, especially one involving a man as powerful as this wáng, tightened her nerves. Words were not her forte. She was a swordswoman, not a politician!

“You’re probably wondering why I want him to hate you, hm?” Yuè was swaying back and forth, the hem of her robe sweeping with her movements. “If he hates you, then we fight!” Yuè punched a fist in the air. “If we fight, there is chaos.” She smiled. “Chaos, my friend, is music to my soul.”

“You don’t have a soul.”

“And neither do you.”

“Thank you.” Shika licked her lips. “You should probably hide.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want anyone seeing you.”

“They can’t.”

She reached a pair of studded, black doors. Two soldiers approached her from either side. They wore kabuto helmets, their faces exposed, the napes of their necks protected. Armor like mats of metal bamboo protected their vitals. Their white-hot fists looked as if they’d been dipped in molten steel.

“State your business,” one of them said, his upper face hidden by the shadow of his helmet.

Shika bowed at the waist. On instinct, she accessed her Bronze Senses, brushing invisible feelers against the soldiers’ dantians.

Mid Gold Cores. One level below her.

Not that they’d stand a chance against her sword . . .

She had a sudden urge to stab one and decapitate the other.

She rose from the bow, casting an irritated glance at Yuè as she held out an envelope, forcing her hand not to quiver. “I have an audience with Wáng Heatfaze,” she said.

The soldier snatched the envelope, and Shika grimaced, worried that his molten fingers would burn holes through the parchment. He glanced at the stamp before tearing the envelope open. After scanning the contents of the letter, he looked up. “Shika?”

“Yes,” Shika said.

“The runners didn’t find you, I assume?”

“The . . . runners?”

The soldier sighed. “Wáng Heatfaze isn’t available tonight.”

Shika stared, momentarily stunned before her skin prickled with heat.

“He canceled all of his appointments for the evening.” The soldier nodded toward the festivities below. “Decided to enjoy himself.”

“I scheduled this appointment weeks ago.”

“And some people scheduled it months ago.” He pointed over her shoulder. “Now leave.”

“But—”

“Leave!” Heat haze radiated from his helmet.

Shika gave a curt bow, warmth rushing up the back of her neck. “Kill him.” She had to forcibly stop herself from summoning Nightbane, her katana. She turned and descended the stairs, cheeks flushing as she left the guards behind.

She’d have to wait for the festivities to end if she wanted to talk with a clerk, and schedule another meeting. Ugh, but just thinking about that made her itch with impatience!

She’d wasted enough time in this wasteland. While these people partied, the very fabric of existence tore at the seams, bringing their world one step closer to complete and utter annihilation.

She needed to speak with the wáng tonight. And she would.

Now that she knew he was out amongst the common people, it would be easy to locate him. And once she did, she would get answers.

Yuè was giggling, twirling while spinning around Shika’s head. “Shika!” She clapped her hands. “Forcing your way into the presence of this man smells of utter mayhem!”

“I know,” Shika muttered, reaching the bottom of the steps. She flexed inky fingers, dark glove rippling. “I know . . .”