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excerpt from The God-Dragon's Wife by Annika Sage Ellis

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For an eternal, ever-boasting, universally large, and infinitely powerful God-Dragon, Yu-Qi was remarkably difficult to keep track of. It seemed every moment Xinya turned her back, the First Moon Incarnate had slipped away again, wandering the palace halls, toying with servants as was her wont, and on the whole embodying her domain of passion. She picked up and put down activities as a butterfly flitted from flower to flower. It seemed her most recent obsession was to frustrate Xinya as much as possible.

Stalking from wing to wing of the palace in search of Yu-Qi had proven fruitless, so Xinya enlisted the help of her servants, the priests, the guards, anyone she could think of. It had been hours since she’d last seen Yu-Qi face to face, and shuddered to think what that meant. And shuddered again, as she passed the palace temple, and thought about how long it had been since she had prayed.

Xinya clenched her hands inside her robes and dismissed the sinking feeling in her gut. There was no reason to pray, with the God-Dragons dormant as they had been, and one of them supposedly at her beck and call here in her very palace. When she was supposedly betrothed to Yu-Qi, the very God-Dragon that blessed her birth, what purpose could prayer have served, as of late?

Frantically pacing the palace halls, she wondered what purpose, indeed, it might have served.

“Your Greatness!” gasped a nervous Jao.

Xinya spun on her heel and without hesitation asked, “You’ve found her?”

“Yes, in the gardens.” She rushed forward, hands clasped, and nearly begged. “You must come quickly.”

Dread rushed to Xinya, a dozen questions and possibilities flooded her mouth, but she held her tongue and went. Jao led her with a haste she hadn’t seen in years, speaking only to dismiss others on the hunt for Yu-Qi. Curiosity lingered in the air wherever they went, unspoken questions in every repeated Yes, Lady Jao or Be well, Your Greatness. They weren’t foolish enough to ask aloud, thankfully.

The sweet scent of the garden’s fruit and flowers brought Xinya no peace this time. The vines creeping over the iron arch were long fingers on sinister hands, every bush and tree hid treachery, even the blooms stretched uncannily like jaws.

The path Jao led her on was so familiar. Xinya knew every twist and turn of the garden, but this route in particular was an intimate habit, one she didn’t realize they’d undertaken until she reached the end of the gravel. Jao stepped aside, murmuring something, but Xinya couldn’t hear her.

Under the branches of a great tree with delicate white blooms and verdant leaves, sat Ly-Yun, in his favorite chair and ever-catatonic state. He stared into the middle distance, unaware and unthinking, while Yu-Qi circled him like a vulture.

“What are you doing?” Xinya demanded.

“Oh.” Yu-Qi acknowledged her with a smile, oblivious or uncaring to her distress. “Hello, beloved.”

“I asked you a question—what are you doing?”

“Meeting your father, of course.” She knelt at Ly-Yun’s feet, staring into his distant eyes like a cat watches a bird from a windowsill. “He’s nothing like your mind told me. So lifeless. Like a doll.”

“I’ve also told you he’s ill. Step away.”

“But I’m so curious about him, dear.” She raised a finger in a dreadfully familiar shape. It morphed into a dragon’s claw, glinting in the sun. “You hardly speak of him, so I thought I should let him speak for himself.”

“If you do anything to him, I swear—”

“Be at peace, little queen.”

Yu-Qi raised her other hand. Xinya felt her knees weaken, and she buckled to the gravel. Jao raced forward to help her stand, but she was already crawling.

“Don’t touch him!” she cried, but it was too late.

A finger-turned-claw touched the center of Ly-Yun’s forehead. Yu-Qi’s eyes flashed silver-white with the light of the full moon. Slowly, his eyes changed color, from brown to the same cold silver.

“What is she doing?” Jao asked. “What’s happening?”

There was never an answer. The weakness faded and Xinya scrambled to her feet, sprinting the short distance to Ly-Yun. She clapped her hands on Yu-Qi’s shoulders and screamed as a burning hot power seared her skin, her blood, her bones, but she didn’t let go. She tugged desperately on Yu-Qi, every fiber of her body dedicated to separating the two of them. It was painful, horrible, futile, but she didn’t let go. She couldn’t let go.

Yu-Qi’s claw distanced itself a hairsbreadth from Ly-Yun. Xinya bit her tongue to keep from screaming at grabbed her wrist, wrenching it to one side. It separated another grain. Tears streaked Xinya’s face. When had she started crying? It didn’t matter. She kept tugging.

The connection shattered as soon as it began. The power subsided, the fire faded, and Xinya flung Yu-QI into the dirt. Then collapsed herself at her father’s feet, mind and body seared.

Suddenly, there was someone beside her, shaking her. “Xinya, are you alright?” Jao asked, frantic. “Please, just say something.”

Her tongue felt thick and clumsy. Xinya struggled to sit up, only belatedly realizing Jao had used her proper name. She couldn’t the energy to care. “Take him,” she slurred, shoving Ly-Yun’s chair, “to the healers.”

“But what about you?” She must have noticed Xinya’s confusion because she grabbed one of her hands and turned it palm-up.

Red-hot blisters bubbled on her skin. Some of them had already popped, bleeding over her fingers and down her wrist.

“Take him first,” she slurred again. “I will—be there soon.”

“But—”

”Go.”

It was then that Xinya finally had the strength to focus her eyes. Jao had her lips pressed into a determined line, marred only by the tears wavering in her eyes.

“Go,” Xinya told her again, more gently.

Jao stood, not bothering to brush the dirt off her robes, and left, wheeling Ly-Yun with her. It left Xinya panting in the gardens all alone. All alone except…

“I told you,” she growled, forcing herself to face where Yu-Qi had landed, “not to touch him.”

For the first time in the months that Yu-Qi had manifested, she looked truly shocked. Laying back on her elbows, staring up into the sky in shattered awe, robes and legs twisted around and covered in soil. It was the first time Xinya had seen her look humbled. Astonished. Pathetic.

“He was so empty,” Yu-Qi replied, monotone. “In all my eternity, I’ve never met one so—”

“Despondent?” Xinya spat, struggling to her feet. “Mournful? Grief-stricken? Heartbroken?”

“And you, little queen. Never has there been such a passion for the safety of another.”

Rage licked the bruised corners of Xinya’s heart. “How dare you. How dare you turn this into another one of your useless meditations!”

“Useless?” Yu-Qi rose up, effortless, genuine confusion in her dark eyes. “I’m learning about your world, beloved.”

“You have no right to this world. You have no right to that name, you have no right to me.”

“But I know all there is to know about—”

“Then did you know I would do this?” Xinya shoved her hands forward, mangled and bloody. “Did you, in all your infinite wisdom, know that I would risk my life for my father?”

“Of course I did. I would never have let you die, beloved—”

“Stop calling me that!”

Yu-Qi jumped back, startled. “Why?”

Astonished, exhausted, teetering on the edge of every ounce of patience she had ever been granted, Xinya laughed. She laughed as tears spilled down her cheeks, and relished the apprehension on the all-knowing God-Dragon’s face.

“Because you don’t love me,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “You never have.”

“I do.”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you listen to what I wanted?”

“I wanted to know.”

“You didn’t give a single thought to my pain.”

“I can heal—”

“That isn’t love. You can’t heal this.” Xinya took a stumbling step back. “Of all the things you’ve done, I’ll never forgive you for this.”

"But I’m your wife.”

“You’re a God-Dragon. You’re the moon. You have all the power in the universe to find another wife.” She took another step away. “Go find someone else to hoard.”

With those parting words, Xinya stumbled out of the gardens. She left a trail of blood in the gravel.