Copyright

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any

similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2018 by Natasha Ngan
Foreword copyright © 2018 by James Patterson
Cover design by Jeff Miller, Faceout Studio
Cover art by Arcangel and Shutterstock
Cover © 2018 Hachette Book Group, Inc
Hidden Palace map by Maxine Plasse
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ISBN 978-0-316-56138-9
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 Contents

COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
FOREWORD
MAP
CASTES
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JIMMY BOOKS
NEWSLETTERS
 To Alex,
This book is about brave, brilliant girls,
and you are one of the bravest,
most brilliant there is. Thank you, always.
Please be aware that this book contains
scenes of violence and sexual assault.
 FOREWORD

ON OCCASION, I COME UPON THE literary equivalent of a

priceless hidden treasure—and it’s exhilarating. Even as a
writer myself, I can’t begin to describe how terrific it makes
me feel.
I started JIMMY Patterson Books with the mission to give
young readers the kinds of books they really want, but the
exceptional ones are hard to find. One of the joys of being a
publisher is that I get to read many stories, and then bring the
best ones to life as books. When I first read Girls of Paper and
Fire, I knew I had stumbled upon something special.
With her lyrical voice and epic imagination, Natasha Ngan
has created a vivid world where the line between people and
animals is blurred, but the consequences of love, power, and
revenge are clear. Girls of Paper and Fire is many stories in
one—a portrait of an oppressed girl finding her strength, a
forbidden romance in the unlikeliest circumstances, a tale of
injustice that must be made right, an homage to the author’s
multicultural upbringing. Somehow, Natasha brilliantly
weaves together these different threads into a single literary
work of art.
I believe Girls of Paper and Fire is one of the most
important novels that we have published at JIMMY Patterson
Books. With its heartfelt inclusivity and emotionally-charged
yet sensitively handled scenes, Natasha’s spellbinding own-
voices story offers illumination to all who read it.
I’m fortunate to have played a small part in bringing this
book to life for you.
—James Patterson
 CASTES

At night, the heavenly rulers dreamed of colors, and

into the day those colors bled onto the earth, raining
down onto the paper people and blessing them with the
gifts of the gods. But in their fear, some of the paper
people hid from the rain and so were left untouched.
And some basked in the storm, and so were blessed
above all others with the strength and wisdom of the
heavens.
—The Ikharan Mae Scripts
Paper caste—Fully human, unadorned with any
animal-demon features, and incapable of demon
abilities such as flight.
Steel caste—Humans endowed with partial animal-
demon qualities, both in physicality and abilities.
Moon caste—Fully demon, with whole animal-demon
features such as horns, wings, or fur on a humanoid
form, and complete demon capabilities.
—the Demon King’s postwar Treaty on the Castes
THERE IS A TRADITION IN OUR kingdom, one all castes of
demon and human follow. We call it the Birth-blessing. It is
such an old, deep-rooted custom that it’s said even our gods
themselves practiced it when they bore our race onto the earth.
When babies die before their first year, there are whispers like
leaves fluttering darkly on the wind: the ceremony was
performed too late; the parents must have spoken during it; the
shaman who executed the blessing was unskilled, a fake.
Coming from the lowest caste—Paper caste, fully human—
my parents had to save for the full nine months after the news
of my mother’s pregnancy. Though I’ve never seen a Birth-
blessing ceremony, I’ve imagined my own so many times that
it feels almost like a memory, or some half remembered
dream.
Picture smoke-cut night and darkness like a heavy black
hand cupped round the world. Crackling fire. Standing before
the flames—a shaman, his leathery skin webbed with tattoos,
teeth sharpened to wolflike points. He’s bent over the naked
form of a newborn, just hours old. She’s crying. On the other
side of the fire, her parents watch in silence, hands clasped so
tightly their knuckles are white. The shaman’s eyes roll as he
chants a dao, painting its characters in the air with his fingers,
where they hang above the baby, glowing softly before fading
away.
As he comes to the crest of the prayer, a wind picks up.
The grass stirs in a feathery rustle. Faster and faster the
shaman chants, and louder and louder the rustle and the wind,
until the fire whips upward, a whorl of orange-red flame
dancing high into the sky before flashing suddenly out.
Blackness.
The starlit night.
Then the shaman reaches into the air where the fire had
been for the object floating in its wake: a small, egglike golden
pendant. But the pendant isn’t what’s important. What’s
important is what the pendant hides within.
 The baby’s fate. My fate.
Our kingdom believes words have power. That the
characters of our language can bless or curse a life. Inside the
pendant is a single character. One word that we believe will
reveal a person’s true destiny—and if my life will be blessed,
as my parents hoped when they saved for my ceremony, or
whether my fate is something far darker. Cursed years to be
played out in fire and shadow.
In six months, when I turn eighteen, the pendant will open
and its answer will finally be revealed.
 ONE

OUR SHOP IS BUSY THIS MORNING. Not even noon yet and it’s
already packed with customers, the room bright with chatter,
Tien’s brusque voice cutting through the thick summer air.
Sunlight streams in through the slatted windows, drowsy with
cicada song. Sandals slap on the floorboards. Beneath it all,
like the shop’s familiar heartbeat, comes the bubble of the
mixing barrels where we brew our herbal medicines. The six
tubs are lined along the back of the store, so big they reach my
shoulders. Five are full of pungent mixtures. The sixth is
empty, filled instead with me—admittedly also pungent after
an hour’s hard work scrubbing dried residue from the buckled
wood.
“Almost done, little nuisance?”
I’m working at a particularly stubborn stain when Tien’s
face appears over the edge of the barrel. Feline eyes rimmed
with black; graying hair flowing softly over pointed cat ears.
She regards me with her head cocked.
I swipe the back of my hand over my forehead. Little
nuisance. She’s been calling me that for as long as I can recall.
“I’m seventeen, Tien,” I point out. “Not little anymore.”
“Well,” she says with a click of her tongue. “Still a
nuisance.”
 “I wonder where I get it from.”
A smirk rises up to challenge my own. “I’ll pretend you’re
talking about your father. Aiyah, where is that lazy man? He
was meant to refill our stock of monsoon berries an hour ago!”
She waves a hand. “Go fetch him. Mistress Zembi is waiting
for her consultation.”
“Only if you say please,” I retort, and her ears twitch.
“Demanding for a Paper caste, aren’t you?”
“You’re the Steel with a Paper boss.”
She sighs. “And I regret it every day.”
As she bustles off to deal with a customer, I smile despite
myself at the proud flick of her neat lynx ears. Tien has
worked for us for as long as I can remember, more family now
than shop hand despite our caste differences. Because of that,
sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are differences between
us. But while my father and I are Paper caste, Tien belongs to
the middle caste, Steel. Somewhere between my plain human
body and the animal-like strength of Moon castes, Steel castes
have elements of both, making them a strange meeting point
between human and demon, like a drawing only halfway
finished. As with most Steels, Tien has just touches of demon:
a tapered feline maw; the graying amber cat’s fur wrapped
around her neck and shoulders, like a shawl.
As she greets the customer, Tien’s hands automatically pat
down that messy ruff of fur where it pokes from the collar of
her samfoo shirt. But it just sticks straight back up.
My lips quirk. It must have been a prank by the gods to
give someone as fussy as her such unruly hair.
I climb over the side of the tub and catch a better look at
the woman Tien is talking to. Her long black hair is pulled
back, twining past a pair of elegant deer antlers as slender as
vine. Another Steel demon. My eyes travel over her elegant
kebaya glittering with silver embroidery. It’s clear that she
belongs to an affluent family. The jewels dangling from her
earlobes alone would keep our shop running for a year.
 As I’m wondering why someone like her has come to our
shop—she must be from out of town; no one here has that kind
of money—her gaze glides past Tien and catches mine.
Her eyes grow wide. “So it’s true.”
I just make out her murmur over the noise of the shop. My
face flushes.
Of course. She heard the rumors.
I turn away, ducking through the bead-curtained doorway
to the back rooms of our old shop building. The deer-woman’s
elegance has made me extra aware of the state I’m in. Clumps
of dirt cling to my clothes—a pair of loose sand-colored
trousers and a wrap shirt knotted at the waist with a frayed
sash—and my ankles are soaked with the camphor liquid I was
using to clean the mixing barrel. Stray hairs stick to my cheeks
with sweat. Sweeping them back, I retie my ponytail, and my
mind slips for a moment, remembering.
Other fingers looping a red ribbon through my hair.
A smile like sunshine. Laughter even brighter.
Strange, how grief works. Seven years on and some days I
struggle to remember her face, while other times my mother
seems so real to me that I almost expect her to amble in
through the front door, smelling like peony petals in the rain, a
laugh on her lips and a kiss for Baba and me.
“She’s gone,” I tell myself roughly. “And she’s not coming
back.”
With a shake of my head, I continue down the corridor and
out onto the sunlit veranda. Our garden is narrow and long,
bordered by a mossy wall. An old fig tree dapples the grass
with shade. The summer warmth heightens the fragrances of
our herb plot, the tangled patchwork of plants running down
the center of the garden, familiar scents rising from it to tease
my nose: chrysanthemum, sage, ginger. Charms threaded
along wire to keep the birds away chime in the breeze.
A cheerful-sounding bark draws my attention. My father is
crouched in the grass a few feet away. Bao wriggles happily at
his toes as my father scratches the little dog’s belly and feeds
him scraps of dried mango, his favorite treat.
At my footsteps, my father quickly hides the fruit behind
his back. Bao lets out an indignant bark. Bouncing up, he
snatches the last piece of mango from my father’s fingers
before running to me, stubbed tail wagging victoriously.
I squat down, fingers finding the sensitive spot behind his
ear to tickle. “Hello, greedy,” I laugh.
“About what you just saw…” my father starts as he comes
over.
I shoot him a sideways look. “Don’t worry, Baba. I won’t
tell Tien.”
“Good,” he says. “Because then I’d have to tell her how
you overslept this morning and forgot to pick up that batch of
galangal Master Ohsa is keeping for us.”
Gods. I completely forgot.
I spring to my feet. “I’ll go and get it now,” I say, but my
father shakes his head.
“It’s not urgent, dear. Go tomorrow.”
“Well,” I reply with a knowing smile, “Mistress Zembi is
here for her consultation, and that is urgent. So unless you
want Tien to threaten to skin you alive…”
He shudders. “Don’t remind me. The things that woman
can do with a fish-gutting knife.”
Laughing, we head back into the house, our steps falling in
line. For a moment, it’s almost like before—when our family
was still whole, and our hearts. When it didn’t hurt to think of
my mother, to whisper her name in the middle of the night and
know she can’t answer. But despite his joking, Baba’s smile
doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and it reminds me that I’m not the
only one haunted by their memories.
I was born on the first day of the New Year, under the watchful
gaze of the full moon. My parents named me Lei, with a soft
rising tone. They told me they chose it because the word
makes your mouth form a smile, and they wanted to smile
every time they thought of me. Even when I’d accidentally
knocked over a tray of herbs or let Bao in to paw muddy
footprints across the floor, the corners of their mouths couldn’t
help but tuck up, no matter how loudly they shouted.
But these past seven years, even my name hasn’t been able
to make my father smile often enough.
I look a lot like her, my mother. I catch Baba startling some
mornings when I come down, my raven hair long and loose,
my short frame silhouetted in the doorway. Though neither of
my parents knew where I inherited my eyes.
How did they react when they first saw them? What did
they say when baby-me opened her eyes to reveal luminous,
liquid gold?
For most, my eye color is a sign of luck—a gift from the
Heavenly Kingdom. Customers request for me to make their
herbal mixtures, hoping my involvement will make them more
potent. Even demons visit our shop occasionally, like the deer-
woman today, lured by the rumor of the human girl with
golden eyes.
Tien always laughs about that. “They don’t believe you’re
pure Paper,” she tells me conspiratorially. “They say you must
be part demon to have eyes the color of the new year’s moon.”
What I don’t tell her is that sometimes I wish I were part
demon.
On my rare days off, I head into the valleys surrounding
our village to watch the bird-form clan that lives in the
mountains to the north. Though they’re too far to be anything
more than silhouetted shapes, dark cutouts of wings spread in
motion, in my mind’s eye I make out every detail. I paint their
feathers in silvers and pearls, sketch the light of the sun on
their wing tips. The demons soar through the sky over the
valley, riding the wind in effortless movements as graceful as
dance, and they look so free it aches some part deep in me.
Even though it isn’t fair, I can’t help but wonder whether, if
Mama had been born with wings, she’d have escaped from
wherever she was taken to and flown back to us by now.
Sometimes I watch the sky, just waiting, and hoping.
Over the next few hours, the bubble of the mixing pots and
Bao’s little barks play a familiar soundtrack while we work.
As usual, my father takes consultations with new clients and
meets with farmers and rare-plant traders from out of town,
Tien deals with the general running of the store, and all the
odd jobs nobody wants to do are handed to me. Tien
frequently bustles over to chide me on the roughness of my
chopped herbs and could I be any slower when picking up a
customer’s package from the storeroom? Or do I need
reminding that she’s a distant descendant of the legendary Xia
warriors, so if I don’t work any harder she’ll be forced to
practice her deadly martial arts skills on me?
“Still sounds a lot more fun than this,” I grumble as I
swelter in the storeroom sorting out deliveries—though I wait
until she’s out of earshot before saying it.
My last task of the day is refilling the herb boxes lining the
walls of the store that contain ingredients for our medicines.
Hundreds of them are stacked from floor to ceiling. Behind the
countertop that rings the room, a ladder on metal rollers runs
along the walls to access the boxes. I slide the ladder to the
back wall and climb halfway up, arms aching from the day’s
work. I’m just reaching for a box marked GINSENG ROOTS, my
thoughts drifting to what Tien will be cooking for dinner,
when a noise sounds in the distance.
A low, carrying horn blow.
At once, everything falls quiet. Conversations, the slap of
sandals, even the simmer of the mixing barrels seems to drop.
All thoughts of food are whipped away as I freeze where I am,
arm still outstretched. Only my mind moves, lurching back,
returning to that day.
 To fire.
To claws, and screaming, and the feel of my mother’s
fingers being torn from mine.
For a few moments, nothing happens. It’s just long enough
to hesitate. For a flutter of doubt to lift a hopeful wing. Then
the horn sounds again, closer this time—and with it comes the
pound of hooves.
Horses, moving fast. They draw nearer, their heavy hoof-
fall growing louder and louder, until the noise of it is almost
deafening, and all of a sudden hulking shadows in the street
block the windows at the front of the shop, casting the room
into darkness.
Distorted shadows, like the nightmare version of what a
human should be.
Stillness, and the dark pulse of terror. A baby wails in a
house nearby. From further away comes a dog bark—Bao. A
shiver runs down my back. He went off a while ago, probably
to the food stalls to beg for treats or play with the children who
ruffle his hair and giggle when he licks their faces.
“Lei.”
My father has moved to the bottom of the ladder. His voice
is low, a rough whisper. He holds out his hand. Despite the
hard set of his jaw, his face has drained.
I step down from the ladder and weave my fingers through
his, the quick trip of his pulse at his wrist a mirror to mine.
Because the last time we heard the call of this horn was the
night my mother was taken. And if that’s what the Demon
King’s men stole from us then, what might they possibly take
from us this time?
 TWO

THE THUD OF HOOF-FALL OUTSIDE IS loud in the silence. Every

detail carries: the crunch of dirt, the creak of leather armor as
the riders dismount. The horses snort and stamp, but it’s easy
to tell the sound of their hooves apart from that of their
owners. Though lighter, their riders’ steps are deliberate.
Measured. They prowl slowly up and down the street, clearly
searching for something.
Not us, I think, cupping the thought like a prayer.
After just a few minutes, the figures come to a stop right
outside the shop. Voices sound—deep, male.
Demon.
Even without the warning of the horn, I’d be certain of it.
There is strength, a power in their voices.
These are voices that bite.
“This is it?”
“Yes, General.”
“It doesn’t look like much. The sign is broken.”
“The usual Paper negligence. I assure you, General, it’s the
right place.”
A pause, fierce as a growl. “It had better be.”
 There’s movement, and then our front door slams open, the
entrance bells crying.
The effect is instant. As the soldiers shoulder their way
inside, panic floods the shop, customers dropping to the floor
in deep bows, knocking things over in their rush, the air filled
with whimpers and whispered prayers. Something ceramic
shatters nearby. I flinch at the sound, then again as my father
throws an arm out to push me behind him.
“Bow!” he urges.
The demons advance. Yet despite the weight in my chest,
despite the whoosh of blood in my ears, I don’t budge. The
fear might be strong.
But my hatred is stronger.
Soldiers took my mother. Moon caste soldiers like these.
It’s only when my father says my name under his breath,
more plea than command, that I finally lower. Most of my hair
has loosened from its ponytail after the day’s work, and it falls
forward past my ears as I fold stiffly at the waist, exposing the
pale arch of the back of my neck, almost like an arrowmark. I
dig my fingernails into my hands to stop from covering it.
When I straighten, my father is still blocking me from
view. I shift carefully to peer past his shoulder, my heart
clamoring as I get a proper look at the soldiers.
There are three of them, so big they seem to take up the
whole shop. All three are Moon caste, alien to me with their
beastlike forms—still recognizably human in shape and
proportion, but more bizarre for it, the melding of human and
animal creating something that seems even more foreign.
Because of our shop’s popularity, I’ve had some exposure to
demons, but it’s mostly been Steel castes, their bodies for the
most part human, touches here and there of demon details
woven into the fabric of their skin like adornments. A spark of
jackal eyes; rounded bear ears; the smooth curve of wolf
incisors. Tien’s familiar lynx features. Any Moon castes I did
meet were simply not like… this.
 These demons have stepped right out of my worst
memories, nightmares made solid.
The bull-form in the middle is largest and evidently the
highest ranking—the General. The bulk of him, the sheer
weight in those boulderlike muscles, sends a pulse of
something chilled down my veins. He wears a plum-colored
tunic and wide trousers, a leather belt slung round his hips. His
short bull horns are roped with charms and talismans. Snaking
all the way from his left ear to the opposite jaw, a scar twists
the leathery skin of his face out of shape, pulling his smile into
a sneer.
I get a sudden surge of gratitude toward whoever made that
mark.
Flanking him are an emerald-eyed tiger-form demon and an
ugly reptilian soldier. Moss-colored scales wrap the lizard-
man’s long humanoid limbs like armor. His head cocks from
side to side, eyes darting all around. A serpent tongue flicks
out in a flash of pink.
Slowly, the General raises his hands, and as one the room
braces. “Please, please,” he says in a lazy drawl. “There’s no
need to be fearful, friends.”
Friends. He speaks the word with a smile, but it tastes like
poison.
“We know what happened here some years ago,” he
continues, “But I assure you, friends, we do not come with
violent intent. I am General Yu of the Seventh Royal Battalion,
the Demon King’s finest and most honorable soldiers. Perhaps
you’ve heard of us?” Silence stretches out, and his smile
tightens. He settles one hand on the ivory hilt of the sword at
his belt. “No matter. You will remember our name after today.”
He steps closer, moving in a heavy bovine sway. I resist the
urge to shrink back. Only the wooden counter separates him
from Baba and me, and it barely reaches the General’s waist.
Slanting light catches on the charms dangling from his horns
as he turns his head, sweeping his gaze over the shop. Then it
lands on me.
General Yu freezes. Somehow this is scarier than if he’d
shouted or made some move toward me; beneath his stillness,
I sense something coiling in him. I jut my chin, staring back as
defiantly as I can. But my cheeks are burning, my heart
stuttering like hummingbird wings, and when he turns back to
the room, his smile is satisfied. Gloating.
Something slithers in my belly. Why does he seem so
pleased to see… me?
“W-welcome, General Yu.” My father’s voice sounds so
small in the wake of the General’s, its human timbre thin in
comparison with the rich bass of bull. “It’s a privilege to serve
you and your men. If you tell us what errand has brought you
here, we’ll do our best to help you. Then we will let you on
your way.”
There’s a quiet defiance in his wording. I want to throw my
arms around him, kiss his cheeks, cheer him on.
Either ignoring or oblivious to my father’s tone, the
General throws his arms open. “Why, of course! We wouldn’t
wish to disrupt your busy day. It must be hard, running such a
popular place like this without the help of your wife. I heard
she was one of the women taken that day?” he adds casually.
Both Baba and I stiffen. On the far side of the room, Tien’s
fur bristles, a murderous look entering her eyes. For the first
time I wish what she told me about her being a descendant of
legendary warriors were true.
The General’s fingers flex on the hilt of his sword. “Yet,”
he continues to the sniggers of his two soldiers, “you’ve at
least had the help of your daughter. And she is a particularly…
lucky girl from what the rumors say.” His voice drops, just a
whisper now but dangerous and bone-deep, every word clear
in the hush. “Well, old man? May I see if the rumors are true?
Will you show us this daughter of yours with paper skin and
the stolen eyes of a demon?”
“The—the errand,” my father starts in a desperate tone, but
the soldiers are already moving forward.
“The girl is the errand,” the General growls.
And lunges for me.
Everything happens at once—Tien’s cry, Baba throwing me
back, shouting, “Run!”
I spin on my heel as the General bounds onto the counter,
shattering it beneath his weight.
There’s a scream. Sounds of customers scrambling to get
away. A tiger’s deep-throated snarl. I lurch forward, making
for the archway at the back of the shop, and dive through just
as the General tears aside the beaded curtain.
Beads scatter everywhere. My feet skid, one sandal coming
loose. But it’s the sandal the General has grabbed for, and I
crawl back to my feet, dashing down the corridor, hands flying
out to brace myself as I take the turns flying.
The back of our house is narrow. The General’s crashes and
grunts fall behind me as he struggles to navigate the tight
corners. Breathless, I race out into the golden blare of the
lowering sun, leaping blindly down the steps of the porch.
A flock of birds scatter in a flurry of startled wing-flaps. I
make it to the wall at the end of the garden just as a roar
behind me tells me the General has made it out of the house.
Using the web of leaves that cover the wall, I climb up,
messily but fast. Vines slash my hands. Puffing, my palms
crisscrossed red, I reach the top, hook an arm over, and hiss
through my teeth as I pull, pull, pull—
Hands, on my legs.
I cling to the wall, but General Yu is too strong. I drop
back, a hiss of air escaping my lips as I smash onto the ground.
In a second, the General is upon me.
“No!” I yell. I thrash against his ironlike grip, but he
swipes me up easily, throwing me over his shoulder, and
strides back to the house.
 My head cracks against a wall as he squeezes through the
narrow corridors. The world turns fuzzy. I catch a glimpse of
the main shop room as we pass through: the broken counter,
herbs strewn across the floor, pale faces peering from corners.
Then we’re outside.
I twist round to see where the General is taking me. A little
way down the street is a large carriage, two horses strapped to
its front. They’re enormous, bigger than any breed I have seen,
with wild eyes and foaming mouths, heads enclosed in metal
muzzles. Two more are roped to the carriage on either side, I
assume for the General’s men.
“Lei!” comes a shout.
I crane my head round to see my father and Tien by the
front of the shop. The lizard and tiger soldiers are holding
them back.
“Baba!” I cry. There’s blood on his brow.
His neck is strained, face flushed as he struggles to get free.
“General Yu!” he calls after us. “Please, tell us what you want
with my daughter!”
The lizard-man spits in his face. “What do you think he
wants, old man?”
“Now, now, Sith,” General Yu says. “You know it’s not like
that.” Slowly, he turns and lowers me to the ground, clutching
me to his side so tightly his fingers pinch my flesh through my
clothes. “I am merely collecting your daughter for delivery,”
he tells my father. “I heard rumors of her pretty eyes and
thought she would make the perfect gift for our Heavenly
Master.”
Baba’s face falls. “You—you can’t mean…”
“You should be smiling, old man. The girl is to become
what so many in our kingdom dream for their own daughters.
She’ll live in the Hidden Palace of Han. Lead a privileged life
of service to our gracious leader… outside of and in the royal
bed.”
 Tien goes still.
“No,” my father breathes.
The General gives my hair a ruffle. “Your own daughter, a
Paper Girl. I bet you never dreamed you’d be so fortunate.”
Paper Girl.
The phrase hangs in the air. It feels wrong, all angular and
edges that don’t fit together, because surely it can’t be. Not a
Paper Girl. Not me.
Before I can say anything, the sound of barking makes us
all look round. A tiny figure sprints down the street toward us
on stubby legs—white fur, gray spots.
My stomach drops. “Bao,” I croak. Then, louder, “Bao!
Inside, now!”
As usual, he ignores my orders. He skitters to a stop in
front of us and sinks down on his front legs, baring his teeth.
The General smiles back, revealing his own.
“Hello, little one,” he murmurs. He peers down his
muzzled nose at Bao, who is skittering on his paws at the
General’s hooved feet, which are almost bigger than Bao
himself and mounted with thick copper plates that look as
though they could crush even a human skull in one stamp.
“Have you come to say good-bye to your friend?”
He reaches out. Growling, Bao snaps at his hand.
The General’s eyes cut to the lizard-form soldier as he
withdraws. “Sith. Help him, would you?”
The reptile smirks. “Of course, General.”
He reaches for the sword at his belt. There’s the cry of
steel, the flash of a blade through the air. In one fluid
movement, Sith lunges forward and drives the point of his
sword into Bao’s belly. Then he raises the blade toward me,
and my dog with it.
It’s as though the world had suddenly tilted off-kilter. The
ground, shifted. My heartbeat goes jagged, and it’s as if I were
floating, rising up and away from everything as, at the same
time, everything spiraled closer toward me.
Bile lurches up my throat.
Bao.
Bao—who hasn’t yet made a sound. For one desperate
moment I convince myself that he’s all right. That somehow
his belly is hollow and the sword has lanced nothing but empty
air, and in a minute he’ll hop to the floor and wag his tail, run
to Baba for treats, dance circles around Tien’s legs. Life will
be normal again, and this awful nightmare will be just that: a
nightmare.
Something to wake from. To escape.
But then Bao begins to twitch and whimper. Blood wells at
his wound. It runs down the blade, thick and dark, pooling
around Sith’s scaled fingers, where they grip the lacquered
bone hilt.
“Better say good-bye, girl,” the lizard hisses to me. A
forked tongue skates over his lips. “This is the last you’ll see
of your family. And if you don’t come quietly, this’ll be how
your father will end up, too, and that ugly old lynx-woman. Is
that what you want?”
I wrench my gaze to where Baba and Tien are struggling
against the tiger soldier’s hold. My eyes meet my father’s. I
give him a half smile, and he stills, face slackening with
something like hope.
“I love you,” I whisper. Just as understanding sparks in his
gaze, I turn to General Yu. I force out a deep exhale, blinking
back tears. “I’ll come quietly,” I tell him.
“That’s a good girl.”
He pushes me into the carriage, so roughly I trip. Baba and
Tien erupt with cries, pulling a ragged sob from me, and it
takes everything I have not to look back as I climb onto the
padded bench. The carriage heaves under the General’s weight
as he gets in beside me. Moments later the horses start to
move, breaking into a loping canter that carries us quickly out
of the village, my world once again crumbling around me to
the sharp stench of bull demon and the sound of trampling
hooves.
 THREE

EVERYONE IN IKHARA KNOWS OF THE Paper Girls.

The tradition began two hundred years ago after the Night
War, when the Bull King of Han, the central-most province in
Ikhara, won control of the other seven, from desertlike Jana in
the South to my home, Xienzo, in the North. Before, each
province had its own sets of governing systems, its own laws
and customs specific to their cultures. Some provinces were
ruled by a dominant clan, while others were unstable
landscapes of ever-shifting power plays between ambitious
clan lords. And while Paper castes had always been viewed as
lesser than demons, there was respect for the positions we held
in society, the services and skills we offered. But after the
Night War, the King imposed his rule on every province—and
along with them, his prejudices. Royal soldiers patrolled the
flatlands and plains, scoured villages and cities to dispense the
new regulations. Demon-run businesses flourished; Paper
caste families were pushed to the dirt. Within the centralized
system, the larger cities grew ever richer and more powerful,
while smaller settlements faded into servitude.
The years following the Night War were almost as dark as
the ones they left behind. In the absence of the duels and
political deliberations that would have once sorted temporary
peace in a way all parties could respect, old resentments
between clans grew. Long-standing rivalries continued to
simmer unchallenged. And now there were additional
uprisings and plays for power between the royal emissaries
and the clans.
Order was restored the only way the King knew how.
Bloodshed.
To encourage union among the diverse clans and cultures,
the court established a new custom. Each year, the King would
select eight Paper caste girls as his courtesans. The court said
that choosing girls of the lowest caste proved what a just ruler
the King was, and the families of chosen girls were showered
with gifts and wealth, ensuring they never had to work another
day in their lives.
Tien told me once how families in provinces close to the
royal heart of the kingdom, such as Rain and Ang-Khen,
prepare their most beautiful daughters for the role from youth,
even making underhanded deals to ensure the girls are
remembered when the annual selection time comes.
In my village, the story of the Paper Girls is told in
whispers behind closed doors. We lost too much in the raid
seven years ago to want to share anything more with the court.
But perhaps the gods have forgotten us, or grown bored
with our small corner of the kingdom. Because here I am,
about to share the last thing I’d ever want to offer the King.
Myself.
For a long time, the General and I ride in silence. The
carriage is luxuriously decorated, the bench adorned with
perfumed cushions and silks, intricate carvings detailing the
wooden walls. Scatters of light feel their way in through the
shuttered windows. There’s a slight charge in the air, an
electric quiver that, even with my limited experience of it, I
recognize as magic. That must be what’s guiding the horses,
what lends them their unnatural speed.
Another time and I would have been fascinated by it all—
the mysticism of shaman work, the beauty of the carriage. But
my vision is red-tinted, filtered through recent events, an
unrelenting bombardment of one nightmarish image after
another. Bao, speared through. Blood on my father’s brow.
Tien’s scream when the General came for me. My home, our
home, our lovely little shop-house shattered and broken, and
farther from my reach with every sway and bump of the
carriage.
And instead, drawing ever closer—the King’s palace.
A Paper Girl.
Me.
“Don’t look so sad, girl.”
General Yu’s rumbling voice makes me start. I press further
against the side of the bench, but there’s no way to ignore the
reek of him, the wet heat of his breath.
Is this what the King is like? The thought of touching—of
being touched—by a demon like this sends a fresh wave of
nausea into my throat.
“You have just been handed a fate girls across the kingdom
can only dream of,” the General says. “Surely it would not
pain you to smile?”
I swipe my tears away. “I dream of a different fate,” I reply
with a sniff.
He laughs, smug. “What better life could a daughter of an
herb-shop owner wish for?”
“Anything than being the concubine of the King.”
The words have barely left my lips when the General seizes
my face with his brown-haired hand, pinching my cheeks so
hard my jaw pops open. “You think you are special?” he
growls. “That you’re above being a Paper Girl? You have no
idea what the rest of the kingdom is like, foolish girl. All you
country folk hiding here in your nowhere corner of your
nowhere province, thinking only of your small, closed
lives…” His nostrils flare, hot air hitting my face. “You think
you are beyond the reach of the court. But you are wrong. The
Demon King’s rule is all-powerful. You felt that power once
seven years ago, and you feel it again today. How easy it was
for me to take you from your home—like plucking a flower
from a bed of weeds. Just as it happened with your whore of a
mother.”
With a throaty rumble, he casts me aside. My cheekbone
dashes into the wall. I can’t help but cry out, and I stuff my
hand quickly over my mouth to smother it.
General Yu smirks. “That’s it, girl. From what I hear, the
King enjoys it when his whores scream.”
Glowering, I sit back up, rubbing my cheek. “You know
what happened to my mother,” I say through gritted teeth.
“What those soldiers did to our village.”
“I might have heard something,” he replies with a shrug.
“But I can’t be sure. Those kinds of things all merge into one
another.”
My hands bunch into fists. “They destroyed our village.
My family.”
The General’s voice is cool. “You’d best forget you ever
had a family, girl. Because you won’t be coming back.”
“Yes, I will,” I whisper as he turns away, and the words feel
like a promise on my lips.
A new thought comes to me then, so brittle I’m scared to
let it take hold: Did Mama make a similar promise, too, once?
Seven years ago, did she travel this same route that I’m on
now, whispering a wish for the wind to carry to the kinder
gods? Burumi perhaps, God of Lost Lovers? Or sweet, patient
Ling-yi with her wings and blind eyes, Goddess of Impossible
Dreams? Mama always held the gods closer than Baba and
me. They might have listened to her. And if, and if…
I always imagined the soldiers would have taken Mama
and the other women they captured to the royal palace—the
very place General Yu his soldiers are bringing me.
I gaze out the window through glazed eyes, a warm kernel
of hope working through me. Because as much as I don’t want
to leave my home, this might be my chance to finally find out
the truth about my mother.
And, just maybe, find her.
The horses ride on for hours, showing no sign of slowing. We
sweep through the Xienzo countryside, a green-brown blur of
fields and low mountains, flowering meadowland, and forests.
I’ve never been this far from my village—not even more than
a few hours’ walk home—but the scenery is recognizable so
far, similar to the landscape around our village.
Until, suddenly, it isn’t.
We’re looping past a patch of scorched land. The horses
keep their distance, but we ride close enough to smell ash in
the air. The charred area is vast, a wound on the earth. Stumps
of what must have once been buildings poke from the ground
like broken teeth. Scarlet flags snap in the wind, stamped in
obsidian with the silhouette of a bull skull.
The King’s symbol.
It takes me a few moments to recognize the ruins for what
they are. “This… this was a village,” I murmur. I lick my lips,
then say louder “What happened?”
“A rebel group was found hiding in the village,” The
General answers in a flat, impassionate voice. “It was burned,
along with every keeda in it.”
Keeda: worm. It’s an old insult for Paper castes. I’ve heard
the word just once before, from a wolf-form demon who had
come to our village by accident, half dead and delirious from
an infected wound. He’d spat the word like a stone from his
mouth, and it had felt sharp to me even then, when I didn’t
understand what it meant.
The wolf had refused to let our doctor near him. Some of
the men found his body on the road that winds from our
village a few days later.
“Are there other places like this?” I ask.
The General cuts me a smirk. “Of course. We’re taking the
scenic route. Just for you.”
I turn away from the window, my stomach knotted. Our
village is so isolated that I’ve never given much thought to
what the King’s rule has done to the rest of Ikhara. To my
fellow Paper castes. But here is the evidence before me, in
ugly brushstrokes of destruction and scarred earth.
We ride on into the falling night. Somehow, despite
everything, tiredness eventually overtakes me. Rocked by the
steady sway of the carriage, I drift off into an uneasy sleep.
The next thing I know, I am opening my eyes to stillness and
lantern-lit dark.
General Yu is gone.
I sit up so quickly I bang my head on the side of the
carriage. Rubbing my temple, I perch on the edge of the
bench, breathing hard and listening harder. There’s activity
outside. Beyond the carriage comes the muffled noise of
footsteps and shouted orders, the thud of boxes being dropped.
And there’s something else, underneath it all. It takes me a few
moments more to recognize the sound for what it is.
Water. The rhythmic slap of waves.
I’ve never been to the sea before. I take a deep inhale and
taste salt in the wind.
Salt, sea. With those two words comes another one.
Escape.
Blowing the mussed hair from my eyes, I spring up and
scramble to the front of the carriage. Light spills across my
face as I loosen one corner of the fabric covering to look out.
We’re on a backstreet of what seems to be a seaside town. The
road is lined with two-tiered buildings with roof-covered
porches, paper lanterns hanging from the eaves. Someone has
tethered our horses to a wooden column at the base of one of
the houses. With the covering open, the noises of the town are
louder, and the hairs on my arms prickle. The General and his
soldiers could return any minute.
 Before I lose my nerve, I suck in a deep breath and launch
out of the carriage.
I land heavily, knees buckling. The drop was bigger than
I’d expected. It startles the two horses still tethered to the
carriage, and they rear up on their hind legs, whinnying and
kicking out. Rolling out from under their hooves, I clamber to
my feet.
And run.
The packed earth of the road is hard under my bare soles,
but I bite down the discomfort. I run fast. Everything around
me is a blur of nighttime hues, the disorienting newness of an
unfamiliar place. Colored lights glaze the edges of my vision.
Faces turn as I pass—human skin, demon eyes.
A crazy image comes to me of what I must look like to
them, my clothes scuffed, feet bare. I let out a mad laugh,
knowing what Tien would say—Aiyah, look at you! What a
mess!—choking off as I come to the end of the street.
Doubling over, I gulp down air. I spin left. Right. Neither
looks much different, so I swerve left, away from the sound of
water. Swimming would be impossible, but maybe I can find
somewhere to hide in the town, some stable-horse to steal. I
can lead the General and his soldiers away from my home. Get
word to Baba and Tien. We’ll be able to be together again once
this is all over.
The General will give up on me, and it will be safe for me
to go home.
I dash down one unfamiliar street after another. There are
shouts now, cries at my back. I drive myself faster. Panting,
my calves screaming for respite, I reach the end of the street.
Just as I turn the corner, I risk a glance over my shoulder.
And barrel straight into someone.
The impact makes my teeth jam down on my tongue. We
crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs. All the air rushes out
of me as I land painfully on my back. I roll over, groaning.
Spitting out a wad of blood, I dig my hands into the earth,
trying to push myself to my feet. But before I can stand back
up, a scaled arm loops round my neck.
“Stupid girl,” a serpentine voice taunts. “You run on my
watch?” The point of a dagger presses against my throat. “I’m
going to make you pay for that.”
Sith.
The lizard soldier drags me back down the street, ignoring
my screams and thrashing. People are watching from the
shadows of porches and walkways. I shout at them for help.
But they shrink back, silent. They must have noticed Sith’s
uniform, the King’s crest stitched on his shirt.
When we get back to the carriage, Sith tosses me inside. I
skid across the paneled floor. There’s the click of clawed feet
as he climbs in after me, and I start to push myself to my
knees, but a second later his foot crushes down on the small of
my back. My jawbone cracks on the floor. I cry out, more in
surprise than pain, and he digs his heels in harder, grinding my
hips against the wood.
He leans over me. Turning his ugly, scaled face to the side,
he fixes me with a cold stare. His glassy eyes are reptilian, a
vertical strip of black slicing through the blue-gray. There’s a
streak of pink as his tongue darts out to taste my skin.
He spits. “Disgusting. The stink of the herb shop is all over
you.” His leer rolls down my body, slow, creeping. “Perhaps
you need a good licking to clean it off.”
Panic flares inside me like a firecracker: bright and
burning, a sudden flare.
“You—you wouldn’t,” I stammer. “I’m a Paper Girl—”
“So you’ll admit it now?” Sith laughs, cutting me off.
“Well, you know exactly what is expected of you, then. Better
start practicing.”
He runs a hand along my shoulder and tugs my shirt back.
Rough fingers brush down my arm, sending a wave of nausea
into my throat. I squirm away, buck my hips, trying to throw
him off. But my struggling barely moves him.
So I scream.
Sith clamps a hand over my mouth. “Quiet!” he hisses.
“Not a sound, or—”
“Get off her.”
The command is delivered quietly yet firm as a fist. At
once, Sith lurches off me. General Yu stands framed in the
doorway, one hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his belt.
Sith points at me. “The girl tried to escape, General,” he
starts, and I’m glad to see a tremor in his outstretched finger.
“She’s fast, but I caught her and brought her straight back. I
was just—just keeping her here until your return.”
“Liar!” I snarl.
The General regards us in silence, his face impassive. “The
boat is ready to set sail,” he says, turning. “Follow me.”
I sense Sith relax. “Yes, General.”
“But, Sith?” The General pauses, continuing over his
shoulder, “If I ever catch you touching the girl inappropriately
again, it will be your job to explain to the King how you soiled
one of his concubines. Do you understand?”
Sith flinches. “Yes, General.”
This time when he grabs me, Sith takes care to keep to
where my shoulders are covered. But he marches me forward
with the same aggression and shoots me a sideways look,
slatted eyes narrowed in disgust.
I scowl openly back, but I don’t struggle. His grip is tight,
and ahead of us the General’s fist is still around the hilt of his
sword, reminding me how easily he would be able to turn it
against me.
We follow General Yu in the opposite direction to which I
ran, out to the oceanfront. There’s a port, busy even at this
hour. Lights glint from the wooden gantries, rippling the water
with color. A wide, star-speckled sky stretches out to an
invisible horizon. Despite everything that’s going on, my eyes
go wide at the sight.
I’ve always dreamed about seeing the sea.
Behind us, restaurants and hookah cafés line the street, the
night filled with raucous laughter, the jeers and yells of an
argument bursting into life. Wherever we are, it doesn’t seem
like a rich town. There are only a few demon figures amid the
crowds and all of them are Steel. Outside one of the shops, a
salt-stained banner snaps in the wind. I make out the faded
pattern of two rearing canines back-to-back painted in
sweeping brushstrokes across the fabric—the famous dog clan
of Noei, the Black Jackals.
I do a double take. “Noei?” Louder, I call ahead to General
Yu, “We’re in Noei?”
He doesn’t turn, but his head tilts, which I take as a yes.
My mouth goes dry. Noei is the province to the east of
Xienzo. We’ve traveled farther than I hoped.
As the General leads us to the far side of the port, we pass
young ship hands dressed in grubby sarongs and fishermen
deftly picking squid from clouds of tangled nets. We come to a
stop at a large boat moored at the end of a dock. A crowd of
cream, fin-shaped sails, unfurled, flutter in the wind.
The tiger soldier is waiting at the top of the gangplank.
“The captain is ready to set sail, General,” he says with a tuck
of his chin.
“Good. Sith—take the girl to her room.”
“Yes, General.”
“And remember what I said.”
As soon as he turns away, Sith scowls. He lowers his
mouth close to my cheek, and I stare ahead with my lips
pressed, holding down a shiver as his words unspool silkily in
my ear. “You’re welcome to try to escape again, pretty girl, but
this time it will be the sea’s arms waiting to catch you. And I
think you’ll find them an even crueler embrace than mine.”
 FOUR

NO ONE TELLS ME HOW LONG we’ll be sailing. I watch for

differences in the ocean, scan the horizon for signs of land,
any opportunity for escape. But after three days, the rolling
slate-blue of the sea still looks identical. And besides, most of
the time I’m crouched with my head over a bucket, watching
another kind of liquid slop back and forth. I’m so seasick I
barely have the energy to worry about what will happen when
we arrive at our destination. Resignation is beginning to settle
in my bones like a poison, black and slow.
There’s no going back now. I’m ready for whatever is
coming my way, I tell myself, so many times that I wonder
who I’m trying to convince.
Two times a day the General sends a ship hand to bring me
food. After I throw up the steamed taro dumplings he serves
me one night, the boy sneaks back with a second helping. He’s
a Moon caste fox-form, probably just a couple of years
younger than me. Maybe it’s because of his age, or how he can
barely look me in the eye, but for whatever reason it’s the first
time I haven’t been completely intimidated by a Moon demon.
Over the days I’ve come to appreciate the lovely umber hue of
his fur. How there’s something beautiful about the way his jaw
is molded, a hard curve tapering to a sharp chin.
“Wait,” I say now as he hurries to leave. I don’t dare touch
the bamboo basket, even though the smell of the dumplings
inside makes my mouth water.
The fox-boy stops in the doorway. The white tip of his tail
flicks.
“It’s just… they’ll notice,” I continue. “That some food is
missing.”
He hesitates. Then he says jerkily, “It’s my portion.”
This simple act, the kindness of it, surprises me so much—
especially coming from a Moon caste, willowy vulpine
haunches showing beneath his worker’s sarong—that I just
blurt straight out, “Why?”
Looking over his shoulder, he doesn’t quite meet my eyes.
“Why what?”
“Why help me? I’m… I’m Paper.”
The fox-boy turns back to the door. “So?” he answers.
“You need the help more than anyone.”
I blink, glad that he’s gone before he can see how much his
comment has stung. I consider not eating the dumplings out of
principle—who needs pity dumplings, anyway? But I’m too
weary to hold out for long. Still, his words stay with me. It
makes me recall something Mama once told me, when I’d
come back from a trip with my father to a neighboring town to
collect a batch of rare herbs.
“A fat man threw his banana skin at us!” I told her when
we arrived home, indignant, my eyes puffy from crying.
My mother had shared a look with my father before
crouching down in front of me, hands cupping my wet cheeks.
“Oh, darling,” she said, before asking me calmly, “Do you
know why?”
I sniffed, my little fists bunched. “He told us we shouldn’t
be in the same shop as Steels or Moons.”
“He was a demon?”
I pouted. “A fat, ugly dog one.”
 Behind me, Baba snorted—falling quiet quickly at the look
my mother gave him.
“Would you like to know a secret?” she said, pulling me
closer and tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ears. “A
secret so secret not even those who know it are always
aware?”
I nodded.
Mama smiled. “Well, despite what they look like, all
demons have the same blood as us. Yes, even fat, ugly dog
ones. If the gods gave birth to us, why should we be any
different? We are all the same really, little one. Deep down. So
don’t you worry about what the silly man said.”
And six-year-old me had nodded, believing her. Trusting in
the certainty of her words even if the world was trying to
prove me otherwise.
Then—a year later. The claws and fire, the crush and cries.
We might be the same deep down, Paper, Steel, and Moon,
but it didn’t matter then.
I rub my arms over my pale leaf-thin skin.
And it doesn’t matter now.
On the morning of the fifth day at sea, shouts ring out from the
deck. Though the words are muffled, stolen by the wind, one
reaches me. It flies into my heart on wings both shadowed
with fear and bright with relief.
Han. The royal province.
We’ve arrived.
I scramble to the window. At first I can’t see anything, but
after a minute the shape of the coast reveals itself, the city
nestled in the bay growing clearer as we approach.
The Black Port, Han’s famous port city. The dark rock of
the surrounding cliffs are what gave it its name, and under the
glare of the sun the stone has a sheen to it, making it look
almost wet. But what strikes me more is the size of the city.
It’s bigger than I could possibly have imagined, dense and
sprawling, carving a deep line along the coast and backing into
the mountainous terrain. Tiers of wooden houses stretch for
miles. Their dark walls are stained from the salt-rich air, and
their roofs curl upward at the edges like paper that has started
to burn.
Mirroring the city, the harbor in front is just as crowded.
Thousands of boats cluster in the water, from small fishing
tugs with multicolored sails to papaya-shaped boats laden with
fruits to round, barrel-like water taxis all in a line, waiting to
ferry passengers along the bay, and elegant ships decorated
with silk ribbons. We weave through them, drawing close
enough to some to make out the individual patterns of their
sails, the names scrawled on their sides. There are good-
fortune characters, clan insignias, coal-black bull skulls
stamped on the scarlet sails of towering military ships.
“You’re alive, then. We thought you were so sick you
might vomit up your own soul.”
I pivot round to see General Yu in the doorway.
I give him a scowl. At least I have a soul.
Before I can speak, he waves a hand, already turning.
“Come.”
When we emerge onto the deck half a minute later, my
hand flies to shade my eyes. After so long inside, the openness
of the sky and sea all around stuns me. Everything is
luminous. Sun-glazed. As my eyes adjust, I make out our
surroundings, from the gaudy-colored sails of the ship docked
beside us to the spotted bellies of gulls swooping overhead.
The dock is alive with movement. Every gangway, air-walk,
bridge, and boat deck swarms with hurrying figures. Unlike at
the port in Noei, there are far more demons here—more so
than humans—an indication of the province’s affluence and
power.
I swallow. The sight of so many Steel and Moon castes is
an unwelcome reminder of where I am. Who I am.
 I hug my arms around myself, feeling exposed in my tatty
clothes.
“General,” Sith announces, appearing at the top of the
gangplank. “The carriage is ready.” As he bows, his eyes lift
and find me. A smirk plays across his thin lips.
Something hot sparks in my chest as I remember his scaled
fingers on me. Glaring, I jut my chin.
“Hurry up, girl,” General Yu growls, shoving me forward.
As we make our way down toward the waiting carriage, the
fierce sun pricking sweat under my arms, I scan the teeming
dock for escape routes. But it’s broad daylight in the middle of
the busiest port in Ikhara—if I run, I won’t get far. And
besides, the General’s heavy hoof-fall beside me is reminder
enough that I have to be obedient.
Sith comes up behind me to my other side, a fraction too
close. “Need a hand, pretty girl?”
I jerk away before he can touch me. “Never from you.”
Well, obedient doesn’t have to mean cowering.
Tien’s proud face flashes into my mind. Wah, little
nuisance! Look at you, standing up to a demon like your skin
is Moon and not Paper.
The thought brings a sad, defiant smile to my lips. I blow
out a breath. Then, rolling my shoulders back, I take the last
few steps to the carriage, my chin high. Because if this is to be
my fate, I’m going to walk boldly into it on my own two feet.
Without any demon claws dragging me forward.
Outside the port city, our carriage joins a long road winding
through the flat land behind the mountains. It’s filled with
strange rock formations, scraggly pines, and tiny white
wildflowers clinging to their faces. The dry ground is covered
in red dust. The air is thick with it, too, coppery clouds kicked
up by the horses. Even though the shutters are pulled down
and the covering is drawn tightly across the entranceway, the
dust still finds its way inside the carriage, coating my skin in a
light layer.
I lick my lips. The dust tastes like how it looks—of rust,
and dirt, and endings.
All around us, the thoroughfare is a chaotic whirl of
activity. There are men on bear- and horseback. Carts pulled
by tusked boars. Huge ground-ships with their sails spread
wide. While the busyness makes me shrink farther back from
the window, General Yu seems buoyed by the energy and
noise, and he leans over to my side, pointing out the crests of
notable clans.
“See there? The green-and-white flag? That’s Kitori’s
reptilian clan, the Czo. Exquisite clothes-makers. Even the
King has their fabrics imported. And there—that chain of
ground-boats belongs to the Feng-shi. Very powerful family
from Shomu province.” An ornate, silver carriage pulls into
place alongside us, and the General notes the insignia. “Ah.
The White Wing clan. One of the most powerful bird families
in Ikhara. Surely even you must have heard of them?”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of admitting I haven’t.
Velvet curtains are draped across the carriage windows. I’m
just turning away when one of the curtains twitches aside, and
my gaze locks with the glossy eyes of a swan-form girl. The
white feathers covering her skin are so lustrous it’s as though
they were powdered in pearl dust.
She’s so beautiful that I instinctively smile. But the girl
doesn’t return it. A feather-clad hand touches her shoulder and
she releases the curtain, disappearing behind the smooth gold.
“Filthy felines,” comes a growl from the General.
I glance round, confused. But he’s staring in the opposite
direction, his lip furled.
Beyond the other window, a sleek ground-ship is passing
by. Marigold sails billow in a presumably magic-enhanced
wind. Craning my head to look out, I track the figures stalking
the deck. The way they move reminds me of Tien’s feline
slink, and beneath the cloths wrapped over their mouths I
make out the jut of their maws. Cat-forms. My eyes flick to
the sails. Each is stamped with three claw-tipped paw prints.
Our carriage gives a kick, hitting a pothole in the road, just
as I place the crest.
The Amala, or the Cat Clan, as they’re more affectionately
known. My father has told me stories about them, not even
trying to hide the note of admiration in his voice. Out of all
demon clans, the Cat Clan is the one Paper castes feel the most
affinity for. They’re known for their rebellious nature, uprising
and causing trouble wherever they can, especially if it involves
annoying the King. I heard they intercepted a wagon carrying
crates of the King’s pastries from a specialist bakery in Ang-
Khen, Baba told me just a few weeks ago, a glimmer in his
eyes. When it arrived at the Hidden Palace, they found that a
single bite had been taken out of each of the pastries. Every
one.
I push down a snigger at the memory. Now, these are
demons I can get behind.
As we watch, two men on horseback ride up beside the
Amala’s ground-ship. Wind billows their long peacock-blue
capes, so I can’t make out the white brushstrokes that would
reveal their clan, but there’s something about the elegant
manner in which the men ride that invokes royalty. Even
though, of course, they can’t be. They’re human.
One of the Amala’s members leans over the edge of the
ship, shouting something to the two men, gesturing wildly.
They shout back—or at least they seem to from the movement
of their heads—before pulling their horses away.
“Who were they?” I ask as the men disappear into the lines
of traffic.
General Yu doesn’t look round. “The Hannos,” he answers
distractedly. Something flickers across his face, gone too
quickly for me to interpret.
I’ve heard of the Hannos from my father and Tien, though
with none of the warmth in their voices as when they’d spoken
of the Cat Clan. The largest Paper caste clan in Ikhara, the
Hannos are one of the Demon King’s most prominent
supporters. When it comes to Paper clans, one of his only
supporters.
So why were two of their men talking with one of the
King’s main opponents?
We ride on, day slipping into night as a steady rain claims
the land. Hour after hour, the number of travelers drops away.
I stare out the window. A moonless sky hangs vast and heavy
over the plains. The air is cool, and with the rain the darkness
is complete, viscous, like I could dive right into it. An image
comes to me of one of the sky gods: Zhokka, Harbinger of
Night. How he’d extend his hand to catch me as I fell toward
him, a grin of swallowed starlight widening across his face.
“Eat,” commands General Yu suddenly, snapping me from
my dark imagining. He hands me a leather flask and a package
wrapped in a pandan leaf. “I don’t want you fainting from
hunger during your inspection at the palace.”
I take a grateful bite of the fragrant sticky rice inside, the
spices warming my belly. “The magic on this carriage,” I
begin between chews. I risk a glance at the General. “Was it
cast by the royal shamans?”
“Our little village girl has heard of them, huh?”
“Everyone in Ikhara has heard of them.”
He grunts. “I suppose. But the way some in the royal
palace revere them, as if they are gods… even the Demon
King himself acts as though their powers are holy,” he adds
with a snort.
My brow furrows at the General’s dismissal. The royal
shamans hold legendary status across Ikhara. Like the Paper
Girls, they’re a feature of the Hidden Palace whose mystery
has been cloaked with layers of gossip and superstition. The
story goes that when the Demon King created the Hidden
Palace, he ordered his architects to design an impenetrable
fortress. His architects told him there could be no such thing—
and so the King had them executed. Their replacements were
more careful. After many discussions, they suggested a
constant dao to be woven into the perimeter wall. No single
shaman could do this, but a group of them, constantly at work,
might be capable.
Shamans combining power isn’t unheard of, but it’s usually
only a small group working on behalf of a clan or an army, a
temporary arrangement. What the King’s advisers suggested
was a permanent one. A large group taking turns to craft the
magic that would live within the palace walls.
“Is it true there’re over a thousand shamans in the royal
guard?” I ask.
“A thousand? That is nothing, girl. There are many
thousand. Which is why I didn’t understand—”
The General stops abruptly.
“Didn’t understand what?” I prompt.
With a jerky movement, he gestures to the scar splitting his
face. It would be an ugly face even without the scar: the wide,
flat bull’s nose, too large between narrow cheekbones; the
heavy-set lower jaw. But the scar twists it into a macabre
mask, less demon than monster.
“I received this recently in a battle in Jana,” the General
scowls, glaring stonily ahead. “I asked the King’s permission
for one of the royal shamans to heal it, but… he refused. He
told me that battle scars are a badge of honor. Of power. That
to want to rid myself of one is a sign of weakness. You can
imagine the King’s reaction when I pointed out that he himself
has often used magic on his own scars.” A muscle twitches in
his neck. “It’s not often I am so foolish. I was lucky he only
demoted me.”
I get a sudden flare of empathy for General Yu—which
disappears in an instant as he traces a calloused finger along
my cheek.
“That’s where you come in.”
 I draw back. “What do you mean?”
“It’s true you are no classic beauty,” he muses, looking
over me. “You lack the elegance of girls who have grown up
in the affluent societal circles. And yet… those eyes. It might
just be enough to stir the King’s interest.” He pauses,
expression darkening. “At least, let us hope so. The chosen
girls will be arriving at the palace tonight. We’ll have to be
careful about how we approach Mistress Eira and Madam
Himura about you.”
I blink. “The selection process is already over?”
“Weeks ago.”
“Then, what am I here for?” My voice rises. “What
happens if they don’t want me?” I grip the edge of the bench,
pitching forward. “If they don’t, can I go back home—”
“Of course not,” the General cuts in. “And you will make
sure they want you. I need to get back into the King’s favor
after the incident with my scar. Sith heard rumors of a human
girl with eyes the color of gold, but I didn’t quite believe it
until I saw you.” There’s a challenge in his gaze. “Tell me,
girl, do you have what it takes to win over the court?”
Anger hardens inside me. So that’s what he’s bringing me
to the palace for? A bargaining chip?
“I don’t want to win over the court,” I retort.
Nostrils flaring, General Yu seizes my throat. “You are
going to try,” he snarls, “and you are going to succeed! Or else
your family—what pitiful part that’s left of it—will be
punished. Make no mistake, keeda.” He grasps my wrists and
yanks them up to my face, fingers digging into my skin. “Their
blood will be here. Do you understand me? On your hands.”
His words chill me. I wrench away from him, shaking, as
horror slinks in an ice-cold flood down my veins.
The General laughs. “You think you’re above this. I can see
that. But believe me, girl, you are not. Because once you find
out what happens to paper gone rotten—when you see what
they do to whores who won’t play along—you will beg the
palace to keep you.” His eyes glide past me, to the window.
“We’re here.”
I whip round. Outside, willowy stalks of bamboo trees are
flashing past, an ivory-green blur. Eerie sounds fill the forest
—the song of owls, rain dripping on leaves, distant calls from
animals hidden in the dark. The air is loamy with the smell of
wet earth. After hours of empty plains, the closeness of the
trees startles me. We’re passing through them impossibly fast,
and even though there’s the snap and sweep of leaves on the
carriage’s exterior, the noise is muffled. More magic.
“The great Bamboo Forest of Han,” the General
announces, pride in his voice. “Part of the palace’s defenses.
Too dense to enter on animal-back, too difficult for an army to
traverse. It would take days to tear down a path. Visitors and
traders must obtain the correct permits to be granted the daos
from the royal shamans that open up this hidden road.”
I watch the trees whip past, my eyes wide. After a few
minutes, the carriage slows. The horses drop to a canter, then a
trot, as the forest opens, and I reel back, eyes even wider than
before.
The Hidden Palace of Han.
Fortress of the Demon King.
Black rock as dark as night; walls so high they eclipse the
moon. The perimeter of the palace rears up from the earth like
some kind of giant stone monster. Far above, the tiny figures
of guards pace the parapet. The walls have an unearthly
shimmer about them, and as we draw closer, I notice millions
of glowing characters ingrained in the marbled stone, swirling
and spinning off one another beneath the rain-slicked surface.
The low hum of chanting vibrates through the air.
The royal shamans.
Goose bumps prick across my skin. I’ve never felt magic
like this.
“Shut your mouth,” General Yu commands. “It’s not
womanly to stare.”
I do as he says, too awed even to be insulted by his
comment. The carriage slows to a stop. There’s the squelch of
footsteps in the mud. Moments later, a rap on the wood makes
me start.
A round-faced bear-form guard pulls aside the cover, drops
of rain nestling in the tufts of his brown fur. “General Yu!
Back from Xienzo already!” He bows. “I hope the heavens
smiled upon your journey.” When he lifts his head, he blinks at
me, ears twitching. “If I may ask, General, who is your guest?”
“Lei-zhi is here to join the court as a Paper Girl,” the
General replies with an impatient click of his tongue. “I sent
two of my men ahead earlier to inform you. I assume you got
the message? Or are we to be kept here waiting outside the
palace like a couple of lowly street peddlers?”
The guard dips his head. “Of course not, General. One
moment. Let me confirm with Gate Master Zhar.”
I watch out the window as the soldier, hunched against the
rain, crosses to an outpost stationed beside a set of towering
doors. The gates are set deep into the wall. To each side stand
giant pecalang, the statues sometimes placed outside buildings
as protection from evil spirits. Most of the pecalang in my
village are small, just tokens, really, hand-sized and easily torn
from their plinths in a storm. These ones are enormous. They
stand imposing at over twenty feet tall, carved in the likeness
of bulls, their faces contorted into snarls that seem so real they
snatch my breath away. Stone hands grip flame-lit braziers. As
my eyes adjust to the light, I notice more statues lined along
the wall. Then I start.
Because these guards are alive.
The hairs on my arms stand up at the sight of hundreds of
demons standing flank-to-flank along the perimeter of the
palace. They stare fixedly ahead, swords crossed at their
chests. The wet flicker of flames reflects in their eyes—demon
eyes. Gazelle, snow leopard, lion, boar. So many forms I’ve
never seen before, and each one Moon caste. Buffalo, wildcat,
ibex, ape. Cobra, jackal, tiger, rhinoceros. So many forms I’ve
never even dreamed, and the thrum of barely contained
strength in each glint of tapered incisor and horn and claw.
I draw back, swallowing.
“Impressive, yes?” the General states, but I don’t give him
the satisfaction of a reply. Or rather, I don’t speak because I
can’t. It’s as though there were hands wrapped over my throat.
As though the press of the demons were everywhere.
At a wave from the bear guard, a smaller set of doors
beside the main gate draw open. The horses pull us through
into a long tunnel. Its ceiling curves low, forming a cocoon of
darkness. The chanting of the royal shamans echoes all
around, a heavy hum in the air, the unsettling noise vibrating
right down to my bones. Then everything goes silent.
There’s a flash, like lightning.
A fiery shiver explodes across my skin.
I bite back a cry. The heat is just on the edge of bearable. I
spin around but can’t see anything that might be causing it.
“What’s—what’s happening?” I stammer, rubbing my hands
over my goose-pricked arms.
“We’re passing through the shamans’ protection,” General
Yu answers. “If we are not who we say we are, this dao will
reveal us to the guards inside. Only the most powerful shaman
could weave magic to evade an enchantment like this. I would
tell you that you get used to it, but it’s not as if you’ll ever be
leaving.” The corners of his lips curve into sharp points.
“Welcome to the palace, Paper Girl.”
 FIVE

AS WE CLEAR THE TUNNEL, the sensation lifts, along with the

uneasy silence.
My first impression of the world within the palace grounds
is a smell, so sweet it makes my mouth water: night-blooming
jasmine. The flowers burst in a fiery-green tangle along the
walls. The familiarity of the scent shocks me, and I take in my
first look at the palace, gripping the edge of the bench as I lean
forward to stare out, half holding my breath.
We’re in an enormous square. Braziers illuminate the vast
space, shadows deep at its edges, empty except for a guards’
pavilion and a row of stables. A couple of guards hurry over as
our carriage comes to a stop. The General seems to know them
well, and greets them warmly—or at least what constitutes as
warmth coming from him—before we continue on.
Now that we’re actually here, a strange sense of calm starts
to take over me, like a blanket laid gently over something
smoldering. I angle myself at the window, trying to get a better
view, but the horses pick up the pace. Everything flies by in a
blur. I catch only quick glimpses of my new home. Rain-
slicked cobbles. The dark rush of gardens at night. Elegant
temples with furled roofs, their ornate architectural styles
unfamiliar to me. We pass through small courtyards and wide,
open spaces; linked squares with bridges arching over water;
grand, imposing structures crafted from marble. It stuns me
how vast the palace is. Not just a palace really, but a city—a
labyrinth of streets, courtyards, and gardens, like the veins and
arteries flowing through a giant creature with the King nestled
at its core, its own living, beating heart.
I wonder if that heart is as black as I’ve been told.
After twenty minutes, the horses slow. “This is it,” General
Yu announces as they draw to a halt. He leans forward to tug
aside the curtain at the front of the carriage. “Women’s Court.”
Massaging the numbness in my legs, I get to my feet and
step out into rain and lantern-lit darkness. We’re in what looks
to be some kind of residential area. Tall walls enclose a web of
streets comprised of interlocking houses and covered
walkways set on raised platforms. The buildings are ornate,
with dark walls of what looks like mahogany and rosewood,
glossy under the downpour. Sliding bamboo screens—so
delicate compared to the thick doors we have in Xienzo—
reveal the backlit silhouettes of figures inside. Porches ring
every house, lined with vases of white-petaled orchids and
peonies.
My feet slip in the muddy earth as the General leads me
down one of the unlit paths at the base of the buildings. He
keeps one hand on my shoulder to stop me from bolting.
Though even if I knew where to run to, I’m not sure I could.
My body seems bound to some unseen current as we move
through the unfamiliar space, everything cast in a dreamlike
ruby haze from the red lanterns dangling from the curved
eaves of buildings, like ripe fruit. Rain-dampened sounds drift
out from open windows and doorways above—female voices
raised in laughter, plucked zither music, lilting and beautiful.
We stop beside a servants’ entrance built into the side of a
grand-looking house. The General pulls a rope, sounding a
bell.
A few seconds later the door flies open. Light spills into
the alley. A young girl of ten or eleven blinks out at us. She
has a gentle, moonlike face and round doe eyes, her hair pulled
messily back into a lopsided bun. Loose strands unwind
around her long, fluted ears. They are the only part of her that
suggests she’s not Paper; she’s a deer-form—Steel, but barely.
Lantern light glides across her smooth human skin, a mirror of
mine, and an immediate sense of kinship rushes through me.
After days in the sole company of demons, I want to hug her,
press her soft, bare cheek to mine.
“Oh!” she cries, dropping to the floor in a low bow.
“General Yu!”
He barely looks at her. “Fetch Mistress Eira,” he
commands.
The girl bounces to her feet at once, scuttling back inside
the house. Her bun of hair bobs like a doe’s stubbed tail, as
though trying to help her appear more demon than she is.
I peer after her. Past the doorway, a flight of stairs leads up
to a lantern-lit corridor. Voices float down from the rooms
beyond, and the air is warm, tea-scented. There’s something so
welcoming about the house that for a second it’s easy to
imagine myself walking inside to find Tien and Baba and Bao.
The pain is so sharp then that I have to dig my fingernails into
my palms just to feel something else.
This is not my home.
Nowhere else ever will be.
We’ve only been waiting a few minutes before the young
girl reappears at the top of the steps, this time with a tall
woman at her side.
“Thank you, Lill,” the woman says, and the girl scurries
off.
The Paper woman turns to us. There’s a pause as her eyes
settle on me, and then she begins to make her way down the
staircase. She moves impossibly lightly, a grace even to how
she holds the hem of her plum-colored silk robes—the most
exquisite I have seen in my life. They drape round her slim
form effortlessly, pattered with silver embroidery and held
together at her waist by a wide band of fabric. It’s this that
jolts my memory to Tien showing me drawings one of our
customers once gifted her. The illustrations reflected the styles
of women’s clothing favored by the central provinces. If I’m
remembering correctly, these types of robes are a specific style
of hanfu originally worn by the aristocracy of northeastern
Shomu.
At the bottom of the stairs, she bows. “General Yu.” She
stays just beyond the doorway, under the shelter of the house.
Her jet-black eyes shine with intelligence, and a serene smile
touches her lips. Instincts tell me that this woman was once a
Paper Girl herself. Though she looks in her early forties, the
bronzed skin stretched over her high cheekbones is as smooth
and poreless as a young girl’s.
The General inclines his head. “Mistress Eira. I apologize
for coming to Women’s Court and disturbing you without
forewarning. But this matter couldn’t wait.” He pushes me
forward. “May I present Lei-zhi.”
The woman’s gaze flicks to me at his use of this suffix. She
turns back to the General, a hint of something hard-edged in
her smile. “How strange that you give her the Paper Girl title,”
she says, still smiling calmly. “The girls arrived a couple of
hours ago—I was just entertaining them myself. Last time I
checked, all eight were present.”
“I’m aware this is unusual,” the General says quickly. “But
I hope you’ll agree it’s for a worthy cause. When I found the
girl, and saw how striking her beauty was, I dropped
everything to bring her to the palace.”
“I assure you, General, our girls are more than striking
enough for the King.” Folding her palms at her waist, Mistress
Eira gives a short bow. “Now, I really must return—”
A bit too roughly, the General seizes my cheeks. He wrests
my face up so that light from the stairwell catches my eyes.
Gold upon gold.
She was already half turning away, but in an instant
Mistress Eira freezes. Her lips part, and then she presses them
firmly closed. Her eyes don’t leave mine as she steps in close.
Delicate perfume lifts from her skin; rosewater and the sweetly
spiced scent of neroli. I blink the water from my eyelashes,
trying to keep my gaze steady as she regards me properly for
the first time.
“Heavens’ blessings, those eyes…” Mistress Eira glances
at General Yu. “She really is pure Paper?”
“I assure you, Mistress, her blood is human.”
“Her parents?”
“Herb-shop owners from western Xienzo.”
“So she has no experience with the court?”
“Unfortunately, not. But she can learn fast. The girl is used
to hard work. And look at how striking she is even now,
dressed so plainly. Imagine the transformation once you and
Madam Himura have worked on her. Once she has been
educated in the ways of women.” The General’s tone turns
silky. “And I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you of our
King’s superstitious nature. Imagine how appreciative he
might be to receive a girl who is as much a symbol of the
heavens’ good fortune as one of beauty. It could be the much-
needed boost of confidence he needs. Given everything we’ve
been facing lately…” He trails off, and the two of them share a
pointed look.
The idea of the Demon King lacking confidence is so
opposite to how I’ve been imagining him. I want to ask more
about what things exactly the court has been facing lately, but
Mistress Eira’s focus pins me in place.
“It’s as if Ahla herself smiled down from the heavens as
you were born,” she muses. It’s something I’ve heard before;
many people believe the Moon Goddess had a hand in
coloring my eyes. Mistress Eira gives me a gentle smile.
“Lei,” she asks, “are you sure you are ready for the life of a
Paper Girl?”
Behind her, the General’s eyes fix on me. I remember his
words in the carriage earlier. Their blood will be here. Do you
understand me? On your hands.
Tien’s face, my father’s come to my mind. The way they
looked when the General thrust me into the carriage. The way
they would look if I gave him reason to act out his threat.
Tears prick my eyes. I force out this gruesome image and
instead picture them smiling, working, laughing, living.
There is only one answer I can give if I want that for them.
So I offer it, even though it breaks my heart, pushing the word
from my tongue like a stone.
“Yes.”
I knew it even earlier, at the dock in Noei and on the boat
to Han, and maybe even before then, from the minute General
Yu’s eyes met mine in the shop. It was pointless to hope for a
different outcome. And, even though it’s the slimmest of
chances, at least being here in the palace means I might find
out what happened to my mother.
Still. The word leaves a bitter flavor in my mouth. It tastes
like failure.
Like betrayal.
I swallow it down as Mistress Eira smiles, draping an arm
across my back.
“Thank you, General,” she tells him. “You were right to
bring Lei here. I’ll introduce her to Madam Himura right
away. Hopefully her reaction will be as positive as mine. We’ll
be sure to make it known to the King that Lei comes as your
personal gift.” Bowing one last time, she ushers me into the
house.
Before she shuts the door, I look back at the General. His
smirk is wider than I’ve seen it, his eyes bright with triumph.
Mistress Eira leads me to a small, windowless room and asks
me to wait, leaving me standing awkwardly in the middle of
the floor. Water drips from my soaked clothes onto the
polished teak boards. I smooth my hands over my matted hair,
trying—and failing—to slow my heart. Even after the long
journey here, it doesn’t feel real. I’m in the royal palace.
In one of its buildings, the King is waiting.
I don’t know when I’ll be introduced to him—the horror
hits me that it could be tonight—and the palace is so vast he’s
not likely to be close by. Still, there’s something intimate
about it, to be inside the palace walls. Perhaps even in a
building he’s been in once before.
My spine tingles. Hugging my arms, I glance over my
shoulder with a ridiculous notion that he could even be
standing behind me.
The next time steps sound in the corridor, hard clicks
accompany the light footfall of Mistress Eira. A strange,
hunched shadow appears behind the sliding door. It’s not quite
human, too bulky in the shoulders and neck. Instinctively, I
back away, readying myself, but I can’t help the curl of fear as
the door opens and the woman I assume to be Madam Himura
enters the room.
Only she isn’t just a woman—she is a demon.
An eagle demon.
Eagle-forms are one of the rarest kinds of demon. Like a
lot of bird forms, many lost their lives fighting in the Night
War, and they’ve been mostly recruited since as soldiers for
the King’s army. I’ve never seen a bird-form up close before,
apart from the quick glimpse of the swan-girl on the road out
of the Black Port. The first thing I notice are her eyes: two
hooded crescents of yellow. Their piercing gaze cuts straight
through me. Pearl-white feathers flow down to a hooked beak
that pulls her humanoid jaw out of place, so her face is at once
familiar but extremely… not. Graphite robes set off the inky
plumage that sheathes her body.
“So,” she says, glaring at me. “This is what all the fuss is
about.”
Her voice is hoarse, a croak that seems to come from the
back of her throat. She steps closer, revealing the glint of
scaled claws from beneath her robes. A taloned hand at the
end of one arm—human limbs melded with eagle feathers—
clutches the handle of a bone walking stick, but despite the
hunched-over way she moves, there’s still power there,
brimming energy.
“Your age, girl?” she snaps brusquely, making me jump.
I wet my lips. “S-seventeen.”
“When were you born?”
“The first day of the New Year.”
“An auspicious sign,” she muses. “And the moon would
have been golden then.… Perhaps that is what lent you those
eyes.”
“Well,” I say, my cheeks hot, “it wasn’t a demon.”
Madam Himura bristles at this. The sleek feathers coating
her arms ruffle, seeming to blur her arms into wings as they
fan out before settling back against her skin. “Anyone with
half a brain can tell your skin is Paper, stupid girl. You even
stand like a servant. A demon wouldn’t hold themselves in
such a way. Besides, the official inspection tomorrow will
reveal if you are not who you say you are. You won’t be able
to hide anything from them, no matter how many
enchantments you might have used. Turn!” she commands
abruptly.
I do as she says, feeling her stare roam over me.
“Mistress Eira tells me you have no experience whatsoever
with the court. No connections that you are aware of.”
I shake my head.
In a flash, she jerks forward, clasping my chin in her
talons. “You do not answer with crude movements, girl!” Sour
breath hits my face. “If I ask you a question, you respond with
‘Yes, Madam Himura’ or ‘No, Madam Himura.’ Is that clear?”
I swallow. “Yes, Madam Himura.”
“Do you even possess any skills aside from being insolent
to your superiors?”
 Glowering, I mutter, “I’m good with herbs, and cleaning
—”
“Herbs?” She lets out a racking laugh. “Cleaning? We are
women of the court. Those are jobs for servants and maids. As
a Paper Girl, it’s your nu skills—your female skills—you’re to
cultivate. Are you telling me you have no such talents?” She
clacks her beak. “How worthless.”
I grind my teeth to hold back a retort. Those are the skills
my parents and Tien taught me. Skills that are surely more
worthwhile than knowing how to entertain a King.
Madam Himura cocks her head, appraising me coolly. She
makes a strange, almost purring sound at the back of her
throat. “Ah. I see. You think you’re better than this. Well, just
wait until your lessons start. You’ll see how hard such skills
are to master.” Her eyes narrow. “Despite what you think, I see
the hunger in you. The desire to prove yourself. Your qi fire is
strong—perhaps too strong. We’ll have to keep careful watch,
or it might end up burning all you touch.” With barely a pause,
she snaps, “Are you pure?”
“Pure?”
“Sex. Your nu core. Have you allowed a man to enter
you?”
My face flushes. Considering what I’m here for, her frank
language shouldn’t be a surprise. But Tien has only ever
broached the subject with me in a half joking manner, and my
father certainly never mentioned it. I’d been working in the
shop full time since Mama was taken, so I wasn’t able to keep
up with girls my own age. If things had been different, maybe
I’d have already spent a few years giggling with friends about
love and lust. Instead, those thoughts were secret ones.
Feverish dreams in the middle of velvety nights.
I drop my eyes from the eagle-woman’s fierce gaze. “No,”
I reply truthfully.
I sense her watching me, perhaps searching for a lie. A
glimmer of hope rises in my belly—because maybe if she
doesn’t believe me, she’ll order General Yu to take me back.
But I shove the idea away, remembering his threat.
Finally, Madam Himura turns to Mistress Eira. “Fetch
Lill,” she orders. “Have her bring soap and clean clothes. A
plain hanfu set will suffice.”
We wait in silence. I want to ask what’s going on, but from
the eagle-woman’s stance I can tell she expects me to stay
quiet. Mistress Eira returns a minute later with the same doe-
form maid who opened the door to the General and me. The
girl gives me a grin—which disappears as soon as Madam
Himura rounds on her.
“Clean and dress Lei,” she commands with a jab of her
cane, “then bring her to join the rest of the girls.” Without a
backward glance, she moves toward the door, taloned feet
clicking.
“Wait!” I shout. It’s out before I can help it. Madam
Himura swirls round, and I recoil at the cutting glare she gives
me. “I mean, Madam Himura… does this mean I’m one of the
Paper Girls now?”
The eagle-woman scowls. “You’d better not be so dense in
your classes,” she snaps before leaving the room.
But Mistress Eira offers me a smile. “Yes, Lei-zhi. It does.”
She slides the door shut behind her, but I keep staring at the
place she had stood. The air is solid in my lungs, my throat
filled with rocks. I run my tongue over my dry lips.
The young maid beams at me like this is the best news
anyone could receive. “Congratulations, Mistress!” she sings.
“You must be so happy!”
Her words pull a rough laugh from my throat. Me, a
mistress. And to be congratulated for… this. Whatever this
will turn out to be. And then I’m rounding my back on her,
hiding my face with my hands to stifle the manic laughter
that’s pouring out of me even as tears arrive to accompany
them, hot and wet, leaking out of me just as uncontrollably.
Everything that’s happened over the past few days seems to
drain from my body as it finally hits me.
I’m here. In the royal palace.
And I will be staying here if I want to keep Baba and Tien
safe.
If I want to keep them alive.
 SIX

A WOODEN TUB IS BROUGHT TO the room and filled with warm,

fragranced water. While she bathes me, Lill quizzes me about
my life before the palace, questions tumbling from her mouth
so quickly I barely finish answering one when the next comes.
Which province am I from? Do I have siblings? What’s it like
to be Paper caste? Is my mother as beautiful as I am?
I’m not used to being naked in front of someone else, but
Lill acts like it’s nothing, as direct with her work as with her
questions. She dunks a sponge into the water and scrubs it
over me before dragging a comb through my knotted hair.
Eventually, her chatter starts to put me at ease. She reminds
me of Tien, albeit a younger and far less bossy version. And
after my long journey to the palace, it’s impossible to deny the
pleasure of warm water on my skin. The bathwater is soon
muddy, while my skin has done the opposite, the grime and
sweat-gray sheen that has accumulated over the past few days
shed with each stroke of the sponge, until I am revealed anew,
baby pale and as polished as a coin.
Afterward, Lill dresses me in simple taupe-colored robes
similar to Madam Himura’s hanfu, though the design and
material is far plainer and the sash is slimmer. “You’ll only
wear this type of hanfu on days you don’t have to leave the
house,” she explains.
 “The design of Mistress Eira’s robes are beautiful,” I say as
her deft fingers adjust the cerulean sash at my waist. “Am I
right that their style is originally from Shomu?”
Lill nods. “It’s the traditional dress of the White Wing Clan
themselves.”
“So why is it worn here in Han?”
“Well, I don’t know if this is true exactly, but legend has it
that the original Bull King fell in love with one of the clan
lord’s daughters. He admired the clothing style she wore so
much that he had it adopted here in Han, and Rain and Ang-
Khen too.”
Of course. Forced assimilation. Just another of the
wonderful things to come from the Night War two hundred
years ago.
Lill’s doe ears quiver as she steps back to assess her work.
“You’ll see, Mistress. Food, architecture, art, music… all the
most beautiful things in Ikhara can be found in the palace.
Like you!”
I grimace at this, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Speaking
of that,” I say. “What are they like? The other girls?”
“Oh, beautiful, too, of course. But they’re going to be so
jealous when they see you. No Paper Girl has ever been
blessed with eyes like yours.” She picks up my dirty clothes,
adding, “Wait here, Mistress. I’ll just throw these away.”
I nod, distracted. Blessed. The word rings even more
hollow tonight. My eyes are the reason I’ve been ripped from
my home. Just like the original Bull King spying something so
beautiful that he claimed it for his own. They’re not a blessing
—they’re a curse.
And then I remember.
“Wait!” I say, lurching after her. Lill blinks as I reach into
my trouser pocket, drawing out the familiar egglike object
inside.
She smiles up at me. “Your Birth-blessing pendant!”
 Its gold casing gleams in the lantern-light. Ever since I was
young I’ve kept it with me, worn it as a necklace, something
comforting about its weight against my chest bone.
“When does it open?” Lill asks, eager, as I loop it around
my neck and tuck it under my robes.
“In six months,” I mutter.
Her eyes light up. “Maybe your fate is love, Mistress—
with the King! What an honor that would be!”
And her look is so hopeful I have to turn away.
When Tien told me how many families see great honor in
their daughters being chosen, I couldn’t understand it. Honor
is in family, in hard work and care and love, in a small life
well lived. Yes, sometimes I’ve wished for more. Grumbled at
Tien’s bossing about, at the long, tiring days of shop life.
Dreamed of starlit nights of adventures and a world outside the
village and a love so bold it sets my heart alight. But always
my future was framed in the safe arms of Xienzo. Of my
family. Of my home.
A few minutes later, Lill leads me through the muted
house, sounds of daily life muffled behind the painted doors.
Dark wood corridors shine with polish. The paneled walls are
draped with batik silks and delicate paintings. Every inch of
the house drips with elegance. Even the air seems rich
somehow, clean and perfumed.
We reach a set of sliding screen doors. Raised voices sound
from within.
“Nine girls?” a thin, reedy voice declares. “Nine? It makes
no sense! It’s eight. It’s always been eight. That’s the
tradition.”
“Continue this way, Blue, and I shall gladly throw you out
to return the group to its original number.”
“I’d like to see you try, Madam Himura. You know the
power my father holds in the court. I don’t think he’d take
kindly to you casting me out.”
 “Who’s that?” I whisper to Lill.
“Mistress Blue,” she replies. “Her father, Lord Ito, is very
famous. He’s one of the only Paper caste members of the
court.” As the voices die down, she asks, “Are you ready to go
in, Mistress?”
I take a slow inhale, then nod.
Lill gives me an encouraging smile. Then, sliding the door
open, she announces with a bow to the room beyond,
“Presenting Mistress Lei-zhi!”
The scents hit me first: incense from joss sticks and
burners; the delicate fragrance of chrysanthemum tea. Maids
in pastel-colored robes drift round, pouring the tea from
porcelain pots with graceful curves of their wrists, and even
they would be intimidating if they had walked into my
parents’ shop. But compared with who they’re serving, their
presence fades.
The Paper Girls.
Kneeling round a low table in the center of the room, they
cut striking figures draped in vivid, lustrous fabrics, like a
collection of living jewels. I take them in one by one. There is
a girl with the bronzed, almost russet-brown skin common in
the Southern provinces, draped in vibrant orange robes that
remind me of the sarongs we have in the North, her raven hair
twisted into a plait threaded with beads. At her sides are a
stern-looking girl with a sharp, bobbed haircut at odds with her
curvaceous figure, and a petite girl in an ice-blue dress.
Opposite them sits a sweet-faced girl with rust-colored hair,
dense clusters of freckles adorning her nose and cheeks. She
gives me a nervous smile as our eyes meet. A pair of twins
kneel next to her, pale-faced and straight-backed, like identical
dolls, their lips drawn in a berry color to match their modern,
high-collared dresses, so figure-hugging it pulls a blush to my
cheeks.
Then I notice a girl set apart from the group. Unlike the
rest, she’s sitting almost casually, long legs folded to the side.
Her draped skirt and blouse are tailored from a velvety ink-
black fabric shimmering with intricate embroidery, like a star-
dusted night. Wavy hair cascades to her waist. Even the maids
have been openly staring since I came in, but this girl is still
facing away, gazing over her shoulder with a bored expression.
A slight pout puckers her darkly glossed lips. Just when I’m
about to turn away, she looks round.
Our eyes catch. At least, that’s what it feels like—a
physical hold. She returns my gaze with a look so intense it
roots me to the spot before her curved, catlike eyes flick away.
“This is her? This is the irresistible Nine?”
A high voice cuts through the quiet. It’s the girl we heard
outside, Blue. She’s tall, even standing next to Madam
Himura, with narrow shoulders and glossy azure-black hair,
straight and smooth. Her features match the sharpness in her
voice, angled cheekbones like two blades and narrow eyes
shadowed with paint glinting out from beneath blunt bangs.
The front of her emerald dress dips daringly low, revealing a
flat triangle of alabaster skin.
“Well,” she says, wielding her voice like a scythe. “If she
hadn’t been announced, I’d have mistaken her for the maid.”
Her high laugh rings out—cutting off abruptly as Madam
Himura slaps her.
The room falls silent.
Blue’s head is twisted to the side. She holds it stiffly, her
shoulders jerking with shallow breaths, dark hair hiding her
face.
Despite her hunch, Madam Himura seems to double in size
as she glares down her beak at Blue, her feathers ruffled. “I
know who your father is, girl. After you were chosen, he came
to me to ask that I don’t treat you any differently because of
his status. So you’d better give me the respect I’m owed.” As
Blue’s cheeks flush, the eagle-woman’s gaze sweeps over the
room. “That goes for all of you. No matter your background,
whether you have grown up with all or nothing, here you are
all on the same level. And that level is beneath me.” She jabs
her cane in my direction. “Now, welcome Lei-zhi in the proper
manner.”
The girls drop into bows, Blue a fraction slower than the
rest.
“I have already explained why she’s here,” Madam Himura
continues. “I don’t expect to repeat myself. Mistress Eira will
show you to your sleeping quarters and instruct the maids to
attend you. Tomorrow you have your assessments. Be ready
for when I come for you.”
“Yes, Madam Himura,” the girls recite.
I hurry to echo them. When I look round, I catch Blue
watching me, her eyes shining darkly.
Mistress Eira takes us to our private quarters on the northeast
side of the house. She explains that the building we’re in,
Paper House, is where we will live during our year as the
King’s concubines. Her and Madam Himura’s rooms are also
to be found here, along with the maids’ dormitory and a
variety of parlors, kitchens, and entertaining rooms. Paper
House is in the center of Women’s Court, flanked to the north
and east by gardens and to the south and west by other
buildings: suites for the women of the court, as well as
bathhouses, tearooms, and shops.
Our bedrooms run off a long corridor. Though
immaculately kept, the rooms aren’t what I was expecting.
They’re bare, furnished simply with a sleeping mat and a
shrine stocked with joss sticks and a charcoal fire to burn
them. Not exactly rooms to host a King. Then I shudder.
Because where instead will that take place?
“This isn’t very private,” Blue sniffs, trailing a manicured
nail along the edge of a door, which is barely more than a few
thin pressed sheets of rice paper. Light from the hallway shines
right through them.
“It isn’t meant to be,” replies Mistress Eira. “Your lives
belong to the court now, girls. The sooner you understand that,
the better.”
Her voice is kind, but Blue scowls at her.
As Mistress Eira answers a question from one of the other
girls, the pretty freckled girl I noticed earlier slips in beside
me, offering a hesitant smile. She looks young—too young
really to be here—with a round face framed with short auburn
hair and luminous opal-green irises. Their shade is the exact
color of the fields outside our village, rich and vibrant after the
monsoon rains, and I return her smile, fighting the stab of
homesickness that shoots through me.
“It’s to stop us from taking lovers, isn’t it?” the girl
whispers, gesturing to the doors.
“I guess so.”
“Not that I’d know.” Her freckled cheeks grow pink. “I
haven’t ever had one. A lover, I mean! Not a bedroom.
Though even that I shared with my sisters. Have you—have
you had one?” she adds, breathless.
I lift my brows. “A bedroom?”
“No!” she giggles. “A lover.”
I shake my head, and her face relaxes.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one. Mistress Eira told me I’m
the youngest here. I just turned sixteen last week. I thought I’d
be the only one without any, um, experience.” She leans in,
earnest. “I mean, I know we’re not supposed to do anything
before we’re married anyway, but some of my sisters have
done… things. And not just kissing.” She lets out another
nervous laugh, hiding her mouth behind her hands. “Sorry, I
forgot to introduce myself! I’m Aoki.”
“I’m—”
“Lei. I know. The ninth girl.” Her eyes shift to the crown of
azure-black hair at the front of the group as she adds under her
breath, “Though maybe not for long. I don’t know how much
longer she’ll last if she continues talking to Madam Himura
that way.” Aoki flashes a quick grin. “Can’t say I’d be sad to
see her go.”
I laugh, stopping quickly when the other girls look around.
Mistress Eira shows us to our rooms, instructing us to wait
for our maids. My room is at the end of the corridor, opposite
Aoki’s. I step inside slowly while she practically dances into
hers.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep!” she calls from
across the hall. “Isn’t this so exciting?”
I make a noncommittal murmur.
She takes a few steps forward, fingers twined together at
her waist. “Do you maybe want to wait with me? We can leave
the doors open so your maid knows where you are, and—”
“I’m going to rest for a bit,” I cut in. “Sorry, I’m just so
tired.”
Disappointment flickers over her face. “Oh. All right.”
The instant I shut my door, my smile drops. I stand
awkwardly in the center of the room, loosening a long exhale.
It looks just the way I feel—bare, stripped apart. For the first
time since waiting for Madam Himura’s inspection, I am
alone, and as I’m finally able to let go of the pretense, the
forced smiles and chatter, everything else drains from me, too.
I loop the room, running my fingers along the walls. Back
in our shop-house, I knew all the knots in every wood panel.
Each kink and nick and stain had a history, a memory attached
to it. You could read my childhood in the fabric of the
building. But here, it’s all blank.
Or—not quite. I lift my fingertips back to the wall. Even
recently, this room must have belonged to a previous Paper
Girl. And others before. The Paper Girl tradition has been
going on for hundreds of years. The walls might be clear of
my own memories, but they are dense with layers upon layers
of other girls’ memories, a whole story—a whole saga—of
lives that came before.
I rest my forehead to the wood. There’s something
comforting in knowing other girls were here before me, and
survived. What was she like, the previous girl to live here?
What did she feel on her first night in this room? What dreams
did she dream here?
My stomach gives a kick.
What dreams of hers were lost?
At the sound of the door opening, I spring back from the
wall. Lill rushes in. She’s grinning and breathless, her uniform
rumpled. “Mistress Eira is making me your maid!” she
exclaims. “We were one short, and I’ve been wanting to
progress from a housemaid for the last year! I’ve just given my
eighty thanks to the heavenly masters but I still can’t believe
it!”
Her smile is infectious. “Then I’d better bow to you,” I say,
my lips twitching. I kneel, a bit awkwardly in my robes,
flattening my palms on the floor. “How may I be of service,
Mistress Lill?”
She erupts into giggles. “Oh, please don’t! Madam Himura
will have a heart attack if she sees!”
I look up with a smirk. “All the more reason to do it.”
As Lill gets me ready for bed, the fear and unease start to
shift, the pressure on my ribs unknotting just a little. I didn’t
imagine making friends here, but Lill and Aoki and Mistress
Eira have given me hope that things might be different.
On the way to the palace, I was prepared for sadness. For
tears. For having to do things I don’t want to, and many more I
am terrified of. For pain. For homesickness. As the hours went
by in the carriage and then during that seemingly endless boat
journey, I prepared myself for all the things that I could
possibly find within the palace walls.
The one thing I didn’t prepare for was kindness.
And yet somehow, kindness, these light exchanges with
Aoki and Lill… it still feels wrong, like the worst kind of
betrayal. My father and Tien must be heartbroken that I’m
gone. And here I am, able to smile. To laugh, even.
That night, lying under the unfamiliar coolness of silk
sheets, I cup my Birth-blessing pendant to my chest. It’s the
only thing I have with me from home. Squeezing my eyes shut
against the sting of the tears, I picture Baba and Tien in the
house, how they might be coping, and it breaks something
deep within me. The word itself—home—is a blade in my gut.
It’s a call, a song. One I can’t answer anymore.
On nights when I couldn’t sleep back in Xienzo, I used to
lie exactly the same way I’m lying now, hands over my heart,
my pendant safely nestled in the curve of my palms. I would
pass the time by imagining what word could be hidden inside,
and there was something comforting in it. The idea of being
looked after, almost. A promise of a future so beautiful I
couldn’t even dream it yet.
But on the occasional night, my mind would fill the
darkness with words just as black. Because whatever I want to
believe, it is possible that my pendant holds a future I will not
be grateful to receive.
And tonight that’s never felt more likely.
 SEVEN

WHEN THE GONG SOUNDS THE NEXT morning, I’ve already

been up for hours.
It was the nightmare again. The kind you can’t banish with
assurances that it’s all make-believe. That you can’t wake from
and let the bright sureness of your life slowly melt the
darkness away. This was the kind of nightmare whose
monsters you can never outrun, that are still there when you
open your eyes.
The worst kind of nightmare, because its monsters are real.
It hit me hard and fast, almost as soon as I’d closed my
eyes, thrusting me straight into the fire and screaming. The
roar of demon soldiers. Fragments of memory, barely smudged
by age: the way Mama cried my name; splashes of blood on
the floor, as vivid as paint; the bodies I tripped over trying to
get back to my parents.
Afterward—only returning home with one.
I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep after the nightmare, so
I spent the rest of the night pacing the small rectangular patch
of my room, feet almost silent on the soft bamboo mat floor,
until my pulse returned to normal and my breathing slowed.
And as I paced, a new idea started to emerge: that maybe it’s a
sign that on my first night in the palace I dreamed of Mama.
Here I am, so far from home, in a place where she could have
also been.
Instead of sleeping, I take one slow lap of my room after
another. Did the soles of her feet kiss the ground here, too,
once? There’s got to be some way I can find out more about
her while I’m in the palace. Someone who might know what
happened to her. If nothing else good can come from being
here, at least I might be able to get some closure about that.
How incredible would it be to be taken from one half of my
family only to find the other half here on the opposite side of
the kingdom?
As the morning starts to fill with the sounds of daily life, I
move to the window. Outside, the sun is rising, burning away
the last scatters of raindrops from the night’s storm. My room
looks out over the northeast side of Women’s Court. I’d been
imagining small gardens from what Mistress Eira told us last
night, but the daylight reveals them to be vast, an undulating
landscape filled with trees and ponds and lush wildflower
meadows. Winged roofs of pagodas poke through the treetops.
The grounds stretch so far into the distance that the palace
walls are barely visible, but my gaze is still drawn to them: a
severe line of black, like an angry brushstroke blotting the
horizon.
A flock of birds scatter into the air. I follow their wheeling
formation over the trees before they fly beyond the wall.
I turn from the window, a sour taste in my mouth. It doesn’t
matter how beautiful the cage is. It’s still a prison.
There’s a tap on the doorframe. Lill bounds in a second
later, far more excitable than is decent for this time of day.
“Good morning, Mistress! Did you sleep well?”
“Pretty well,” I lie.
She beams. “Great! Because you’ve got a busy day ahead.
We need to start getting ready.” She clasps my hand and pulls
me out of the room, leading me down the corridor. “First stop
—the bathing courtyard.”
“Um… I usually bathe at the end of the day. You know,
after I’ve had time to get dirty?”
She sighs and says as if it were obvious, “Paper Girls wash
in the mornings. It’s one of the rules. Mistress Eira says it’s
symbolic. Something about purifying yourself for the day
ahead. Getting rid of negative qi from bad dreams.”
Thinking of last night, I repress a grim laugh. I’d need a
whole lake for that.
We turn the corner to the bathing courtyard, a rush of hot
air instantly moistening my skin. I raise my hand against the
sun as we step down into a sunken courtyard dotted with big
wooden barrels. Fronds of swaying bamboo line the walls. I
pick up the scents of sweet rosewater and ylang-ylang, the
ocean tang of seaweed, and homesickness darts through me as
the fragrances take me back to my herb shop.
Through the steam, I notice that some of the tubs are
already occupied. Most of the girls are submerged up to the
neck, but when they move, they reveal flashes of skin that
draw my eyes—the naked curve of a breast, the slope of a
thigh.
I drop my eyes quickly to the floor and keep them trained
on my feet as we cross the courtyard. Nakedness must be
something everyone from affluent families is used to. Most of
these girls probably had maids since they were young. Maybe
they had places like this in their own houses, instead of a tiny
room downstairs at the back of a shop-house where you had to
use a sponge and water heated from a kettle to clean yourself,
crouched in a corner so water wouldn’t spill under the door.
Thankfully, Lill brings me to a barrel tucked into a corner
that’s well hidden by the clouds of steam. I shrug off my night
robe before she can help, then practically dive into the tub.
“Don’t worry, Mistress,” she giggles when I emerge,
peeking my head up above the water. “You’ll get used to it.”
Once we’re back in my room, she dries my hair with a
towel before dressing me in simple midnight-blue robes. Lill is
just crouching at my feet, helping me into the socklike indoor
slippers the women here wear to keep their soles smooth,
when the clicks of talons sound in the hallway.
“Hurry up!” Madam Himura calls. “The others are
waiting.”
With one last encouraging look from Lill, I lift my chin and
step out into the hall—and immediately trip.
I flail sideways, throwing a hand to the wall to catch
myself. A few of the girls titter.
“It’s… the shoes,” I mumble, righting myself. “I’m not
used to them.”
“Of course you aren’t,” Madam Himura says. With a sigh,
she turns, motioning for us to follow her. Even the snap of her
cane manages to sound disapproving.
Aoki comes over as soon as she’s gone, lacing an arm
through mine. “I’m struggling with them, too,” she whispers.
“It’s weird to have your feet all squashed like this. My sisters
would laugh so much if they could see.”
Most of the other girls have left, but Blue hangs back.
“Perhaps it’s good you’re here after all, Nine,” she says silkily.
“You make even little Aoki here look graceful.”
I make a rude gesture with my hands when her back is
turned, and Aoki suppresses a laugh.
After some more stumbling, Aoki and I catch up with the
girls. We’re taken to the same parlor we were in last night. A
set of sliding doors has been opened, letting in sunlight and the
sound of leaves rustling in the garden beyond. Madam Himura
leaves us without explanation. We wait until the rap of her
talons has faded away before erupting into anxious whispers.
“I wish I knew what the assessments are,” Aoki says,
chewing her bottom lip. Around us, the other girls are
speculating on the same topic. “Nothing too physical, I hope.
I… I have some scars.” Her emerald eyes shimmer. “Lei, do
you think they’ll send me home because of them? I can’t be
thrown out before I’ve even met the King!”
 I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “I’m sure you’ll be
fine, Aoki. They chose you. They want you here.”
“But what if they’ve changed their minds? Maybe now that
they’ve seen me with the other girls they’ve realized they
made a mistake picking me. Maybe—”
“Tell me about the selection process,” I interrupt, realizing
she’s on the verge of a meltdown. “How does it work?”
She blinks. “Haven’t you followed any of the selections?”
I shrug. “My village doesn’t pay much attention to the
court. It’s just… so far away.” I don’t add the other reason—
that we don’t want anything to do with it. That what the King
gets up to isn’t important to us, as long as he leaves us alone.
“I thought everyone in Ikhara follows them!” Aoki
exclaims, and seeming to forget her nerves, she launches into a
thorough explanation.
I learn that the selection for Paper Girls begins on the first
day of the third month each year. The process is split into two
halves. The first, which runs for six weeks, invites families to
bring their eligible daughters—Paper caste, of course, and at
least sixteen years old by the time they would be inducted in
the palace—to the court representatives in their province. The
representatives evaluate candidates based on their ancestry,
social standing, and nu skills, as well as their appearance.
Scouts also travel throughout Ikhara to find suitable girls
whose families didn’t put them forward. The number
discovered this way is surprisingly high.
Or perhaps not so surprising. Most Paper castes aren’t
exactly the King’s biggest fans.
Once the six weeks are up, the representatives put forward
their recommendations, shortlisting one hundred girls. The
King is shown the selection to allow him to rule out any he
deems unsuitable, and occasionally, to highlight ones he
particularly likes the look of. A final thirty girls are invited to
Han’s capital for a presence with delegates from the royal
court.
 Aoki tells me her family are rice-paddy farmers in a remote
part of eastern Shomu. The banquet was her first time out of
the fields. “I wasn’t myself at all, which is probably why they
liked me. My quietness must have come across as dignified.
But really I was just keeping my mouth shut so I didn’t throw
up! None of us could believe it when a royal messenger
delivered my letter of acceptance—sealed by the King himself.
I still can’t believe it,” she adds, her thick lashes tilted down.
“I keep waiting for someone to tell me it’s all been a joke.”
“Don’t say that. You earned your place here. Just like the
others.”
She grins. “You did, too, Lei! You’re extra special for them
to make such a big exception for you.”
I bristle at the idea that I should be honored to be here. But
the look she gives me is so earnest I swallow my retort.
Just then, the door opens, a maid announcing Madam
Himura’s return. In an instant, the room falls quiet.
The eagle-woman waves a hand irritably. “Blue,” she
croaks from the doorway. “You’re first.”
Blue rises to her feet with a look that says, Of course I am.
I didn’t think Madam Himura would take long to come
back, but two hours pass before the next girl is called, and
another two until the next. Maids come in to serve us lunch,
which I practically wolf down without chewing. It’s been a
long time since my last proper meal and the palace food is
delicious. Some of the dishes are recognizable to me, if far
more delicate than how I’ve tasted them before: steaming
bowls of coconut rice jeweled with pomegranate seeds;
marinated eel slices; a whole roasted duck glistening with dark
sauce. But far more are unfamiliar, and even though my
stomach rounds, I make sure I try at least one mouthful of
everything.
By the evening, the superior-looking girl with the catlike
eyes and I are the only ones left.
“Best till last, right?” I say when we’ve been sitting in
silence for over an hour.
Cat-girl doesn’t reply, watching me with her haughty look
before turning pointedly away.
Uncomfortable silence it is, then. Glaring down at my
plate, I stab at a sugared glutinous rice-ball a bit too
aggressively. The little cake skids off the plate and plops onto
the floor.
A snort of laughter.
I look up to find Cat-girl watching, eyebrows arched, her
lips tucked up. Then, seeming to remember herself, her
expression returns smoothly to neutral. “The chopsticks here
must be different from the ones in Xienzo,” she says coolly.
It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak. Her voice is lower
than I expected, and husky. It carries the elegant intonation of
an aristocratic family. Lilting vowels, slow pacing.
“Yes,” I mutter under my breath. “The ones here seem to be
used as sticks up everyone’s—”
Her eyes glide back to me. “What was that?”
“Nothing!” I sing, and luckily Madam Himura chooses that
moment to return, calling finally for me.
I leave without saying good-bye to Cat-girl. Madam
Himura leads me to a small room, a high, bare table in its
center. A tall figure stands beside it with his back to us, and I
catch an animal scent, something musty and sharp.
Nerves ripple through me.
“Doctor Uo,” Madam Himura says, pushing me forward.
“The next girl is here.”
I force myself to stand steadily as the doctor turns, fixing
me with a beady-eyed stare. He’s a boar demon, Moon caste.
Two short tusks grow from either side of a snoutlike nose. His
skin is coated in tawny-colored hair, wizened with age, and a
pair of jade spectacles perch at the end of his nose.
“Lei-zhi is the one I told you about, Doctor,” Madam
Himura continues. “This year’s additional girl. Since she
didn’t go through the official selection process, please be sure
to inspect her even more thoroughly.”
The doctor’s nostrils twitch. “Of course, Madam.” His
voice is as scratchy-sounding as his hair looks. As Madam
Himura moves aside, he steps closer, hunching to bring his
face in line with mine. Then, before I can process what he’s
doing, he reaches out and tugs my sash free.
My robes loosen. The doctor pulls to open them and I
grapple against him to keep them shut, the blood rushing in
my ears.
“W-what’s going on?” I gasp, looking past the doctor to
where Madam Himura is settling herself in the corner of the
room, a scroll unfurled on the floor in front of her.
“Stop struggling, girl,” she commands, not even glancing
from her reading. A maid crouches in front of her, lifting a
teapot. “Let the doctor inspect you.”
“But—”
“Navya! Go help.”
Jumping up, the maid rushes over. “Please, Mistress,” she
pleads, clasping my arms. “The doctor won’t hurt you.”
But I continue to struggle as the robes are ripped from my
body, first the outer layer, then the inner. The maid is Steel
caste, like Lill—most of the servants here are—and even
though her jackal eyes are kind and she doesn’t seem to enjoy
herself as she helps the doctor undress me, my face burns with
humiliation at my disrobing by two demons. It’s as though I’m
somehow doubly unclothed in their presence, lacking in robes
and demon adornments, and I feel very clearly in this moment
what it means to be a Paper caste. To have a body sheathed in
something so delicate and easily damaged.
“On the table,” the doctor orders.
Head low, tears stinging my eyes, I do as he says.
“Hold her.”
 The maid pins my arms down, though she needn’t bother. I
lie still from then on no matter how private the places the
doctor touches are, Mistress Eira’s words from last night
playing in my mind.
Your lives belong to the court now, girls. The sooner you
understand that, the better.
Lying there on the doctor’s table, the dark truth of what she
said hits me. It makes me imagine another time I might be
lying naked for a demon, and the horror is so real then that I
have to clamp my eyes shut, wish myself away.
When the inspection is finally over, I sit up and wrap my
arms around my body. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes.
The doctor moves away, but the young maid hovers nearby,
watching me with her chin tipped down, hands clasped in front
of her.
“Get dressed,” Madam Himura snaps. Her feathers rustle as
she gets to her feet. “We don’t have all night.”
The rest of the assessments pass in a blur. There are a
fortune-teller’s analysis and a meeting with the court’s most
reputable astrologer, and a royal shaman checks for any magic
I might have used to change my appearance. There’s also
another doctor’s examination, though this time by a qi doctor,
who, thankfully, doesn’t require me to take my clothes off.
It’s past midnight by the time I get back to my room, so
I’m surprised to find Lill waiting for me. She leaps up to hug
me the second I walk through the door. “I was so worried!”
she cries.
“Has something happened?” I ask, untangling from her.
The tone of my voice is hollow. Just as I feel.
Her doe ears drop. “I—I thought you’d have heard,
Mistress. One of the girls… she didn’t come back from her
inspection. She must have used an enchantment on herself
during the selection process and the royal shaman found out.
Apparently it’s happened before, but not for many years.” She
adds shakily, “You were taking so long I got worried that
something had happened to you, too.”
“They were just extra thorough with my assessments,” I
explain. I think of Aoki. Cat-girl. “Which girl was it?”
“Mistress Rue. The girl from Rain. She seemed nice.”
A hazy memory returns to me from last night of a pale
petite girl in an ice-blue dress. She had seemed shy, not
meeting anyone’s eyes, but I noticed the quiet dignity in the
way she held herself, her humble demeanor.
My belly knots. I didn’t even get a chance to speak to her.
Though I’m not sure I want to know the answer, I wet my
lips and ask, “What’s going to happen to her?”
“Nothing good,” Lill says, long lashes hiding her eyes as
her gaze drops, and I somehow know that we will never hear
of Rue again.
 EIGHT

I THOUGHT BLUE MIGHT STOP CALLING me Nine now that our

numbers have dropped back down to the usual eight, but it’s
the first thing she does when I arrive in the bathing courtyard
the following morning.
“You let me down, Nine,” she says, thin lips curving. “I bet
the others you’d be the one to be thrown out.”
I stiffen. Lill tugs on my elbow. “Ignore her, Mistress,” she
mumbles. She tries to pull me onward, but I don’t move.
Blue is lying back in her tub, arms slung over its sides. Her
collarbones are as sharp as a pair of featherless wings,
stretched across her narrow chest like a necklace, and her
breasts below—which she exposes without any hint of self-
consciousness—are just as pointed.
Blue is all angles. Mind and body.
I meet her eyes with my own narrowed. “I hope you didn’t
bet a lot. From what Madam Himura said, it doesn’t sound like
your father will help you with your debts.”
The easy chatter of the courtyard drops in an instant. The
only sounds are the coos of birds nesting in the eaves, the
splash of water as the other girls shift uncomfortably.
Blue’s lip curls. “Don’t pretend to know anything about my
life. What could an herb-shop owner’s daughter from Xienzo
know? Especially one whose own mother left her family to
become a whore.”
Her words hit me like a slap.
“What did you say?”
“News travels fast in the palace, Nine. Better get used to
it.” She rises out of the barrel, wearing her nakedness proudly,
like armor, eyeing me with a stare that dares me to look away.
“It’s a shame your mother didn’t stick around,” she adds,
picking a bathrobe from the nearest maid and wrapping it
around her slim frame. “I bet she’d be so proud to see her
daughter following in her footsteps.”
And then I’m running at her, snarling, my fingers flexing as
though they could grow claws. I’m inches away from scraping
her face off—that horrible, smug face, how dare she—when
there’s a blur of movement at my side. Before I can react, a
pair of arms encircle me, pulling me off my feet.
“Let go!” I yell, kicking out, but the girl’s grip is strong.
She pins me against her, one elbow hooked at my waist, the
other across the front of my body. A scent unfurls from her
skin: something fresh, oceanlike.
Somehow I know it’s Cat-girl.
Blue’s face, shaken for a moment, settles quickly back into
a sneer. “Well,” she says, fixing the tie of her bathrobe. “That’s
no way for a Paper Girl to behave.”
“Enough, Blue,” Cat-girl snaps. “Before Madam Himura or
Mistress Eira hear.”
I expect Blue to shoot back a scathing comment, or at least
take offense at the way Cat-girl spoke to her. But after glaring
at me a while more, she shrugs. “I suppose you’re right. No
point wasting their time over something so petty.”
My hands wrap into fists. “Calling my mother a whore isn’t
petty!” I shout.
Blue rounds on me again, then stops at the look Cat-girl
gives her. With a toss of her hair, she stalks back into the
house, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the courtyard’s
boarded floor.
As soon as Cat-girl releases me, I whirl around to face her.
“You should’ve let me claw her face off!” I growl.
She regards me coolly. “Perhaps.” Then she turns to leave,
pausing first to add, “I am getting tired of that sneer.”
The comment—almost humorous—disarms me, and I
watch her go in silence. Damp hair cascades in a tousle to the
low dip of her back. Her bathrobe has come off one shoulder
to reveal a curve of smooth tanned skin, rosy-brown. I gave
her the nickname Cat-girl because of the shape of her eyes, the
keen, feline intelligence in them. But the way she moves is
catlike, too. My eyes track her shifting hips, an unfamiliar
warmth turning my belly.
“Mistress!” Lill grabs my arm, making me start. “Are you
all right?”
“What’s that girl’s name?” I ask distractedly.
She follows my gaze. “Oh, Mistress Wren? I thought you
might have heard of her already.”
This makes me look round. “Why?”
“Mistress Wren is the daughter of Lord and Lady Hanno.”
I recall the two blue-caped men on horseback I saw on the
road to the palace. No wonder Blue listens to Cat-girl. If she
really is a Hanno, the most powerful Paper caste clan in the
kingdom—and daughter of their leader, no less—it explains
why she’s been acting so superior.
Not that it condones it.
“Wren,” I murmur to myself, testing the name. It’s wrong,
too gentle on the tongue. Wrens are the noisy little birds that
fly in pairs around our house in Xienzo, all chirping and dull
brown feathers. The word doesn’t seem to fit this silent,
solitary girl, who is more like the cat that would stalk the birds
before pouncing.
After breakfast, Mistress Eira calls us for our first lesson. Lill
prepares me carefully. She fixes my hair into a sleek double-
knot at the nape of my neck before dressing me in a fuchsia
ruqun—a wrap-front shirt with draped sleeves and a floor-
length skirt, secured by a sash that falls down its front in a
long-tailed bow. Apparently it’s another clothing style popular
with central Ikhara’s high-class clans, but I am stiff and self-
conscious in it, even though the fabric is soft.
“I’m not even leaving the house!” I say as Lill fusses over
the bow for a good few minutes. “Does it have to be perfect?”
She shoots me a surprisingly stern look. “You’re a Paper
Girl now, Mistress. You never know who you might run into.
Who is judging you at any time.” Then she lightens. “You
know, it’s important you win the favor of the court if you want
to win the Demon King’s heart.”
“Like he even has one,” I mutter when she’s out of earshot.
The other girls are already there when I arrive at Mistress
Eira’s suite. They’re kneeling around a table with a stove set
into the middle, steam rising from a copper kettle. On the
walls are richly colored rolls of velvet and embroidered satin,
all fluttering in the breeze coming in through the open doors at
the back of the room. Through them, I glimpse the green of a
courtyard garden, speckled with morning light.
“Lei-zhi, what a beautiful outfit,” Mistress Eira says with a
smile. She motions to a space next to Aoki. “Would you like
some barley tea? I know how you girls must be feeling after
yesterday’s assessments. There’s nothing better for nerves.”
I kneel, careful to fold my skirt under the back of my legs
so it won’t fan out. Then, realizing what I’m doing, I let out a
disbelieving laugh. Just a week ago I was squatting in a
mixing tub, covered in dirt. Manners and etiquette were the
last things on my mind.
Mistress Eira lifts a brow. “Something amusing, Lei-zhi?”
“Oh.” I pick at the tails of my bow under the table. “I was
just… remembering something that happened earlier.”
 A few of the girls stiffen—they must be worried I’m going
to bring up what happened in the bathing courtyard. But that’s
the last thing I want Mistress Eira to know about. I highly
doubt fighting is on the list of skills a Paper Girl should
cultivate. Oh, hey, King! Check out my amazing whip kick!
“I keep tripping in my shoes,” I make up lamely.
Mistress Eira nods. “Ah, yes. I remember. It took me a long
time to get used to them, too.” She looks around the table, and
even this, the simple sweep of her head, has an elegance to it,
a precision. “I don’t know how much you all know about my
heritage. Most of you are from prominent families. You’ve
grown up with the customs of the court. But I spent my
childhood working for my family’s sari-making business in
southern Kitori. When I first arrived at the palace, I was as
graceful as a duck drunk on plum wine, heavens help me.”
A few of the girls titter.
“No one would know, Mistress,” Blue says, her tone
honeyed. “My father told me you were the King’s favorite.”
Aoki lets out a cough that sounds suspiciously like a snort.
Ignoring her, Blue continues, “Didn’t he personally choose
you to become the Paper Girl mentor so we could all learn to
be like you?”
“Well, I’m not sure about that,” Mistress Eira replies with a
half smile. “But it’s true my transformation was pronounced. It
took a lot of hard work and dedication to prove myself. That’s
why I take my job as your mentor so seriously. Whatever your
backgrounds, you start at the same level here. Madam Himura
and I have organized a rigorous timetable of lessons. You’ll be
replaced by new girls next year, but you’re still expected to
work in the court—as performers, or escorts for the King’s
guests, and so on—so it’s important to keep cultivating your
nu skills.”
Just then, one of the girls speaks up. “Will we have any
time off, Mistress Eira? I have a cousin who works in City
Court. I promised my parents I’d visit her.”
 It takes me a moment to recall her name: Chenna, the dark-
skinned girl who was wearing an orange dress—a sari, as Lill
later explained, a style popular in the Southern provinces—the
night we arrived. Today, her sari is citrus-yellow. It sets off the
smooth gloss of her skin, the coal shade of her wide, heavy-
lashed eyes.
“You’ll have some time between your lessons and
engagements with the court,” Mistress Eira answers, “but it’s
important for you”—she turns to us—“for all of you, to
understand that you don’t have free time to yourselves here in
the palace. You can’t just leave Women’s Court as and when
you like.” Her voice softens. “Don’t get me wrong. You can
live very happy lives as Paper Girls, I assure you. I myself
have. But we are all part of the rhythms and workings of the
palace, and so we must play the parts expected of us.”
She begins a lecture on some of the palace’s many rules
and regulations. There are rules for things I wouldn’t even
have thought of, such as the depth of a bow or the speed at
which we should walk in different areas of the palace.
“Soon she’ll say we have to regulate our bowel
movements, too,” I whisper to Aoki, who stifles a giggle.
“This is just an introduction, of course,” Mistress Eira says
once she’s finished with the lesson, a full hour later. “You’ll
learn everything else you need to know from your teachers in
due course. But does anyone have any questions for now?”
Only about everything. But I don’t admit it.
“I have one,” one of the twins announces. After Mistress
Eira nods, she leans forward and drops her voice a fraction. “Is
it true that there is a Demon Queen?”
Murmurs ripple through the room. Nonplussed, I glance at
Aoki. She shrugs. It seems the two of us are the only ones who
haven’t heard of her before.
Mistress Eira waits for quiet. Then she answers, “Yes.” A
pulse of expectant stillness falls over the table. “Most people
outside the palace aren’t aware of her existence because she’s
hidden. Kept in private quarters in Royal Court for the sole
purpose of breeding.”
“My father told me there is more than one queen,” Blue
says.
“Then he was misinformed,” Mistress Eira answers, and
Blue’s face does a little spasm as she tries to look like she
didn’t mind being wrong. “There is only one. The royal
fortune-tellers and advisers couple her carefully with each new
King when he takes the throne to ensure a union the heavens
will smile upon.”
I swallow, glancing round the table. “None—none of us
could become the queen, could we?”
“Certainly not. You are Paper castes. It is impossible for
you to produce the Moon caste heir that would be required. In
fact, each time you spend a night with the King, you will be
given medicine to keep you from becoming pregnant.”
While I don’t know much about inter-caste procreation, I
do know that although it is difficult for a man and woman
from different castes to conceive, especially a Paper caste
female and a Moon caste male, it’s still possible. I suppose the
King wouldn’t want to lose his concubines to miscarriages. Or
worse, give him a low-caste baby. In a coupling, the higher
caste’s gene is usually dominant, but we’ve all heard the
stories of couples being taken by surprise.
“Has the current queen given the King any children yet?”
Chenna asks from across the table.
Blue’s eyes go wide. She shares a look with the short-
haired girl sitting next to her.
Mistress Eira lifts a hand. “That is a private matter between
them, not to mention a… sensitive issue. I strongly suggest
none of you inquire into it any further.” She tilts her head, her
face relaxing. “Let’s eat. You must all be hungry.”
As lunch is served, we chatter easily at the table. Maids
duck between us to keep our plates and cups full. Perhaps
Mistress Eira’s barley tea really does work, because halfway
through the meal my nerves have calmed. I’m starting to enjoy
the afternoon—the serene comfort of Mistress Eira’s suite, the
food, the company of the other girls.
It’s the first chance I’ve really had to get to know them.
Besides Aoki, Blue, and Wren, there is Chenna, who I learn is
from Jana’s capital, Uazu, in the South and is the only
daughter of a rich mine owner. I like her immediately. She
comes across as reserved, though not shy. When one of the
other girls asks her whether she misses her family, she says
yes without hesitation.
The twins are Zhen and Zhin. Their delicate features and
alabaster skin are so similar I can barely tell them apart. I
overhear them telling Chenna about their aristocratic family in
Han, which, judging by her reaction, is apparently well known
in Ikhara. Of course it would be—aristocratic Paper caste
families are rare. Enterprise and government are areas for
Moon castes. Even Steels are mostly limited to industry and
trade. Paper castes usually occupy the lowest roles: servants,
farmers, manual laborers. Sometimes the caste lines are
crossed. Zhen and Zhin’s family, as well as Blue’s and Wren’s,
are testaments to that. But it’s uncommon.
And still, there’s always the knowledge that no matter how
high a human might rise, demons will always be superior.
The last in our group is Mariko, a curvaceous girl with full
lips and a perfectly oval face, enhanced by cropped hair that
cups her chin in two winglike sweeps. Mariko and Blue seem
to have become friends. They drop their heads together to
whisper often, shooting me smug looks over the table. I get so
fed up of this that the next time they cut their eyes to me I
beam back, waving.
There’s a snort. I glance round to find Wren watching me,
her eyes lit with amusement. But as soon as she sees me
notice, the smile drops from her face. She crooks her neck
round, shoulders stiff.
“What’s her problem?” I ask Aoki under my breath,
scowling in Wren’s direction. “She’s barely said a word to
anyone. It’s like she wants us to dislike her.”
Aoki leans her head close. “Well, you know what they say
about the Hannos.” At my blank look, she goes on, “You know
how most Paper castes hate them for being so close to the
King? She must be aware of that. I can’t imagine it’s easy.”
It takes me a moment to understand what she’s telling me.
That Wren may act like she hates all of us, but maybe it’s
because she’s worried that we hate her.
After lunch, Mistress Eira takes us out to her small
courtyard garden. It’s beautiful. The trees and bushes are
strung with colorful beads, yellow flowers dotting the green
like precious jewels. Gilded cages hang from the eaves. The
twitters of the birds inside rise above the babbling pool that
loops round a central island mounted by a small pagoda.
Something about the place reminds me of my garden back in
Xienzo, the slightly overgrown edges, or maybe just the sound
of birdsong and the warm sunshine on my face.
Eyes stinging, I hurry away from the other girls, heading
down a narrow stone path, suddenly wanting to be alone. I
settle on a bench half hidden by a magnolia tree. Curling cups
of pink-white leaves form a ceiling overhead. The afternoon
air is rich and sweet, full of the scents of blossom and sun-
warmed wood and the conversations of the other girls. I
recognize the voices of Chenna and Aoki, just around the
corner.
“So you’ve heard about them, too?” Chenna says.
“I thought they were only happening in the North. There
was one not far from where we live in the East of Shomu, and
I heard reports of others in the rest of our province. Xienzo
and Noei, too.”
“I think it’s all the periphery provinces. We’ve had some in
Jana, too.” “My Ahma told me the King’s patrols have always
performed raids,” Aoki replies. “Especially on villages where
Paper caste clans live. But there’s more now. And from what
we hear, they’re… different. Even worse.”
 “Has anyone you know…” Chenna’s voice trails off.
I imagine Aoki shaking her head. “You?”
“No. The court would never attack the capitals.” There’s a
pause, and then Chenna goes on, “But on my way to the palace
we passed a town near the northern border—or what was a
town. There was barely anything of it left. My mother told me
she had a friend who had family there. Kunih help their souls,”
she blesses quietly.
“I saw places like that on my way here, too,” Aoki
murmurs.
“Do you think it has anything to do with the Sickness?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that the Sickness has been
getting worse. My parents told me our taxes have gone up, and
more and more of our crops are getting seized by royal
soldiers every year. It must be getting pretty bad in some
places.”
They move away, and my thoughts drift with them. I don’t
know what the Sickness is, but they were talking about the
raids, like the one that happened to my village, and the ruined
town I saw on my way to the palace. It must be happening all
over Ikhara. General Yu said the one we saw in Xienzo had to
do with a rebel group. Is that why other places are being
attacked, too? And was that what he meant when he said to
Mistress Eira that the kingdom is facing hard times? Increased
rebel activity, and whatever this Sickness is?
“What do you think?”
Mistress Eira’s voice surprises me from my thoughts. I
hurriedly stand and give her a bow, which she waves me out
of, smiling.
“A-about the raids?” I ask, before realizing she doesn’t
know what I overheard Aoki and Chenna discussing.
“About my garden,” she corrects with a frown. “Do you
like it?”
I nod. “It’s lovely.”
 She sits down on the bench, motioning for me to join her.
“I’m so glad you like it. Sometimes in summer I sleep out here
in the pagoda. It reminds me of my childhood. We used to do
that, too, when the weather was good.”
“You said your family were sari-makers from Kitori?”
Mistress Eira nods. “We were well known in the region.
There was always lots of work. My cousins and I would tell
jokes, exchange gossip as we washed in the river after work to
get the dyes out of our skin.” She raises her palms and adds,
muted, “Sometimes I dream about being unable to get the
colors out. When I wake up and find my hands bare, it almost
makes me want to cry.” She lets out a little laugh and shakes
her head. “I’m being nostalgic.”
“Do you miss it?” I ask gently. “Your home?”
There’s a beat of hesitation before she replies. “This is my
home now, Lei-zhi.” She lays a hand on my shoulder. “You
should try to start thinking of it that way, too.”
I look away. “My home is Xienzo. My parents’ house. It
always will be.”
Even after Mama was taken, Baba, Tien, and I kept it
going. We made a new family. We kept our home alive. How
can I just let go of that?
I remember the promise I made to myself on the way to the
palace.
I won’t let go of it. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get
back.
“Mistress,” I say quickly, an idea coming to me. “Do you
think I could write to them? My father and Tien? Just let them
know I’m well. Nothing more, I promise.”
At first it seems like she’s going to say no. But with a half
smile, she replies, “Of course, Lei. What a nice idea. I’ll make
sure you’re given paper and ink.”
I grin, forcing myself to remain dignified and not throw my
arms around her in a giant bear hug. I picture my father and
Tien reading my letters together. Even from the other side of
the kingdom they’ll be able to touch something I’ve touched,
feel my presence in each indent on the paper. They’ll know
I’m safe. And, always, that I am thinking of them.
“Make sure to bring your letters to me when they’re done,”
Mistress Eira instructs. “I’ll give them to my most trusted
messenger to deliver.”
“Of course. Thank you, Mistress. You don’t know how
much this means to me.”
She returns my smile. But just before she turns away
something flutters across her eyes: the barest shadow of
sadness. Perhaps it’s all this talk about the past, about life
before the palace. I recall what Mistress Eira said about
waking up from dreams of her childhood, her once dye-stained
hands delicate and bare, and comprehend that although she
might have avoided answering my question about whether she
misses her home, I am sure of what the answer would be
anyway.
I know what it means to dream about the past.
To dream about things you have loved, and lost.
 NINE

PAPER HOUSE IS ALREADY BUSY WHEN I wake the next day, the
sunlit air bright with the sound of maids hurrying in the
hallways, orders being called from room to room. Excitement
carries through the air, an electric hum. It takes me back to
festivals in our village, when every street would be draped
with crimson banners during the fifteen days of the New Year,
or lit with sparklers and firecrackers for spirit-warding
ceremonies in the winter. Tonight, cities across the kingdom
will be celebrating in our honor as we participate in the
Unveiling Ceremony, where the Paper Girls are officially
presented to the court.
I can still hardly believe that this year that includes me.
Lill is so excited about the ceremony she barely pauses for
breath from the minute she comes to take me for my morning
bath. “I haven’t been able to visit my parents and tell them
about becoming your maid yet,” she chatters as I soak, her
fluted deer ears quivering. “They’re not going to believe it!
Mistress, you might even see them during the procession! I
wish I could be with you. The look on their faces if they
knew…”
I float my hands out, scooping the bubbles on the surface
of the water. “When was the last time you saw them?”
“Oh. It’s been quite long. Almost half a year.”
 I splash round. “Half a year? But they live here, right? In
the palace?”
Lill nods. “I lived with them in Mortal Court before I
moved here. And they work in City Court, which is just south
of here. I just don’t get many days off. Not that I’m
complaining,” she says hurriedly. “The ones I do, I spend with
them. I have a little brother and sister, too. I try to bring them
treats from the kitchens whenever I visit—” She cuts off,
blanching.
“Don’t worry. If anyone notices, tell them it was me. The
portions here are way too small.” Lill’s smile comes back,
grateful, even though this sweet girl shouldn’t have to worry
about stealing a few bits of food to bring to her siblings. “I
hope you can see them soon,” I add.
She bows her head. “Thank you, Mistress.”
I place my wet hand over hers where she’s holding the edge
of the tub. “You know, I had a Steel caste friend back in
Xienzo, too. She worked in my family’s herb shop.”
“Really?” Lill’s eyes widen. “We were told castes don’t
ever work for ones below them outside the palace.” She
blushes and goes on quickly, her head lowered, “Oh, I didn’t
mean that it’s wrong for me to be working for you. It’s a huge
privilege, Mistress. It’s just, Mistress Eira told us it’s an
exception that the Paper Girls have demons as servants. She
said the King himself requested it. Only Steels, though.” She
glances up at me from under thick lashes. “I—I’m sorry I’m
not Moon.”
I almost laugh, the notion that I would prefer a Moon caste
for a maid—or just anyone other than her.
“You’re perfect, Lill,” I tell her, and the beam of her grin is
so luminous it seems to wash the whole courtyard with gold.
Following tradition, each of us is dressed in silver for tonight’s
ceremony. Silver is a powerful color: a symbol of strength,
success, wealth. Yet because of its closeness to white, the
mourning color shared by all Ikharan cultures, it is sometimes
thought to bring bad luck. When Lill tells me about this
tradition, I understand the message it is sending to the
kingdom.
Support the King, and you will be rewarded.
Cross him, and you will suffer.
As it’s Lill’s first time being a Paper Girl’s maid, her
preparations are overseen by one of the other maids—Chiho, a
serious-looking Steel caste lizard-girl, human in appearance
apart from the coating of sleek pine-green scales along her
bony arms and neck. Chiho dashes between rooms, trying to
teach Lill while getting her own girl ready, until Lill suggests
we get ready together. I can’t remember which girl Chiho is a
maid to, so when she appears in the doorway with Wren
behind her, I stiffen.
Though still in her bathrobe and only half made up, Wren
looks striking. Her cheeks have been colored a deep plum
shade that brings out the dark sheen of her eyes and lips, and
her hair cascades over one shoulder in flowing waves. She
picks up the hem of her bathrobe as she steps inside. My eyes
are drawn to the movement, and I do a double take.
Wren’s feet are worn, their soles hard and calloused.
They’re more like my own feet. Workers’ feet. Not the delicate
kind you’d expect from the pampered daughter of the Hannos.
Catching me looking, she releases her robe and the hem
drops to the floor.
“Right,” Chiho says to Lill. “Let’s continue.”
Wren avoids my gaze as she kneels in front of me. I fight
the childish urge to shout at her, to make her look at me. I
remember what Aoki told me about Wren being aware of
people hating her. Well, she isn’t exactly helping the matter, is
she?
It takes an hour for Chiho and Lill to finish with our faces.
Coated with polish, my eyelids and lips are sticky. The first
thing I do when they step back is lift a hand to rub my eyes,
causing Lill to have a mini panic attack and assess closely for
damage, even though I hadn’t touched them yet.
Chiho circles me, making one final inspection. “Good,” she
says eventually, and Lill beams.
My eyes cut to Wren, who still hasn’t said anything all this
time. As she gets up to leave, I lift my chin and blurt out
brusquely, “Well? How do I look?”
I want to take it back immediately—I sound petulant and
stupid, and I’m not even sure why I care about her opinion.
But Wren has already stopped. She glances over her shoulder,
dark eyes under heavily glossed lids finally meeting mine.
“Like you’re not ready,” she says bluntly, her face
expressionless, before following Chiho out of the room.
Her words sting. I look away, my cheeks glowing.
Lill leaves the room, returning a few minutes later with a
silk-wrapped package. “Your dress,” she announces, almost
reverently, as she hands it to me. “The royal tailors were given
the results of your assessments and told to create unique pieces
for each of you. It’s meant to be a statement to the court about
who you are. Something to give the King an idea about what
you’re like.” She beams. “Go on, Mistress! Open it!”
Rolling my eyes at her excitement, I pull aside the folds of
silk. There’s the wink of metallic silver. Carefully, I lift the
dress out and lay it on the floor.
It’s the most exquisite dress I have ever seen. Not that
that’s hard—I haven’t seen many. But even including the
outfits the other girls wore on the first night at the palace, this
one outshines them all. Cut long and slender, sleeveless, with a
high collar, silver threads woven through flicker like running
water when they catch the light. The delicate silk fabric is
almost sheer. A scattering of moonstones, and diamonds wind
along the hips and chest.
I stare down at myself, my belly doing a low flop. Just a
handful of these jewels would be enough to support my family
for life.
Lill lets out a squeal so high-pitched it almost shatters my
eardrums. “Oh, it’s so beautiful! Try it on, Mistress!”
Many awkward wiggling movements later, the cheongsam
—as I know now this modern style of dress is called—is on. It
fits perfectly, clinging to my frame like a second skin. Despite
the jewels, the material is light, mere brushings of gossamer
across my skin. Magic thrums in the fabric. Whatever
enchantment has been placed on the dress also makes it glow.
Every movement I make sends out scatters of silvery light, as
pale as moonbeams.
I raise a brow at Lill’s expression. “This is the first time
you’ve not had anything to say.”
She giggles. “Better enjoy it, Mistress! I don’t know how
long it’ll last.”
After a final once-over, we head through Paper House to its
main entrance, where the procession will start. Though the
dress fits perfectly, less perfect is my ability to move in it, and
it takes me a while to get used to wearing something this
formfitting. Not to mention, it feels so expensive I’m worried
about damaging it; every table corner glints threateningly. As
the muffled buzz of voices and music outside grows louder,
my heart thuds harder. Maids bow as I pass, some holding up
good-luck offerings of red flowers, others sprinkling salt in my
path, a custom I’ve never seen before. We would never waste
salt in my house like this.
When we’re almost at the entrance, I spot the familiar blaze
of auburn hair. “Aoki!” I call, and she turns, breaking into a
grin.
“Lei! Oh, you—you look…” Something shifts in her tone,
a twist of envy. One hand fingers the collar of her own dress as
her gaze travels slowly down mine.
“You look amazing!” I say quickly. “What a beautiful
ruqun.” I look it over appreciatively. The layered sheets of
material are shimmery and light, decorated with patterns of
leaves in thick brushstrokes. When I run my fingers over them,
the leaves seem to ripple, swirling as if in a wind. More magic.
 She tucks her chin, lashes low. “They say they’re designed
to reflect our personalities. It sounds silly, but as soon as I put
it on, I felt like I was home. Like I have a part of the
countryside with me. But you…” She reaches for my dress,
then stops short. “You look like a queen.”
Her words send a shudder through me. That’s the last thing
I want to look like. I think of Baba and Tien. What would they
say if they saw me in this dress, my face and hair decorated
even more elaborately than our entire village during New Year
celebrations?
If I were a queen, then that would mean I would belong in
the palace. And I don’t.
As Aoki and I walk down the last few corridors together,
the sound of cheering grows so loud now it vibrates in my rib
cage. We step out onto the porch into sunlight and a clapping
crowd. The streets around Paper House are packed. My breath
hitches. I’ve never been in the midst of so many people—let
alone Steel and Moon castes, all crammed together—and even
though their applause and shouts are friendly, the sheer
number of them makes me uneasy.
Along one of the streets, the crowd is parting to let through
a train of ornate carriages carried by muscled oryx-form
demons in red and black robes. The King’s colors. Aoki
nudges me excitedly as they advance. Wind flutters the
ribbons draped over their open sides. Every step they take
makes the bells hanging from their horns sing.
They come to a stop in front of Paper House. Madam
Himura moves forward, shouting to be heard over the noise.
“Presenting Mistress Aoki-zhi of Shomu!”
A servant comes to take Aoki to her carriage. She gives me
a quick look—her jade-stone eyes gleaming, whether from
excitement or fear I can’t tell—and our fingers brush before
she’s led away.
Next, Madam Himura calls Blue, then Chenna. All too
soon it’s my turn.
 I stumble forward, head low against the stare of the crowd.
With a bow, the oryx drop to their knees. A servant helps me
up into the lowered palanquin. The interior reminds me of the
carriage I traveled in with General Yu, with its plush,
perfumed cushions and elegant wood paneling. As I settle on
the bench, my breath grows tighter. That carriage stole me
away from my home—what kind of life am I about to be led
into with this journey? In this beautiful cheongsam, being
carried on the backs of demons, I feel like a dish being served
for the King’s dinner, and a shiver runs down my spine.
Just when will he choose to devour me?
 TEN

MY VIEW IS OBSTRUCTED BY THE long sashes hanging over the

palanquin’s open sides, so this is how I see the palace properly
for the first time: in snatched glimpses, the blur of movement
and color. The lowering sun tints everything in a golden haze.
It looks dreamlike, and feels it, too, as though I were looking
out through someone else’s eyes. I’m about to become a Paper
Girl. The concept is still ridiculous and ungraspable, even
though here I am, sheathed in silver, hundreds of humans and
demons watching my carriage pass, craning for one look at my
face.
Yesterday Mistress Eira showed us a map of the palace. I
picture it now, trying to keep track of where we’re going. I
haven’t forgotten about finding my mother. Maybe I’ll see
something that will give me a clue as to where she might be.
The palace grounds are arranged in a gridlike system,
divided into courts, which are further separated into two areas:
the Outer Courts, where all the daily services, work, and
residential areas are, and the private Inner Courts, where only
those of certain positions are allowed. Women’s Court is in the
northeast block of the palace, in the Outer Courts. We first
travel south, passing through City Court, a vast, bustling area
of trade, markets, and restaurants. Then we head west through
Ceremony Court, the square behind the main gates where I
arrived with the General, and on to Industry Court, with its
smoking forges and leather-tanning houses. Next, we move up
the west side of the palace. We pass through Mortal Court—
Lill’s family’s home, another citylike area where the maids,
servants, and low-level government officials live—and then
Military Court, home to the training grounds and army
barracks.
There are two areas in the Outer Courts we don’t visit. At
the northwest tip of the palace, Ghost Court is the official
burial grounds. It would be bad luck to pass through such a
place on a night of celebration. We also avoid Temple Court,
which is within the exterior walls of the palace itself. The
royal shamans must never be disturbed; only with the King’s
permission can one enter their holy grounds. At one point,
though, when we take a perimeter road through one of the
courts that takes us right up to the wall, a warm, prickly
sensation ripples across my body, the thrum of magic imbued
in my dress seeming to shiver and rustle in response.
Night has fallen by the time we arrive at the Inner Courts.
At once, the crowds thin out. It’s still busy, with every court
official and their servants out to greet us, but the grounds here
are more spacious, so the effect is of a sudden dampening, like
a thick fog pillowing the world. The quiet comes as a shock
after the jubilant atmosphere of the Outer Courts, and
suddenly I miss the noise and chaos. I watch the darkening
grounds through the window with a growing sense of unease,
my tongue padded and dry in my mouth.
We’re almost there.
The landscape of the Inner Courts is a mix of lantern-lit
streets, elegant pearl-white squares, and manicured gardens,
the perfume of flowers cloying in the air. Moonlight reflects
off a sweeping crescent of water that loops in and out of sight
as we travel—the River of Infinity. It flows in a figure eight
through Royal Court, the area at the heart of the palace,
designed to bring the heavens’ fortune on the King.
The last part of our journey is marked when we pass over
the central-most point of the river where the four curves meet.
A gilded bridge arches over the water, lined with onlookers.
They toss red blossoms at us, the petals catching in the wind
and swirling around our carriages like a blood-drenched
snowstorm.
“Heavens’ blessings!”
“May the gods smile down upon you!”
Their words are well meaning, but much less exuberant
than those of the Outer Courts. The closeness of all these
demons makes me press back from the window. We’re almost
over the bridge when there’s the thud of something ramming
the carriage.
I fling out my arms as it jerks to the left.
Another thud.
This time the carriage lurches sideways, almost tipping
over. I smash into the side, fingers scrabbling for hold just in
time. A few seconds later and I would have fallen through the
open side. As the oryx right the carriage, I steady myself,
rubbing my right shoulder where it hit the wood. Yells and
shouts are coming from outside. Still cradling my shoulder, I
cross the floor and peer out through the fluttering ribbons.
And gasp.
A human—Paper caste, her furless, scaleless, clawless
body standing out against the otherness of the demons all
around—is being pinned to the ground by two guards. Her
robes are thin and worn. Servants’ clothes. Paper caste
servants aren’t allowed in the Inner Courts; she must have
snuck in somehow.
Just then, she lifts her head and our eyes meet. I don’t
know what I was expecting. That they’d be filled with
compassion, maybe, a kindred connection from one human to
another. But instead, her look is fire.
“Dzarja!” she shrieks. Flickering lantern-light distorts her
face, making her mouth seem too wide, her cheeks sunken
hollows. “Dirty sluts! You shame us all!”
 Above her, a guard lifts a club.
I look away, but not quickly enough. The heavy crunch
rings in my ears. The accusatory glare in her eyes just before
the club was brought down on her skull shimmers on the back
of my eyelids, a ghostly afterimage. Lowering my lashes, I
hover my fingers at my chest, then turn them outward with my
thumbs crossed: the sky gods salute for a newly departed soul.
“Mistress, are you all right?”
I jolt as a horned face, part rhino, skin thick like hide,
appears through the ribbons.
I open my mouth a few times before finding my voice. “Y-
yes.”
“Apologies for the disruption. You will be continuing on
your way now.” The guard bows.
“Wait!” I say as he turns to leave. “The woman. Why did—
why was she—”
His expression doesn’t change. “Why was she killed?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“She was a slave. She wasn’t permitted to be in the Inner
Courts. And she posed a threat to the King’s property.”
It takes me a moment to realize he means me.
“But—you could have arrested her. You didn’t have to… to
kill her.”
“Guards are permitted to execute Paper castes on the spot.”
The leathery skin of his forehead wrinkles. “Is that all,
Mistress?”
The tone of his voice makes me stiffen. He says it so easily,
so bluntly, as though it weren’t anything at all.
“Mistress?” he repeats at my silence. “Is that all?”
I go to nod, then change it to a shake at the memory of the
searing look in her eyes. “The woman, she—she called me
something. Dzarja. What does it mean?”
 He scowls. “It is an ugly expression.”
“For what?”
“‘Traitor,’” he says, and lowers his hand, ducking his head
out of the carriage, the ribbons fluttering back into place.
Dzarja. The word haunts me as our procession starts back
up. How easily the guard took the woman’s life, just the arc of
a muscled arm. She wasn’t that much older than my mother
when she was stolen, and I get a flash of a Paper caste face—
Mama’s this time—mouth wide with terror as she is pinned
down by a demon guard. I’ve been so focused on the thought
that all she needed was to survive the journey here that I didn’t
consider how difficult it might be for her to survive once she
arrived.
Ten minutes later, my stomach is still churning when we
pass through a set of tall gates into a barren plaza. A single
road cuts down the center. Ahead looms a grand fortress,
carved from flecked rock dark as a raven’s coat. Banners
marked with the King’s bull-skull symbol snap in the wind. On
every balcony and along the base of the building, guards stand
watch, weapons at the ready. The quiet is uneasy, and the hoof-
fall of the oryx demons echoes through the desolate square,
my own pulse matching the rhythm and even their weight,
each beat so heavy and terse it’s like my heart is clamping
around a stone.
As we make our approach, I flex my fingers, trying to bring
blood back to them. My muscles are as frozen as the rock of
the royal palace looks.
Our procession comes to a stop at the bottom of a grand set
of marble stairs leading up to a high, vaulted entranceway. At
first everything is still. Then a band of gold unfurls itself from
the entranceway. In one luxurious sweep, it rolls down the
staircase, viscous and fluid, like some kind of charmed
waterfall, and sure enough, I pick up the telltale vibration of
magic in the air.
The door of my carriage swings open. “Mistress Lei-zhi,”
greets a servant, holding out a hand to help me down.
The golden spill has painted the ground around the
carriages in a shimmering metallic carpet. As my feet meet the
floor, I look down to see ripples flowing out around me. But
despite the beauty of it, I’m still reeling from what just
happened on the bridge, and I follow the rest of the girls up the
stairs, eyes trained on my feet to avoid the stares of the guards.
The world seems to grow even quieter when we enter the
palace, though maybe I’m imagining it, the hush that sinks
over us, reverent almost. As we march, I take in our
surroundings in silent awe. There are echoing halls and narrow
corridors. Indoor gardens with magical ceilings that mimic the
night sky. Long staircases that wind steeply from floor to floor.
Everything is carved out of the same black stone as the
exterior, and though undeniably beautiful, it gives the place a
clammy, imposing feel, like a mausoleum.
I think of the Paper Girls who came before me. The dreams
of theirs that might have died within these very walls.
We have been walking for over twenty minutes when we
are finally told to stop. A vaulted archway looms before us, the
room beyond hidden by a heavy black curtain.
We’re still in a line ordered by our names. In front of me,
Chenna’s thick hair falls down in its usual braid, though
tonight it has been threaded with tiny silver flowers that make
it look as if she’d been dancing between the galaxies, catching
stars. Her shoulders rise and drop with shallow breaths. I’m
about to step forward, offer some words of comfort, when
there’s a groan behind me.
“Oh, gods,” Mariko moans. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
I pivot round to find her doubled over, her face white.
“Take a deep inhale,” I say, laying a hand on her arm, but
she shoves me away.
“I don’t need the help of a peasant!” she snaps.
I draw back. “Fine, then.” I’m about to turn away when,
over Mariko’s bowed head, Wren catches my gaze.
I freeze. She looks so astonishing it’s almost unreal, as
though she’d slipped out of a painting perfectly formed, a
thing of beauty, of art—of bright, vivid life in this cold, still
place. The design of her cheongsam is the exact opposite of
mine. Where the collar of mine is high, hers runs low,
exposing the deep shadow of her cleavage. My dress has a slit
up the side; hers is tight all the way down her legs,
emphasizing their length and muscled shape. Unlike my sheer
fabric, hers is a dark gunmetal silver, dangerous and enticing,
evocative of armor.
Faintly, I remember what Lill said about our dresses
representing our personalities. Underneath my wonder at her
beauty, curiosity stirs.
As usual, Wren is the one to break eye contact. But to my
surprise, she does so to lean forward to speak into Mariko’s
ear. “I don’t know about you,” she murmurs, “but I have never
seen a peasant who looked like that.” She looks up at me, a
half smile touching her lips. “Now you look ready,” she says,
just as a gong sounds from beyond the archway.
I whip back round to see the curtain floating aside.
“Heavenly Master and honorable members of the court,” a
magnified voice announces from the room beyond.
“Presenting this year’s Paper Girls!”
In front of me, Chenna straightens, rolling her shoulders
back. I follow her resolve, releasing a long exhale to steady
myself as best as I can despite the spike of my pulse as, one by
one, we step through the archway.
We emerge into a columned hall, deep and cavernlike,
draped with garlands of vermilion silk. The walls look
hollowed out of a marble cave. Rows of sheer steps on all
sides lead down to a sunken pool. Ink-black water glitters with
the reflection of lanterns overhead. From balconies ringing the
room, hundreds of demon faces leer down at us. Our steps
echo as we fan out in a row at the top of the steps, and I find it
difficult to move, as if the expectant hush of the watching
crowd had a weight, a solidity that thickens the atmosphere,
lends an extra tug to gravity just here in this hall.
At first I keep my eyes low, trained on the floor. But
something soon pulls their attention. Something draws them
down the steps, across the pool, and to the podium on the far
side. And I know before I see him what—or rather who—it
will be.
The Demon King.
Lounging, almost, on his marbled gold throne. Or at least,
there is something casual in the way he occupies it, some
smug, almost irreverent quality to the way he sits, hips sloped
a little too low, arms slung over the sides, head tilted back just
enough to make it seem as if he were looking down at us even
though we are much higher up the steps.
This is the first thing about him that surprises me. The
King’s pose is particularly at odds with the formal, straight-
backed stances of the three soldiers flanking him—a gray
wolf-man, a huge moss-colored crocodile-man, and a white
fox female, all Moon caste.
Also unexpected is how slender he is. Particularly in
comparison with the crocodile demon who towers behind the
throne, the King’s muscles are lean, roped, a bull’s strength
bound through manlike limbs, and hidden under layered black
robes with gold trim. In a fight between him and his crocodile
guard, I wouldn’t rate the King’s chances very high… except.
There is an energy about him. Coiled and alert, a magnetic pull
that commands attention and power. Ice-blue eyes watch from
under long lashes. Above his ears, thick horns unwind, etched
with grooves inlaid with gold. And as I take in his face from a
distance, there is a third thing that surprises me.
The King is handsome.
I was expecting an old King. Some weary, war-torn bull.
But he looks young, not far past his teens. There’s an elegance
to his face. Whereas General Yu’s was an ugly clash of
imposing bull features, the King’s face is long, almost delicate
in shape, with a defined jaw and wide, graceful mouth, a
cupid’s bow peaking perfectly in its middle.
A lazy smile sharpens into a grin. The King leans forward,
lantern light lending his walnut coat a glossy sheen. “My new
Paper Girls,” he drawls. “Welcome.”
His voice is deep, heavy as night.
Quickly, we drop to the floor in low bows. The marble is
cool against my palms. I feel the King’s gaze upon us like a
touch and keep my head down, breathing hard.
“Presenting Mistress Aoki-zhi of Shomu!” comes the
announcer’s voice.
There’s the sound of Aoki getting to her feet. Her tentative
footsteps, then the unmistakable swish of water as she enters
the pool. Mistress Eira told us that the water is part of the
ritual, symbolic of purifying our bodies before we meet the
King. It’s been enchanted so it won’t affect our appearance. A
short while later Aoki’s wavering voice rings out with the
greeting Mistress Eira taught us.
“How sweet,” comes the sound of the King’s voice, quieter
now but still heavy and deep. “What a cute nose.”
I grind my teeth. He makes it sound as if she were a toy, a
plaything for him to toss aside once he grows bored.
Which is exactly what she is, I remind myself, pressing my
fingertips firmer against the cold stone.
What we all are.
The King takes more time with Blue, who is called next,
and with Chenna, until all too soon, the announcer sings,
“Presenting Mistress Lei-zhi of Xienzo!”
I get to my feet, awkward in this ridiculous dress, my right
shoulder still stiff from where it bashed into the carriage wall
earlier. The chamber is deafeningly quiet. The silence seems to
spool around me, catlike, coaxing my nerves. I walk forward,
trying to mimic Mistress Eira’s light way of moving. But my
steps are heavy. Like in the carriage, the whole situation has a
dreamlike tint to it, and my heart surges with the hopeless
desire for that to be all this is.
I’ve learned how to live with nightmares. I could cope with
one more.
Though I keep my eyes firmly tracked on the stairs I’m
making my way down—it’s all I can do not to trip over in this
ridiculous dress—I sense the eyes of the crowd following me.
Dzarja. The word bounds into my head. Is that what I am? Is
that what the demons see, a girl who is a traitor to her own
people?
When I reach the bottom of the steps, I let out a relieved
puff of air—just as I take my first step into the pool and stand
on the hem of my dress.
The crowd gasps as I lurch forward. My arms fling out
inelegantly, and I grimace as I hit the surface of the water with
a smack. It’s cold, a fist of ice. I expect to choke, but the water
is like viscous air, and I wrestle my panic down, regaining my
composure. Or at least, whatever passes for composure when
you’ve lost all traces of dignity. I scramble up and stride on,
the dark liquid of the enchanted pool flowing around me like
smoke. I do my best at getting out the other side somewhat
gracefully. When I climb onto the podium, I drop to my knees
at the King’s feet without daring to look at him.
“I—I am honored to serve you, Heavenly Master,” I recite
into the shocked silence.
More silence.
And then the room erupts with the King’s laughter.
“Look at the poor thing!” he cries, his sonorous voice
echoing off the cavernous walls. “Dressed like a queen when
she cannot even walk a straight line. How much liquor did you
ply her with to calm her nerves, Madam Himura?” he jokes,
and the crowd joins in, the hall reverberating with demon
laughter as a servant darts forward to hurry me on, and I
stumble away, face burning.
 ELEVEN

MARIKO ALMOST THREW UP ON HIS FEET.”

“But she didn’t.”
“I think Zhen bowed wrong. It looked funny from where I
was, anyway.”
“Aoki, I fell flat on my face. In front of the entire court.”
She sighs. “You’re right,” she admits. “It was a complete
disaster.”
I break a smile, and she nudges me with her shoulder,
green eyes glittering.
It’s early the next morning. The two of us are sitting on the
steps to the bathing courtyard, wrapped in gray light and
predawn hush. The calm is at odds with the busyness of the
house yesterday, and I’m glad for this moment with Aoki
before the day, our first as official Paper Girls, begins.
Last night, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball of
embarrassment after my display at the ceremony. Not just
because of how humiliating it was, falling over in front of the
whole court, but because of how it made me look to the King.
Before last night, I thought I didn’t care what he’d think of
me.
And then he laughed at me. Laughed, like I was a joke.
And I want him—need him—to know that I am not.
To know that I am strong.
To know that whatever happens, whatever the official
position says, I do not belong to him.
But as soon as we got back to Paper House, Madam
Himura rounded on me, so incensed she could barely get a
word out. “You didn’t just shame yourself, you shamed us!
You shamed me!” she cried, before sending me to my room,
Lill hurrying behind me, her cheeks as red as mine.
“Maybe it was a blessing in disguise,” I say now to Aoki. I
sit straighter, scraping back the hair from my brow. “Now he
definitely won’t call me first. Maybe he’ll never call me at
all.”
She tilts to the side so she can look at me. “You don’t want
him to?”
“No!” I say it a little too forcefully, and I steal a glance
over my shoulder, as though Madam Himura could have snuck
up behind us. Voice lowered, I ask, “Do you?”
“Of course!” she answers, also a little too hard. She takes a
breath. “I mean… I’m not sure. I—I think so. He’s the King,
Lei. It’s a privilege.” This part at least sounds like she believes
it.
“But even so,” I press, “is this really what you want? What
you hoped for of your life?”
Aoki twines her fingers in her lap, her teeth softly working
her bottom lip. “I miss my family so much. I really do. But if I
hadn’t been chosen, I would have been stuck in our tiny
village for the rest of my life. Maybe I would have been happy
there. But look at this, Lei,” she says, sweeping her arm at the
empty courtyard, and I know she means not just here but the
house, the palace, the beauty and extravagance of it all.
Unmoved, I mutter, “I’d rather be back in Xienzo.”
“Even though your family is taken care of now?”
 I open my mouth to retort, stopping myself at the last
moment. Aoki’s from a poor village, too. She has also known
hunger and struggle, experienced the fierce bite of the cold and
the heavy ache of exhaustion after a long day’s work, so deep
you feel it in your bones.
Even so. I was meant to take care of them, my father and
Tien. Me. Not the King.
Dzarja.
His money is dirty. Blood money.
“I wonder who he’ll pick first,” Aoki murmurs a few
moments later.
Her question hangs coiled between us.
I flash her a sideways smirk. “I bet it’s Blue.”
She groans. “Oh, gods, no! We’d never hear the end of it.”
As we both snort, a maid hurries into the courtyard from
the opposite side, hair still mussed from sleep and her night
robe tied messily. She drops to the floor as soon as she spots
us. “So sorry, Mistresses!” she stammers. “I—I didn’t know
you would be up.”
“Oh, don’t worry—” I start, getting to my feet, but she
darts off before I can finish. I turn to Aoki. “I’m not sure I’ll
ever get used to that. ‘Mistresses.’ It sounds so…”
“Old? Formal?” She giggles. “I guess that’s something else
the other girls are used to. They were probably called Mistress
since they were babies.” She puts on a posh accent, fluting her
wrist fancily. “Mistress Blue, would you care for some honey
in your mother’s breast milk?”
We burst into laughter, stopping at the sound of voices
from inside the house.
“We’d better go,” I say. “It’s almost time to get ready.”
We walk back to our rooms in silence, and slowly the
significance of Aoki’s earlier question settles onto our
shoulders, gaining a little more weight with each step. After
my performance last night, I’m sure the King won’t choose me
first. But still, I pray silently with every fiber of my being that
I’m right.
Paper Girl life, it transpires, consists of a lot of studying—
something my old life in Xienzo had barely any of. Mistress
Eira warned us we would have a busy schedule of lessons to
develop our nu skills, ranging from etiquette classes to
calligraphy to music practice to Ikharan history, but I didn’t
realize how tiring it would be. Maybe it’s because I never went
to school. I was helping my parents with the shop from pretty
much the moment I could walk, and as one of my only
teachers, Tien would be the first to complain about my
attention span. The problem, little nuisance, she’d say, is that
you have none.
By the time we head back to Paper House for lunch, my
head is stuffed with four hours’ worth of information from our
morning classes. Most of the other girls are busy chatting, but
I’m dazed, going over everything our teachers said, hoping to
somehow imprint it all into my brain through sheer will. I’m
still so focused that when we take our seats around Madam
Himura’s table and she says something that causes the other
girls to become quiet, it takes me a few moments to register
what is happening.
The King has made his first choice.
“Who is it?” Blue speaks up immediately, adding a quick,
“Madam Himura,” at the eagle-woman’s piercing look.
I glance at Aoki, but she’s focused hard on Madam
Himura, her mouth pressed small. Then my eyes flick to Wren.
Unlike the others, she doesn’t seem to be paying much
attention to what’s going on. She looks younger than she did
last night, when she’d been glossed with makeup and wrapped
in that dress, but there’s still a stoic quality to the way she is
poised, chin lifted, eyes cast away. Suddenly, I’m certain that it
will be her name Madam Himura will announce.
The way she looked last night, how could it not be?
 “The name of the King’s chosen girl will be delivered by
royal messenger on the days he requests company that
evening,” Madam Himura explains into the expectant hush. “It
goes without saying that if it is you who is summoned, you
must obey his call.” With a rustle of feathers, she unwraps a
silk-bound package and slides its contents—a small bamboo
chip—into the center of the table with one curving talon.
Then, the room in absolute silence now, she moves her hand
away to reveal the name printed across it.
Chenna-zhi
The calligraphy ink is red, like a splatter of blood.
Relief clangs through me, so strongly I instinctively brace
as if it were audible. But all the girls are looking at Chenna.
Even Wren. Her eyes are lit with something unexpected and
sharp, though not at all like the jealousy or relief playing in the
other girls’ gazes. It’s more… steely. Challenging, almost.
Chenna herself doesn’t react. Or at least, not visibly. Her
expression is calm, her posture straight-backed, the image of
perfect Paper Girl. She keeps her eyes trained on the chip.
“Congratulations, Chenna,” Madam Himura croaks into the
quiet. She glares pointedly around at us.
“Congratulations, Chenna,” Wren echoes smoothly.
“Y-yes, congratulations,” Aoki stammers with a faltering
smile.
The rest of us follow suit until it’s only Blue left. Her
mouth is set, but she manages a quick curve of her lips. “Yes,
well done, Chenna.” Then she taps her empty bowl and snaps,
“Well? Is lunch going to come anytime soon?” earning a
scolding from Madam Himura that she seems almost grateful
to receive.
The rest of the meal passes in near silence. There’s a
stiffness to the girls’ interactions, everyone’s eyes frequently
sliding back to Chenna, and even I find myself watching her,
trying to see through her serene exterior. But she keeps her
face calm, a glaze over her eyes as she focuses on her food,
eating slowly but steadily.
“Chenna,” Madam Himura orders when it’s time for us to
leave for our afternoon lessons. “You stay with me.”
And that’s when I see it. For the first time since her name
was revealed on the bamboo chip: a tremor runs through her
hands.
She turns her cheek as we file out of the room, making a
strange, fleeting gesture with her fingertips across her brow
that perhaps could be something religious—or could also just
be her brushing aside a stray hair—before one of the maids
closes the door behind us.
Even though I can sense they want to discuss what just
happened, the girls manage to keep from talking as we trail
down the corridor. But as soon as we turn the corner, Blue
speaks up. “That was a surprise.”
A few of the girls make noncommittal murmurs. Though I
hate to admit it, I can tell most of the girls agree with her. Still,
I bristle at the way she puts it.
“I wonder what his reasoning was,” Mariko says with a
purse of her lips. She shifts, hips jutting to one side. “Chenna
is beautiful enough, I suppose. And her family is somewhat
prestigious. At least for Jana.”
“Maybe that’s it,” Zhen, one of the twins, offers. “He
wanted to connect with a part of his heritage.”
Blue scowls at her. “What part? Desert slum?”
“I just mean,” Zhen continues, though her cheeks are pink
now, “that Jana is where the original Bull King was from—”
“And is now where half the rebel nomads are hiding,” Blue
interrupts. “Or at least according to the rumors. I doubt that’s
something the King wants to align himself with.”
Zhen lifts a shoulder. “Maybe he’s trying to send a message
to them, then.”
 “Or maybe,” her sister, Zhin, speaks up, with a cool glance
at Blue, “politics has nothing to do with it. He could just be
picking the girl he was most attracted to.”
“I agree,” I reply. “Chenna is beautiful, and she seems
smart, and interesting. No wonder the King liked her.”
The twins nod, smiling at me, and I see Wren look my way,
something curious in her warm brown irises. Beside me, Aoki
is silent.
Blue and Mariko swap smug looks. But if they want to
throw an insult my way, they manage to refrain. “Anyway,”
Blue says, in a crisp tone that makes it clear we are done with
this discussion, “the first few choices are just based on his
initial impressions of us. I’m more interested to see who he
continues to pick.” Her eyes slide to me. “And who he doesn’t
choose at all.”
 TWELVE

I’M STILL BLURRY FROM SLEEP WHEN I’m woken the next
morning by the slide of doors. There’s the patter of bare feet in
the hall outside, then muffled voices, excitement barely
constrained by whispers. With a yawn, I untangle from my
sheets and pad out blearily into the corridor, arms folded
across my waist.
“What was he like?”
“Did he tell you any secrets about the court?”
“One of the maids told me his bedchamber is covered
completely in moonstones and opals—is it true?”
Chenna’s room is at the opposite end of the hall, and
though I can’t see her past the backs of Zhen, Zhin, Mariko,
and Aoki crowding in her doorway, I assume she’s somewhere
inside. Sure enough, her voice floats out a second later.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
I roll my neck as I amble over, easing out the crick from
sleeping. Wren’s door is shut, and so is Blue’s, but as I step in
front of her room, there’s a movement behind the rice-paper
screen and I notice the very Blue-shaped shadow bunched at
the edge of the door. I push down the urge to call her out,
instead turning to where the other girls are clustered in the
doorway across the hall. Zhen and Zhin greet me as I join
them, but Aoki and Mariko don’t look away from Chenna.
“Just a few details,” Mariko presses, leaning in, the
shoulder of her robe slinking down her arm. She flips it back
up distractedly. “We’ll find out for ourselves soon enough.”
“Exactly.” Chenna’s face is tight, a slight flush of color
darkening the apples of her cheeks. But apart from that, she
looks just as she did the day before—unruffled. The picture of
composure. “So you don’t have long to wait.”
Mariko pouts at this, but the twins nod.
“We’re sorry,” Zhin says. “You don’t have to tell us
anything if you don’t want to.”
“But if you do need to talk,” Zhen adds, “we’re here.”
With a kind smile, the twins return to their rooms with their
arms linked, heads close. As Mariko huffs and moves away, I
slip in beside Aoki. She blinks, barely registering me.
“Oh! Hi, Lei.” Her eyes click back to Chenna. “Well,
thanks anyway…” she mumbles before heading off.
“Lei,” Chenna greets me unsmilingly. “I suppose you have
a hundred questions, too?”
“Actually, just one.” I drop my voice. “How do you feel? I
hope… I hope you’re all right.”
Chenna blinks at me. She smiles, though it’s stiff. “I’m just
fine. Thank you for asking.”
Her eyes glide past my shoulder as the door behind me
opens. I brace myself for the cutting remark that’s surely about
to come, but instead Blue’s voice floats out calmly and
politely.
“Good morning, Chenna. Nine.”
I lift a brow, glancing round to see Blue slink down the
corridor, her long azure hair swishing.
“Wow,” Chenna says once she’s gone. “She’s really
annoyed.”
 I give her a wry smile. “She was so sure she was going to
be picked first.”
A frown puckers Chenna’s forehead. “You know, I thought
so, too, what with her father’s position in the court. But when I
asked the King why he chose me, he said it was because of
some dream he had the night before. He’d been in Jana, flying
over the southern deserts. He thought it was a sign from the
heavenly rulers that they wanted him to select me.”
“Maybe I can bribe a shaman to keep his dreams out of
Xienzo,” I murmur.
As she goes to shut the door, Chenna adds, eyes not quite
meeting mine, “Or all of Ikhara, for that matter.”
As the days sift past, my life dissolves into a blur of routine
and ritual. It surprises me how quickly I fall into the palace’s
rhythms, the shape of my world before coming here erased as
though by water on ink and replaced with a new life of lessons
and gossip, banquets and ceremonies, rules and rituals. I don’t
forget about wanting to find out what happened to my mother,
but I’m so busy I don’t get the chance. I also know that kind of
thing won’t go unnoticed, and General Yu’s threat is still fresh
in my mind.
You are going to try, and you are going to succeed! Or else
your family—what pitiful part that’s left of it—will be
punished. Make no mistake, keeda. Their blood will be here.
Do you understand me?
On your hands.
Any time I have the urge to give up or defy Madam
Himura’s orders, the General’s cool voice slinks back into my
ears, and I know the only option is to keep going.
At least, for now.
Each day as a Paper Girl begins with the morning gong.
The maids will have woken earlier to ready the braziers and
bathing barrels and light incense, their smoky-sweet scent
always in the air. Lill takes me to the bathing courtyard to
wash before dressing me in simple cotton robes, my hair swept
into a tight bun on the top of my head. Once we’re ready, we
have breakfast—usually rice balls, pickled vegetables and
salted fish, and delicate cuts of fresh fruit: peaches, papaya,
honey apple, winter melon—before heading to our first lesson
of the day.
After my embarrassing performance at the Unveiling
Ceremony, most of the teachers don’t seem to expect much of
me. One of them especially takes an instant dislike to me.
Mistress Tunga is a broad-hipped woman with wide-set eyes
who leads our lessons in movement, covering everything from
how to walk elegantly to the proper way to kneel in robes. She
often singles me out as an example of how not to do things.
She’ll have me pace the length of the room in front of the
other girls, a practice block held between my knees, while she
points out every mistake. “No, no, walk taller, Lei-zhi!
Remember what I said last week? Imagine a thread running
from the base of your feet to the top of your head. Now, lean
back just so and let your hips jut out the tiniest amount.… Not
like that! You look as though you’re about to keel over from
too much sake. After what happened at the Unveiling
Ceremony, that’s the last thing you want others to think of you.
All right, settle down, girls! Sniggering isn’t becoming.”
Just as bad are our dance classes. They’re taught by
Madam Chu, a dignified old swan-form demon, the pearly
feathers flowing over her slender body tinged with gray. She
flits around us, feathers rustling as she sets us into place. This
isn’t dancing the way I saw it done back home, all abandon
and laughter and loose limbs. This is a kind of clockwork,
technical thing. Every flute of a wrist, every curve and bend of
a limb is measured—or not, as it often applies to me.
After our morning classes we return to Paper House for
lunch, either with Mistress Eira or Madam Himura, to update
them on our progress. If the King desires the company of one
of the girls, this is usually when we’re notified, and that girl is
taken away for preparations. For the rest of us, it’s back for
more lessons until sunset. By then I’m desperate for sleep, but
our nights are just as busy. There are banquets with court
officials, trips to plays and dance recitals, ceremonies to
attend.
By the time we finally return to our rooms, it’s often past
midnight. Despite our tiredness, Aoki and I usually stay up for
a while, sipping tea and snacking on pineapple tarts Lill sneaks
us from the kitchens. In these stolen moments, all the stress of
our lessons, of being away from our families and having to
adjust to this new way of life, melts away, and I go to sleep
afterward with a smile on my lips and warmth in my chest that
feels a lot like happiness.
And yet.
As the days go by without my name appearing on the
bamboo chip, an uncomfortable notion starts to grow inside
me: that it never will. And while part of me, most of me, is
relieved, there is also shame, and the bright, cruel sear of
failure.
Even though Aoki still hasn’t been chosen, either, it’s me
Madam Himura scolds. Every day she reminds me what a
disappointment I am. “You’d better find a way to show him
those heavens-blessed eyes of yours soon, before I throw you
out like the waste of space you’ve so far proven to be.”
Once, I dream of the Unveiling Ceremony. But when I
stagger out of the enchanted pool, it’s General Yu who gazes
down at me from the King’s throne, a half smile twisting his
face.
“Look what you’ve done.” He holds up his arms. From his
hands, my father’s and Tien’s severed heads hang, blood
dripping to the floor. “Catch,” he calls, and throws them to me.
I wake up, a scream dying on my lips.
There’s nothing more I’d like to do than try to escape. To
go back home. But every time I consider it, the General’s
threat comes back to me, along with the sound of the guard’s
club coming down onto the servant woman’s head on the
bridge outside Royal Court. And I remember that if I fail, I
might not even have a home to return to.
After a month at the palace, I’ve barely improved in any of our
lessons. When my attempt at the fan dance Madam Chu is
teaching us ends with my fan flinging from my grip after I
shake it too vigorously and hitting her between the eyes—
which unfortunately she couldn’t see the funny side of—she
keeps me behind after class.
“But lunch—” I start hopelessly.
She flutters a winged arm. “Don’t you have a banquet
tonight? You can miss one little meal.” Then, raising her
voice, she calls, “You too, Wren-zhi.”
Wren pauses in the doorway, the other girls filing out past
her. “Madam Chu?” she asks, turning.
“Practice with Lei-zhi. Maybe she’ll pick something up
from you.” Then the swan-woman strides out the door, her
feathers ruffling.
“Well,” I say into the silence. “At least we’ve got a Blue-
free hour.”
Wren doesn’t laugh, but when she approaches me, her
expression is a little softer than usual. “So, what are you
having trouble with?”
“Um… all of it?”
She arches a brow. “Helpful.”
I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s just so… precise. I can’t control
my body the way you can.”
“That’s what it looks like when I dance?” she says, a
wrinkle creasing the tip of her nose. “Controlled?” I’m
surprised—there’s hurt in her voice.
“No!” I say quickly. “That’s the point. You’re in control,
but it’s like you’re not. Natural, that’s what I mean. It seems so
natural to you.”
It’s true. I’ve watched Wren in our classes, and though she
excels in all our lessons, dancing is where she comes alive.
There’s an effortlessness about the way she moves that
reminds me of the bird-form demons I used to watch flying
over the mountains beyond our village. She is graceful. Free.
When she dances, she loses her usual haughty, absent look,
something gentle taking over her features—and sending a
warm new sensation through me that I can’t quite place.
Wren collects a fan from the cabinet at the side of the room
and flicks it open. “All right. Let’s start with something
simple.” Her posture loosens, a slight bend in the knees, a tilt
to her hips. Closing her eyes, she holds both arms to one side.
She pauses here, and her stillness is as purposeful as
movement. A shaft of muffled light filters in through the rice-
paper walls of the rehearsal room, casting her outline in an
amber glow, and my eyes trace the high arches of her
cheekbones, limned in gold. As graceful as all the times I’ve
watched her before, she draws the fan across her chest,
rippling it like a wave.
Then she opens her eyes. “Your turn.”
“That’s simple?” I grumble as she hands the fan to me, our
fingers brushing.
“Just try it.” But I’ve barely gotten into position when
Wren stops me. “Not like that. You’re too forceful with your
movements. You have to move more lightly. See?” Her eyes
travel over my body. “Even the way you’re standing is
wrong.”
A ripple of irritation runs through me. “I didn’t realize
standing was on the list of Paper Girl requirements,” I retort.
“I thought the King was more interested in the lying-down
kind of activities.”
Her lips purse. “You don’t need to say it like that.”
“It’s true, though, isn’t it? What’s the point of all this, all
these stupid lessons? There’s only one thing we’re really here
to do.”
And I haven’t even been wanted for that.
The thought squirms into my head before I can stop it.
 “You have to think about the future,” Wren says, frowning
at me. “After this year, you’ll still have some role to play in
the court. What do you want to do? Who do you want to be?”
“Not a dancer, that’s for sure.”
That earns a half smile from her. “Come on. At least try.
You might be better at it than you know if you just focus. And
you’ll never get better if you don’t give yourself a chance.”
I open my mouth to argue but catch myself. Because she’s
right. I haven’t been giving it my all. Even though I’ve fallen
into the routine of palace life, my heart isn’t in it.
How can it be? It’s still back in Xienzo, with my father and
Tien, and a life I wish every day was still mine.
“Oh, fine,” I mutter, glowering. Tears are pricking my eyes
now, and the last thing I want is to cry in front of Wren.
Gritting my teeth, I give the movement she demonstrated a
few more tries while she hovers nearby, providing pointers. I
try to concentrate on the wave of my wrist, the tilt of my hips,
but I can’t seem to get it right, I grow more frustrated with
every minute. Without warning, Wren moves in close. Her
fingers curl round my arm to pull it into position, and the
intimacy of her touch, her nearness, flusters me, and I drop the
fan.
“Focus!” she snaps.
I clench my jaw. “I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
I shrug her away from me. “Well, maybe I don’t want to
perform well. Maybe I don’t want any of this.”
“And you think I do?” Underneath her usual stern tone
there’s something delicate, almost broken. Her chin lifts, rich
brown eyes regarding me. “None of us had a choice in this.
But we do it for our families, because otherwise the King will
—”
She stops abruptly. The end of her sentence hangs in the air
between us.
 I recall General Yu’s threat. Maybe it wasn’t just me that
received one. Maybe the coins and riches showered on Paper
Girls’ families are less a reward and more a reminder that the
King has bought their daughters’ obedience. And if they break
it…
“All right,” I sigh, picking up the fan. “Let’s try again.”
Half an hour—and many dropped fan incidents—later,
Wren and I head back to Paper House. From outside Mistress
Eira’s suite comes the chatter of the girls, the muffled
footsteps of maids. Delicious food smells waft out, making my
stomach growl. But when Wren moves to head straight in, I
hold out a hand to stop her.
“Thank you,” I say. “For helping me. You were right. I
haven’t really been trying.” I puff out air, rubbing the back of
my neck. “I guess it felt like I’d be letting my family down or
something. Like I was happy to be here.”
Her eyes move away. “I don’t think any of us are truly
happy to be here.”
“Excuse me? Have you met Blue?”
“Right,” she replies with a lift of her brows. “Because she’s
so happy all the time.”
I blink, and Wren opens the door, something closing back
over her expression. Following her inside, I send a quick bow
in Mistress Eira’s direction before kneeling down beside Aoki.
“Thank the gods there’s food left,” I murmur, picking up my
chopsticks. “I’m starving.”
She doesn’t look up. Her face is frozen, eyes locked on
something small in her hands, and when I peer round to see
what it is, my own expression freezes.
Red calligraphy; a scarlet summons.
Aoki-zhi
Slowly, I set my chopsticks down. “Are you all right?” I
ask in a whisper.
 She gives a jerk of her head that I take to be a nod.
Zhin’s voice pipes up from across the table. “You must be
excited, Aoki!” A sincere smile lifts her cheeks.
Still staring down at her hands, Aoki gives another stiff
nod. I notice that her fingers are trembling. Underneath the
table I press my thigh to hers.
There’s a harsh laugh. “Looks like our little Aoki is finally
about to become a woman,” Blue purrs. “And at only sixteen.”
She looks round the table, purposefully avoiding my eyes.
“That’s all of us now, isn’t it?”
“You’re forgetting Lei,” Mariko sniggers.
Blue’s dark irises flick my way. “Oh, yes. I forgot all about
her.”
My fingers knot, but before I can say anything, Mistress
Eira stands up. “I wasn’t called by the King for two whole
months after our ceremony,” she announces smoothly, giving
me a smile across the table.
That makes Blue’s and Mariko’s smirks drop.
“With some girls,” Mistress Eira continues, “he enjoys the
wait.” She steps over, holding out a hand. “Come, Aoki. I’ll
help you get ready.”
Aoki winces. With a jagged breath, she looks at me, a
white tinge to her lips where she sucks them in. “It’s what I
wanted,” she breathes as she gets to her feet, a whisper that
only the two of us hear, and I’m not entirely sure which one of
us she’s trying to convince.
That night as I stay up waiting for Aoki to get back, I write
home.
Dear Baba,
It’s been over a month since my first letter and I still
haven’t heard from you. I’m hoping this is because the
shop is so busy now and you’ve become such a celebrity
in Xienzo that you don’t have time for your daughter
 anymore (remember her?). Or maybe Tien’s just been
working you too hard (more likely). Whatever it is,
please write soon. I miss you.
Palace life is highly overrated. There are hours of
preparation before you can even leave your room, and
there are rules for everything. Tien would love it. Also,
the food is awful.
All right, not really. But I’d still trade it all for one of
your pork dumplings any day.
All my love,
Lei
My brush hovers over the paper, wanting to add more. But
Mistress Eira made it clear that I wasn’t to give out any details
about the palace or my life here. Anyway, I wouldn’t want my
father and Tien to know how difficult I’m finding things. I set
the brush down, waiting until the ink dries before touching my
fingers to it. As I trace each character, I imagine Baba’s and
Tien’s hands doing the same in a few days. I bring the paper to
my lips for a kiss. Then I roll the letter up, fastening it with a
ribbon.
At this hour, the only light comes from the lantern in the
corner of my room. Pattering rainfall fills the midnight hush. I
sit back on my sleeping mat, pulling my legs to my chest. This
is the third letter I’ve written to home, and I still haven’t heard
anything back. I probably shouldn’t read too much into it—
there are so many explanations as to why they haven’t
responded yet. But I can’t help it. Maybe Madam Himura
found out about the letters and stopped them from being sent
as a punishment for my embarrassing her at the Unveiling
Ceremony. Guilt wrings my belly as I remember Wren’s
warning earlier today. Maybe, if I was performing better in my
classes…
The sound of movement in the hallway snaps off the
thought.
I get up, tucking my hair behind my ears, and move to the
door. A figure passes, footsteps light.
Aoki’s back.
Clutching the silk of my night robe tighter around me, I
glide the door open. The air is fresh from the rain, the
floorboards cool beneath my bare soles. “Aoki?” I call softly
after the retreating figure.
She doesn’t stop.
I hurry after her. She turns the corner, disappearing through
a door that leads to the gardens at the back of the house. I
hesitate. We’re not supposed to leave our rooms at night, let
alone go outside. And if Aoki wanted me to go with her,
wouldn’t she have left the door open?
Unsure now, I slide the door ajar. Rain-cooled air greets
me. Beyond the house are gardens, graduating from manicured
lawns and flowerbeds to a dense pine forest in the distance,
moonlight silvering the treetops. I spot Aoki’s retreating figure
just before she’s swallowed up by the dark line of the forest.
Only it isn’t Aoki.
It’s Wren.
Under the moonlight, her outline is unmistakable: long-
limbed and broad-shouldered, with that slinking, feline prowl.
I stare at the spot where she disappeared between the trees,
battling the urge to charge after her. Because while being
caught wandering the house at night might earn us a slap and a
lecture from Madam Himura, actually leaving the house to go
gods-know-where and with gods-know-who will certainly
have more serious consequences.
My lips press tight. And after her telling me to be careful.
I tiptoe back to my room. Sleep doesn’t come for a long
time. I keep picturing Wren moving through the forest,
winding her way easily through the pines, smiling as she spots
the person she’s snuck out even in the rain to meet. In my head
it’s a tall, shadowy man. He opens his arms and she wraps
herself around him, dissolving into his touch, and in the pit of
my belly, something dark stirs.
 THIRTEEN

I DON’T GET A CHANCE TO speak to Aoki until the following

morning. She comes to my side as we head down the raised
walkways to the lake in the south of Women’s Court where our
qi arts teacher, Master Tekoa, holds his classes. It’s a beautiful
midsummer morning, bright and crisp, drops of rain from last
night’s shower nestling in the cupped palms of leaves and the
wooden buildings still stained dark. Yet the daylight shows
how tired Aoki looks. Her eyes are puffy, her lips chapped.
Before I can say anything, Blue looks round. “Little Aoki!”
she says, striding over. “How are you feeling after your special
night?” Her grin is all teeth. “I’m surprised you’re even able to
walk,” she goes on with a glance at Mariko. “I thought the
King would have broken you.”
Mariko titters, but the other girls are quiet.
“Go away, Blue,” I snap, threading my fingers through
Aoki’s.
Blue arches a brow. “Don’t you want to hear the saucy
details, Nine? I’m surprised. I thought, since you still haven’t
had any sauciness yourself…”
“Well, you thought wrong. Nothing new there,” I add, and I
notice Wren at the back of the group, her lips quirking.
Blue ignores me. “Come on, Aoki. Give us the details.”
 “Yes, tell us!” Mariko chimes in. “Was he gentle with you?
Or did he want it rough?”
Aoki’s cheeks grow splotchy, her freckles disappearing
under the pink. “It’s—it’s private,” she stammers. She tucks
her chin, a lock of auburn hair falling across her face.
“Private?” Blue regards her through squinted eyes. “Don’t
you remember what Mistress Eira told us? There’s no such
thing as private when it comes to being a Paper Girl.” And
though I could be imagining it, I detect a note of bitterness in
her voice.
“Ignore them,” I say, and tug on Aoki’s hand. “Let’s get out
of here.” My eyes meet Wren’s. Before I can question what
I’m doing, I march past the other girls toward her, pulling
Aoki with me. “Could you send Master Tekoa our apologies
for missing his lesson?” I ask her in a low voice. “Say there’s
been a… female emergency.”
Though Wren’s eyebrows knit just a fraction, she gives a
curt nod. “Sure.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She shrugs. “It’s nothing,” she says, even though it’s not. If
Master Tekoa decides to inquire into our absence, he’ll know
Wren lied to him. She’d be punished along with Aoki and me.
But I’m counting on the fact that the notion of a female
emergency will be too embarrassing for him to press further.
Master Tekoa is our only male teacher. The King gives him
special permission to come into Women’s Court because
Madam Himura insists, claiming he’s the best qi arts
practitioner in the whole palace.
The rest of the girls are still watching us, most looking
apprehensive. Chenna and the twins get on well with Aoki,
and unlike me, they must know what she’s going through. All
the girls were sullen the day after their first night with the
King—even Mariko and Blue, though I’m sure they wouldn’t
admit it now.
With a pointed look in Blue’s direction, as though defying
her to intervene, Chenna comes over to us. “I cried all night
after the first time,” she says, bending to clasp Aoki’s
shoulders.
Aoki blinks, looking up with a sniff. “Really?”
Chenna nods. “It wasn’t easy for me, either.”
Over her head, Wren turns to me. “It’s all right, Lei,” she
says. “Go.”
As her eyes meet mine, a spark of heat stirs in my chest. It
takes me a moment to realize it’s the first time she’s spoken
my name. My single syllable is surprisingly soft on her
tongue, light, like a drop of rain. I think of her in the gardens
last night, lit by moonlight. What she might have left Paper
House for. Not just what—who?
And more: why do I care so much?
I break her gaze and mutter a thanks, quickly leading Aoki
away.
The two of us find a secluded veranda at the back of a
nearby teahouse to wait out the lesson. It overlooks a rock
garden, an old gardener in a wide-brimmed straw hat sweeping
the stones with a rake. She doesn’t look up as we kneel side by
side on the edge of the porch, and the rhythm of her rake is
comforting, a steady scrape that plays under the soundtrack of
the teahouse, the chirp of birds in nearby trees.
“You don’t need to tell me about it,” I say into Aoki’s
silence. She’s still avoiding my gaze, staring down where she’s
playing with the sash at her waist. “I just thought you could
use some time away from the others.”
She nods. Tears spring to her eyes. She swipes them away
with her sleeve and mumbles thickly, “It’s stupid. It had to
happen at some point, and it’s not like I didn’t want it to. I did.
I mean, he’s the King. But…” Her voice wavers. “I never
guessed it would feel like this.”
I lace my arm round her shoulder. “It was your first time,
Aoki. It was bound to affect you. I guess that’s why we’re
meant to wait until marriage,” I say, trying to sound like I
know what I’m talking about. “So we are sure of the other
person. So we’re sure of ourselves.”
Aoki sniffs. “I overheard one of my older sisters talking
about it with her friend once. My parents were arranging for
her to marry this boy from the neighboring village, and she
met with him in secret one night before the deal was final.”
She tucks her hair behind one ear and shoots me a wobbly
smile. “They did… things. Not everything. But enough that I
knew she’d be in serious trouble if my parents found out. But
she told my parents the next day that she was happy to marry
him.” Her smile disappears. “It must have been a good night,”
she adds, muted. Then, even quieter, “I was so scared.”
I gather her to me, something hot flaring to life in my
chest. How dare he scare her. Even though I haven’t seen him
since the Unveiling Ceremony, I can still picture the King’s
handsome face clearly.
I imagine punching it.
Rubbing her nose with one hand, Aoki looks up at me from
under tear-wet lashes. “Are you scared? For when it’s your
turn?”
Something in the tone of her voice sends a prickle down
my spine. “Should I be?”
Aoki turns to the garden with unfocused eyes. “There was
this boy in my village,” she starts. “Jun. He worked on the
paddy fields, too. We didn’t talk much, but every time I saw
him—any time I was near him—my whole body got all hot
and I’d be so nervous I could never think what to say. He’d be
smiling and I’d just be blushing like an idiot. Each look he
gave me was like… like sunlight sweeping over me.” Her
voice falters, and tears trace wet paths down her cheeks. Still
twisting the sash in her fingers, she murmurs, “I—I thought it
would be like that with the King.”
“Maybe you’ll feel that way next time,” I try, swiping her
tears away with my fingertips. “Maybe with some people it
just takes time.”
“Maybe,” she agrees.
But I can tell she doesn’t believe it.
For the rest of the day, Aoki is sullen. I didn’t realize how
much I depended on her happy chatter, for her bubbly mood to
lift my own. I try to cheer her up, whispering jokes when our
teachers’ backs are turned and stealing for her sugared hopia
pastries filled with peanut paste, one of her favorite sweets.
But she says she isn’t hungry.
This, coming from a girl who can usually eat ten of these in
one sitting and still have room for more.
As if mirroring Aoki’s mood, the weather turns over the
course of the day. Heavy clouds roll in, so low I could jump up
and touch them. We rush back from our last lesson, making it
to Paper House just as it starts to pour.
I bump into Chenna on my way to the toilet. She gives me
a nod as she passes, but I touch her shoulder to stop her.
“Thank you,” I say. “For earlier.”
She gives me her usual half smile. “It’s all right. I have a
little cousin back home. Aoki really reminds me of her. I know
she’s sixteen, but she seems so much younger sometimes.”
I nod. “If only Blue and Mariko could leave her alone.”
“Like they do the rest of us?”
Chenna’s face is straight, so it takes me a moment to catch
her joke. I let out a laugh. “You’re right. I shouldn’t hold my
breath.”
“Anyway,” she says, “Mariko’s actually pretty nice when
she’s not around Blue. And I wouldn’t care too much what
Blue says.” She looks like she’s about to say something more,
so I lean forward, brow furrowing.
“What is it?” I press.
“Well, I don’t really like to talk about other people’s
business. But seeing as it’s Blue…” She wets her lips. “Do you
know who her father is?”
“Someone important at court, right?”
“Not just someone important—he’s the King’s only Paper
caste adviser. Even the Hannos aren’t involved with the King’s
council. Everyone knows the King is paranoid when it comes
to dealing with the clans. Probably worried he’ll upset them
one day and they’ll turn on him. But Blue’s father was exiled
from his clan years ago.”
“Why?” I ask.
Chenna shrugs. “There are lots of different rumors. But
whatever it was, he ended up here, and because he’s a free
agent, the King seems to trust him more than most.”
“What’s this got to do with Blue?”
“Everyone knows her father is after a promotion. The
King’s first adviser died earlier this year and he still hasn’t
appointed a successor.” Chenna’s coal-black irises don’t leave
mine. “Blue is eighteen. She could have been entered into the
Paper Girl selection before now. So her father putting her
forward for the first time this year seems rather convenient,
don’t you think?”
I frown. “But the selection process—”
“Is not mandatory for daughters of court officials.” She
nods. “Not that there are many Paper caste court officials
anyway, of course. But for the few who are, they’re granted an
exception. Unless—”
“The family wants them to be considered, and enters them
voluntarily,” I finish.
“What’s more,” Chenna goes on, “I heard some of the
maids talking about how it was common knowledge Blue
didn’t want to be put forward as a Paper Girl.”
Silence unfolds at this. Out of all the girls, Blue is the one I
would have bet on for fighting tooth and nail to be selected. I
imagined her following the selection of the Paper Girls since
she was young, playing dress-up with her maids, pretending
she was one of the chosen.
“Her father used her,” I state, hollow.
“It’s exactly what Blue would have done herself,” Chenna
replies with a lift of a shoulder.
The coolness in her voice makes me wince. Tien had told
me how Paper caste families offer up their daughters in the
hopes of gaining favor with the court. But hearing Chenna talk
so frankly about it…
Being traded against your will by your own father can’t
feel nice. Even for someone like Blue.
“Chenna,” I say as she moves away, “how do you know all
this?”
Something flickers in her dark eyes. “The King talks a lot,”
she answers, an edge to her voice. “Especially after a few
glasses of sake.”
It’s not until I’m coming back from the toilet that I
comprehend the significance of Chenna’s words.
Maybe the one person who can tell me what happened to
my mother is the last person I’d ever want to ask.
At dinner, Madam Himura tells us we’ll be attending a dance
performance later that evening. “The King will be in
attendance,” she says. Her yellow eyes cut to me. “So no
mistakes.”
An excited thrum runs through the room. Zhen and Zhin
lean their heads in, whispering, and Blue and Mariko swap
knowing looks. It’s the first time we’ll be crossing paths with
the King in public, and while some of the girls seem happy by
this news, a coldness slithers over me at the mention of him.
I glance across the table in Aoki’s direction. She doesn’t
make any sign that she’s heard, still poking her food with her
chopsticks, head propped on one hand.
When we get up to leave, I notice Blue hanging back. I
hover in the doorway, pretending to be adjusting my shoes. As
Madam Himura rises from the table, Blue approaches her in a
purposeful stride.
“What is it?” the eagle-woman snaps.
Blue rolls her shoulders. “I—I want to know whether my
father will be attending the performance tonight,” she declares.
“It’s not my duty to memorize guest lists, girl.”
“But—”
“Send a messenger to ask.”
Blue mumbles something.
“Well,” replies Madam Himura, waving a feathered arm,
“that’s not my problem. Your father is an important man. He’ll
respond when he sees fit.”
I hurry away before they catch me listening. Something
sour turns my stomach, remembering my conversation with
Chenna, but it takes me a while to place the feeling because
it’s not something I ever thought I’d associate with Blue.
Pity.
Back in my room, Lill hums as she dresses me in velvety
amethyst-colored hanfu robes stitched with a floral print.
“Tonight, Mistress,” she announces with a grin, “you’re going
to look so beautiful the King won’t be able to take his eyes off
you.”
I arch a brow. “That’s what you said last time. Remember
what happened?”
“Don’t remind me!” As she fusses with the positioning of
the layered fabrics, she adds, “I overheard one of the court
messengers speaking to Madam Himura.” Her grin creeps
wider.
“Oh, no.” I grimace. “What now?”
With a clap of her hands, Lill does a little dance on her
tiptoes before bursting out, “You’ve been chosen to sit next to
the King tonight!”
 I look away jerkily, and Lill falters.
“Aren’t… aren’t you happy?”
I answer her through gritted teeth. “Can’t wait.”
“Don’t worry, Mistress,” she says. Her small hand lands on
my own. “He’s bound to pick you tomorrow after seeing you
like this. I’m sure of it.”
What I don’t tell her is that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
I can’t deny that every time the royal messenger delivers
the bamboo chip and my name isn’t the one on it, it’s started to
bring a twist of shame. Along with Blue’s snide comments and
Madam Himura’s constant admonishments, it hasn’t been easy
being the unchosen girl. Every day I think of General Yu’s
threat. How long will they keep me in the palace without being
chosen by the King? What happens if he never picks me? Will
they throw me out? Somehow I can’t imagine Madam Himura
sending me merrily on my way, a packed lunch and some
money in my pocket, wishing me and my family all the best
for the future.
But even the fear of what could happen has been
outshadowed by relief. Of not having to face the King for one
more day, at least. Of being able to ignore the real reason I’m
in the palace in the first place. And while I’ve discovered that
a month is not long enough to forget a face such as his, it is
enough time to create distance from that face, and the demon it
belongs to.
Later that evening, as we travel through the palace to where
the dance recital is being held, his presence starts to reveal
itself, like smoke on the wind, a bitter taste that knots my
stomach.
Rain pounds on the carriages as we pull up to one of the
Inner Court theaters. The dark wood walls of the theater are
slick from the deluge. Over the sound of the storm, music
thrums from within: the melancholy song of an erhu, piping
reeds, low drumbeats. A troop of umbrella-wielding servants
usher us inside. We file into the theater’s main hall, a grand,
circular room. At the center is a round stage ringed by
cushions.
Mistress Eira takes my arm. “You’re with me, Lei.” She
smiles, leading me to the front row.
Around us, court members in an array of demon forms are
taking their places, shadows distorted by the lantern glow. My
breaths come more shallowly as we kneel on our cushions, and
I hold myself stiffly, trying not to flinch each time I hear the
heavy drop of hooves. To distract myself, I focus on the stage.
There’s a dusting of snowlike powder sprinkled across it.
Mistress Eira follows my gaze. “Sugar dust,” she says.
I look round. “What is it for?”
“The dancers kick it up with their movements so it settles
onto our clothes and skin. It’s more for display, really. But it’s
also said to encourage sensual thoughts.” Her voice drops.
“Men and women will know their lovers’ skin will taste sweet
later tonight.”
An image flares into my mind: the King, leaning in close, a
thick tongue sliding out to run along my bare collarbones.
“I—I can’t do it,” I say suddenly. Pushing my palms into
the floor, I start to my feet. “I can’t, I won’t—”
Mistress Eira seizes my arm. “Hush, Lei!” she hisses,
yanking me back down with pinching fingers. “You can never
speak this way in public. Never. Do you understand? Imagine
if word got back to Madam Himura. To the King.” She waits
as an elegant-looking lion-form demon strides past, his arm
looped over the shoulder of a smaller lion-form male. They
share a chaste press of their snouted noses as they pass.
Relaxing her grip a little, Mistress Eira continues, “I
understand your fear, but you have to see it as just another
aspect of your job. Not even one that takes too long—a few
hours and you’ll be back in Paper House. And while I can’t
promise that you’ll enjoy it, it might not be as bad as you
feared. Remember, even that which seems impossible at first
can be overcome by strength of mind and heart.”
 It’s an old saying, one everybody in Ikhara is familiar with.
I turn it over on my tongue, hunting for comfort in its words.
For some reason, it makes me think of Wren. The way her
eyes often gaze into the distance during dinners and lessons, as
though she’s retreating somewhere deep within herself. Is this
how she copes with sleeping with the King? Protecting her
true self by folding it away where he can’t reach?
I look across the stage to where she’s sat opposite me,
expecting to find her staring off into the distance. But my
breath catches—because she’s looking straight at me. And this
time, instead of emptiness, Wren’s eyes shimmer brightly with
fire.
Then a voice rings out through the theater, and our
connection breaks. “Honorable members of the court,
presenting our Heavenly Master, our gods’ blessed ruler and
commander of all beings who walk the mortal realm, the
King!”
Every member of the audience drops into a bow. My
cheeks are still flushed from Wren’s look as I lower my
forehead to the floor, but the rest of my body is clammy.
Silence claims the hall. The only sounds are the rustling of
fabric and the thrum of rain on the roof. And, beneath my ribs,
the frantic slam of my heart. It seems impossible that no one
else can hear it. Even now, Baba and Tien must be raising their
heads in Xienzo from their late dinner after another busy day
to wonder what that distant drumming sound is.
The hall is quiet for a few moments more. Then—hoof-fall.
I fight the urge to jump up as they approach in a slow gait,
coming to a stop right beside me. Heat ripples from the King’s
body as he kneels down, close, not touching but so near his
presence is as heavy as a sky full of storm clouds, and the
smell of him fills my nose; that sharp scent of bull, raw and
masculine.
“Heavenly Master,” I murmur along with the rest of the
room. There are rustling sounds as everyone in the audience
sits back up. I straighten, my eyes locked on the floor, aware
of his stare.
“Lei-zhi,” he says, drawing the letters out. There’s a smirk
in his voice. “Am I to always find you face-first on the floor?”
“If that is where you want me.” I inject the words with as
much derision as I dare, adding a quick “Heavenly Master” for
good measure.
His boom of laughter shudders deep, right down to my
bones. “So, how have you found your first month at the
palace? I hope it has been enjoyable.”
“In… some ways,” I answer carefully.
“In some ways! Tell me those that disagree with you, and
I’ll see what I can do.”
Oh, just the small fact that I’m a prisoner here. But I keep
my eyes down and mumble instead, “The days start very early.
And we have a lot of lessons. And the food could be better, I
suppose.”
Again, his laughter rattles me. “Now, I know at least that
last one’s a lie. We have the most superior chefs in all of
Ikhara. I challenge you to find better. But perhaps,” he goes
on, his tone cooling somewhat, “your tongue hasn’t become
accustomed to fine food yet. I can only imagine what your
meals were like in Xienzo. Do not worry, Lei-zhi. I am sure
your tongue will become accustomed to palace delicacies soon
enough.”
The double meaning in his words jolts me, but I only have
a few seconds to falter before he speaks again, his voice flat
and serious now.
“The court tells me you’re blessed with eyes leant by the
Moon Goddess herself. Show them to me.”
With a deep inhalation, arranging my face into as calm an
expression as I can muster, I lift my chin. And finally, after all
these weeks, the King’s cool gaze meets mine.
His spine stiffens. Not in fear, or even surprise. But the
way a cat goes still when it’s spotted a mouse. How the world
grows silent before the roar of a storm. His stillness seems to
ripple through the room until everything is frozen, everyone
focused on the two of us, the fix of golden eyes on blue.
A smile sneaks across his lips, accenting his pointed
cupid’s bow. “So. They weren’t exaggerating.”
I bow my head. “I am humbled by your compliment,
Heavenly Master,” I force out.
There’s a pause. “You haven’t thanked me for my other
one.”
I jerk my chin up. “The—the other one?”
“You must have been wondering why I haven’t called you
to me yet, no?” The King leans down until his face is just a
hairsbreadth from mine and curls a hand round my cheek,
holding me with just a fraction too much pressure. “Didn’t you
know, Lei-zhi,” he murmurs, grin sharpening, “I always save
the best for last.”
The announcer’s voice sounds again, signaling the start of
the show. But the King doesn’t look away—and I don’t dare
to.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a sleek dog-form dancer
entering the stage. A lone string melody starts up. The dog-girl
launches into movement. Scarlet ribbons tied round her wrists
fly out in long, rippling waves. She dances across the stage,
lifts high with fast kicks of her slender haunches, turning the
air around her into a whirl of red.
A shower of sugar dust falls over us. Slowly, not taking his
eyes off mine, the King runs a thumb over my lips and raises it
to his own, tasting it with his tongue.
“Delicious,” he growls.
The next day, the name painted on the bamboo chip is
mine.
 FOURTEEN

THE TABLE ERUPTS, ALL THE GIRLS talking at once. Madam

Himura has to slam her hands down to shock them into
silence. “This is not some housewives’ mahjong party!” she
cries, yellow eyes blazing. “Are you forgetting who you are?”
She points a taloned finger at the door. “Go! Mistress Tunga is
expecting you.” When I start to stand, she gives an
exasperated sigh. “Not you, Lei.”
Whispering, the girls file from the room. Aoki looks over
her shoulder as she goes, offering me a smile I can’t return.
Wren also pauses in the doorway. She looks round. Just like
last night when our gazes caught across the stage, there is a
radiance in her eyes that pulls something in the pit of my
stomach into life.
“Good luck, Lei,” she says. “I’ll be thinking of you.”
I blink after her as she slides the door shut.
“So. The King has finally summoned you.”
Madam Himura’s voice cuts through the quiet. I look down
at my lap, where my fingers twine together.
“Mistress Eira predicted it,” she goes on. “Apparently he
was quite taken with you at the dance recital last night.” With
a rustle of feathers, she comes round the table to kneel beside
me. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Lei-zhi. Being scared of
your first time is normal. All girls are.”
I bite my lip. “Is there… is there any way—”
She clicks her beak. “Do not ask the impossible of me. The
King’s decision is final.” A clawed hand lands on my shoulder
with surprising gentleness. “You’ll feel better once it’s over.
You might even grow to enjoy it in time.”
I remember Aoki’s tear-streaked face.
“I doubt it,” I mutter.
Madam Himura snatches back her hand, the callous tone
returning to her voice just as quickly as it went. “Whether you
enjoy it or not is beside the point. This is your job. And as
with all your duties, you will perform to the best of your
abilities. Even if your abilities don’t seem much.” She jabs her
cane against the floor. “Rika!” she barks at one of the maids.
“Take Lei for her ye lesson.”
I frown. “Ye lesson?”
“Night skills,” Madam Himura responds curtly. “To
prepare you for tonight.”
She doesn’t say it, but the word is in the air with us, sharp
and cutting and cold.
Sex.
I’m finally about to be trained for the most important role
of a Paper Girl—and the one I’ve been dreading the most.
Hidden in the southeastern corner of Women’s Court, beyond
high walls and set deep within gardens scented with the rich,
heady fragrance of jasmine and frangipani, are the buildings
where the palace courtesans live. The Night Houses. During
her description of the different areas of the palace when we
first arrived, Mistress Eira didn’t go into any further detail,
telling us only that they are strictly out of bounds unless we’re
given explicit permission from her or Madam Himura. Now,
pulling up outside the concubines’ home, I wonder why. It’s
not as if we’d just be able to saunter in. Along with the steep
walls, dozens of soldiers line the deep gate leading into the
grounds. Sunlight glances off their leather armor, the elaborate
sheaths of the jian crossed at their chests.
Rika, Madam Himura’s maid, helps me down from the
carriage. The guards don’t move, but their gazes flick over me.
I catch the eye of a tall cheetah-form soldier as we pass. She
has a surprisingly sweet face, sandy fur almost as pale as skin,
looped black markings around each eye. She gives me a smile,
friendly somehow despite the glint of canines.
My eyes shift from her to the demon next to her, then the
next. I turn to Rika. “They’re all female!” I say.
She nods. “Male guards aren’t allowed permanent fixtures
in Women’s Court.”
“But what about the visitors? Aren’t they men?”
“There’s an entrance on the side that leads directly from
City Court for them to use.” Then she adds, almost as an
afterthought, “That’s where the house with the male courtesans
is, too.”
“Male courtesans? For the female court members, you
mean?”
“No, Mistress. They are also for male court members.”
We fall silent. I can’t say I’m that surprised by this news.
At our nightly events there have sometimes been male demons
who have had other men as their escorts, like the two lion-men
last night. But I’ve never seen it the other way round—two
female lovers.
We don’t say any more as we head along a winding path
through the gardens. It’s peaceful here among the trees, the
floor dappled with sunlight. The grounds are lush and wild,
with willowy trees and tangled knots of flowering shrubs,
vibrant after last night’s storm. Red saga seeds pepper the
grass. There’s the trill of birdsong, the rustle and rush of
breeze-blown leaves. The violet beams of half hidden
pavilions wink from deep in the foliage. As we pass one,
movement from inside draws my attention. The view is
partially blocked by the swaying leaves of a ginkgo tree, but I
make out the form of a naked woman beyond the latticed
balcony.
Her long raven hair tumbles to the floor. Two elklike
antlers twine elegantly from the crown of her head. Tossing
her head back, she shifts, and the brown-haired body of some
kind of bear-form demon sits up from under her. His hands
grip her shoulders as she moves on top of him. I can’t hear
their noises from here, but it’s clear what they’re doing.
My cheeks burn. I look quickly away, hurrying down the
path with my eyes fixed on the ground.
After a few more minutes the gardens open onto a square
populated with a cluster of low, two-tiered buildings. Moss
crawls up their green-and-red walls. Over their open entrances
hang banners marked in sweeping calligraphy, each displaying
the same character: ye.
A figure emerges from the middle house. “You’re late.”
The woman cocks her head to one side, arms folded across
her chest. She’s a dog-form demon, Moon caste, the spotted
umber hair flowing over her lithe frame just showing the
beginnings of gray. Long legs—a meld of human limbs and
dog haunches—show through the split in her maroon robes.
Though her ears are floppy, any softness this adds to her
appearance is countered by the keen contours of her face and
the flint-colored stare she gives us as we approach.
Rika bows. “Our sincerest apologies, Mistress Azami.”
Just as I start to mumble a greeting, the dog-woman strides
forward and grabs my arm. “Your job during these lessons is
not to talk,” she snaps, yanking me up the steps into the house.
“It’s to listen. Only listen. Can you do that? Can you keep that
pretty mouth of yours shut for the next few hours?”
I almost trip on the lip of a step. “Y-yes, Mistress.”
“What did I just say? Aiyah, you’re a slow learner, aren’t
you? Let’s hope you have some talent between the sheets to
make up for it.”
 With an irritable click of her tongue, she drags me up a
flight of stairs to the upper floor and down a narrow hallway. I
get only a quick impression of the building’s interior; low,
shadowed corridors, glimpses of moving figures from behind
thin rice-paper screens, and sounds, unfamiliar but
somehow… not. Heavy groans. A stifled moan.
Mistress Azami raps on one of the doors. “Zelle!” she
barks. “Open up! Your Paper Girl is here for her lesson.”
A silky voice answers from inside. “Why don’t you ever
ask nicely, Mistress?”
“And why don’t you ever just do as you’re told?”
Grumbling, the dog-woman opens the door and shoves me
through. “Three hours. The basics. Go.”
She shuts the door with a slam.
I stumble to a stop, hastily smoothing down my clothes.
My eyes meet with those of a Paper caste girl just a few years
older than me. She’s leaning by the window, dusky light from
the half closed shutters painting her slim outline in gold. A slit
travels up one side of her indigo skirt, exposing the lean length
of her legs.
The girl gives me a lopsided smile. “The famous Nine. I’ve
been looking forward to meeting you.”
I flinch at her use of Blue’s nickname for me but force a
bow. “I’m honored to learn from you today, Mistress Zelle.”
“Please,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Just Zelle. Mistress
makes me feel so old.” With a swish of her robes, she comes
forward to kneel on the bamboo-mat floor, gesturing for me to
join her. “Don’t you ever got bored of it? All the Mistress this,
Madam that. At least in my job I’m not expected to make
small talk. Unless, of course, it’s a customer’s preference.”
She winks.
I don’t know how to respond to that. Instead I look round
her room. It’s so different from my own in Paper House.
Paintings and calligraphy scrolls hang on the walls, and the
cabinets and side tables are richly detailed, carved from
polished teak and mahogany and inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
To one side of the room hangs a swath of gauzy fabric,
rippling in the breeze coming through the window. The fabric
is sheer enough to make out a bed behind it, low and wide,
mounds of pillows thrown across its top.
“You’re from Xienzo, yes?” Zelle says, following my gaze.
“I guess you haven’t seen one before.”
“A bed?” I shake my head. “We used sleeping mats back
home. And in our rooms here.”
She snorts. “Of course you do. They wouldn’t want to
encourage you bringing lovers back. Though that doesn’t stop
all the girls.”
A crooked grin darts across her lips, and I find myself
returning it. There’s something friendly about this girl, with
her sparkling eyes and teasing voice.
“So,” she murmurs, gazing at me. “What to teach you…”
“Mistress Azami said the basics?”
Zelle flaps a hand. “Basics are boring. I could tell you how
it works, where certain parts need to go, the anatomy and
mechanics of it all. But what’s the point? You’ll know all that
anyway once it happens. The best sex is natural. Instinctive.
It’s about letting go, not running through a list of actions in
your mind. That’s why I hate all these formalities and
etiquette. They spoil it—the rawness. The passion.” She
pauses. “Think of it as a simple case of action and reaction.
Touch and response.”
With an impish smile, she leans forward to grasp my hand.
As she does so, her collar shifts, exposing the shadow of her
cleavage. Zelle doesn’t seem to notice. Pushing back my
sleeve, she holds a fingertip to my inner elbow and, her thick-
lashed eyes never leaving mine, she traces her finger down my
arm.
Slowly. Lightly. Teasingly.
Heat stirs between my legs.
 “How does this make you feel?” she asks in a glossy voice,
watching me.
I swallow. “I—I guess it’s nice.”
Zelle laughs, though not unkindly. “There’s no lying when
it comes to sex, Nine. Your body will always betray you.”
Touching my cheek, she murmurs, “Look how deeply you’re
blushing.” Her fingers brush my lips. “Your mouth is parted,
expectant. Ready to be kissed.” Her palm rests against my
breastbone, her skin hot on mine. “Your heartbeat is fast.
Excited. What would I find if I slipped my hand between your
legs? Would your body betray you there, too?”
I drop my gaze, and Zelle shifts back.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she says, gentler now.
“You can be honest with me. Many of us yearn to be touched.
To be loved.”
“Well,” I say, glowering, “I don’t yearn for the Demon
King.”
It comes out louder and harsher than I meant it to.
“I—I mean,” I go on, “he’s a demon. And I’m not.”
Zelle rubs a lock of her hair between her thumb and finger.
“A lot of the girls have trouble understanding that,” she says
with a nod. “The attraction between castes. But it isn’t actually
as rare as you might expect.”
“It isn’t?”
“Think of it this way. Moon castes came from Paper,
according to the old myths of the Mae Scripts, am I right? And
Steels are what resulted from the mix of Paper and Moon. So
really, Paper, Steel, and Moon aren’t that separate
fundamentally. We’re just at various levels on the scales. So
we look a little different.” She shrugs. “Fur, feathers—it’s just
decoration, really. Our basic makeup and structure are the
same.”
Her words remind me of what Mama told me about
humans and demons sharing the same blood. And being
reminded of my mother leads me to think of that day seven
years ago, the day I stopped believing in her words because
how could we be the same when demons could do that?
“But if they think they are so superior to us,” I scowl, “why
would they even want us in that way?”
Zelle cocks a shoulder. “Part of it is the temptation of the
forbidden, I suppose. The excitement of breaking the rules.
Especially somewhere like here, the palace, a place full of
Moon and Steel castes—maybe the delicate features of human
girls have an exotic lure.” Something hardens in her
expression. “But mostly, I think, it’s about power. Demon men
can take what they want. Our homes. Our lives. Our bodies.”
Then, as abruptly as it went, her lighthearted demeanor
returns. “And of course, there’s our sheer beauty. I mean, who
can resist this?” She flips her hair, shoots me a wink.
“Anyway, the real issue is how do we help you feel at ease
with the King.”
I shift uncomfortably, remembering last night—the
closeness of the King, his thumb tracing my lips, the way he
touched me with the intimacy, the sureness of someone who
has already known others’ bodies.
Or, perhaps, of someone who is comfortable with taking
things as his own.
Revulsion swirls through me, edged with something fire-
hot. I want to jump up, scream at Zelle. Isn’t it obvious? Isn’t
it understandable how maybe I wouldn’t want a stranger’s
body pressed against mine, especially not a demon whose
power has brought so much pain to Ikhara, to families like
mine?
Dzarja. It is a betrayal.
Every day I’m here in the palace is a betrayal.
But I swallow my words, unsure of how Zelle would
respond. Instead, I make up, “I know nothing about him.
We’ve had one conversation. Barely. How am I supposed to be
attracted to someone I don’t know?”
 “You’re really telling me you’ve never been drawn to
someone because of the way they look?” Zelle asks with an
arch of her brow. “It’s not shallow, Nine. Attraction is an
honest, instinctive part of life. And a person’s appearance is
much more than just their features. It’s how they hold
themselves. The way they move. The things you can tell about
them without words. You’re how old?”
“Seventeen.”
“Seventeen,” she repeats, something a little wistful in her
voice, even though it couldn’t have been more than a few
years ago for her. “Such a good age. Still fresh enough that
attraction and desire feel new to you, but old enough to
understand what to do with them. You must have watched
someone by now and wished you could know them. Wondered
whether their thoughts might stray to you.”
And all at once my face gets hot—because it’s a perfect
description of the way I’ve been feeling about someone.
Wren.
Understanding arrives then the way twilight falls:
instantaneously. Just a blink, a skip in time, leaving only the
before and the after, and the inescapable ripples of change.
Every lingering glance, every stolen moment watching her
out of the corner of my eye clicks into place. How flustered I
always feel around her. How jealous I was at the thought of
her with a lover. The way watching her dance makes
something inside me physically ache. And even though we’ve
not spoken that much—Wren still carries herself with that
infuriating aloofness that separates her from the group—Zelle
is right. I can tell things about her just from the way she
behaves. She’s not as unknowable as she might like to think.
I’ve noticed the way she relaxes anytime we have a physical-
based lesson, as though grateful for the time to move in her
own body. The way she hides her nakedness in the bathing
courtyard, less out of modesty but more, it seems, as a sense of
maintaining the distance she has crafted between herself and
the rest of us.
 And I’ve noticed the way she’s begun to watch me
sometimes, and how—with burning eyes.
Something I haven’t felt for a long time flutters into life in
the pit of my belly. Hope. Because, maybe, Wren has already
come to her understanding.
Maybe her eyes were showing me what I’m only just
realizing now.
Zelle watches me patiently, her lips quirked. “See? Your
body doesn’t lie. There is someone.”
Breath quiet, I palm my hands down the fabric of my skirt
and answer, tentative, “But… it’s not the King.” I want to add,
And it’s not a man, either, but that seems too telling.
“So?” she says. “You’re not expected to be attracted to the
person you’re being forced to sleep with. Look at my clients.
Most of them are government dogs.” Zelle snorts. “Sometimes
literally. But every now and then, someone comes along.…”
Her face glimmers with a secret memory, perhaps of kinder,
less selfish hands and mouths. “You need to find ways to
arouse those feelings even when you’re with someone who
repulses you. It might sound impossible, but it’s actually quite
simple once you know how. I’ll show you. Take off your
clothes,” she commands brusquely.
Instinctively, I clasp the collar of my robes. “W-what?”
“There’s no use being coy, Nine. I work here, remember?
I’ve seen it all. Besides, if you can’t undress in front of me,
what hope do you have when it comes to the King?”
Her words send a shudder down my spine. Not just because
of how she means it, but for the second meaning hidden
within, too. Because the answer to her question is easy: none. I
have no hope. No hope of being free, no hope of escaping
what’s to come tonight.
But if there’s one thing palace life has taught me, it’s how
to follow orders. Even if on the inside, you’re raging against
them.
 Chin low, I pull my sash free. Then, slowly, I draw my
cotton robes off my shoulders. I stare down at the floor, feeling
as exposed as I look.
“Gods,” Zelle murmurs. “That was about as sensual as a
tooth extraction. You’d better watch closely.”
She casts her face to the side, her gaze blurring, unfocused.
She undresses from her hanfu leisurely, and I can’t help but be
amazed at the transformation in her demeanor. She becomes a
woman in love. Every movement is filled with yearning.
Desire in the quickening of her breaths as the robes tumble
from her body; coyness in the way she catches my eyes before
dropping her gaze to the floor. In her parted lips: longing.
Then she grins, and the mirage is broken.
“That was amazing,” I admit.
With a shrug, Zelle glides her robes back on, though there
is real pride in her voice. “Of course it was. You wouldn’t
expect anything less from the highest-paid courtesan in the
palace, would you? Now, get dressed and try it again. Imagine
that you’re with the person you desire. You’re undressing in
front of them for the first time. How would you feel? How
would they feel? Use the thought of their lust to fuel your
own.”
I close my eyes and do as she says, dreaming of Wren.
Over the next few hours, Zelle teaches me more techniques for
the King’s bedchamber, from ways to be touched she’s heard
he likes from previous Paper Girls to exercises for me to
practice to become more aware of my own sensuality.
Sometimes she looks at me in a way that makes it seem like
she can tell what I’m thinking about. Or, more specifically—
who.
“Will we have more lessons?” I ask once the lesson is over,
gathering up the hem of my robes and starting to my feet.
“Anytime the King calls for you,” Zelle replies. “Though
there won’t be that much more to teach you. Like I said, it’s
natural, really. You just need practice. But Madam Himura
thinks there’s benefit in you all having lessons with me, and I
get to take a few hours out from seeing clients.” She smiles up
at me. “I’m looking forward to hearing how tonight goes,
Nine. I think you’ll do well.”
Heat—and not the good kind—crawls across my skin at the
thought of the King’s hands on my body. Everyone talks about
our job as though it were totally normal. As though physical
intimacy were something to be demanded, not offered or
shared. Not with love, the way I’d dreamed of it since I was
young, thinking marriage was the sweet kisses my parents
shared when they thought I wasn’t looking, the way they sat
side by side many nights on the back porch, in silence but
somehow making the air feel full of words.
Something narrows in my throat. “I still don’t feel ready.”
“I know I’ve thrown a lot of information at you today,”
Zelle says gently. “Just remember that it’s your first time. The
King isn’t expecting you to be highly skilled. In fact, he’s
probably looking forward to your inexperience. Many men
enjoy that, taking a girl’s virginity.”
“Why?” The word comes out bitter. All the bad things in
my life have happened because of men’s greed—first when
they took Mama, and then when they came back seven years
later for me. My voice is rough as I add, “They have all the
power, anyway.”
The look Zelle gives me is sharp. “Do they? Yes, they like
to think they’re in charge, ordering us around and taking
women for their own whenever they fancy. But is that true
power? They can take and steal and break all they want, but
there is one thing they have no control over. Our emotions,”
she says at my nonplussed look. “Our feelings. Our thoughts.
None of them will ever be able to control the way we feel. Our
minds and hearts are our own. That is our power, Nine. Never
forget it.”
There’s an odd calmness to her expression, though
something dark surges behind her eyes. Just as I’m about to
leave, I pause, glancing back from the doorway. “About my
nickname…”
Zelle nods, guessing what I’m about to ask. “I did get it
from Blue. But I don’t use it in the same way.”
“How do you use it?”
She flashes her crooked smile. “As a compliment, of
course.”
 FIFTEEN

BACK AT PAPER HOUSE, I SPEND two uncomfortable hours

being polished and plucked by a group of chattering maids
before being left to soak in a bath of honeyed milk and spices.
It’s supposed to soften my skin, perfume it, but it only
heightens the sense that I’m some animal being prepared for a
feast, and as I float in the bath, this unsettling vision hits me of
the scented liquid seeping into my body through my pores,
right down into my bones, until I’m nothing but fragrance and
softness. As if I might disappear at the lightest touch.
Afterward, Lill dresses me in a long embroidered skirt of
cream and charcoal black, tied at my waist with a ribbon of
velvet over a gauzy pearl-colored shirt with draped sleeves.
It’s a teasing mix of conservative and sensual. The full skirt
hides my legs, but the sheerness of the top exposes the shape
of my breasts and the slender slope of my shoulders. It makes
me intensely aware of what I’m wearing it for.
Or rather, what I’m wearing it before.
Lill is quiet as she works, sensing my mood. Before we
leave, she places a leaf-wrapped bundle at the head of my
sleeping mat. “I’m supposed to remind you to mix these with
water as soon as you get back,” she says, avoiding my eyes.
“And you have to drink the whole thing, Mistress. Even if it
tastes bad.”
 The herbs to stop pregnancy. I’d forgotten about them.
I nod to show Lill I understand. But my stomach is already
churning, and I have no idea if I’ll even be able to keep down
a few sips after what’s about to happen. As Lill leads me
through Paper House to where a palanquin is waiting, it takes
all my effort not to be sick right here and now.
The small burst of courage Zelle’s lesson gave me slips
away even more with each moment drawing me closer to the
King: Lill wishing me luck as I climb into the palanquin; the
swaying stride of the oryx on the journey through the
darkening palace. Arriving at Royal Court, the line of soldiers
standing guard outside the King’s fortress is just as
intimidating as my first visit, a row of armor and horns. Inside,
I’m taken to a windowless room for a purification ceremony.
A group of royal shamans move in a ring around me, swinging
gold thuribles as they chant, incense twining into ropelike
tendrils around my body, a physical manifestation of how
trapped I feel.
By the time I’m brought to the King’s private rooms, my
panic is deep, a physical thing. Everything in me wants to turn.
Run away. But I force myself to recall General Yu’s threat, and
Wren’s reminder that our actions impact not only us but our
families, too.
I have to keep Baba and Tien safe. And, just maybe, the
King will have some answers about my mother.
The soldiers escorting me are led by a Moon caste fox
female who I recognize as one of the demons at the King’s
side during the Unveiling Ceremony. She must be one of his
personal guards. She is undoubtedly beautiful, with sharp,
vulpine eyes, and a slender body, human and fox blended
seamlessly under a coating of sleek fur the color of freshly laid
snow. Something about her stirs a deep current of unease in
me. Through life in the palace, I’ve been slowly getting used
to the presence of demons, but being so close to them still
unnerves me. Especially Moon castes, with the promise of
power in their animal-like limbs. The sense that they could
tear me apart any second they chose.
We stop at a set of heavy opal doors set into an arched
recess in the stone. The fox raps her knuckles against them and
they glide slowly open, revealing a high-ceilinged black
tunnel. I gag on the warm, perfumed air that rushes out.
The fox female glares down her powder-white nose at me.
“The King is ready for you.” Her voice rings high and cold,
every syllable injected with disgust. Clearly she hates the fact
that her precious King takes Paper caste girls to his bed.
Well, fox, I want to tell her, I’m not so keen on it, either.
But I don’t say, can’t say, anything. The darkness of the tunnel
fixes my gaze. It seems to pull at me, coaxing me forward. But
my feet stay rooted.
The King is in there.
Waiting for me.
The fox makes a hissing sound with her teeth. “What,” she
snarls with a flick of her tail, “have you never seen a door
before? Oh. Of course. I forgot you’re from Xienzo. I suppose
you keeda peasants can’t afford them.” Then she grabs me,
whispering into my ear so only I can hear—“Whore!”—before
shoving me inside.
I pitch forward, just managing to stop myself from falling
as the doors shut with a weighty thud behind me. The tunnel is
dark. The heaviness of the air seems to press on me from all
sides, and I hug my arms around myself, my breathing loud.
The idea that I could just stand here and not move is tempting,
but it would just be delaying the inevitable. With a shaky
inhale, I straighten my spine and start forward.
Soon I make out a faint red light up ahead. I move a little
faster. A few moments later I emerge into a high, vaulted
room. The ruby glow is coming from the hundreds of candles
peppering the room—along the floor, in clusters on top of
cabinets and side tables, even floating in the air—giving off
heat and a cloyingly sweet aroma that makes my gut cramp.
And there, in the center of the room on an enormous golden
throne—
The King.
He’s dressed in his usual black-and-gold robes, but tonight
they’re tied loosely, cutting a deep V down his torso, revealing
chestnut-brown hair and the ripple of muscles. It strikes me
again how humanlike his body is, and I recall Zelle’s words
earlier about how similar the castes actually are. If you ignored
his bull’s coat and the elongated pull of his jaw, the King could
almost pass for human. Then my eyes travel down, to the
muscled calves tapering into gold-plated gray hooves, as big
as a pair of stone weights, and I remember seven years ago,
the sound of demon footfall so alien to our village.
I lower into a bow, knees and forehead to the floor. The
polished rock is frozen against my skin. “H-heavenly Master,”
I greet, and I’m furious with myself for the shake in my voice,
the way it echoes weakly in the vast room.
“Come, now, Lei-zhi,” the King says smoothly. “There’s no
need to be so formal. Not when it’s just the two of us.” His
tone is light, but the command in his words is clear. When I
unravel from my bow, he beckons me forward, gesturing to the
table in front of the throne. “The royal chefs have prepared us
dinner. I took the time to find out what your favorite dishes
are.” Candlelight picks out the copper hairs in his coat. He
cocks a smile. It’s wonky, almost boyish, at odds with the
deepness of his voice. “Sugared almonds are a particular
weakness of mine, too.”
My eyes take a quick sweep of the bowls and plates spread
across the table. There are prawn dumplings and scallion
pancakes, steamed turnip cakes and cuts of roasted chicken
breasts glistening with sauce, wine-steeped dates and fried red
bean dough balls covered in syrup and coconut flakes. A glass
carafe of sake sits to one side, along with two bowls for
serving. But even though the food looks delicious, I can’t
smell anything over the horrible sweet perfume of the candles.
My veins are clotted with it.
Keeping my head low, I kneel at the table across from the
King, still battling the urge to be sick. “I’m humbled by your
thoughtfulness, Heavenly Master,” I murmur.
He slaps his hand down onto the arm of his throne. “What
did I just say?” His raised voice booms through the
chamberlike room. “All you girls are the same. Heavenly
Master this, Heavenly Master that. It’s tiring. Sometimes I
think these rules were made just to bore me.” He leans
forward, fixing me with his iced stare, the gold tips of his
horns catching the light. “Do you know why my ancestor, the
first Demon King of Ikhara, had the title Heavenly Master
instated?”
“N-no.”
He eases back in his throne. “Other warlords and clan
leaders are known individually by their names, the families
they descended from. It allows for easy infamy. For reverence.
But it also means anyone can make a name for themselves.
After emerging victorious from the Night War, the Bull King
chose to shed his name completely. He saw it as symbolic. A
way to elevate his status. Instead of mere mortals, he and his
successors would be revered as an all-powerful entity. We
would be gods.” Something ugly wrings the King’s face. “Yet
tell me, Lei-zhi, what is the point of a god whose people know
nothing about him? Whose followers cannot call upon him by
his own name?” He snorts. “It’s like worshipping a ghost.”
I wrestle down a scowl. If only you were one.
“And do you know,” he goes on, “when sons of the King
are born they’re known only by the sequence in which they
were birthed? Before I took over my father’s reign, I was
Third Son. Third Son!” Again, he slaps his hand down, making
me flinch. The sound rings through the room like a
thunderclap. “As if anything about me is third-best!” But a
muscle twitches in his temple, and there’s a broken edge to his
voice. Behind the anger is something more. Regret? Fear?
“What happened to your older brothers?” I ask tentatively.
The King licks his lips. “I killed them so I could take the
throne.” His words chill the air, power emanating from him
like heat-shimmer. Then, abruptly, his face switches back to its
wide, tooth-filled smile. “How about we start? You must be
hungry, and I wouldn’t want the food to go cold.”
As we were taught, I reach for the vial of sake to pour it for
him. But he waves my hand away.
“You’re my guest, Lei-zhi. Let me take care of you.”
He pours two big helpings. Handing a bowl to me, his
furred fingers brush mine for a brief moment, sending a wave
of goose bumps across my arms. We hold them up, bowing our
foreheads to the rim of the bowls, before bringing them to our
lips. The King drains his drink in one. I try to match him;
we’ve been taught it’s the polite thing to do. But I get only
halfway through before my throat burns and I set my bowl
down, eyes watering.
“You don’t drink?” he asks.
“Only on certain occasions.” My voice is still hoarse from
the alcohol. I cough to clear it. “Otherwise we’re not allowed.”
“Sometimes it’s necessary to break the rules,” the King
replies. The corner of his mouth tugs up into a feral smile.
“They tell me I’m not allowed to leave the Inner Courts
without my guards. But I have my ways.”
It sounds like a threat. Suddenly I’m all too aware of my
skin, of how much is on show through my shirt. I start to pull
my hair forward over my collarbones, but the King’s voice
rings out.
“Stop.”
I freeze at the command.
“You look better with your hair back. It shows off your
beauty. Your eyes.”
My pulse skitters as I drop my arms to let him look at me.
The closeness of the room and the nearness of the King clamps
tight, the air as heavy and unnourishing as concrete. My lashes
are low, but I still feel the roam of his leer grazing my skin,
like the projection of his touch, and I fixate on a spot on my
skirt, trying to steady my breaths.
“Let us eat,” he says eventually.
For the next half an hour I force down helpings of dish
after dish. The King talks the whole time. Like the food, I
don’t register most of it. I’m so busy trying not to think of
what’ll happen after dinner that it’s become the only thing I
can think of. But at the mention of General Yu’s name, my
ears prick up.
“… his gift. I have to say, I was surprised. I didn’t expect
much of him, especially after his abysmal performance in
Jana.”
I swallow the piece of salted fish I’ve been chewing on.
“Heavenly Master,” I start, but at the look he cuts me, I amend
quickly, “I mean, my King…”
It seems to be the right thing to say. He leans in a little,
something satisfied uncoiling in his expression. “Yes?”
“About General Yu. If you don’t mind me asking, on the
journey here he mentioned something about a… a raid. On my
village, seven years ago. I was wondering if you—”
In an instant, the King’s face hardens. “Why would you
want to know about that?” he growls before I can finish.
“Oh. I was… I was just hoping—”
“Order has to be maintained. Are you suggesting I allow
everyone in the kingdom to do exactly as they please?”
“No, of course not—”
“Or that I will tell you anything, just because we are to
share a bed?”
I flush. “No. I just meant—”
The King edges forward in his throne, the muscles on his
neck taut. “Do not underestimate me, Lei-zhi. I may be young,
but I know how to be a King. I was born one. I don’t need a
Paper Girl asking stupid questions about something she knows
nothing about.”
Under the fear, a spark of anger bursts to life. Something I
know nothing about?
I push out a long exhale. Then, as carefully as possible, I
go on, “I’m sorry, my King. But my mother was taken during
that raid.”
There’s a pocket of silence. “That is a shame,” he replies
stiffly.
“Do you know what might have happened to her?” I clasp
my hands in my lap and force the most deferential look I can
muster across my face. “I’d like to know. For my own peace of
mind.”
He watches me in silence a few seconds more. Then he
gives a small tilt of his head, scarlet light catching on the curve
of his gilded horns. “Check the Night Houses’ list of
courtesans.” He reaches with his chopsticks for a slice of
barbecued pork belly and pops it into his mouth, the sauce
glossy on his dark, bowed lips. “If she was brought back to the
palace,” he mutters between chews, “that’s where she’d be.”
I drop into a bow, half to hide the sudden rush of hope
that’s spiraling through me, and stammer a thank-you to the
floor.
“See?” the King says, silky. There’s the rustle of clothes as
he gets to his feet, the thud of hooves as he steps around the
table. “I’m good to my Paper Girls, if they are good to me.
Now, Lei-zhi. To bed.”
The words crawl along my skin. He offers a hand, and
there’s nothing I can do but take it. As his fingers close around
mine—my palm tiny in his—the ground seems to shift under
me, throwing everything off-balance, and even though it’s the
last thing I want to do, I let him lift me to my feet.
The King’s bedroom is another deep chamber. An immense
bed dominates the room, the posts at each corner strung with
charms and copper bells that I can guess at the purpose of.
Then I realize that the room isn’t actually so large—it’s a trick
of the mirrors, which cover the walls and ceiling. There are
broken mirrors, speckled and old, with deep, jagged cracks,
and ones as polished as the surface of a lake. They refract and
reflect everything in a dizzying kaleidoscope of images: the
flicker of candles, the sliding muscles of the King’s bare chest
as he comes closer, the tensed line of my jaw as I turn away.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I do as he says, heart wild.
Calloused fingers caress my cheek. “I’ve bedded so many
women during my reign,” he muses, one hand trailing down
my neck to the front of my shirt, where my skirt is tied. “And
yet there is always something new to discover in each one.
I’ve come to learn that beauty isn’t exhaustive. Desire cannot
be tamed.”
You’re right. I want to shove him away, scream at him,
Tame this! But fear grips me in place.
Then his fingers find the bow fastening my skirt.
“Please,” I breathe. “Don’t—”
He roars. “You do not command the King!”
With a sudden movement, he rips the bow away. My skirt
falls open. A half sob, half growl escapes me. I grab his hands,
trying to peel them off me, but he bats me aside, hooks a
finger on the front of my blouse, and tears it straight down the
middle.
Tears streak my cheeks. I cover myself with my hands, but
he pries them away and shoves me back onto the bed. The
bells cry out as he climbs on top of me and starts drawing off
his robes. I squeeze my eyes shut. His body is hard all over,
wired with muscle, but the hardest part of him pushes against
my leg.
I jerk back, recoiling.
“Let’s see if you taste as delicious as last night,” he purrs
huskily, and lowers his mouth to my neck. His tongue flicks
out—rough. Hot.
 Revulsion sings in my bloodstream. I beat my fists against
him, but it makes no difference; he’s too big, too heavy.
His mouth roams downward. One of his horns presses into
the soft underside of my chin: a knife edge, a silent threat.
My heart is drumming hard enough to burst through my
ribs. This is wrong. All wrong. Everything Zelle taught me
earlier seems ungraspable, childish in the face of this ugly
reality, far worse than anything I imagined. I think desperately
of Wren, but I can’t even picture her face, and the tears come
harder, my breaths faster, and I know then that I can’t do this.
I’ll die if I have to endure even one more second.
The King moves down past my navel. As he shifts his
position, the balance of weight tips just enough for me to
move.
I slam into him.
Shove him back.
I roll off the bed with a grunt. Pain fissures up my back as I
hit the floor. I scramble to my feet. There’s a rage-filled roar—
the King—so deep it shudders my bones, but I’m already
running, faster than he can come after me, desperation fueling
my steps, and I sprint out the bedroom and into the main
chamber, the floating tide of candles rippling away from me in
waves.
I race down the hallway. The door at the end swings open
as I get to it. I barrel past the waiting soldiers and servants,
who cry out in surprise, not caring that I’m half dressed or that
I have no clue where to go, only focused on getting out, out,
out—
Something cracks against the back of my head.
I crash to the floor, collapsing headfirst into darkness.
 SIXTEEN

WHEN I WAS YOUNG, MAMA TAUGHT me a method for dealing

with situations that upset me. “It’s all about yin and yang,” she
said, stroking my hair in her slow, calming way, her voice as
sweet and delicate as summer rain. “Balancing your energy.
When you’re angry or upset, stop for a moment and close your
eyes. Breathe in slowly. Imagine as you do that the air you
take in is bright and golden, as lovely and light as your eyes.
Let that brightness fill your belly. Then, when you exhale,
picture the darkness that had been within you—whatever it
was that upset you—and visualize it leaving your body as you
release your breath. Joyful, golden light comes in… darkness
goes out. Try it with me now.”
I’ve always pictured happiness this way—as a light,
something to summon at will to flush out the darkness
poisoning my insides. But as I wake, the memory of the King’s
touch is so oppressive I can’t imagine how it will ever leave
me. It’s more than just a bit of blackness.
It is a whole night sky, starless and cold.
I come to slowly, disoriented. I’m lying on a sleeping mat.
Someone has dressed me in a night robe, clean and cool
against my skin. I must be back in Paper House, though I
haven’t seen this room before. It’s small, plainly furnished like
mine. Lantern light comes in through the gridlike pattern of a
sliding shoji door. The building is muted, the room shadowed.
It’s still night.
For a while I lie unmoving, limbs so heavy they feel like
lead, while at the same time I’m hollow, emptied of whatever
vital force usually keeps our blood flowing and muscles
moving. There’s a dull ache where I slammed into the stone
floor of the King’s bedchamber, and the back of my head
hurts. I recall the sudden crack. Crumpling to my feet. One of
the soldiers must have hit me.
Grimacing, I try to sit up, but something is weighing me
down. At first I think it’s my own weight, that I’m just laden
with exhaustion. Then I notice the gold bands circling my
wrists. With awkward, jerky movements, I manage to prop
myself up on my elbows, and I spot the same bands laced
around my ankles; two pairs of gold circles, slender as twine,
warm with magic. But though they look delicate, they are so
heavy I can barely lift them.
Shamans’ work.
I sit up again, this time carefully, my arms deadweight at
my sides, just as hurried footsteps sound in the hallway.
“Please, let her recover—”
“You’ve been too soft on that girl since she arrived! I don’t
care what the King’s orders are. She needs to be taught a
lesson! Can you imagine? Denying the King? Who does she
think she is?”
“She was scared—”
“They all are! That didn’t stop the rest of them from doing
their job!”
The door slams open. Madam Himura strides inside,
Mistress Eira close behind. I shrink back against the wall, but
the eagle-woman is on me in seconds, one wing-hand grasping
the collar of my robe and lifting me off the floor. The other
slaps me so hard my neck snaps round.
“You’re lucky he didn’t kill you!” she shrieks, spit flecking
my face. “Stupid girl! Did you think that you’re somehow
above your duties because of the special treatment we granted
you to be here? How dare you! You’ve shamed us in front of
the King himself. And after everything we’ve done for you!”
She hits me again, so hard it fractures my vision. The silver
of her rings cut my cheek. There’s the warm trickle of blood, a
kiss on my skin.
“Himura, you’ll kill her!” Mistress Eira cries.
“It’s the least she deserves!”
“Well, think of the damage you’ll do to her face!”
“The shamans can heal her. Don’t worry, Eira, she’ll be as
pretty as before—though hopefully not as stupid!”
Madam Himura’s arm flies back and she hits me again. She
hits me until lights are sparking in my eyes and my ears ring
and my mouth is filled with blood. Just when I’m close to
passing out, she throws me to the floor.
I curl into a ball, expecting more. When it doesn’t come, I
look up through swollen eyes, spit flecking my chin.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer thickly.
“Don’t you dare speak to me!” Chest heaving, Madam
Himura draws down on me, a talon prodding my ribs. Her
yellow eyes bore into me with their cold, unblinking stare.
“Let me explain what’s going to happen. The only reason the
King didn’t have you killed was because he still desires you,
heavens know why. He has ordered you to be kept in isolation
for one week with no food or comforts. Do not even think
about escaping. Those enchanted bands will make running
impossible, and a guard will be stationed outside this room at
all times. You will return to your schedule once the week is
over. The King will call you to his bedchamber from then on
once he’s ready, and that time, you won’t deny him.” Her
voice is harsh. “I comforted you yesterday. Do not ever expect
kindness from me again.” With one last scathing look, she
sweeps from the room.
 Mistress Eira hangs back. In silence, she comes over and
helps me lie down, pulling a blanket gently over me. She rests
a hand on my brow, careful not to touch anywhere I was hit.
“Oh, Lei,” she sighs. “What have you done?”
“I—I couldn’t bear it.” My voice is a rasp.
Mistress Eira brushes a thumb over my hairline. “You have
to, dear girl. You don’t have a choice.”
“Please, Mistress.” I rake in an inhale, fixing her with my
watery gaze. “Tell me honestly. Does it get better?”
She gives me a half smile. “It does. That I promise you.”
But I look away, unable to believe her.
“Eira! Come!”
At Madam Himura’s call, Mistress Eira starts to her feet.
“I’m so sorry, Lei,” she whispers. “There’s nothing I can do.
You’ll have to find a way to bear it—and I know you will. You
are stronger than most of the girls who come here.”
As she turns to go, I strain against the bands to lift my
head. “My father,” I say. “Tien. This won’t affect them, will it?
They won’t be harmed?”
She hesitates. “I don’t think so. At least, the King hasn’t
shared any such plans with us.”
Relief wings through me. Then I add, “Do you know if
your messenger managed to deliver my messages home? I still
haven’t had any replies, and it’s been over a month now…”
“I’ll be sure to check,” Mistress Eira replies, already
turning. “Now, I really must go.”
After the door closes behind her, there’s the thud of boots
outside—a guard taking watch.
I slump back. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to slow my
breathing. Light in, darkness out, I remind myself. My father
and Tien are safe. The King gave me a lead about Mama.
Things aren’t so bad. Light in, darkness out.
 But no matter how hard I try, it doesn’t work. As the
minutes tick by, I draw in breath after breath, and all my lungs
find is darkness.
I dream of home that night.
Not the nightmare—this dream is quiet and calm, a stitched
patchwork of glimpses from my past life, the small world in
which I lived before coming to the palace. Wind stirring leaves
in the garden. The smell of herbs. Tien’s pattering footsteps in
the shop. A cough from a room above. Baba? Mama, even,
before she was taken? Throughout, I stand like an echo in the
middle of it all, unable to move and feeling only the edges of
tears in my eyes.
Odd, how time works. On long days in the shop, I’ve known it
to stretch out forever, as thick and heavy as molasses. Other
days—days filled with fun errands or festivals—time would
take on a brittle, icelike quality. I’d race through it and it’d
snap into pieces around me, crystalline moments of happiness
and laughter, and before I knew it, the day would be gone.
The time I spend locked in the room passes so slowly I
begin to forget what life was like before my imprisonment.
Hunger gnaws my belly. I’m given a bowl of water each day,
and sipping it gives me some relief, but I still feel hollowed
out, as though someone had scooped my insides with a giant
ladle, fed my core to the earth.
And I miss the girls. Not Blue, of course, or Mariko. But
the others. Since coming to the palace, I’ve been surrounded
by so many women that I’m only alone at night, and even then
I can hear the soft sleeping sounds of the girls in their rooms
nearby, sense their closeness, the dreams flitting behind their
eyelids. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss that before it was
taken away.
Over time that realization leads to another: that I have
made a home here. Somehow, these walls, these rooms, have
become as familiar and comfortable to me as my little shop-
house back in Xienzo. And the girls within them, too. Because
though I haven’t managed to find my mother yet, I’ve found
something else during my time here.
Friends. A new kind of family, even, albeit a weird,
dysfunctional, at times infuriating one.
Still. Family. A home.
The guilt is so strong I double over, gritting my teeth to
stop the tears.
On my fourth night of confinement I’m struggling to sleep. It’s
been hot all day, and without windows, the air in the room is
trapped and close. To cool down, I’ve loosened my robe and
am lying spread out on the floor, skin begging for just the
slightest brush of a cool breeze. I watch the ceiling through
half closed eyes. There’s cricket song from the grasses beyond
the house, but other than that the night is quiet. So I notice it
immediately when the tread of the guard’s boots outside my
room disappears down the corridor.
I sit up with a struggle, weighed down by the bands at my
ankles and wrists. For a few moments, nothing happens. Then
I sense movement in the hallway.
The hair stands up on my arms. It could be the Demon
King. He told me he has ways to get into Women’s Court.
Perhaps he’s decided he doesn’t want to wait anymore and has
come to take what I refused him.
I stagger to my feet. It’s not graceful, and I’m hunched over
from the weight of the bangles, puffing heavily, my vision
swimming. Yet I blow out an exhale and force myself to stand
steady. I’ll face him on my feet even if it kills me. But when
the door glides open a few moments later, the figure that steals
inside is smaller than the King, and infinitely more lovely.
“Lei?” a low, husky voice whispers.
“Wren?”
I move forward, realizing just as I do so that four days of
no food is really not conducive to a person’s ability to keep
herself upright.
Wren catches me just as my knees buckle. Looping an arm
round my shoulders, she helps me to the floor. She doesn’t let
go straightaway, and a tremor runs through me at how close
she is, her warm hands on me. The fresh, oceanlike scent of
her unwinds in the air, stirring something deep in my chest.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, keeping my voice down.
“The guard could be back any minute.”
She shakes her head. “Not for a while.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve watched him,” she says simply, as though it were
nothing. As though spying on royal guards were completely
normal. “He always leaves around now for half an hour or so.
There’s a girl here he goes to.”
“One of us?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she digs into the folds of her
robes, pulling out a small package wrapped in a banana leaf.
“Here. I thought you might be hungry.”
Her fingers graze mine as she hands the package to me. I
peel the leaf back to see a bundle of rice peppered with roasted
peanuts and tiny fried fish. The fragrance of the coconut-
steamed rice rises out, hot and sweet, already liquid on my
tongue. I’ve never smelled anything more delicious.
I battle the urge to immediately inhale the whole thing. “I
don’t know what to say,” I murmur, and Wren smiles, eyes
shimmering in the darkness.
“Good,” she replies. “You’re not supposed to say anything.
You’re supposed to eat.”
The room is windowless, the only light coming through the
rice-paper panels in the door, and even that is weak, an amber
tint from the sole lantern in the hall. In the shadows, it’s hard
to make out the details of Wren’s face. Still, something about
her seems different. It takes me a few moments to realize that
it’s the first time I’ve seen her smile. Properly, I mean. Openly,
widely.
Unguarded.
 It completely transforms her. Gone is the hard, closed mask
she usually wears, replaced instead with a lightness so
beautiful it’s dazzling. Her eyes are upturned, crinkled. She
even has dimples.
“What?” Wren asks with a lift of a brow.
“It’s just… I’ve never seen you look happy before.” In an
instant her smile vanishes. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“I guess I haven’t had many reasons to feel happy since
coming to the palace,” she replies after a pause. Then she nods
at the food. “You should eat, or there won’t be time for
sweets.”
It’s my turn to raise my eyebrows. “You brought sweets?”
She digs out another leaf-wrapped package from her robes.
“I thought you’d like them. I know your province is renowned
for having the best in the kingdom.”
I unpeel the leaf to find four small diamonds of green-and-
white coconut kuih. The last time I’d eaten these was at
breakfast with Baba and Tien the morning I was taken.
For a while, I’m too choked to speak.
“Thank you,” I say eventually.
“It’s nothing.”
“Wren. You’ve snuck here in the middle of the night
against Madam Himura’s orders—let alone the King’s—to
bring me food you’ve stolen, and you think it’s nothing?”
She smiles again, that brilliant sunburst of a smile that
illuminates her whole face and seems to warm the darkness,
even just for a moment. “Well, when you put it like that…”
She laughs, but I don’t join her. “Why do you do it?” I ask.
Her forehead pinches. “Do what?”
“Put on a mask in front of the other girls.” As Wren goes to
interject, I carry on, “Don’t you want to get to know us?”
“Of course I do.”
 “Then why do you distance yourself so much?”
She falters. Glancing away, her long lashes hide her dark
eyes. “Before I came here, I promised myself that I wouldn’t
make friends. I thought it’d be easier to shut myself off from
everyone. To go through this alone.”
“So why are you helping me?”
“Because you tried. Because you were brave.” Wren leans
in, voice fierce even in a whisper. “Our lives here are defined
by others, every decision made for us, every turn of fate
pushed by the hands of others. But you stood up and said no.
Even though you knew what it could cost you. You have
integrity, Lei. You have fight. I respect that.”
I drop my gaze to my lap. “It’s not like anything came of it.
The King… he’ll call for me again one day. And this time I
won’t be able to refuse.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t devalue what you did.” Then,
stiffly, she reaches for my hand.
There’s a moment of awkwardness. I almost pull away—
more from surprise than anything. But then we relax and our
fingers twine together. The race of Wren’s pulse against mine
sends a jolt of something electric down my bloodstream.
“You fought against the Demon King, Lei. There aren’t
many people in the kingdom who can say that, let alone a
Paper Girl.”
When she lets go, my skin sears where she touched me.
We talk in whispers while I eat. For the first time, there are
no walls up between us. No masks. Honesty comes easily after
her hand in mine, our closeness in the dark, hushed room. I tell
Wren about my past, and in turn she tells me about hers. Life
as an only child in the Hannos’ palace in Ang-Khen. Years of
structure, routine, expectations. When she reveals how she was
promised to the King by her father before she was even born,
it makes me think of Blue.
“Did you want it?” I ask. “To become a Paper Girl?”
 She hesitates, lips clamped. “Want doesn’t come into it. My
life has always been about duty. Always, and only.”
“And your future?”
She answers matter-of-factly. “The King.”
I can’t imagine what it was like to grow up knowing that.
To have never tasted freedom, never felt its golden, sun-bright
wind beneath her wings.
“What would you have done?” I press. “If you hadn’t been
chosen as a Paper Girl.”
At once, her expression turns rigid.
“I—I haven’t really thought about it.”
“You must have some ideas. Things you like to do, hobbies
—”
“I don’t have any hobbies.”
She says it so seriously that I almost laugh, catching myself
just in time. “What do you mean? Everyone has hobbies,
Wren. All right, so I spent most of my time in the shop. But
there were still things I liked to do when I got a chance.
Playing with Bao, cooking with Tien…”
“Well,” she says after a beat, “I didn’t have any chances.”
Her face is shadowed in the darkness, and I scan for
answers among its strong lines and feline angles, the charcoal
pools in the hollows of her cheeks. Not for the first time, I
wonder what word was hidden in Wren’s Birth-blessing
pendant. At nineteen, she’s already opened it. I try to picture
her reaction when the gold shell parted. Whether she
discovered something new inside, or whether the character just
confirmed what she’d already known all along, some fate or
truth she’d always felt, like an ache in her bones. The way she
told me her life has always been about duty, and her future
about the King, worries me that it wasn’t what she’d hoped
for. But asking about someone’s Birth-blessing word is taboo,
so I bite back my curiosity.
 Before she leaves, Wren tucks the now-empty leaves back
inside her robe so Madam Himura won’t be suspicious.
“We can be honest with each other now, right?” I say as she
helps me to my feet. At her nod, I wet my lips and go on, “I
saw you leaving Paper House. A few nights ago. You went
into the woods.”
“You followed me?”
The hardness in her voice makes me flinch.
“No! I—I saw from the veranda. I don’t know where you
went—”
“Good!” she snaps.
My arms stiffen at my sides. “I’m only asking because it’s
dangerous, Wren. If you were caught—”
“I know what’ll happen.”
“Well, you should be more careful.”
“I always am.”
I blink, freezing in place. “So it’s happened more than
once?”
She looks away, a muscle pulsing in her neck.
“And you’re going to do it again,” I say dully.
Her silence is my answer.
My next question comes out quiet, barely more than a
whisper. “Are you meeting with someone?”
“Of course not,” she replies, eyes flicking back to meet
mine.
“Then what, Wren? What could possibly be worth you
risking Madam Himura finding out?”
Wren’s face is touched gently on one side by the light from
the corridor. Her features are set hard, but she closes her eyes
for a brief second, taking a long breath, and the lantern glow
across her right eyelid trembles, so soft looking I long to brush
my thumb across it.
Finally she sighs, her shoulders curling forward. “I can’t
tell you, Lei. I’m sorry. Please just pretend you never saw me.
Can you do that?” When I don’t answer, she steps closer and
adds, her voice gentler now, husky and low, “Have you never
had a secret you needed to keep?”
Yes, I want to say. These feelings for you.
Instead, I look away.
Wren reaches out, her fingers grazing mine. “You’re
making this so hard for me,” she says. “Do you know that?”
And without waiting for an answer, she glides the door open
and disappears into the corridor.
 SEVENTEEN

THREE DAYS LATER, MISTRESS EIRA COMES to release me. She

brings a shaman with her, and he removes the gold bands from
my ankles and wrists, my skin warm and shivery from his
magic. It only takes a few minutes. When he’s gone, I lift my
arms, rolling my hands, marveling at how light my limbs have
suddenly become, as though they might float away from me.
But when Mistress Eira helps me to my feet, I pitch forward.
My body is just as heavy as if I were still wearing the bonds. I
have to cling to her to stop from collapsing.
“You’re weak,” she says. “You need to eat. I got the
kitchen to prepare you a special meal. It’s waiting in your
room.”
“Just the one?”
She gives me a smile. “Today, Lei, you can have as many
meals as you want.”
With Mistress Eira’s help, I shuffle to the door. She’s only
just started to slide it open when a teary-eyed Lill runs inside
and barrels straight into me, knocking me half to my knees.
“Mistress!” she cries, looping her arms around my waist. Her
doe ears flutter against my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re all
right!”
I squeeze her back. There’s the pinch of tears in my eyes
and I blink quickly to stop them from coming. “Of course I
am,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “I’ve handled Blue
first thing in the mornings. Everything else is easy.”
Lill doesn’t laugh. From the doorway, Mistress Eira gives
me a nod before leaving us alone.
I unravel myself from Lill. “It’s so good to see you.”
She doesn’t return my smile. Though her young face is still
lovely, there’s something anxious in the pinch of her small
mouth, and I notice dark patches beneath her eyes, like a pair
of bruised figs. My heart gives a little kick.
“Has Madam Himura been cruel to you?” I ask, curving my
hand round her shoulder.
“Not any more than usual.” She bites her lip. “But I
wouldn’t have even noticed. Oh, I’ve been so worried,
Mistress.” Her gaze moves over me. “You look…”
“Radiant? Ravishing?” I mean it as a joke, but in an instant
tears well over her lashes.
I swipe them from her cheeks with my fingers. “Oh, Lill,” I
say. “I’m sorry. And I’m so sorry for worrying you. I haven’t
had the best week, either.” My stomach tangles with how
much of an understatement that is. I force a smile. “But I’m
fine now. I got through it, and so did you. That’s what counts.”
She sniffs, and I pull her back against me, cupping my hand
round the curve of her head. When I can tell she’s stopped
crying, I draw back. “Mistress Eira said there’s food waiting in
my room. Want to eat it with me?”
And finally—a smile.
Lill scrubs the back of her hand across her eyes. “If you
don’t inhale it all first,” she murmurs with a sniff.
I laugh, such a strong rush of affection hitting me then that
it temporarily pushes aside the exhaustion. And even though it
takes us twice as long as it should to make the trip back
through Paper House to my bedroom because my steps are
shaky and I have to keep stopping to swallow down surges of
nausea, I keep a smile on my face for her.
 After we eat the food Mistress Eira ordered for me—and
two more helpings after that—Lill takes me for an early bath.
There’s a while before the rest of the girls wake. Though the
sun has just broken the horizon, night still clings to the air.
Because of the late summer heat we’ve been experiencing, it’s
been easy to forget that autumn will arrive soon with the turn
of the tenth month, but the days are noticeably shorter now.
The morning air is crisp. Herb-fragranced steam rises from the
bubbling tubs.
Taking care to be gentle, Lill helps me out of my grubby
robes. The fresh air is as welcome as kisses on my skin.
Then I remember the last time I was naked.
Not kisses, but teeth on my skin.
I scramble into the water, slopping it over the sides of the
barrel in my hurry. Lill comes forward to wash me, but I cup
her hands and take the sponge from her. “I’d like to do it
myself, if that’s all right?” I ask, and she nods, seeming to
understand.
Slowly, I draw the sponge over my body. I take my time,
methodical, careful to reach every inch, every spot of pale
skin. I’m not nearly as dirty as when I had the bath that first
night I arrived at the palace. At least, not physically. But it’s a
similar feeling of cleansing as I wash, of my body becoming
lighter the murkier the bathwater gets. And with the shrill song
of the birds in the eaves and the familiar sounds of Paper
House waking, I finally start to relax. It’s so good to be able to
move my limbs freely, especially now that my energy is
coming back after that gigantic breakfast, and I tilt my chin up
to the sky, swishing about in the tub as my hair fans around me
in dark waves.
We get back to my room just as the morning gong sounds.
Seconds later, my door slams open. Aoki bounds in, still in her
nightdress and her short hair a mess.
“Lei!” she gasps. Just like Lill, she dives straight at me.
Her heartbeat jangles against mine as she clutches me fiercely.
“I was so scared when Madam Himura told us what you’d
done! I thought… well, you don’t want to know what I
thought. When she said you were being confined for a week as
punishment, I actually felt relieved.”
“I guess I’m lucky the King didn’t throw me out,” I say as
she lets me go.
Or kill me, I add silently.
Aoki’s lips flatten. “He must really desire you.” There’s a
strange constriction to her voice. Then she takes my hands and
leans in, face gleaming. “Oh, it’s been horrible without you
here, Lei! Madam Himura’s been even worse than usual,
snapping at every little thing—”
“What have I been doing?”
Aoki’s eyes almost pop out of her head.
She spins round. Framed in the doorway, Madam Himura
glares down at us, her beaked chin jutting into the air.
“M-Madam Himura!” Aoki stutters. “I didn’t mean—”
The eagle-woman jabs her cane on the floor. “Quiet, girl!
It’s too early for your blabbering.” Glowering, her cool eyes
fix mine. “I expect you to perform your best in every one of
your lessons from now on, Lei-zhi. The teachers will be
reporting to me on your progress after each class. And to make
sure you’ve got the right kind of influence around you”—she
cuts a scathing look in Aoki’s direction—“I’ve ordered one of
the other girls to accompany you for the next few weeks. You
could do well to learn from her.” She waves a taloned hand.
“Now, get ready for your classes! And you—get to the bathing
tubs. That filthy mouth of yours needs scrubbing.”
As the eagle-woman drags her from the room, Aoki looks
back over her shoulder, an expression of pure terror on her
face.
I restrain a laugh. She might still be terrifying, but there are
far worse things than getting shouted at by Madam Himura.
When I leave my room a while later, I find Wren waiting in
the corridor. The memory of her closeness a few nights ago,
how intimate we were with each other, makes me flush. She
looks just as she did that night, face bare, hair relaxed and
wavy, falling in soft drifts over her shoulders. My hand lifts
toward her, an impulsive movement, and I quickly cover the
gesture by smoothing down the collar of my robes.
“So you’re the one who will be babysitting me.”
“Who else would it be? Didn’t you know, Lei, I’m at the
top of the class?”
“Is that so?” Glancing round to make sure the other girls
are out of earshot, I add, “Top of what class? Thievery?”
Her eyes glint, but she keeps her voice casual. “Yes, I heard
about some food going missing from the kitchens. A real
mystery. Do you have any idea where it went?”
I grin. “Into someone’s belly, I expect.”
“Well, I hope that person enjoyed them.”
“I’m certain they did.”
Wren smiles, a warm, honeyed curl of her lips that draws
my eyes. Before we can say anything more, the door behind
her opens.
“Lei!” Aoki calls, bustling out of her room and linking her
arm through mine. “Come on, you can’t be late on your first
day back.” And although she shoots a curious look at Wren,
she doesn’t say anything, just lifts her brows at me as if to say,
Well, all right, then.
Lips cocked in amusement, Wren falls into step beside me,
and together the three of us make our way down the corridor.
Though we don’t mention it again, I can sense the secret of
what passed between Wren and me three nights ago like a
cord, an invisible strand running from her body to mine.
Whenever she makes a movement—even something as small
as brushing a speck of dust from her hair or adjusting her sash
—my eyes instinctively cut her way, and I wonder if she’s
noticing it, too, this tether, this pull between us.
 During the first days of my confinement, I’d tried the
breathing technique Mama taught me over and over again to
no avail, unable to find comfort in it. Light in, darkness out.
Trapped in that tiny room, there only seemed to be darkness,
and though I wanted to be set free, I also knew that the
moment I was, it would be straight back to my Paper Girl life.
And to the King.
But then Wren came along with her stolen food and warm
hands, and a spark of something—the barest quiver of light—
entered the room. And after that, my breaths came a little
easier, a little brighter. Not quite golden, but… sun-touched.
Now I shoot Wren a look out of the corner of my eye,
Aoki’s chatter wrapping around us. She offers me a brief half
smile in return.
“All right?” she mouths.
I nod.
And while it’s not exactly the truth, it isn’t a lie, either.
The pavilion where our qi lessons take place is an ornate, two-
tiered building with red beams and a magenta-tiled roof, their
colors vivid against the faded green of the surrounding
gardens. It sits in the center of a shallow, circular lake.
Sunlight glitters on its surface. Birds dart low over the water,
on the hunt for small fish and insects, their wingbeats casting
ripples in the blue.
We step under the rustle of prayer sheets fluttering from the
eaves of the pavilion. As usual, Master Tekoa is waiting for us
on the floor. He’s wearing loose wrap trousers, thighs crossed,
his lean torso bare despite the chill. A monkey’s tail protrudes
from the top of his trousers—along with the wiry copper fur
sheathing his legs, the only indication of his Steel status.
“Take your places,” he says without rising.
Aoki, Wren, and I are the last to arrive. I haven’t yet had to
face the others this morning, and as I cross to the back of the
pavilion, they’re all staring at me. I keep my head low. The
boost of energy from this morning’s meal has been spent on
the walk over here, and though I try to kneel down slowly
when I get to my usual spot, it’s more of an ungraceful drop.
Although Madam Himura sent a shaman on my second day in
confinement to clean my skin of any marks left by her or the
King, she asked him to leave my pain as a reminder of my
failings. Some of it has settled, a dull ache in the pits of my
muscles. I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the rigidness in my
back.
In front of me, Zhen and Zhin look over their shoulders.
“We were worried about you, Lei,” Zhen murmurs, her
short forehead furrowed.
Her sister nods. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad,” I reply. “Thanks for asking. Did I miss
anything important?”
The corner of Zhin’s lip quirks. “Only if you count Mariko
getting drunk at a dinner one night and almost setting herself
on fire by falling into a row of lanterns.”
I smother a laugh. “Definitely. Did she set anything else
aflame, by chance?”
“Sadly not,” Zhin sighs. “Though my maid told me she
threw up in a bush outside Madam Himura’s bedroom, and the
whole of the next day Madam Himura was in such a mood
because she didn’t know where the bad smell was coming
from.”
This time I can’t help a snort. The twins flash me matching
smiles before turning back round.
We begin the lesson with breathing exercises to channel the
flow of our internal energy. Qi arts is a meditative movement
that blends internal and external manipulation of life energy.
Master Tekoa’s voice is light but commanding. I focus on his
words to tune out the noises around us—chirruping birds, the
rustle of wind as it combs the grasses. This is one of the only
classes I enjoy, and I’m grateful to have its calming effect this
morning. Unlike most of our other lessons, the skills Master
Tekoa teaches us aren’t about precision or performing to a
certain standard, but about how to connect to ourselves, to find
peace and strength within. It brings back distant memories of
my parents practicing taoyin on the porch, limned in predawn
light and set in perfect synchrony, their movements a smooth,
underwater flow.
While we repeat the sequence of movements he’s been
teaching us, Master Tekoa walks around to observe. He
usually prefers to hang back, demonstrating adjustments in
silence, but when he gets to me, he stops. He stares for a
moment before suddenly speaking.
“Fire. So much fire.”
I falter midflow.
“Fire so hot it burns even ice to ashes. Fire like a wave to
swallow the world whole.”
The twins turn around, frowning. Master Tekoa’s voice has
taken on a rough, grating edge I’ve never heard before. As he
stares unblinkingly in my direction, his eyes glaze over, and
my stomach gives a kick as I notice that his pupils are
expanding, creeping across his eyes to fill them with black,
like dark blood spilling from a wound. A chill emanates from
his body—and shivers through mine.
“S-something’s wrong,” I say as the other girls turn to look.
“I think Master Tekoa’s having some kind of fit.…”
There’s a trill of laughter. “What have you done to him,
Nine?” Blue crows from the front of the pavilion. “You just
can’t allow men near you, can you? What’s the problem?
Don’t tell me you prefer girls.”
Wren is at my side at once. “Shut up, Blue,” she snaps.
Blue blinks. “When did you two become friends?”
“Fire from within her,” Master Tekoa rasps before Wren
can retort. The air around him is frozen, and I want to move
away from his horrible black stare, but my feet are rooted to
the spot. His voice grows louder, gathering pace, his blank
expression at odds with the intensity with which he is
speaking. “Fire that sears her skin and all she touches. Fire
bright enough to blind those who look at her.”
With a dismissive flick of her wrist, Blue laughs. “Well, he
can’t be talking about you, then, Nine. You’re not—”
“Red flames in the palace!” roars Master Tekoa, making all
of us jolt. “Red flames, kindled from within! On the night of
fire, more will come to scorch him!”
There’s a moment of charged silence.
Then he blinks.
The darkness slips from his eyes like honey sliding off a
spoon. Though the chill in the air around him disappears, my
arms are still pricked with goose bumps. I hug them, staring
openmouthed.
“You’re—you’re all out of form,” Master Tekoa says,
looking round with dull surprise at our stunned faces.
I clear my throat. “Master,” I start, “are you feeling all
right? You were talking about… fire.”
He looks blankly at me before seeming to understand. “Ah.
Yes. Qi fire, our internal energy. What you are practicing in
these lessons to control.” He steps to the front of the pavilion,
the sunlight at his back outlining his edges in gold. “That will
be enough for today.”
Wren places a hand on my arm when I start to question
him. “There’s no point, Lei. I don’t think he knows what just
happened.”
As soon as we leave the pavilion, Zhin addresses us all,
looking worried. “We should tell Mistress Eira and Madam
Himura. Something really seemed wrong with him.”
Her sister nods.
“Maybe he’s sick?” Mariko suggests.
“Or had some kind of magical fit?” Zhen offers.
 Blue rolls her eyes. “Clearly.”
“A spiritual trance is not something to joke about,” Chenna
says sharply, shooting Blue a stern look that makes her pout
and look away.
“Well, I don’t think we should tell them,” Mariko says.
“It’s just another thing for Madam Himura to punish us for.”
“You mean, punish Nine,” Blue retorts. “It was her Master
Tekoa was addressing, after all.”
The other girls glance round to where I’m trailing at the
back of the group. Though I can tell they don’t like the way
she said it, I can also see that they’re not entirely unconvinced
by what Blue said.
“Well,” I say, in a voice much more casual than I feel, “at
least we know Master Tekoa carries a… flame… for me.”
The twins snort. Even Mariko stifles a laugh, and Blue
shoots her a furious look. Only Wren and Chenna don’t laugh.
At least my joke seems to have broken the tension
somewhat. Before long, the eeriness of Master Tekoa’s turn
starts to drain away in the warmth of the day and the familiar
surroundings of Women’s Court as we head back to Paper
House. The events at the pavilion start to seem unreal, a
strange, shared daydream. Aoki tells everyone about her
brother’s sleep-talking—“Once he was convinced I was a
giraffe called Arif”—but I’m only half listening.
A memory has come back to me from a few summers ago,
when a fortune-teller arrived in our village.
She was an old cat-form demon with ragged fur and blind
eyes, filmed over like curdled milk. She set up a booth at the
side of the main road, just a simple table with a hearth in its
center. Even though I was meant to go straight back to the
shop after my errand, I stayed to watch as a young woman
from our village knelt down at her table and handed over a
fistful of coins. There are many ways in which fortune-tellers
divine insight: tea leaves, the lines in a person’s hands or
paws, burning paper offerings, the analysis of dreams. This
one was an osteomancer. She made the young woman carve
her question into a bone before tossing it into the hearth. I
remember my shock at the black inklike spill that spread over
the cat-woman’s eyes as she drew the bone from the fire,
running her clawed hands over it to read the cracks.
I was so spooked I ran all the way home. Some part of me
always believed I had imagined it. That the change in her eyes
was some trick of the light. But seeing it happen to Master
Tekoa, I know now that it was real. It must be what happens
when someone falls into a fortune-telling trance.
Despite the sunshine, a shiver runs down my neck. If
Master Tekoa’s prediction is right, fire is going to destroy the
palace. But what’s even scarier is that it seems he thinks the
fire is already burning within—of all people—me.
 EIGHTEEN

SLOWLY BUT SURELY, LIFE BLURS BACK into the routine of

palace life.
With the King away on official business for over a month
—something to do with rebel activity in the South, according
to the rumors—and no strange happenings after Master
Tekoa’s prediction, I lose myself in our steady rhythm of
classes and dinners and nightly entertainments. My teachers
notice the improvement in my efforts, and Mistress Eira
congratulates me about it one day, telling me she’s proud that I
used what happened with the King as a turning point. And
she’s right. It was a moment of awakening for me.
But not in the way she thinks.
Though it only takes me a couple of weeks to replace the
weight I lost during my confinement, it takes me much longer
to get back to my normal self—or at least something that
passes for normal now. I’m cast in the shadow of that night
with the King. The memory of it hovers close, a constant
presence at the edge of my consciousness, like moon-shimmer
on the surface of a lake.
Even though the King is out of the palace, I get the
sensation sometimes that he’s watching me. Yet when I turn
around, it’s only to find an empty corridor or the quizzical face
of one of the girls.
 “Are you sure you’re all right?” Wren asks me one
afternoon when I stop midconversation on our way to a lesson,
looking round my shoulder with the certainty that the King
will be there, just behind me, head cocked and a loose grin on
his face.
Forcing down a shiver, I keep walking. “Yes. Sure. Never
better.”
“Lei.” Her fingers brush my arm. “Be honest with me. You
haven’t been right since what happened with the King—”
“Of course not!” I hiss, jerking away. Aoki’s chatting to
Chenna a few steps in front of us, and she glances over her
shoulder. Lowering my voice, I go on, “I mean, it was awful,
Wren. And it’s going to happen again someday. I hate this,
this… waiting. I don’t know if I can keep it up.”
Wren nods. “It’s the same for me. But it’s all we can do.”
“Is it?” I reply quietly.
She stiffens, looking away with pressed lips.
I want to ask her how she can stand it. Whether she dreams
of freedom the same way I do, in the small of the night, when
the darkness is broken only by moon-silver and thoughts of
home, and of her and the other girls—the futures we could be
having, if only we could escape from the palace. But I swallow
my words. I know her answer already, because it is the same
thing that holds me back every time I dream of escape.
Their blood will be here. Do you understand me? On your
hands.
We walk the rest of the way in silence.
Our history and politics teacher, Madam Tharazi, is an old
lizard-form demon with dull scales the color of fallen leaves.
Her room is on the ground floor of a house on the southwest
side of Women’s Court, small and warm, kept shadowed by
lowered shutters and the gnarled trunk of a maple tree growing
outside the window, its knotted branches reaching over the
house like a tree spirit’s bony arms. It always feels like dusk in
her room, and I often catch the other girls dozing in her
lessons. It doesn’t help that Madam Tharazi is the most lax of
our teachers, her eyes half glazed as she lectures on one topic
or another. Most of the other girls probably know all about
Ikhara’s history and politics already. But I always pay
attention. These lessons are one of the only times I get to learn
about the world beyond the palace walls, and I cherish them,
needing to remember that there is a world outside.
Not just a world. A future.
It’s cold today, overcast. Gloomy light glances off Madam
Tharazi’s scales. Beside me, Aoki’s chin drops and she gives a
little start, looking up with a sheepish grin.
Today’s lesson is on the Amala, the Cat Clan. “After the
failure of the Kitori uprising,” Madam Tharazi recounts,
gazing out the window as if we weren’t there, “their numbers
dropped to almost half. The clan retreated to the southern
deserts of Jana to recover, which is where they have lived
nomadically since. Lord Kura’s daughter, Lady Lova, took
over rule of the clan a year later, after her father’s death. She
was only sixteen. Incidentally, it is the fourth time they have
had a female leader. Unlike many clans, the Amala has a
progressive attitude toward the females in its rank.…”
“General Lova.”
I glance sideways at Wren’s whisper. Madam Tharazi’s
voice drones on, the tip of her tail twitching lazily as she
speaks. Sometimes I think Madam Himura chose her to teach
us on purpose. I doubt they want us to be too knowledgeable
about politics; just enough to hold conversation at dinners with
court officials, but not enough to get any ideas.
“What?” I whisper at Wren.
She blinks. She doesn’t seem to realize she spoke out loud.
“Oh. It’s just that Lova goes by the title of General, not Lady.
She’s very adamant about it.”
“You’ve met her?”
Wren nods. “My father was holding a council a few years
ago for some of the leading clans. The King didn’t want to
invite the Cat Clan. You’ve heard about their disagreements.
But my father insisted. He told the King it would do him well
to keep a closer eye on them.”
“What was she like?” I ask. “General Lova.”
Something flickers across Wren’s face. It takes me a
moment to place it, because it’s so unexpected coming from
her—the hesitation, the flush in her cheeks.
She’s embarrassed.
“Beautiful,” she admits, and there’s the echo of something
wistful in her voice. “And strong. She’d just turned eighteen,
so she’d only been ruling for two years, and most of the other
clan leaders were at least double her age. But Lova walked in
this way.… It was as though she owned the place. As though
daring anyone to doubt her reason for being there.”
I hesitate. “Sounds like you spent a lot of time with her.”
“Not really,” Wren replies, but it doesn’t sound like her.
Her voice is too high, and I catch something bitter there, too,
some undertone halfway between anger and sadness.
Later that day at dinner, Madam Himura reminds us that we
won’t be having any lessons tomorrow because of the koyo
celebrations. On the first day of the tenth month, festivals are
held across Ikhara to celebrate the arrival of autumn.
I can’t believe it’s been almost four months since I came to
the palace. In the lush landscape of Women’s Court, the turn of
the season is a physical thing, marked in every tree and plant.
Leaves flush crimson and ginger. Flowers scatter their petals
to the ground. Over the last week, the gardens beyond my
window have changed from a sea of green to one of fire and
smolder.
“You’ll be attending a party tomorrow night in the Inner
Courts,” Madam Himura tells us between mouthfuls, her
chopsticks darting out to claim the last of the salted cuttlefish.
“The King will be there. He arrived back at the palace early
this morning. I heard it was a very tiring trip for him, so be on
your best behavior.”
I can sense Wren watching me from across the table. I
avoid her eyes, taking a long sip of tea to try to ease the
sudden swell of my throat. Memories flash: the King’s roar;
his long jaw wrested into a snarl. The rough grip of his fingers
on my arms.
Aoki touches her shoulder to mine. “Are you all right?” she
whispers.
I wet my lips. “I… will be.”
“What will we do before the party?” Chenna asks from my
other side.
“You’re to stay in Paper House,” Madam Himura replies.
“Your maids will start preparing you in the afternoon.”
A thrum of excitement runs through the room. We haven’t
had a day off yet. But while I’d like to rest just as much as the
other girls, an idea comes to me for a better way to use this
opportunity.
I wait until everyone is getting up to leave before
approaching Madam Himura.
“What now?” she croaks, sensing me hovering over her.
“Madam Himura,” I start in my politest tone, hands clasped
at the small of my back, “I was wondering whether I could
have an extra lesson tomorrow.”
Still not looking up, she raps a taloned finger on the table.
“There’s no denying you need it. But none of your teachers
will be working tomorrow. Everyone is off for the
celebrations.”
“Even the Night Houses?”
Her chin snaps up.
“Because that’s what I’d like my lesson in,” I go on
hurriedly. “With Zelle. Last time, I was so nervous I didn’t
really take much in, and after what happened with the…” I
force a shy expression across my face. “I want to make
amends.”
Her eyes narrow. “The King hasn’t called for you since
then. Who knows when he will?”
“But he’ll be at the koyo party. At least I can try to make a
good impression on him there. Please, Madam Himura. I’m
trying.”
She regards me for one long moment. Then she flaps an
arm, turning her attention back to the bowl in front of her. “I
suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
Before she changes her mind, I shoot her a thanks and rush
out of the room—bumping straight into Wren. My face flushes
as we untangle, her hand lingering on my arm.
“What was that about?” she asks quietly.
“I’m going to have an extra lesson with Zelle tomorrow,” I
say.
She appraises me. “Why?”
“I just thought, since I’ll be seeing the King again—”
“That’s not why,” she interrupts. Her fingers wind around
my shoulder, and she drops her voice, head dipped close. “I
know you, Lei. You don’t want to please him.”
“Yes, I do.”
Wren stiffens. I avoid her eyes, but I sense her stare boring
into me. When the silence is almost unbearable, I flick my
eyes up, suddenly wanting to explain what my plan is. But I
freeze at the look on her face. Her eyes are flinty. Hard-edged
and hurt.
“Please don’t lie,” Wren says. Her fingers brush mine
before she moves away, adding quietly, and low, “Not about
that. Not to me.”
I go to mutter something, but fall silent, letting her go.
Because knowing I’ll be facing the King tomorrow, I’m not
ready to talk truthfully about how I feel yet. And if I can’t
offer her lies, there’s nothing to say.
 NINETEEN

YOU’VE MADE HISTORY, NINE,” ZELLE TELLS me when Mistress

Azami takes me to her room the next morning.
She looks just as beautiful as last time. A rust-colored dress
falls to her knees, exposing the slender shape of her calves,
and a necklace of gold leaves adorns her collarbones. She
props herself up one elbow and watches me with her head
cocked as I kneel opposite her, drawing off my shawl and coat.
Her room is warm. The shutters are drawn to keep out the
wind, and in the corner a brazier flickers. The silk sheets on
her bed have been traded for furs, a mark of how long ago it
was I first came to her.
Two months. It feels like a lifetime, but also just yesterday,
just a moment and a heartbeat ago.
I force a smile. “I have?”
Zelle grins. “You’re the only Paper Girl I’ve taught who’s
refused the King.”
The smile drops from my face.
“Oh,” she says, and own smile vanishing. “I’m sorry. I
thought you’d be proud to know that.”
“Actually, I’d feel better knowing every Paper Girl tried to
refuse him.”
 Her gaze sharpens. There’s a beat before she murmurs,
“Wouldn’t that be something.”
We start the lesson by running over what we covered last
time. I try to appear focused, but as the minutes tick on, I
snatch more and more looks at the door. I must be fidgeting so
much that Zelle finally asks, “Is something wrong? Mistress
Azami told me you personally asked for this lesson. If you’ve
changed your mind—”
“That isn’t it,” I say quickly. “It’s just… could I go to the
toilet? I’m desperate.”
She rolls her eyes. “Go on, then. But don’t let Mistress
Azami catch you. I’m not meant to let you out until the lesson
is finished.”
I hop to my feet and sing a thank-you as I dash outside.
The house is muted at this time of day. My footsteps sound too
loud, and I try to pad lightly, head down. On the stairs, a
statuesque Moon caste panther-form demon glides past me,
jewels adorning her feline ears, an amethyst-colored dress
fallen off one shoulder to reveal her smooth, furred arm. She
catches my eye, giving me a little shrug and a half smile as if
to say, Long night.
When I reach the ground floor, instead of heading to the
toilet, I cross the landing to the main corridor leading off it.
I’ve not seen much of the Night Houses apart from Zelle’s
room, but if its layout is similar to other buildings in Women’s
Court, then, as the head of the household, Mistress Azami is
likely to have a suite on the ground floor at the back of the
house. I pass a few more quiet rooms—and some not so quiet
—coming to a stop outside the door at the end of the hall.
I press my ear to the wood. Silence.
Preparing some excuse in case she is inside, I rap my
knuckles on the door. Nothing. Carefully, I inch the door open
a crack, wait again, then slide it wider and dart inside.
As I was expecting from someone so crisp and ordered, the
room is spotless, all neat lines and bare surfaces. From the low
table dominating the room, I guess that this is Mistress
Azami’s entertaining space. I move lightly to a set of doors on
the far right side and, after listening for sounds from within,
head through into what must be her office. Cabinets line the
walls. A finger of smoke furls from an incense pot in the
corner of the room, nestled in a shrine crowded with miniature
jade statues of the heavenly rulers. There are only sky gods;
Mistress Azami must be from the North, like me. I’m just
moving to the nearest cabinet when there’s a thud from the
room above.
I freeze.
Another thud; boards creaking; the muffled sound of
laughter. One of the courtesans and her guest. Glancing round
the room as though Mistress Azami might dance out at any
moment, I open the top drawer of the closest cabinet, my
breathing shallow.
Inside are ordered scrolls, scraps of paper. I flick through
them, but they just seem to be accounts of some sort, so I
move on to the next drawer, then the next. I’m just about
resigned to the fact that I’ll have to head back to Zelle’s room
before she gets suspicious—and that my plan for having this
lesson in the first place has failed—when I open a drawer of
the last cabinet to find a set of beautifully bound scrolls
wrapped in leather. Brushstrokes mark them as the records of
the Night Houses courtesans.
The hairs on the back of my arms lift, remembering what
the King told me. If my mother was taken back to the palace,
this is where she’d be.
Each scroll is dated. I riffle through them, a jolt running up
my spine when I find the one from seven years ago. Carefully,
sending another glance over my shoulder, I unravel the
bindings. I hardly dare to breathe. If I find Mama’s name here,
it could mean that she might still be alive—might even be here
still, right here in one of these buildings.
The thought of being so close to her makes something deep
at the core of me still.
 As my eyes glide down the list of names, the paper
trembles in my fingers. It was spring when the soldiers came
to our village; there were blossom petals in the air. Her name
should be one of the first. But by the end of the scroll, I
haven’t found it. I look over the names again and again,
wishing hers to appear, hoping for some magic, some kind god
to give me something good to hold on to.
Tears prick my eyes. I can barely make out the characters
as I stare down at the scroll, battling the urge to tear it to
shreds with my teeth.
“What are you doing?”
I whirl round. Zelle is standing in the doorway.
“I—I was just looking for something,” I blurt, swiping a
sleeve across my face as she walks over. My cheeks are wet
from tears I hadn’t realized were falling, and I sniff, trying to
blink them away.
“I can see that.” Her voice is hard, but not unkind. She
squints at the scroll in my hands. “What exactly were you
looking for?”
“My mother,” I mumble thickly.
“Your mother is a piece of paper?”
I don’t laugh. “She was taken from our village by soldiers
seven years ago,” I turn the paper for her to see. “This is the
list of courtesans from that year. I—I thought her name might
be on it.”
Zelle’s dark eyes glint. “And is it?” she asks quietly.
I choke the word out.
“No.”
Just then, Mistress Azami’s barking voice carries into the
house from outside. In one swift movement, Zelle sweeps
forward and snatches the scroll from me. She rolls it up in its
leather sleeve with deft fingers before replacing it in the
drawer, then, seizing my arm, she pulls me through Mistress
Azami’s rooms and into the hallway just as the dog-woman
strides into the house.
Her pointed ears prick at the sound of our footsteps.
“You’re finished already?” she asks, slanting gray eyes fixing
on us.
Zelle heaves a sigh. “Not happy if we’re late, not happy if
we’re early. Are you ever happy, Mistress Azami?”
“Not while you’re around,” she grumbles, though a curl of
amusement touches her lips. She beckons me forward. “Come
on, girl. Your maid is outside.”
I look over my shoulder before I leave, wanting to catch
Zelle’s eyes. But she’s already walking away.
Outside, Rika greets me. She accompanies me back
through the gardens of the Night Houses in silence, easily
sensing my mood, and though I’m aware of my feet moving
and the cool blow of the wind, all I can hear is blood rushing
in my ears.
My mother wasn’t—isn’t—here.
I should be relieved. Mama wasn’t forced to become a
courtesan. She didn’t have to suffer that. But as the King said,
that would have been the only outcome of the soldiers
bringing her to the palace, which means they probably didn’t
even bring her here at all. Which means…
At once, I double over, retching noisily.
“Mistress, what’s wrong?” Rika asks, rubbing a hand on
my back. “Are you sick?”
Yes. I’m sick. Sick of all this.
But instead I shake my head, forcing the nausea down.
After a while I’m able to continue on, but as we walk, I jam
my knuckles into my belly. There’s a pain there, deep in the pit
of me. A hard core, like a stone. It feels as though I’ve lost
something. That I left something of mine behind in the Night
Houses.
Something that was keeping me alive.
Something like hope.
 TWENTY

THE KING’S KOYO CELEBRATIONS ARE BEING held in the Inner

Courts, on a section of the river that follows a long, lazy curve,
its bank bounded on one side by the feathered tops of trees and
a paved pathway on the other. When our carriages pull up, I
look out onto a sea of color. The river is crisscrossed with
walkways, linked with little open-topped boats with candles
lining their decks, and the roofs of pagodas and pavilions
along the riverfront dance with hanging lanterns. More lights
shine up at the trees across the water, showing off their autumn
colors against the dark backdrop of the night. Music spirals
through the air, carrying with it the laughter and chatter of the
guests.
Everything is radiant and glittering. It’s beautiful—maybe
the most beautiful setting I’ve seen in the palace yet. But even
as my eyes sweep over the scene, my head remains full of the
rows and rows of names that weren’t Mama’s, the black
brushstrokes clotting my vision.
“What’s wrong?” Aoki asks, interrupting my thoughts as
she comes to my side.
I blink. We’re standing by the palanquins, a couple of
servants hovering nearby, waiting for us.
“Lei?” she presses. “Did something happen in Zelle’s
lesson?”
 I clear my throat. “I guess it just brought back everything
that happened with the King,” I say. I give her a smile, though
it feels insincere. “But I’m fine. Honestly.”
We amble toward the river. The rest of the girls are already
ahead, Madam Himura ushering them to one of the larger
platforms on the water, which has been set up as a tearoom.
Lantern light glimmers over scattered velvet cushions and low
tables.
“I keep wondering if it had something to do with what I
said to you,” Aoki admits quietly as we walk. She clasps her
hands in front of her, lashes low. “You remember, the day after
my first night with him. I was worried I scared you. That it
was my fault you tried to escape.”
“It wasn’t,” I tell her quickly. “Of course not. But… I hated
seeing you like that. Has it… has it been any better since?” I
ask, shooting her a sideways glance.
To my surprise, she nods.
The words tumble out of her in a rush then, an odd gleam
on her face as she looks up at me. “I think I was just so scared
that first night, Lei. I didn’t know what to expect. I’d hardly
spent any time with the King before, and straight after it
happened, he sent me away. Like I’d done something wrong.
And then with Blue and Mariko, you know, their teasing… but
it’s not actually been so bad since then.”
I stare at her. “Really?”
She nods. “A lot of the time we just talk. The King tells me
about what’s going on in the kingdom—politics, all his trips
and the people and things he’s seen. He asks for my opinions.
He shares his hopes for the kingdom. Even his fears.” She
bites her lip and looks down. “He… he makes me feel
special.”
Something chilled trickles down my spine.
“You can’t mean that.”
Aoki winces at the roughness in my voice. Her sweet face
darkens. Avoiding my eyes, she licks her lips and goes on, “He
asks about you sometimes. I know he doesn’t show it, but it’s
not easy for him, dealing with everything. Having to look after
an entire kingdom. And despite what you think, he really does
want us to be happy.” I snort at this, and she throws me a
strange look, a stiff slant to her mouth. “Lei,” she says, “he
told me he’s going to call for you soon.”
The night is already cold. But at Aoki’s words the air
grows even colder. Stormy autumn winds spin around us, icy
against my skin, and I clutch the fur shawl tighter around my
neck.
I look ahead to where the other girls are sitting. The King is
there, in his usual gold-and-black robes, throwing back his
head to laugh at something Blue is saying to him. The sound is
like a thunderclap, electric, cutting right through the air and
into my bones. But the sight of him… laughing like that.
I stop. Aoki turns to me, forehead furrowed.
“I can’t do it,” I tell her, staring ahead at the King. My
words are edged. Knifepoints.
The servants to either side of us keep their distance as they
wait for us to continue, and the noise from the party is enough
to hide our conversation. But I still keep my voice down, half
whispering, half spitting, “I won’t let him touch me again.”
I don’t realize it until I speak it. And it’s different from the
times I’ve said it before, or the way I’ve hoped it, as if
dreaming something enough could birth it into being. I know it
now with a certainty that has fitted into the lost core at the
heart of me, as hard and angular as my hope was soft and
shimmering.
The King will not have me.
Aoki’s eyes are as wide as moons. “You’re going to deny
him again? This is your job, Lei. It’s not so bad—”
I whirl round. “Not so bad? Remember how you felt the
first time?”
 “But I told you, it’s gotten better. I think—I think I’m
starting to enjoy being with him. To have the King’s whole
attention…” A glaze enters her eyes, something feverish in her
glow. “How many people in the kingdom get to experience
that?”
“The hundreds of girls he’s bedded,” I reply coolly, and
pink spots her cheeks.
“You could at least be grateful for what the King has given
you.”
I goggle at her. “What he’s given me? Aoki, he took us
from our homes!”
“At least we were given a new one! The Hidden Palace,
Lei! So many girls are forced into prostitution, or married off
to some horrible man—”
“That sounds familiar.”
We fall silent, glaring at each other. The sounds of the party
drift around us like colored rain.
Aoki’s the first to break it. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That
wasn’t fair.”
I grab her hands, offering a smile. “I’m sorry, too. Look, if
you really want to be with the King, and he’s as good to you as
you say he is, then I’m happy for you. At least you can enjoy
being here. But I don’t.”
“Maybe if you get to know him…”
“It’s not enough.”
After a glance to check the servants haven’t come any
closer, Aoki asks in a whisper, “Is there someone else?”
Wren’s face flashes into my mind: her beautiful, dimpled
smile, those smart, feline eyes.
“No,” I lie. “Of course not.”
Aoki looks relieved. “I don’t know why I needed to ask.
Where would you have found a man in Women’s Court?”
 Because it isn’t a man. For some reason, a trill of
annoyance runs through me. Everyone’s assumption is for
women and men to be together, and yet here we are, human
girls, the Demon King’s concubines. Surely love between two
women wouldn’t be so strange?
We are all the same really, little one. Deep down.
A tiny smile lifts my mouth. Mama would have
understood. And the loss pierces me so freshly again that I
have to push out a laugh to keep the tears away.
“Maybe,” I tell Aoki, “I fancy old Master Tekoa.”
She giggles, a hand flying to her mouth. “I knew it!”
But my smile drops as I focus again on the floating
platform where the King is waiting. With a flex of my fingers,
I start again toward it before I lose courage, Aoki hurrying to
follow. We cross the short walkway onto the platform, and a
servant announces our arrival.
At once, the conversations stop. The slap of water against
the sides of the platform rises loud in the hush. A bark of
laughter lifts from farther off in the party, and there’s
something threatening about it, a dare for anyone else to
interrupt the moment. Aoki moves forward first, but it’s me
everyone is watching as we approach the King. I keep my own
stare lowered to the floor, on the swishing tail of Aoki’s
cheongsam in front of me.
She greets him sweetly, an ingratiating furl in her voice
I’ve never heard before. Then she steps aside. I lower to my
knees as gracefully as I can in my long-skirted dress. I palm
my hands to the floor. The memory of the last time I was like
this in front of the King jolts through me, pricking goose
bumps across my skin.
Two months gave me space and something almost
resembling peace. But time has a way of folding itself, like a
map, distances and journeys and hours and minutes tucked
neatly away to leave just the realness of the before and the
now, as close as hands pressed on either side of a rice-paper
door.
“My King,” I say into the quiet.
“Get up.”
His voice is the same deep rumble I remember. I do as he
says, barely able to breathe for the dashing of my heart against
my rib cage. Finally, I gather the courage to lift my eyes to his,
but the expression on his face takes me by surprise, because
it’s the last thing I expect to see.
Happiness.
He looks happy. To see me.
“Lei-zhi,” he greets—as though we were old friends, all
smiles and lightness. As though the last time I saw him he
hadn’t been chasing me through his chambers, half naked and
roaring. “I’ve missed you. Let’s take a walk, just you and me. I
want to talk.”
I get to my feet quickly, just in case he offers to help.
Wren’s eyes find mine, and then the King lays a hand on my
shoulder to lead me off the platform. Whispers unspool into
the silence like a cat slinking through the feet of a crowd. It
must be common knowledge by now what happened between
the King and me, and it’s clear everyone is as surprised by his
warm welcome as I am.
Surprised—and uneasy. Because what might his smile be
hiding?
Lifting my chin against the stares, I follow the King into
the party. Interconnected pathways run between the boats and
floating hookah dens and teahouses, and we take a haphazard
route through them. He seems intent on meandering. Breezily,
he points out various guests, stopping to greet some, telling me
about the banquet they had earlier and that I really must try the
new sake he had imported from Shomu, matured for three
years in total darkness! It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted
before.
I mumble noncommittal responses. My pulse is still spiked
at the closeness of him, the weight of his hand on my shoulder,
and alongside the fear sparks something else: anger. Flame-hot
and fierce. Because how can he speak like this to me after
what happened the last time we met? The week of starvation
and isolation he put me through?
“I owe you an apology, Lei-zhi.”
Abruptly, the King stops. We’re in the middle of a
walkway. A pair of elegant gazelle-form men strolling arm in
arm behind us almost bump into us, and they back away
hastily, muttering apologies amidst fervent bows. Other guests
ahead turn quickly around to take a different route. The noise
of the party seems to dim now, wrapping its arms around the
King and me, an intimate embrace. The blue of his eyes fixes
me to the spot. They’re an ice-cold color, shockingly bright
against his golden-umber fur, like the sharpness of a cloudless
winter sky.
“I suppose,” he starts, “I’m used to being in control. Or at
least, having to appear in control.” He looses a long exhale. “I
don’t admit it often, but it’s difficult. Being a King. Ruling.
All of this”—he sweeps out an arm at the bustle of the party
—“and more, the whole of Ikhara mine to look after. To
protect. I try my best to be fair, but it’s impossible. There will
always be those who lose out.” He rolls his shoulders, neck
cording. “Ruling is like shaman’s magic. You can only give
when you have taken.”
“Perhaps,” I reply in a level voice, “it’s about balancing
who you take from.”
The King looks down his slender bovine nose at me, light
from the party embellishing his outline and picking out the
elaborate patterns of his gilded horns. “A fair point, I suppose,
if rather naive. Not everyone can have everything. And not
everyone has the same needs, or rights.”
I grit back a glower at this.
“And not everyone,” he continues, “has the same to give in
the first place.” The King’s face tightens. “Take my brothers,
for example. They were one, two years older than me. But at
the age of seven I already understood more than they about
what makes a strong ruler. I knew that if I took their lives, it
would prove to the heavenly rulers and the court that I was
infinitely more capable of taking over my dying father’s rule
than either of them. They were put on this earth to give, while
I was destined to take.” A dark current threads his words, and I
hold down the instinct to squeeze my arms around my chest, to
back away. “I demonstrated my worth. And still no one has
acknowledged the sacrifices I made. Everything I have given
for this kingdom. I am not even allowed a name. It is only
Heavenly Master this, Heavenly Master that, all the godsdamn
time, as though I’m just that, some heavenly ruler everyone
expects to grant their prayers.”
I lick my lips, then say carefully, “Of course I’m no expert,
my King, but… isn’t that sort of what a King’s job is?”
He regards me in silence from under full lashes, his face
frozen in a rigid mask. For a second, it seems almost like he’s
going to strike me. “People do not ask of the gods without
offering them things in return,” he says stiffly.
Then he loosens. He offers me a smile, though it’s a
shadow of his usual lazy grin, and I notice then the heaviness
in his expression, fatigue in the dark circles under his eyes.
And underneath it all, a touch of something a little delirious.
“Have you heard of the Sickness, Lei-zhi?”
“The Sickness?” The phrase nudges a distant memory,
though I can’t recall where I’ve heard it before.
“Something is making our land ill: forest fires in the
mountains, earthquakes, crippling droughts in the southern
provinces.… More than three times last year, River Zebe burst
its banks. Two of my battalions are still in Marazi to aid
reconstruction efforts. The reports have been coming in too
fast for me to keep track. On the trip I just returned from, I
saw countless villages and farmlands affected. There was even
a Steel clan forced to seek refuge with a neighboring Paper
clan.” He snorts. “The indignity of it. And with the increasing
rebel activity, I’ve not had the time or resources to address it
properly.”
“But aren’t those things natural?” I ask. “Earthquakes,
droughts…”
“Indeed. But something is causing them to get worse. And
I think I finally understand what it is.” With a tilt of his head,
the King raises his eyes to the sky.
I follow his gaze. The wind has blown the clouds away to
reveal a sky brilliant with starlight and the crescent of the
moon hanging right overhead, sharp as a scythe. At first, I
don’t understand what he’s suggesting. Then it hits me.
“You mean the gods?”
“They’re angry,” the King growls, the familiar bite
returning to his voice. A muscle tics in his jaw. “They’re
punishing us for something. See? Even Ahla takes her warrior
form to taunt me.” His eyes are shiny. “I need to appease
them.”
I remember what General Yu said to Mistress Eira about
the King’s superstitious nature, what Chenna told me about the
reasoning behind his picking her first. Our belief in the gods is
so organic and deep-rooted there can often be something
customary about it. But there is nothing perfunctory about the
fever-glow now on the King’s face. Though it would be
blasphemous to speak out loud, the question comes to me,
undeniable.
Is this magic or madness I’m seeing? Faith or desperation?
“How—how will you do that?” I ask in a hushed voice.
The King’s bowed lips stretch, a grin more teeth than
smile. “Punish those who disobey me,” he says huskily. “Rid
the kingdom of those who are not faithful.” His frosted eyes
slide my way, and the silence stretches out. Then, abruptly, the
tension drains from his face. Slinging an arm around my
shoulder, he spins us back round, the corners of his mouth
lifted. “Come, Lei-zhi. We’d better get back to the others. I
don’t want them getting jealous.”
 And his chatter is once again so light and easy that I almost
believe I imagined the threat in his words.
The party spirals on into the night in a whirl of laughter and
starlight and the jewel-bright reflections of lantern light on
water, everything colorful: the sounds, the conversations, the
smiles, the dresses. It’s the first time there’s been such a big
gathering, and from our corner of the floating tearoom, the
girls swap gossip about the guests.
“Look!” Mariko cries, pointing to an elegant woman with
porcelain skin. “That’s Mistress Lo, she’s one of the most
famous Paper Girls. You must have heard of her. She runs a
beauty parlor in Women’s Court. We must ask Madam Himura
if we can visit it.…”
More pointing. “Oh, that’s Madam Daya! She was married
to a General straight after her time as a Paper Girl. Apparently
the General saved the King’s life in an assassination attempt
and she was his reward.…”
“Isn’t that Mistress Ohura? She’s still so beautiful.…”
The voices of the girls float around me. My eyes keep
sliding back to where Wren and the King are talking under a
pagoda at the water’s edge. They’re too far to make out
anything more than their outlines, but the closeness of their
shadows, the King’s huge bulk dwarfing Wren, sends
something sharp down my veins.
“They’ve been there for ages,” Aoki grumbles, her eyes
following mine. There’s jealousy in her gaze, too.
He makes me feel special.
Disgust quivers through me at the memory of her words. I
tear my eyes away. “I’m going for a walk,” I say, and get to
my feet and start walking before she can follow.
I turn down a few of the floating walkways and head up
onto the grassy bank of the river, picking a random direction to
wander in. The noise of the party fades as I trudge into the
dark grounds. Over my head, a flock of birds wheel noisily,
wingtips kissing the sky. Their freedom pierces me. What
would happen if I just took off right now? Chased after them,
danced in the midnight shadow of their bodies so high above,
and we could be mirrors, echoes, them in the air and me on the
ground—
The thought cuts off. Because of course: the palace walls.
Somewhere in the distance, I sense their presence, their
black embrace. The birds would fly right over them, and all I’d
be able to do is watch, fingers pressed to the frozen rock.
Suddenly the darkness isn’t so welcoming anymore. I’ve
just started to head back to the river when I stop at the sound
of something in the shadows. Is that… crying?
Scanning the grounds, I spot a woman sitting on the
sloping grass a few feet away. Reflections on the river’s
surface outline her in shimmering silver. She’s wearing a
patterned sari, its pale-pink fabric light against her brown skin.
I recognize her robes—she’s one of the former Paper Girls, the
one who was married to some General.
“Hello?” I call, taking a few steps toward her. “Madam
Daya, is it?”
Hunched shoulders tighten. “Get away!” she hisses. It
comes out strangled, the words strange and contorted.
“Is everything all right?”
The woman doesn’t turn. “Who is that?” she replies,
hoarse.
“I’m Lei. One of the Paper Girls—”
She whirls around in an instant, springing to her feet. I
stagger back, but she catches me, nails pinching into my arms
as she brings me close.
A scream catches in my throat. Madam Daya’s face is
shadowed, but that only seems to heighten what a mess it is,
moonlight glinting off the raw peeling skin slipping from her
face like melted wax; rotted teeth; the bulbous, veined eyes.
Words tumble from my lips. “I—I didn’t mean—”
 “Look at me!” she cries. “It’s all his fault!”
“Wh-whose fault?”
“My stupid husband’s! He made a mistake during the raid
at Shomu Pass, and the King refused to grant him our annual
magic allowance, and without my regular visits from the
shaman…” She shakes me, crazed, tears leaking from those
horrible red eyes. “I can’t go back to the party looking like
this!”
As she talks, skin drips from her cheeks and chin. A ragged
scrap unpeels, falling on my own face, and I shriek, tossing
my head to get it off me.
Madam Daya lets out a mad laugh. “That’s it! Try to get
away. But you’ll look like this one day, too, you know. When
you’re forced to use endless enchantments just to keep
yourself looking young and pretty for whatever worthless man
the King gives you to like a prize show-tiger, you’ll
understand. You’ll know.”
And it suddenly clicks what’s happened to her.
Qi draining.
Since magic is an element that comes from the closed
circle of our world, it cannot be made, only exchanged through
a shaman’s chanted dao. Yin and yang, energy, lifeblood, qi—
all of it is a balance. A flow. It’s what the King was talking
about earlier. Shamans must adhere to the equilibrium when
drawing magic from the earth by offering gifts in return,
whether it be burying money for spirits or scattering plant
seeds, or carving tattoos in their skin, the pain serving as
payment, the markings bindings of their loyalty. Even then,
when too much magic is asked from the gods, their
enchantments can start to fail, or even backfire.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I stammer, though my words sound
empty even to me.
The woman laughs. “You will be one day, little girl. You’ll
be sorry you ever came to this heavensforsaken place.”
 She lets me go and I jerk away, gasping, stumbling up the
bank and back toward the party as fast as my dress allows me.
When I make it back to the floating teahouse where I left
the others, it’s empty, and at first I’m relieved that the party
has ended. But then I notice movement ahead. Everyone seems
to be gathered on one of the central platforms. The music that
was playing earlier has stopped, and in its place is quiet—
though not the good kind. The tense kind of quiet, when the air
gets strange and taut, like elastic pulled too tightly. A few
moments later, shouting rises up from the crowd.
“Hey!” A lone guard hurries along a gangplank toward me.
“What’re you—oh.”
He falters. Rounded ears twitch as he recognizes me. It
takes me a moment longer to recognize him as the bear-form
guard outside the palace the night I arrived. The sweetness of
his features doesn’t seem to fit with his soldier’s clothes, the
sheathed sword at his waist.
“Mistress Lei-zhi,” he amends with a bow. “My sincerest
apologies. I didn’t realize—”
“What’s happening?” I interrupt.
He looks up. “The—the King wants to add a new part to
the celebrations,” he says, and I don’t miss the slight stumble
in his words.
Jeers erupt in the distance.
“What new part?” I ask as a cold wave of dread creeps over
me.
The guard opens his mouth. Then he gives a small shake of
his head. “The King requests the presence of all his guests,” he
says firmly, clearing his throat. He reasserts his grip on his
sword. “Please come with me, Mistress.”
I follow him along the walkways to the center of the
flotilla. Discarded objects—bowls and plates, silk napkins, the
wind-loosened petals of flowers—are scattered among the
abandoned platforms, the water around them also bobbing
with debris. As we get nearer, I catch some of the words being
tossed into the air.
Rotten Paper. Worthless.
Keeda.
“Maybe this is close enough,” the guard starts, holding out
an arm. But I shove past him, elbowing my way through the
crowd all the way to the front.
And freeze when I get there.
A memory, as vivid as the day it happened. A Paper caste
woman with eyes full of hatred, and the swing of a club
toward her skull.
The scene before me isn’t similar in the details, but the
shape of it is there. Demon guards herding a group of Paper
castes in place with swords and spiked axes. The looks on the
men’s and women’s, the children’s faces, not anger this time,
but fear. And the King, laughing as he paces back and forth to
inspect them.
“… so I thought it only right that we give them a proper
royal welcome!”
It’s hard to hear him over the crowd. His grin is wide and
sharp, more canine than bovine, and I can tell the energy of his
audience is emboldening him. From the way he’s swaggering,
it’s clear he’s drunk. There’s a frenzy on his face, the same
crazed sheen I saw a glimmer of earlier, but alcohol has
loosened it, and it sits vivid on his features.
Dread crests inside me. I look round for Wren or Aoki.
Instead, I spot Chenna a few rows ahead and push my way
toward her.
“What is this?” I ask breathlessly.
She doesn’t turn. “The soldiers just got back from a raid in
eastern Noei,” she says, and beneath her usual composure is
something troubled. There’s hollowness to her voice, a
constriction in her throat. Still staring ahead, she continues,
“They’ve brought these Paper castes to the palace as slaves.
The King is giving them away as presents to his guests.”
I gape at her. “What?”
Just then, one of the captives pushes to the front of the
group. A dog-form guard swings out an arm to stop him, and
the man struggles to get free.
“Please!” he shouts. He’s middle aged, dark hair fanning
into grey. “Have mercy, Heavenly Master—”
“Ah,” the King interrupts. “So you recognize your master,
do you, and yet you dare ask for his mercy?” His deep voice is
slurred from drink. “My mercy is for my peers, old man. Not
some worthless keeda.”
The word strikes me afresh coming from the King’s lips.
“My wife and children are here!” the man tries again, his
arms outstretched, face contorted. “Please, Heavenly Master.
Have mercy. We have been nothing but obedient, all these
years, giving away more than we could spare of our crops to
your soldiers, never protesting when our taxes increase. Even
now with the Sickness, we comply with every demand. All we
ask is to be left alone. Please, Heavenly Master. Let us go
home—”
The King roars. “I will not take orders from a human!”
With a thunder of hooves, he charges forward. It’s
unexpected, quicker than I’d thought him capable of. All of a
sudden he seems more animal than human, driven by bovine
instinct and rage. Swiping the guard aside, he seizes the man
by the neck, lumbers to the edge of the platform and, with an
effortless arc of his arm, flings the man into the river.
The crowd cheers, breaks into applause.
The balcony ringing the platform hides the man from view,
but we hear him emerging in a splash of water, spluttering. A
few of the other Paper castes try to break from the guards, but
they are quickly forced back into place.
The King sweeps an arm toward the rest of the Paper caste
slaves, a feral grin lighting his face. “Go ahead, friends.
Choose as many slaves as you wish. The keeda should know
now not to challenge their masters.”
The demons move forward in a rush of excited chatter.
“Kunih save them,” Chenna murmurs, making a quick
motion across her brow that I’ve seen her make once or twice
before. It must be a prayer ritual from where she’s from.
I have learnt not to put my trust in the gods. Especially not
Kunih, who—like all earth gods—is favored in the South, but
my parents taught me to be wary of, for what God of
Redemption would not one day turn upon you?
Instead, I yell at myself. Go, Lei! Help!
But I don’t move.
A taloned hand lands on my shoulder. “Come, girls,”
Madam Himura orders in her croaky voice. “Time for us to
leave.”
My eyes flick back to the slaves, cowering as the King’s
guests inspect them. “But—”
“Do you wish to join them, Lei-zhi?”
I falter, and Madam Himura’s smile is cutting, because she
knows of course that I don’t. She can guess the struggle inside
me, and which instinct is winning. Because no matter how
brave I might try to seem, really the heart that beats within my
rib cage is weak and broken and scared, and I am just a human
girl kneeling before her demon King.
Dzarja. Traitor.
I drop my chin as we turn away and head back to where our
carriages are waiting at the top of the bank, my belly churning.
The slave-woman was right.
That’s exactly what I am.
 TWENTY-ONE

WHEN WE GET BACK FROM THE PARTY, sleep seems impossible.

Even the concept of sleep: of rest, of peace, of—heavens
forbid—dreaming. I’m on the verge of being sick. My
mother’s absence from the Night Houses list, Aoki telling me
the King will call for me soon, the former Paper Girl’s
monstrous face, and the terror of the slaves as the demons
circled in. Everything about this day has been horrible. And
the worst part of it all is the hardest to ignore, because it is
within me.
Is me.
I stare up at the ceiling, palms pressed to my forehead. The
image of the Paper slaves won’t leave my mind, burned onto
my retinas like some ghostly afterimage. I cycle over the
moment again and again, trying to find some hint, some
opening that would allow for a different outcome, even though
it’s too late. I could have—should have—done something.
Instead I let Madam Himura lead me away.
The pattering of rain fills my small room. It’s a sound that
always reminds me of home, of monsoon season in Xienzo,
the earth turned to mud, Tien both happy because it means
there would be plenty of mushrooms to forage and equally
annoyed because of Bao trailing paw prints across the
floorboards. But home is the last thing I want to think about
right now.
Punish those who disobey me. Rid the kingdom of those
who are not faithful.
The King’s words ring in my head, and I think of the birds
I watched earlier, how easily they lifted into the air.
How impossible it is for me to follow them.
My parents taught me that if you have a problem or have
made a mistake, you should be honest about it. “With us, of
course,” they said, “but more important, with yourself. That is
the first step to finding a solution.”
As a child I never would have believed that my parents
could be wrong. Yet right now, aware of the problems, aware
of all my mistakes, I’m still no clearer on how to address
them. How to do the impossible? How to defy the King and
help my kin? How to escape from the palace without the risk
of Baba and Tien being punished?
“I don’t know what to do,” I say out loud. “Tell me what to
do.”
The room remains mute. There’s only the soft, wordless
whisper of rain.
Scrambling to my feet, I fling a fur shawl over my
shoulders and head outside, suddenly needing air. I tiptoe
down the corridor to the door where I saw Wren sneaking out
all those weeks ago. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that
when I open the door and find her behind it, I barely react. I
just fall still, my mouth becoming a small O.
And it is particularly lucky I don’t make a sound—because
Wren is not alone.
I only have a few seconds to take in the scene. Wren, in her
sleeping robe, standing close to a tall wolf demon, her head
craned back to face him. The wolf: Moon caste, marbled ash-
gray fur flowing silkily over angular features, a diamond-
shaped patch of white on his long, muzzlelike jaw. He’s
dressed in soldier’s clothes. One pawed hand is lifted to cup
Wren’s face, like the beginning of a kiss.
Then the two of them spring apart.
Shielding Wren behind him with an easy sweep of his arm,
the wolf rounds on me. His eyes are a startlingly luminous
amber, like honeyed marigold mixed with bronze—just a few
shades darker than my own. There’s something vaguely
familiar about him, but before I can place it, he bends down
until the wet tip of his nose almost touches mine.
“A word about this,” he whispers, “and you die.”
He spins around. In a few short bounds, he disappears into
the night-tipped gardens.
Silence, and rainfall, and Wren watching me with uneasy
eyes.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her undone like this, so unsure.
The collar of her nightdress has fallen low, exposing the swell
of her breasts, and from under it her bare legs are long and
glossy in the moonlight. I think of her and the wolf, what
intimate moment I might have interrupted. My gut twists.
After everything today, now this.
“Lei,” Wren starts, reaching for me.
I step back. “Don’t touch me.”
“I can explain—”
“No thanks. I can work it out just fine myself.”
My voice has risen, and Wren’s eyes cut to the open
doorway behind me. Quickly, she slides it shut before
grabbing my hand and pulling me down the steps of the
veranda. Rain slicks my skin in an instant. She leads me across
the gardens away from Paper House, to a large ginkgo tree
whose long branches hide us from view.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she says, and I snatch back
my hand.
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
 “I mean, I know how it must have looked—”
“You were touching him. He was touching you.”
Her lips tighten. “Not like that.”
“Well,” I say with a scowl, “your wolf certainly seemed to
think what you’d been doing together was bad enough to
threaten to kill me. Or did you miss that part?”
“He doesn’t mean it,” Wren replies. But there’s a flicker of
hesitation in her voice, and she rubs one hand at the base of
her throat, a nervous movement I’ve never seen before. “Lei,
he was scared. If anyone finds out he was here…”
I glare at her. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”
“I know you won’t.”
She speaks the words with such purity that whatever retort
I’d been planning drops away. “You… you trust me?” I say,
clutching my wet shawl tighter at my neck.
Her eyes soften. “Of course I do,” she answers, a whisper
that I draw in like nectar.
I step forward, my feet sinking a little into the muddy
ground. “Then tell me who he is.”
“I can’t.” She reaches for my fingers again, but I jerk away.
“Please, Lei,” she pleads. “This is bigger than me. It’s not my
secret to give away.”
I shove the wet hair from my face. “He’s someone
important in the palace, isn’t he? The wolf.”
Wren nods.
“How do you know him? What were you meeting about?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Is he who you’ve been sneaking out all these times to
see?”
“Not… every time.”
I let out a bark of mad laughter. “There are others?”
 “No!” Wren corrects hurriedly, shoving the wet tangles of
hair from her face. “I mean, I don’t always meet someone.”
“What do you do, then?”
She looks at me tiredly, as if to say, You know I can’t tell
you that.
“You lied to me,” I say into her silence.
It comes out childish and petty, and I hate the way my
voice sounds. But the meaning of it, the feeling behind it, is
anything but. I’m trembling, half from the rain and the cold,
and half from something else, some wild, desperate sensation
that’s been snaking through me since the moment I stumbled
upon Wren and the wolf.
Raindrops cling to my eyelashes, slick my lips. I lick them
away. “I asked you if you were meeting someone. That night,
when you brought me food. You promised me you weren’t.”
“Because I wasn’t! Not in the way you were asking.”
“I don’t believe you.”
This pulls a growl from her. “Lei,” Wren sighs, almost
angry, “there isn’t anyone else.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve already said that,” I say, but then I
catch on to her turn of phrase.
Anyone else.
And I suddenly comprehend what she’s trying to tell me.
That there is someone.
“Oh,” I breathe, as a dizzying sensation wings through me.
“You mean me.”
She comes closer, her stare so hot it’s burning, scattering
the raindrops away. Eyes fixed fiercely on mine, she lifts a
hand toward my cheek.
I stagger back. “I—I have to go.”
Even as Wren opens her mouth to retort, I’m already
spinning on my heels, making for the house. I lurch blindly,
soaked by the rain. The gardens are dark and the path is slick
beneath my feet, and I skid on the wet cobbles, careening
back, arms windmilling.
Wren is there in an instant. She catches me, fingers
wrapping round my shoulders. “Please calm down.”
I let out a choked laugh. “How can I? You know what
would happen if someone found us! We—we can’t, Wren. Me
and you, this…” My eyes skitter away. “It’s not right.”
“Because we’re both girls?” she asks, and there’s hurt in
her voice.
“No! I don’t care about that.” I pause, realizing only as I
speak the words aloud how true they are. I’ve had time to
think about it since understanding my feelings for Wren in
Zelle’s first lesson, and each time it comes back to what Zelle
told me about love and lust. How natural they are. How simple
it should be. That’s just how my attraction toward Wren is:
natural, and simple.
If you took away the minor issue of us being the King’s
concubines, of course.
Something breaks a little inside me as I tell her, “Not
because we’re girls. Because we’re Paper Girls.”
Wren shakes her head, still fixing me with that bold,
defiant gaze. “Is it what you want?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Her expression is fierce. “It’s the only thing that matters.”
The air between us vibrates, electric. Wren’s hands are still
circling my arms, and her touch sears me, sends my pulse
racing.
She pulls me nearer.
Our lips are a heartbeat apart.
“We’re Paper Girls,” I say again, like this is explanation
enough—and it is. It explains everything, because it defines
everything. The one terrible, inescapable truth.
 “So?”
“Madam Himura and Mistress Eira made it clear to us from
the start.” I’m whispering, even though the night is rain-locked
and the garden is deserted. “What we want has nothing to do
with it. We’re only here for the King.”
Under wet lashes, her dark eyes spark. “You fought him,
Lei. You told him no, a man who is never told no. Even though
you knew you’d be punished. You, more than anyone,
understand that what we want is important.” She takes a
breath. “When the world denies you choices, you make your
own.” Her fingers skim to my wrists; she draws me even
closer. “This is my choice.”
Rain patters all around us. It traces tiny beads down Wren’s
temples and cheeks, clinging to the curve of her full lips. Her
night slip is completely soaked through, revealing her to me, a
cruel promise of what can never be mine.
Anyone could find us out here.
So what? part of me screams. Give them a show. They can
sell tickets for all I care! But another part of me remembers the
slaves at the party. Of what might happen if I humiliate the
King again. Not just to me, but to my family.
Punish those who disobey me. Rid the kingdom of those
who are not faithful.
I flinch, hearing the King’s threat as if he were standing
right behind us, bull eyes bright and raging, glinting like
daggers in the dark.
I untangle our fingers. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
And then I’m running back to the house before Wren can
stop me. Or rather, before I stop myself. Because the longing
to kiss her, to lace my arms around her and bring our bodies
together in the dark, is so strong it thrashes around inside me
like something caged. And as I stagger back to my room, rain-
soaked and defeated, a single word repeats in my head, shining
darkly, slinking, serpentine.
 Dzarja.
Never has it felt more true. Because it appears I have found
a new person to betray, and it might be the worst one yet.
Myself.
 TWENTY-TWO

OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, the memory of my almost-kiss

with Wren hovers over everything I do. I barely follow a word
our teachers say. In the evenings it takes all my effort to keep
from staring at her in whatever beautiful outfit she’s wearing,
at how exquisite her face looks made up with paints and
powders. How, even better, I have seen beneath that Paper Girl
mask, the night when the rain washed away everything
between us and left only the deep thrum of desire.
When dreaming of her isn’t enough, I creep to her room.
Hover outside her door, fingertips resting on the wood. But I
can never bring myself to go inside. Always, there is fear at
being caught. And—just as frightening—the fear that once
I’ve kissed her, I won’t be able to stop.
One morning a week later, Lill dresses me in a heavy, fur-
trimmed overcoat. It’s the coldest outside that it’s been so far.
It won’t be long until winter arrives. I say good-bye to her and
find Wren in the hallway, waiting for me.
“Hello.” I greet her with our new awkward formality. She’s
still been accompanying me to lessons as per Madam Himura’s
request, but there’s been a terse politeness in our interactions
since that night. Then I notice the coat she’s wearing.
White. Our kingdom’s mourning color.
“Here.” She hands me folded silver-white robes and a
heavy brocade overcoat. “You should change.”
“What…?” I start, but she talks quickly over me.
“It’s a mourning day for both of us, remember?” She’s
speaking more loudly than usual. As Zhen and Zhin pass,
giving me identical smiles, I realize it’s for the other girls to
hear. “Or have you forgotten about your own ancestors?”
I look blank.
“So kind of Madam Himura to give us permission to miss
today’s lessons to pray,” she carries on, and finally I get it.
Wren must have told Madam Himura that today is a day of
mourning for the two of us, perhaps spinning some story about
the funeral of an ancestor or a designated prayer day that both
our families happen to observe at the same time. Spiritual
commitments are one of the only things we’re allowed to miss
our lessons for. But what would she want to show me in Ghost
Court?
Chenna comes out from her room a few doors away. She
catches my eyes. “Everything all right, Lei?”
“Just great. I’ll see you in a minute.”
Her eyes glide to Wren, but she doesn’t say anything,
giving me a curt nod before turning away.
Once the corridor is empty, Wren steps in close. “You
wanted to know where I’ve been going the nights I leave Paper
House,” she says under her breath. Her brown eyes glint. “I’m
going to show you.”
A short while later I’m back at Wren’s side, this time dressed
in the clothes she gave me. Wearing white feels strange. More
than strange—wrong. The color is heavy with the implications
of what it should mean to wear it, and I can’t help but think of
Mama. How even though she was lost to us, we never held a
funeral, not even after the weeks turned into months, and the
months into years.
It would have felt like an admission.
Wren and I take a carriage to Ghost Court, accompanied by
Wren’s maid, Chiho. Despite its eerie name, Ghost Court turns
out to be a lush landscape filled with manicured rock gardens,
ponds, and clusters of trees. Winding steps and arched bridges
lead between temples of varying design. Some are small, hewn
from rock, with wide, squat bases. Others are tall and
multitiered, with delicate curving roofs and colored tiles.
Bamboo parcels offering food and packets of ghost money
burn in braziers outside the entrances, and from some of the
temples drift the unearthly songs of shrine maidens.
We come to a stop in a secluded grove. The temple before
us is small and unassuming, with a shingled roof and faded
crimson paint peeling in long strips from its walls. Its stone
base is shaggy with moss. Overhead, a great banyan tree
towers, casting everything in murky green light.
“I’ll wait for you here, Mistresses,” Chiho says as we leave
the carriage.
I shoot Wren a curious glance. She must have known
chaperones wouldn’t come into the temple with us.
The two of us make our way inside in silence. Immediately,
the lingering smoke of incense tickles my throat. Something
about temples always makes me feel as though I can’t make
any noise, but even if I wanted to, I sense Wren’s energy, tense
and coiled, and it keeps me quiet, too. We pass through a
prayer room with gold idols set atop a shrine, both earth and
sky gods staring down at us with in an array of smiles and
grimaces. I rub my hands over my arms. I could swear their
eyes were tracking us.
Unlike the other temples, this one is deserted. Our footsteps
fall loudly in the quiet as we come to a courtyard at its center.
The roof must have caved in long ago, dust motes dancing in
the light slanting in between the hanging roots of the banyan.
A shiver trickles down my back. I’m half expecting ghosts to
peer out from lonely corners any second.
Wren leads me through more prayer rooms to an archway
at the back of the temple. Just as we duck through, she slips
her hand in mine. Pleasure bubbles through me—whipped
aside the next instant by what we find beyond the arch, which
is so unexpected and beautiful that it takes my breath away.
We’re in a small, walled garden. The stone of the wall is
crumbling, green with moss and winding vines, the paving
beneath our feet cracked by weeds. This place seems even
more forgotten than the rest of the temple, forlorn and
lusterless.
Except for the tree.
In the middle of the courtyard is a tree unlike any I’ve seen
before. Though its trunk is like that of a normal maple, with
old, grooved bark of deep brown wrapped around knotted
branches, the leaves that adorn it are paper. Enchanted paper.
Despite the still air, the leaves flutter and rustle as if caught in
a wind, humming with the golden light of magic, each one
with something written across it.
I move closer and reach up for one. The leaf thrums gently
under my fingers. A whir of air blows from the branches,
ruffling my hair and clothes as I read the characters painted on
it in delicate brushstrokes. “Minato.” I glance at a few of the
others. “Rose. Thira. Shun-li.” I look over my shoulder at
Wren. “They’re girls’ names.”
She nods. Wordlessly, she leads me round the back of the
tree. She stands on her tiptoes and draws down one of the
branches, showing me a leaf near its tip, so small it looks like
a teardrop.
“Leore,” I read. My eyes flick up. “Who is she?”
“She was,” Wren replies, “my sister.”
There’s a pulse of silence. The walls of the courtyard seem
to take a step inward, and something inside me goes very still.
“I thought you were an only child.”
“I am,” Wren replies, “and… I am not. The Hannos aren’t
my real family.”
My stomach gives a jolt. “Then who are?”
 “The Xia,” she answers simply.
Simply, as though she hadn’t just spoken the name of the
most infamous warrior clan in all of Ikhara.
A clan that was wiped out years ago.
“I was adopted by the Hannos when I was just a year old,”
Wren starts. “Before that, I lived with what was left of the Xia
in the eastern mountains of Rain.”
We’re sitting under the boughs of the paper-leaf tree. The
air is golden and warm from the glow of its magic, and it feels
safe here with Wren, as if the tree’s branches could protect us
from the rest of the world. Our fingers are twined together.
While she tells me her story, Wren’s thumb skates across my
palm, drawing hidden words upon my skin.
“I’m guessing you already know,” she starts, “that the Xia
were once the most prominent warrior clan in Ikhara. It’s the
unique form of martial arts they practiced, mixing physical
movements with qi manipulation, that made them so famous.
The Xia were warriors and shamans, both of the mortal world
and the spiritual. Their skills were so legendary that many of
the clan leaders sought to build relationships with them, enlist
them to their causes. But the Xia lived by the strictest moral
code. They only offered aid to those who they truly believed
were deserving.”
I nod. Tien told me stories of the Xia, how powerfully they
shaped Ikharan history. “I wasn’t sure whether to believe her,”
I say. “I thought the Xia might just be some legend she made
up to frighten me.”
“To a lot of people, that’s all they are,” Wren agrees. “A
legend. Something talked about in whispers and rumor.
Before, they could move freely without fear of persecution.”
Her voice cools. “But the Night War changed everything.
Before the war, the Bull King of Han—the original Demon
King—reached out to the Xia to aid him in his quest to
conquer the kingdom. He’d always been a great admirer of
their skill, though much of it was darkened by jealousy. He
didn’t just want them to help him. He wanted their abilities for
himself. He’d already hired shamans to train him in using
magic as a weapon, trying to mimic their fighting style. But
the Xia trained their children starting from a young age. They
made them understand how to call magic forth and use it in a
way that respects the power of nature. They never asked for
more than they could give. Unlike them, the Bull King was
impatient. He tore at the earth’s qi rather than nurture it. Tried
to bully it to his will.
“Unable to master magic himself, the Bull King requested
a meeting with the Xia to persuade them to join his army.
They’d already heard of his violent way of rule, but out of
respect, two of their warriors met with him. They listened to
the King’s plans but eventually declined to help. They knew
better than to put their power into the hands of a ruler like him.
But the King wouldn’t accept it. Furious at their refusal, he
captured the two warriors and took them prisoner, torturing
them for information about their clan.”
“Couldn’t the Xia have fought him off?” I say. “They were
the strongest warriors in all Ikhara.”
Wren’s lips are tight. “The King planned for that. He knew
that a few guards were no match for the Xia, so before the
meeting he readied a small army of both shamans and sword-
masters. He used their combined strength to overpower the
two warriors.”
She falls silent, and I sense her anger. Her fingers grip mine
a little tighter, her pulse racing against my own.
“Nobody had attempted to capture the Xia before,” she
goes on. “Just as with duels between clan lords, there was an
unwritten code. An understanding that whatever the outcome,
if it was fought fairly—either with words or swords—it should
be honored. The Xia’s decisions were to be respected. So to
attack them outside of battle, to capture and torture them for
information they would not freely give…” She rakes in a sharp
inhale. “It was dishonorable. Something the gods would surely
punish.” A muscle tics in her neck. “But it seems the heavenly
rulers had decided to stay out of mortal affairs. Week after
week, month after month, the Bull King’s armies tore through
Ikhara, killing clan leaders and breaking apart alliances.”
“What happened to the two captured Xia warriors?” I ask.
“No one knows. Maybe they never gave anything away
under torture, so the King had them executed. That’s what I
believe, anyway. But some people think they managed to
escape. Others that they turned and ended up fighting
alongside the King in the Night War, and that’s what enabled
him to win.”
A shudder runs down my spine at the thought. Might and
magic. It would have been a bloodbath.
“Once he captured the eight provinces and established his
court,” Wren continues, anger still skating the edges of her
words, “the King turned his attention to destroying the Xia. He
knew it was unlikely he could defeat them in battle. They’d
fought against some of his armies during the Night War—
those included some of the battles he lost. So he planned
surprise attacks. Ambushes. He even had them attacked on
prayer days, when he knew their warriors wouldn’t fight back.
The Xia were not a large clan. After years of these constant
attacks, they were all but destroyed. The few Xia who were
left went into hiding in the mountains of eastern Rain.”
“And one of those survivors was you,” I breathe.
Wren nods. “When I was born, I became the twenty-third
member of the decimated Xia clan.” She swallows. “And its
last. I was just a baby, too young to remember much of that
final attack. Ketai Hanno found me afterward, when the fires
that had ripped through our home had burned themselves out.
He managed to piece together a rough idea of what happened.
Somehow, our location was betrayed to the Demon King, who
sent an army in the middle of the night. My people put up a
valiant fight. The snow was said to have been red with the
blood of his soldiers. But there were just twenty-three of us,
half of us children. We were hopelessly outnumbered. By the
time the sun rose the following morning, the Xia had been
destroyed.” She turns away, lips pressed into a bloodless line,
before drawing a faltering inhale. “My mother, my father, my
five-year-old sister… all dead. I was the only one left.”
The paper leaves of the tree rustle around us. Lacing my
arms round her back, I pull Wren close, drawing her so tight I
shift with every rise and drop of her shallow, shaky breaths.
The day my mother was taken is so clear to me in this
moment, so close, like a imprint burnt on my heart. I know
what it’s like to lose your family.
To lose your hope.
Wren draws back. “There’s something I want to show
you.”
She pulls me to my feet. Reaching up into the boughs of
the tree for the branch with her sister’s name, she brushes
aside a few of the other leaves to reveal another glowing paper
leaf beside her sister’s.
My throat closes when I see the name written across it.
Soraya.
My mother.
I turn to her, barely able to speak. “You did this?”
“This is the Temple of the Hidden,” Wren explains. “It’s
for the dead we are unable to grieve for. For me, that’s my Xia
family. The family I’m not allowed to grieve for publicly,
because I can’t reveal they ever existed. I have a shrine for my
parents in one of the other rooms, but this tree is for hidden
women only, so I come here to pray for my sister’s spirit.” She
hesitates. “After what you told me about your mother, I
thought you might like a place to come to pray for her, too.”
I’m silent for so long that her face drops. “I shouldn’t
have,” she mumbles. “I overstepped—”
“No.” I take her hands, our palms pressing together. “I
needed this, Wren. You knew, even before I did.”
Tears course down my face, but I ignore them, my
breathing jagged. Because it’s all so clear. Of course it is. I’ve
been trying to convince myself, clinging onto the hope that my
instincts are wrong. That the absence of my mother’s name
from the Night Houses lists was a mistake, or maybe she
found a way to escape on her own, because she was my Mama
and brilliant and of course she could find a way to escape from
an inescapable fortress.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” I choke out. “My mother is…
dead.”
The word is as ugly-tasting as it sounds, a solid slab of
weight on my tongue.
It’s the first time I have ever said it out loud. Ever admitted
it to myself. I’ve thought it, felt the admission taking shape at
the edges of my mind, but every time I wrestled it down. Now
the truth hits me the way thunder strikes the earth—hard and
fast, and with a flash that tears the sky apart.
It wrenches a rasping sound from my throat. Wren grabs
me as I double over, holding me in silence as the gentle air of
the temple courtyard fills with my cries.
You would think seven years would have dulled my
wounds. But still they burn inside me, a fire too bright to
extinguish.
 TWENTY-THREE

A LONG WHILE LATER WE SETTLE back against the tree for

Wren to finish her story. This time we sit closer, curled
together like two puzzle pieces, her arms circling me from
behind. Her breath is warm by my ear. The names of her sister
and my mother flutter in the branches above our heads like
protective charms, our own precious gods watching over us.
“I don’t know how I survived the attack,” Wren says, “let
alone how I stayed alive for days afterward with no food or
water, no shelter. Perhaps it was my Xia blood, or some last
protective dao one of my family wove for me with the last of
their breath. The mountainside was covered in bodies. I was
hidden among them, the only living thing for miles. That’s
what my father says drew him to me—my adoptive father, that
is, Ketai Hanno. He came to Rain after hearing about the
massacre, hoping to find survivors. He’s always believed the
stories of the Xia. He wanted to learn from them, try to rebuild
their presence in Ikhara.”
My brow furrows. “But I thought the Hannos are one of the
Demon King’s biggest supporters.”
“Yes,” Wren says. “They are.”
I wait for her to explain further. “Oh,” I say eventually.
“Another thing you can’t tell me about.”
She lowers her lips to my head, so I feel her warm breath
mussing my hair. “I’m sorry, Lei. I want to tell you everything.
The whole truth. But it would be too dangerous.”
I’m stiff in her arms. “You still don’t trust me,” I murmur.
“Of course I do. I mean that it would be dangerous for
you.”
We sit in silence, the courtyard hushed with the rustle of
the paper leaves, their faint chiming hum.
“So,” I say, hugging her arms closer to me. “Ketai Hanno
found you and took you back to Ang-Khen?”
“Exactly. Bhali—Ketai’s wife, my adoptive mother—was
sick. She hadn’t been seen in public for two years, which fit
perfectly with my arrival. They announced my birth late,
saying that they were waiting for her recovery before sharing
the news. No one questioned it. Maybe if I’d been a boy, it
would have been different. But I was just a new daughter for
the Demon King to eventually claim. My existence wouldn’t
have much consequence. And so I began my new life in the
Hannos’ palace, and grew up to love a new family.”
“Do you?” I ask gently. “Love them?”
Wren replies after a beat. “As much as I can. I guess it’s
strange I should feel so connected to the Xia, seeing that I was
just a baby when they were killed. But I can’t help but think of
them as my true family. Sometimes I’ll catch scent of
something that reminds me of them, of the mountains, and it
strikes me so vividly then—the loss. The loneliness of being
the only one left.”
“I know,” I say, tilting my head back to nestle my face into
her neck. I breathe her crisp, blue-green scent in, so cleansing
in my lungs. “I miss my family, too. Everyone keeps telling
me to forget about them, but I can’t just let them go.”
Wren’s voice is fierce. “Then don’t. I haven’t.”
“Doesn’t it make it harder?”
“Yes,” she answers. “But I don’t want an easy life. I want a
meaningful one.”
 As we head back to Women’s Court, and throughout the
rest of the day, Wren’s words play over and over in my head,
building and strengthening, like a light growing brighter and
fiercer the longer it burns, a candle-flame in reverse. Every
time our eyes catch across a room—Wren’s gaze soft with our
secret but radiant with something else—or we stroll down a
corridor, standing a fraction closer than before, the caged thing
stirs inside me. Not just with desire, but for the kind of life
Wren was talking about under the tree. The courage I heard in
her words.
I don’t want an easy life. I want a meaningful one.
The image of the old Paper Girl from the koyo party comes
back to me: her melting face, her desperation. All this time
I’ve been trying to adjust to my life here in the palace. To fit
into the life expected of me. But am I losing sense of who I
am, who I want to become?
Dzarja. The label is ugly, but only because I let it be. The
realization strikes me with such force that I’m incredulous to
have not thought of it before.
Perhaps being a traitor can be a good thing if you are
betraying those who deserve it.
That night, I wait until the house is silent before going to
Wren’s room.
She is on her feet at once. “Lei? What are you doing?”
I cross the room. Push her up against the wall. “Telling the
easy life where to go,” I say, and lift my lips to hers.
“Wait,” she murmurs against my mouth, stiffening.
My breathing is quick. “Haven’t we done enough of that
already?”
There’s a moment’s pause—and then her lips close on
mine.
A sigh runs through me. Loosening a soft, sweet growl,
Wren laces her arms round my neck, hands tangling in my
hair, her mouth opening to move with mine. My world
dissolves into heat and velvet touch. The two of us fall into
rhythm, as natural and easy as if we’d done this a thousand
times before. Has Wren done this before? The thought flares
into my mind, almost taking me out of the moment. But I
shove it away. Because maybe it’s just like this because it’s us,
and it’s right.
Desire charges through my bloodstream. Sighing, I draw
Wren closer, our kiss growing fiercer. Urgent. Mouth wide, I
brush the tip of her tongue with my own. She tastes like a
monsoon, like storms and danger. In return, she nips my
bottom lip, sending a sharp current of heat between my legs,
where my pulse throbs, a fluid beat. My fingers skim over the
silky fabric of her night robe. Her body is hard and muscled
and so beautiful it hurts. I want to know every part of it at
once. I want to melt into her. To disappear into the softness of
her kisses, of her skin and smooth, liquid heat.
Sliding her hands down my back, Wren squeezes my waist,
drawing a gasp from my lips. The flaring heat inside me
swells. I have the wild notion that this must be what Master
Tekoa’s prediction was about: the fire, the red flames within
me. But how would it bring down the palace? This is a secret
fire that can only be kindled—and caught—by the girl whose
lips are upon mine.
Eventually we pull apart, our breathing heavy.
Wren drops her forehead against mine, half panting. “All
right,” she says shakily, a trembling hand lifting to cup my
cheek. “So maybe the hard life isn’t so bad after all.”
I laugh. “Was that a joke?”
“I am capable of them, you know.”
“Prove it. Make another one.”
She gives me a feline smile. “Can’t I just kiss you again
instead?”
My pulse flits as she dips her mouth toward mine. But just
then, there’s the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
 We lurch apart. In the shadowy room, Wren’s eyes are
wide, moon-bright. We wait, breathless, the seconds ticking by
slowly until finally the steps fade. There’s the sound of a door
closing a few rooms away.
“You should get back,” Wren whispers once it’s quiet
again.
Our mouths find each other’s one last time in the dark, and
I sigh into her sweetness, her liquid warmth.
“Don’t come tomorrow,” Wren says when we pull apart. I
freeze, but she continues with a smile, “I’ll come to you
instead.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I murmur.
Her expression sobers. “I keep my promises, Lei,” she
replies quietly. “Whatever they might cost me.”
 TWENTY-FOUR

WHEN I WAKE THE NEXT MORNING, I lift my fingertips to my

mouth, still lying tangled in my sheets, eyes shut. My skin is
warm and mussed from sleep. There’s a tingle in my lips
where I press them, but otherwise there’s no hint of what
happened just hours ago. At least, not physically. My mouth
seems the same, my lips just as they were before: smooth,
small, lonely. I brush my fingertips over them, hunting for
Wren’s presence. Honeyed shafts of sunlight fall across my
sheets. I forgot to close my shutters last night, and the warmth
of the rays seems to indicate that the gods are aware of what
occurred between me and Wren.
And some of them approve.
Stretching, I roll over with a yawn. My gaze lands on the
shrine in the corner of my room. A trickle of unease slithers
through me.
I’m not in a rush to find out what happens to us if any of
them don’t.
When she comes to collect me for our morning lessons an
hour later, Wren gives no outward indication of what passed
between us last night. But once we’re outside, the other girls
chatting easily around us, she slows her steps just enough for
us to fall out of earshot.
“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” she murmurs, her
beautiful black-brown eyes shining.
Her words are as sweet as a song. I can’t hide my grin. I
chance a quick press of my shoulder against her arm, angling
my face into her. As if on cue, Blue flicks her head round, and
Wren and I spring apart, pretending to be very interested in the
hems of our hanfu.
If I thought the day before our kiss was hard, the day after
is a million times worse. It becomes a practice in patience,
something Tien would no doubt say I have very little of. Time
stretches out, infuriatingly slow. I’m longing for the night to
come so we can get past whatever function we have that
evening and I can once again be alone with Wren. But then
Mistress Eira reminds us at dinner that we’ll be seeing the
King at the shadow play performance we’re attending tonight.
Something dark and red hums through my veins at the
mention of him.
Across the table, Aoki shoots me a concerned look. She
must be remembering what I said to her at the koyo party
about how I won’t let the King have me. She cocks her head,
questioning, and I wrest a half smile to my face.
“Are you all right?” Wren whispers once the other girls
sink back into conversation. She’s kneeling next to me, our
thighs almost touching under the table.
“Yes,” I answer, and though my throat is narrow, I mean it.
As a maid reaches across us to tidy the plates away, hiding us
from view, I catch her fingers in mine. It’s just a moment—
like all of our stolen touches. But it reminds me that I have the
strength to defy the King, even in small, secret ways such as
these.
After dinner, Lill picks a vivid orange cheongsam for me to
wear to the performance, gold embroidery shimmering across
the fabric. She adds a slash of vermilion paint on my lips.
Then she slicks my hair back into an intricate braid, twining it
with flame-colored ribbons.
“Now you match the leaves,” she grins, moving back to
admire her work.
I lift a brow. “Isn’t this is a bit… much?”
“Mistress,” she says, serious, “the King still hasn’t called
you since that night. Don’t you want him to notice you? To
want you again?”
I quickly turn my cheek to hide my grimace. Sometimes I
forget how young Lill is, but times like these remind me that
she is just a girl. I recall how black and white the world
seemed at eleven. How clear-cut life was, everything divided
into good and bad, right and wrong, like two sides of a coin,
and the edge between almost nonexistent, no bigger than a
sliver. Lill believes I want the Demon King’s attention. That
my earlier slip was just a mistake, a moment that overwhelmed
me. She thinks I want him because surely I must.
Because I am a Paper Girl and he is my King.
We make the now-familiar journey to the Inner Courts.
Shadow play is a long-standing tradition in our kingdom. In
Xienzo we had performances during certain festivals, with
wooden cutout puppets on sticks moved by actors hidden
beneath a makeshift stage. A small brazier created the fire that
silhouetted the puppets against the rice-paper screen. As we
arrive at the theater and enter a tall, stepped room with a wide
stage and columns of billowing silks hanging from the ceiling
at staggered intervals, it’s clear that this will be a very different
version of shadow play from the one I’m used to. Around the
edges of the stage runs a deep recess, flames dancing from
within.
“I’m a bit nervous to see the King again,” Aoki admits as
we take our seats toward the back of the theater, her voice
almost swallowed by the noise as the audience streams in,
snatches of conversations and bursts of laughter rising around
us. She frowns. “He seemed different at the koyo party. Do
you remember?”
Of course I remember. The King’s drunken swagger. The
human slaves he offered to the attending demons like a twisted
kind of party favor.
“He hasn’t asked for any of us since then,” Aoki says. “He
must be busy.”
I shrug. “It’s probably to do with the rebels. Or maybe the
Sickness,” I add, sending a mental thanks to both for keeping
him away.
Wren leans in on my other side. “The King talked to you
about that?” she asks sharply. “What did he say?”
“Not much. Just that it’s getting worse. That nothing seems
to be helping.”
She turns away, a glazed look frosting her eyes.
“What?” I press as Aoki turns to talk to Zhin beside her.
“It’s been going on for a while now,” Wren murmurs, her
nose pinched in thought. “All the clans are concerned. Just
before I came to the palace, my father was arranging a meeting
with the most powerful clans from every province to discuss
how to manage it.”
“Does he know what could be causing it?” I ask.
“Nothing for certain. One of his theories is that it’s to do
with qi-draining. Some overuse of magic that is putting Ikhara
out of balance. But he has no idea who might be behind it.”
“The King thinks the gods are punishing the kingdom.”
The look she gives me is pointed. “For what?”
“I have no idea.”
Wren turns back to the stage, the furrow in her brow
deepening. “Me neither. But the reason doesn’t really matter.
The problem is that the King believes it. And I’m worried
what it’ll lead him to do.”
To my other side, Aoki is still chatting with Zhin. “The
King won’t notice me in this at all,” she mutters, picking at the
draped sleeves of her beige ruqun, the fabric patterned with
gold embroidery.
 As Zhin starts to reply, Blue’s voice sounds over her. “Of
course he won’t,” she says crisply, glancing over her shoulder
from the row in front of us with a toss of her hair. “That color
makes you look ill. You should tell your maid to avoid it in the
future.”
“I think she looks beautiful,” I say with a glare.
Blue’s eyes flick to me, her chin tilted. “Looks like Master
Tekoa was right about all that fire, Nine. You’re practically a
human lantern.” The corners of her mouth tug up. “Such a
shame how some girls have to be so obvious to attract the
King’s attention. At least little Aoki doesn’t need to try so
hard. You know, the King tells me her company is surprisingly
pleasant.”
To my surprise, Aoki beams at this. When Blue turns back
round, she grabs my knee, leaning in. “Did you hear that? The
King enjoys his time with me!”
I grimace. “And that’s a good thing?”
Something darts across her face—hurt.
“I told you at the party, Lei,” she says, shifting back. “He’s
kind to me.”
“Only because he’s getting what he wants!”
After my night with Wren—the softness, the fierceness, the
tenderness of the hunger I felt in her lips, so different from
how I felt under the King’s touch—I can’t imagine how Aoki
could actually enjoy her time with him. And for the King to
call her company pleasant. Pleasant. A word dull with
mediocrity. Nothing like the dazzle and burn I felt at Wren’s
kiss. The way I hope for every girl to be thought of by her
lover.
I open my mouth to say more, but just then the lanterns in
the hall blow out. A hush falls over the crowd.
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” Aoki whispers. Her
face is shadowed in the now-dark hall, but I don’t need light to
know her expression. Even in the darkness, her eyes glimmer
with tears.
My face twists. “Aoki—” I start, but she turns to face the
stage, inching away.
Wren presses her shoulder gently to mine. “We of all
people can’t judge Aoki for what she feels,” she says under her
breath, chin tilted down. “Or for whom.”
I go to retort, but the heavy beat of drums echoes through
the room, silencing me. A lithe gazelle-form woman dances
onto the stage. Unlike the typical shadow play performances
I’ve seen, where the actors hold up puppets, this actress is the
puppet. Her body is wrapped in a wooden cage mimicking her
own form but making it twice as tall. A jewel-eyed gazelle
mask perches at the top of the elongated wooden neck arching
from the dancer’s back. As she moves behind the rippling
sheets of silk, her exaggerated horned shadow arcs and turns
with every movement.
Murmurs rise among the crowd.
I shoot Wren a sideways look. “Where’s the King? He
should have been announced—”
A shout cuts me off.
At first I think it’s part of the play, that the noise is coming
from the stage. But then there’s another shout, and another. In
a handful of seconds, the whole theater erupts with cries, and I
realize—this isn’t a performance.
Something’s wrong.
Panic floods the hall, a physical thing, buzzing and spilling
over the edges with the rage of a monsoon tide. All around us,
the crowd is scrambling to their feet, demons and humans,
court members and their companions, stumbling over cushions
and even one another in their rush to escape.
An object whirs over my head toward the stage. I catch a
glimpse of it—a blazing arrow—before it strikes one of the
hanging silks. The fabric bursts into flames, a waterfall of
orange cascading to the floor. More fire leaps into life where
the screen fell. A second volley of arrows whistles over our
heads, so close it stirs the air.
Onstage, the gazelle-dancer runs through the blaze, her
puppet silhouette elongated and ghostly, a horrible mimicry of
the performance she was meant to be giving.
Wren seizes my hand. “We have to get out,” she says,
dragging me to my feet.
I barely hear her over the screams, the crackling burr of the
flames. It’s shocking how quickly the fire has spread; the hall
is lit in flickering gold.
I stumble to keep up. “W-what’s going on?”
“It’s an attack. They must be after the King.”
The stepped seats around us are deserted. Everyone has
rushed to the exit at the back of the hall, causing a crush.
Through the smoke, I spot Mistress Eira helping Zhen and
Zhin, one of whom is limping. Ahead, Madam Himura
marshals the rest of the girls.
There’s a gleam of dark lapis hair. As Madam Himura
pushes her forward, Blue looks around. Tears stream down her
cheeks, her face white.
Aoki’s fingers snap round my arm. “Lei!” she gasps. Her
eyes are wide, the reflection of flames dancing within them.
“Don’t worry,” I say, gripping her hand. “I’m here.”
I pull her along with me, following Wren to the end of the
row. Just as we get there, there’s a thundering crack. Dislodged
from the roof, a burning beam of wood crashes down, landing
right across our path. Flames lash out from it like fiery whips.
I stagger back, instinctively pushing Aoki behind me.
“We’re not going to get out!” she sobs, squeezing my
fingers tighter.
Wren whirls around. Without any explanation, she strides
off again, picking her way easily down the cushion-strewn
steps, in the direction of the stage.
 “That’s the wrong way!” I yell. But she doesn’t change
course.
Aoki and I take off after her into the smoke and fire-lit
shadows. The roar of burning swells louder as we near the
heart of the fire. And from under it, a new sound rises—the
teeth-ringing clash of metal upon metal.
My stomach leaps. Swordfighting.
I’m just about to point this out to Wren when she comes to
an abrupt stop. “It should be here,” she says, so low I almost
don’t catch it. She drops to her knees, palming the floor.
“What should?” I shout back.
She doesn’t answer. After a few more seconds, she lets out
a little hiss of triumph and jumps back up. At first I can’t see
anything through the smoke, but she draws me into position at
the edge of an opening in the floor. A trap door.
“It’s a short drop,” she says. “Move away when you’re
down.”
I stare at her, blinking back the sweat stinging my eyes.
“How did you know this was here?” I ask, but she turns to
help Aoki, ignoring my question.
When she looks around to see if I’ve gone, she lets out an
exasperated growl. “Just go!”
Jaw clenched, I move forward.
And drop into darkness.
The fall is short, as Wren promised. I land awkwardly. Pain
shoots through my ankle, but I grit my teeth and roll out of the
way as Aoki follows with a shout. I’m helping her to her feet
when Wren lands, impossibly lightly, as graceful as a cat.
She strides down the tunnel, not even looking in the other
direction. “This way,” she orders.
We hurry after her. Seconds later, there’s a fourth thud
behind us.
 The growl of a male voice.
“Stop.”
In one quick movement, Wren shoves us back. It’s dark
here under the theater, the air still clogged with smoke, but
some light sparks down from the flames above, casting eerie
flickers through the gloom. It illuminates the intense calmness
on Wren’s face as she strides past us toward the shadowy
figure. Despite the heat, horrible shivers run across my skin as
I see that her irises have turned white—pure, startlingly white
—the whole of the eyes solid like ice. Fire reflects off them,
sliding yellow flames on white.
“Leave us,” she tells the figure. “The King isn’t here.”
And I flinch—because her voice is different, too. It has a
deep echo to it, as though many Wrens were speaking through
her, and in the space where her words hang in the air, there’s a
current of coldness.
The only answer is the screech of steel as the man draws
his blade from its scabbard.
With a cry, he moves forward. Wren ducks as the sword
slices through the air. The man raises it again, thrusting toward
her.
She dances out of his way. Rolls to field a third blow. She
dips, skating away from another parry, then with a whirl of her
silk robes she jumps. Her left leg flies up and catches the man
on the shoulder.
He staggers. Recovers. Loosening yet another battle cry, he
lunges at her with a curving cut of his blade.
Wren is too quick for him; too quick for anyone. The way
she moves is unnatural, her hair and robes flowing around her
as if sifting through water, her movements fluid and precise.
She leaps easily aside. While he’s still propelled forward from
the momentum of his strike, she moves behind him and hooks
an arm around his neck. He lets out a startled cry as she
knocks the sword from his hand and catches the blade, turning
it toward him—
 And sinks it into his chest.
It happens so quickly, so smoothly, that the man doesn’t
seem to comprehend at first what has occurred. His mouth is
stuck in a surprised, almost comical O. Then he lets out a
deep, awful groan. His face slackens. One hand grasps weakly
at the sword, but his fingers slip on the handle, coming away
slick with blood, and he rocks forward, limbs limp.
Wren lowers him to the floor. Her hands make the sky gods
salute over his slumped body before she looks up at me, still
with that eerie white stare.
In an instant, her eyes return to their normal black-brown.
The focused expression drops from her face. She gets to her
feet. “Lei,” she starts, coming toward me with her hands held
out.
If it’s meant as a calming gesture, it has the opposite effect.
Her palms are dark with blood, and I jerk away from them, a
ragged shudder rippling down my spine.
“You’re Xia,” I say in a hollow voice that doesn’t sound
like my own.
She wipes her hands on her dress. “I already told you—”
“No. I mean, you’re Xia.”
Because I’m not talking about what she’s already told me
about being born to the warrior clan. She’s not just Xia by
heritage.
She’s a warrior.
Not just by blood, but in practice.
We stare at each other through the shifting smoke. It stings
my eyes, and I double over, coughing. The smoke is growing
thicker, pooling the tunnel in dark, swirling coils.
“We have to get out of here,” Wren says, turning. “Where’s
Aoki?”
I spin around. It takes me a few seconds to make out her
slumped form on the floor. At once, I hurry to her side,
pressing two fingertips under the curve of her jawbone.
“Is she all right?” Wren asks.
A pulse flutters against my touch, weak but steady. “I—I
think so. She must have fainted.”
Reaching past me, Wren threads an arm under Aoki’s back
and slings her over one shoulder in an easy movement. “Let’s
go.”
Though Aoki is small, she isn’t so light that Wren should
be able to lift her this way. I follow her in silence, scared to get
too close to this girl with the bloodstained hands.
The tunnel isn’t long. At its end, we open the trap door
overhead. Rain greets our upturned faces. Wren helps me out
first—I cringe at the smell of blood on her—and then together
we lift out Aoki. With another easy movement, Wren picks
Aoki back up and we hurry around the side of the building,
keeping a safe distance from the flames.
A crowd has gathered. As we join them, my eyes alert for
the other girls, a number of carriages pull up to the front of the
theater. I recognize the black handprint symbol on the sides of
their carriages as the same as those on the robes of the
shamans who purified me before seeing the King—and the one
who fixed my bruises after.
The royal shamans.
Wren sets Aoki down. I kneel beside her to check she’s
breathing, shielding her face from the rain with my arm before
turning my attention back to the carriages. Black-robed figures
are filing out of them, orderly and calm. Even though their
skin is hidden, I can picture the dark web of tattoos on their
bodies, their skin a forest of ink, like some kind of dark map of
sacrifice and pain. The shamans form a ring around the theater.
In perfect synchrony, they raise their hands and begin to draw
glowing characters in the air in front of them, chanting as they
write.
The warm prickle of magic radiates from them, a growing
thrum. When the air is so full of pressure it’s like being in the
midst of a thunderstorm, the shamans whip their hands
upward. A gust of wind bursts from their circle. It blasts in
both directions, billowing into us—making our eyes water and
clothes fly out—and rushing toward the theater, swelling and
rising to tower over the domed building, solidifying into a
roiling pewter cloud.
It hangs there, dark and growling. Then it drops from the
air, transforming as it falls into a plunging torrent of water.
Water gushes over the theater, swallowing the flames.
Hitting the ground, we’re soaked through in an instant as the
wave barrels into us.
Aoki comes round with a gasp. I help her up, shoving the
wet hair from her face. I’m gasping myself, numb from the
chill night air on my wet skin, and we clutch each other, both
shaking.
“What—what happened?” she cries, looking left and right.
“Did you see them, Lei? I think someone followed us into the
tunnel—” She cuts off, coughing.
I rub her back. “It was just something falling. A piece of
wood. Don’t worry.”
“But—”
“You fainted, Aoki. Take it easy. I’m going to get you
something warm to wear. Can you wait here?”
Still trembling, she nods. As I get to my feet, Wren puts a
hand on my shoulder. “Lei—”
“Look after her. I won’t be long.” I take a sharp inhale,
continuing in a low voice, “You knew the trap door was there,
Wren. You knew how to fight. How to kill.”
The crowd is moving around us, and someone bumps into
me, knocking me into Wren. She lifts her arms to steady me,
but I jerk back, the image of her in the tunnel reentering my
mind.
“I thought I knew you,” I say weakly.
 She flinches. “You do know me.”
“I’m going to get some robes or a blanket for Aoki,” I go
on, avoiding her eyes. “We can talk when you’re ready to tell
me the truth about what the gods just happened.”
Wren catches me as I turn. “I haven’t lied to you, Lei,” she
promises.
“Well, you haven’t exactly told me the truth, either.”
Her mouth parts, something pained pinching her face, and I
force myself to walk away.
 TWENTY-FIVE

WE SPEND A SLEEPLESS NIGHT BACK at Paper House, waiting in

one of the parlors as a group of doctors and shamans check us
over one by one. The hours slip by in shocked silence, all of us
dazed. Madam Himura calls us to her suite early the next
morning. We haven’t even had a chance to bathe or eat
breakfast, and our hair and clothes still reek of smoke. “The
royal messenger just left,” she tells us once we’ve all sat
down. “Our guesses were right. The attack was an
assassination attempt.”
Wren shifts forward, her back rod-straight. “Who by?” she
asks.
“All we know is that they were a group of ten Paper caste
men. Three were taken alive. The other seven were killed at
the theater by guards.”
An image comes to me of Wren’s white eyes as she turned
the man’s sword on himself. Not just guards. I sense her
looking my way and stare ahead, my jaw set.
“But the King wasn’t even at the theater,” Chenna points
out.
Madam Himura clacks her beak. “Thank the heavenly
rulers! A messenger came to stop him just as he arrived. One
of the royal fortune-tellers had a premonition of the attack.
That’s how they got the shamans to the theater so quickly.”
 Blue shifts forward, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of
her skirt. “Was anyone hurt?” she asks, and though her voice is
steady, there’s an undercurrent of something nervous in it. The
gray morning light picks out her cheekbones, carving dark
hollows beneath them. “From the audience, I mean.”
“Two court officials were killed. Twelve more injured.”
“Because my father was there,” Blue goes on, “and I
haven’t heard from him—”
Madam Himura holds up a hand to silence her. She looks
around at us down the hook of her curved beak-nose, her
yellow eyes unblinking. “The King has taken the assassins for
questioning. For now, he has ordered your usual schedule to be
on hold. You’re to stay in Paper House until further notice.”
As the rest of us go to leave, Blue makes a beeline for
Madam Himura. “My father,” she starts again, but the eagle-
woman waves her away.
“Not now, girl.”
“But—”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Madam Himura
squawks. “Just because your father is a member of the court
does not mean it affords you any special privileges! Open your
mouth once more today, and I will not hesitate to throw you
out.”
Blue’s lips flatten into a bloodless line. Glowering, she
strides past us, Mariko hurrying after her.
Aoki and I are the last to leave. We walk slowly down the
corridor. “Two people dead,” she mutters. She gives me a
sideways glance. “Can you believe it? It could have been us,
Lei. Thank the gods Wren found that trap door.”
I make a noncommittal murmur—because I saw the look
on her face, and it wasn’t surprise. It was surety.
The two of us head to the bathing courtyard. I’m eager to
get the stink of smoke out of my hair, the traces of darkened
blood on my skin from where Wren lifted me out of the tunnel.
We’re just passing through the corridor where our bedrooms
are when there’s the sound of a door opening behind us.
Zhen’s head pokes out of her room.
“Oh,” she says, looking relieved. “We thought it might be
Mariko and Blue. Do you want to join us?”
I know what they’re doing, and talking about last night is
the last thing I feel like. Not least because since I confronted
her outside the theater, Wren hasn’t come to talk to me yet,
and I’m starting to wonder whether maybe I was too hard on
her. She was just protecting us, after all, like Aoki said. But
Aoki nods, and I follow her into Zhen’s bedroom, not wanting
to be alone right now, either.
Chenna and the twins are inside. They look grim, Zhin
sitting against the wall under the window with her legs pulled
up to her chin while Zhen kneels on the bamboo mat floor, her
dirt-stained robes ripped at one shoulder. Chenna gives me a
humorless smile, shifting slightly to make room for us. As I
kneel, I smooth down the rumpled fabric of my cheongsam.
My fingers catch on a torn slash. Through it, the skin of my
thigh shines palely. Even burnt and dirty, the dress is still
almost the same hue as the flames that scorched it, making me
think of what Blue said to me before the play began.
Looks like Master Tekoa was right about all that fire, Nine.
You’re practically a human lantern.
Was that what happened last night? Did I somehow,
unknowingly, cause the attack?
“You were saying you think the assassins are from Noei?”
Zhen directs at Chenna once we’re settled. “The same region
as those slaves at the koyo party?”
Chenna lifts a shoulder. “It’s just a guess. But it seems too
much of a coincidence that this happens a week after they
were brought here, don’t you think?”
“I’m not sure,” Zhin replies. She rubs her arms where
they’re looped round her legs. “There are so many Paper
families and clans with reasons to hate the King.”
 “And the raids have been going on all over Ikhara,” her
sister adds. “Our father told us before coming here that the
King is blaming them on the rebels. That they’re doing it to
discredit him with the Paper castes.”
Beside me, Aoki shifts, fluting her fingers over her skirt. “I
don’t think the King would do that.…”
“I’m not sure what the King wouldn’t do,” Chenna says
stonily, and though I agree with her, I don’t say so.
Aoki’s cheeks color. “He has a lot to deal with,” she
mutters.
“Yes,” Chenna retorts. “It must be hard for him here in this
luxurious palace, with all these beautiful things around him.”
“You mean like us?”
The girls stare at me, an uncomfortable silence descending
over the room. I haven’t ever told them what I really think of
being here—excluding Aoki and Wren, of course—though I
suppose my actions have made it explicit enough. I’ve guessed
at Chenna feeling a similar way; she wears her duty well, but
grudgingly. But Zhen and Zhin have always seemed happy to
be here.
“Don’t you feel bad for the things we’ve seen happen to
Paper castes here who aren’t protected by the King in the same
way we are?” I ask into the quiet. “Didn’t you feel anything
for those slaves the other night?”
“Of course I did,” Chenna says, shooting me a stern, almost
hurt look. I remember the disgust in her eyes as we watched
the slaves, side by side in a crowd of demons. Her prayer to
Kunih. She lifts her chin. “But what can we do about it? It’s
the same outside the palace. Even my father, as well respected
as he is in Uazu, has had to suffer bullying from Steels and
Moons. I’ve seen the way they look at us. The whispers behind
our backs. Most of the time, they don’t even bother to
whisper.”
“It was like that for us, too,” Zhen says. “Sometimes the
worst of it even came from other Paper castes. Like we were
somehow betraying them by being involved in the court.”
“That’s what I mean,” I press. “Here, we’re not
experiencing life the way most Paper castes do.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Aoki’s flush deepens as all of us
turn to her. “I mean,” she continues, more tentatively, picking
at the torn threads of her hem, “we’re treated well here. We’re
looked after—”
“Oh, like how I was chained to the floor and starved for a
week?”
“Well,” she says, her cheeks pink, “it could have been
worse.”
Her words hit me with the shock of a slap. The twins stare
as Aoki and I glare at each other.
“Look,” Chenna says, raising her palms, her voice steady.
“You both make good points. I hear what you’re saying, Lei.
I’m sure we all do. We’re not denying the privilege our status
has brought us. But I don’t see how we can change anything.
Aoki’s right. It could have been a lot worse for you—and what
you went through was already so bad. And that was for
offending the King in a personal way. This is Ikharan politics
we’re talking about. This is bigger than us.”
That’s exactly what I’m trying to say! I want to shout. But
I’m still reeling from Aoki’s comment, and underneath their
wariness, Chenna and the twins look exhausted. The same
fatigue hits me afresh. After what we all just went through, we
don’t need to be fighting among ourselves as well.
The pleading look on Wren’s face last night comes back to
me. How she must be feeling even worse, given what she did
to protect us.
I shift my legs uncomfortably. Now I’m sure I was too
harsh on her.
Zhin clears her throat. “So. What do you think will happen
to the assassins?”
I look across at her, grateful for the change of subject.
“Well, we know they’re being questioned.”
She shakes her head, brow knitted. “I mean… after.”
“Court law for treason of any kind is execution,” Chenna
states matter-of-factly.
Execution. The word is as sharp as its meaning.
“And in the palace,” she goes on, “executions are public
events.”
My mouth twists. “We’ll have to watch?”
Chenna nods. The twins share an apprehensive look. Aoki
stares fixedly ahead, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Maybe they’ll just imprison them,” Zhin suggests
eventually.
“And I suppose,” Zhen says, “they could always, maybe,
find them not guilty?”
Chenna and I both raise our eyebrows at her.
“They would have killed him,” Aoki says, quiet and a little
shaky, looking down at her palms. “Are we forgetting that?”
When no one replies, she scrambles to her feet, hands clutched
into fists. “I’m tired of listening to this,” she declares, her face
red. “The King might be scared, too. Did any of you think
about that? And we’re not even allowed to see if he’s all right.
He’s worried, and hurt, and all alone.…”
“Aoki—” I start, getting to my feet.
“Not now, Lei,” she mumbles thickly. Rubbing her face
with the heels of her hands, she puffs out a loud breath before
rushing out of the room.
“Maybe you should give her some time,” Chenna suggests
quietly when I move to follow her. “She’s probably just in
shock after what happened. She needs to rest.”
Zhin’s eyes click to me. “I think we all do.”
The three of them decide to get some sleep, but when I
leave, I pass the door to my bedroom. I continue to the bathing
courtyard as originally planned, half hoping to find Aoki or
Wren there. Still, when I find it empty, I’m suddenly grateful
for a moment to myself.
Hidden in the steam, I undress by my usual tub, throwing
my dirty clothes to the floor with slightly more force than
necessary before climbing into the water. It takes a long time
to scrub the dirt from my body. Even after I’m clean, last
night’s smoke clings to me, an invisible second skin. I stay in
long after my fingertips grow wrinkly, unable to shake the
unease that’s been coursing through me all night. Every time I
close my eyes the image of Wren and the assassin is waiting
for me—the surprised look on his face, the calm, focused
expression on hers.
She’s a true Xia. A warrior.
A girl trained to kill, in the heart of the kingdom.
A girl who can get closer to the King than most.
I can think of an explanation as to why, but I’m not sure I
want to believe it.
Just as I’m about to get out, the sound of approaching steps
makes me start. I swirl round, splashing water over the side of
the barrel. Through the clouds, I make out a tall figure coming
toward me. My belly loops. It’s her.
I duck lower, crossing my arms over my chest, suddenly
hyperaware of my nakedness.
Though Wren’s face is composed, there’s a tender look in
her eyes. She stops a few feet away. “Can we talk?” she asks,
and the tentativeness in her voice—the idea that she’s even
worried I could say no—strikes me with fresh guilt.
I nod, but she doesn’t come any closer.
Even in last night’s ruined dress she is beautiful. Though
the jade-green silks of her hanfu robes are slashed and charred,
the color still brings out the glossy tan of her skin, the
definition of her long, muscled limbs. My instinct is to run to
her, to hug her, kiss away her pain. But even if I understand
why she did it, the memory of her stabbing the man in the
tunnel holds me back.
That wasn’t the girl I kissed two nights ago in a dark
bedroom. The girl who held me as I cried under the
whispering boughs of the paper-leaf tree, who made me feel so
safe.
My eyes drop to the stain of blood on the collar of her
robes. “You killed a man,” I state, hollow.
“Only to protect you and Aoki.”
“And that makes it right?”
“Of course not. But I had to do something, Lei. He would
have tried to kill us all.”
A bead of moisture slips down my temple, and I swipe it
away, hurriedly crossing my arms again. “It wasn’t us he
wanted. They wanted the King. And he wasn’t even there.”
“Is that why you’re angry?” Wren asks, an odd tilt to her
voice. “Because you wanted them to kill him?”
I hesitate. “Maybe,” I murmur, my cheek turned. Then I
look back, forcing myself to meet her stare. “What do you
think?”
Wren’s expression is unreadable. She stands stiffly, arms
rigid at her sides. “‘Just as Zhokka and Ahla chase each other
across the skies,” she recites, “does darkness not follow light,
and light follow darkness, neither one truly ahead of the
other?’” The saying is old, familiar with everyone in Ikhara. “I
like to think there’s some good behind even the darkest sins.
That death can be warranted if it paves the way for hope.”
I edge forward in the tub. “Is that why you are a warrior?
Because you are, aren’t you, Wren? You fight like the Xia.”
Her neck flexes as she swallows. I sense her wanting to
refuse to answer, but finally she gives a small jerk of her head
that I take as a nod. “I’ve been trained in the Xia form since I
was young.”
 A flashback to the glimpse of her feet that morning before
the Unveiling Ceremony, when she held up her robe as she
stepped into my room. So that’s what turned them rough.
“Trained by who?” I press.
“My father, partly. And my shifu, Master Caen.”
“They can fight like the Xia?”
Wren shakes her head. “My father is skilled at qi work, and
Caen is one of Han’s finest fighters. But I’m the only one who
can bring the two together properly, the way the Xia did. It’s in
my blood,” she finishes softly.
I remember her sadness at the temple in Ghost Court, her
longing for her lost family. The same sense of loss rings in her
voice now.
“Why were you even taught?” I go on, more gently now.
“I’m guessing daughters of nobility don’t usually get trained in
martial arts.”
“Actually,” Wren says, “they often are. Especially in Ang-
Khen and Han. Though it’s seen as more of a ceremonial skill
than one to be used in real battle.”
“But yours isn’t just an aesthetic practice.”
“No.”
“And it’s a style that the original King himself outlawed.”
“Yes.”
“So why was it allowed?”
“It… wasn’t. I was trained in secret.”
Silence unfurls between us at this.
Wren remains still, not breaking eye contact. There’s a
defiance, a pride to the set of her shoulders and the way she
lifts her spine tall, chin slightly tilted, that brings me back to
the aloof girl I first met all those months ago. But despite her
posture, that girl is looking at me with such tenderness in her
eyes it makes my heart lurch, and all the intimacies we’ve
shared shine within her warm irises, as luminous and sweet as
stars.
Part of me is hurt by how much Wren has hidden from me
—and I can tell she’s holding back even more. But tightness
knits my chest at the thought of losing her.
It hits me then how much trust she’s putting in me by
telling me this. I could ruin her with this information. Her
entire family. The Hannos are some of the King’s most trusted
supporters, and here is Lord Hanno’s daughter herself, a
warrior trained in a forbidden language of fighting, within the
palace of the demon whose ancestor massacred those who
practiced it.
And I think I know why.
I take a breath, readying myself to ask her. But before I can
say anything, Wren crosses the distance between us. Without a
word, she reaches back and releases the sash round her waist.
I splash back, gaping at her. “What—what are you doing?”
“There are some things about myself I can’t tell you,” she
interrupts, quiet and fierce, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want
to give myself to you. I’m always truthful to you in here, Lei.”
Her fingers hover over her heart. Then, holding the collar of
her robes, she draws them off her shoulders and lets them drop
to the floor in a cascade of silky fabric.
Wren’s body is so different from the other girls. Lives of
luxury have kept their figures soft, but hers is muscled and
strong. Beautiful and dangerous. My eyes travel over her long,
elegant neck; her wide shoulders; the deep shadow down the
center of her chest, a line I long to follow with my tongue.
I return my gaze to her shining face. “Wren,” I begin, but
she shakes her head.
Slowly, not taking her eyes off mine, she climbs into the
tub. As she slides down in front of me, water rolls over the
edges and up to my neck in a warm wave that reminds me
afresh that Wren isn’t the only one who’s naked.
 I shrink back. “We—we can’t do this. Not here. Someone
could see.”
“They’re all sleeping.” Her voice is husky. Low. Wet
fingertips lift to my cheek. “Don’t worry, no one can see
through the steam. We’ll hear them coming anyway.” She
moves closer, her breath hot against my face. Something more
than desire shimmers in her eyes, some tender vulnerability
that is betrayed in her voice as she goes on, “Last night I could
have lost you.”
The steam lifting from the water swirls around us, a soft
cocoon.
“You saved me, Wren,” I whisper. “Aoki, too. You got us
out safely. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you last night. It’s just—”
“I know.”
“I was shocked.”
“I know.”
“Scared.”
Wren scoops her hand behind my head, dipping her
forehead to mine. Her lashes flutter. “Me, too,” she sighs.
“You didn’t seem it.”
“I’m trained not to. I’m trained to be strong. To not let
anybody see my weaknesses. My fear. But I’m scared, too,
Lei.”
I lean back to look at her. Her face is grimy from ash and
sweat, and her black hair is streaked with more dirt. She looks
just how she sounds—tired. Broken. The circles under her
eyes are deep, like bruised fruit. Tangling my fingers in her
hair, I draw her close. I kiss each eye, as gently as I’m able.
Then her lips.
Compared to our first kiss, this one is gentler, but no less
deep.
Mouths, and softness, and the liquid heat of the steam. Our
hands holding each other’s faces in tight, as though we’d be
lost without the press of the other’s mouth to ours. There are
words in our kiss. I feel them between our lips, unspoken but
just as clear as if we had been talking. Or perhaps more clear
because we’re not. There’s no hesitation or misunderstanding
to block or diminish their meaning. Just the simplest, most
instinctive language of forgiveness.
Forgiveness, and hope.
One of my hands moves down Wren’s back, skimming her
shoulder blades to nestle in the low curve of her spine as our
bodies arc together under the water.
Footsteps. Entering the courtyard.
In an instant, we untangle. Wren jumps out of the tub. She
slings on a bathrobe as a figure comes into view through the
swirling mist.
Blue smirks at the sight of us—me, breathless and flushed,
water shifting around me; Wren dripping water onto the
wooden boards, the sash around her robe hastily tied. My lips
feel swollen from the press of Wren’s, and I resist the urge to
cover them with my hands.
“This is intimate,” Blue purrs.
“I was just leaving,” Wren says smoothly, pushing her hair
back over her shoulders.
Blue arches a brow. “Already? You haven’t even washed
your hair.”
I glance at Wren, my breath hitching. Her hair is still
matted with ash, and knotted now from my fingers. Giving
Blue a cool, I don’t know what you’re talking about stare,
Wren strides out of the courtyard, every bit as composed as
usual. But I can tell by the way Blue’s smile widens that she
has noted my alarm. And while she may not know what just
happened, she can certainly make a few guesses.
 TWENTY-SIX

FOUR DAYS PASS. FOUR DAYS OF WAITING, holed up in the

mazelike corridors of Paper House, speculating with the girls
on the assassins and what must be happening outside the
palace until there’s nothing new to discuss. Then, at lunch on
the fifth day, Madam Himura tells us that the court has finally
finished its interrogation of the attackers.
Just as Chenna predicted, there will be an execution.
The room goes quiet at the announcement. Zhen and Zhin
swap dark looks, and Chenna quickly lifts one hand, forming
the same prayer motion across her brow that I saw her make at
the koyo party. Next to me, Aoki lets out a long exhale.
“Serves them right,” Blue says loudly. “Let the King show
everyone what happens to those who oppose him.”
Mariko nods, though she stays mute, picking at her nails,
fingers spread on the tabletop.
“The execution will take place at sundown tonight,”
Madam Himura croaks. “Attendance is mandatory. You will
return to your usual schedule the next day.”
I meet Wren’s warm-centered brown eyes across the table.
I want to hear what she thinks, steal a moment of comfort from
her words and her closeness. But Madam Himura sends us
straight back to our rooms to begin yet another long sequence
of preparations.
Usually, Lill has some freedom in what she dresses me in,
provided she follows certain customs and expectations. But as
she unfolds the robes I’m to wear to the execution, she tells me
they were selected specifically by Madam Himura. “She was
very strict about it,” Lill says. “For all the Mistresses.”
She doesn’t have to explain why she’s telling me this. As
soon as I see the robes, I understand.
“It—it’s too cruel,” I say, almost whispering.
Lill avoids my eyes. “These are the King’s orders,
Mistress.”
We don’t speak as she dresses me in the plain black robes.
Black—not white. The very opposite, the very absence, of our
kingdom’s mourning color.
It’s clear what the King’s message is. White is a color to be
respected, and to be used for those we respect. Criminals don’t
fall into that category. Instead we dress in black to demonstrate
our indifference to the assassins’ suffering.
The thought that they’ll die looking out to this, a sea of
night, doesn’t seem fair. Before leaving, I take an ivory ribbon
from Lill’s box of silks and tie it round my wrist, making sure
it’s hidden beneath my sleeve.
Our procession is somber as we make our way through the
Outer Courts. There’s a heaviness about the palace this
afternoon. Even the sky and trees seem gray, as though the
smoldering air from the attack on the theater has settled over
the whole of the palace, a veil of smoke. The streets are
packed, but the only sounds are the dull treading of foot- and
hoof-steps and the rustle of fabric, the metal chime of spirit-
warding talismans, snatches of whispered conversations that
the wind whips away.
When we get to Ceremony Court, my eyes widen at the sea
of people filling the vast square. Everyone who lives at the
palace must be here—there are thousands of humans and
demons of all three castes. At the center of the court are a
stage and a separate viewing platform for court members,
headed by the King’s golden throne. The oryx carry us past the
crowds, everything a whir of swirling ink-black robes. As soon
as we arrive at the viewing platform, I go to Wren, pushing
past jostling court officials craning for a better view.
She clasps my hand, low, so no one can see. Though she
lets go a second later, she stays close. “Are you all right?”
I nod stiffly. “But I hate having to be here.”
“Me, too.” She takes something out of the fold of her robes
just long enough to show it to me: a white flower, a tiny valley
lily. Then she tucks it away. “It felt wrong,” she explains.
“Coming here without something to pay my respects.
Especially considering what happened in the tunnel.”
The sight of the flower sends a warm rush through my
chest.
Carefully, I draw back my sleeve to reveal the ribbon at my
wrist, and Wren’s face softens. She gives my fingers another
squeeze.
It takes half an hour for the entirety of the palace to arrive,
the King turning up last in an extravagant palanquin carried by
eight oryx-demons. I don’t have a clear view of him through
the thick crush of bodies as he settles on the throne, but even
at this distance the sight of his curved horns makes the hairs
on my arms lift. Somehow, I can tell he’s smiling.
Soon after, the carriages with the assassins arrive to the
thunder of drumbeats. Each is pulled by a pair of muscled
black horses and marked with silks of deep obsidian. They
stop before the stage, the horses stamping, clouds of steam
blowing from their nostrils. An expectant hush ripples through
the crowd.
First, the executioners step out. The assassins follow,
stumbling from the carriages, gold circles shackled to their
necks like dog collars.
The skin at my wrists tingles. Their chains look similar to
the ones the shaman put around my ankles and wrists when I
was in isolation.
All around us, the court erupts in a roar. The drummers
beat harder, stirring the frenzy. I don’t know whether the
crowd is pretending to be excited for the King’s benefit; unlike
at the koyo party, there is a mix of castes and positions here.
But my stomach lurches anyway. The whole thing is like a
performance, with the crowd willing participants. I thread my
fingers through Wren’s. No one’s paying attention to us, their
focus all on the stage, and I need her right now, need the
familiar warmth of her hands to ground me, to calm my
already frantic heart from spiraling so far out of control that it
breaks free—and me with it.
I want to scream. Thrash. Run at the King and tear that
cruel smile off his face.
Blank, beige-colored masks have been strapped over the
assassins’ faces, curving creepily over their foreheads and
noses to leave only the small lines of their mouths underneath.
Another trick of this awful performance. Hide the faces of the
people you’re about to kill, so they don’t seem human.
Then I think of the slaves at the koyo party. The woman on
the bridge the night of the Unveiling Ceremony, her head
caved in by a demon guard. Maybe it wouldn’t make a
difference even if the masks were off. It seems that to most
demons, being Paper caste already makes you less than
human.
The executioners are three Moon caste demons. There is a
gray-coated wolf-man; a hulking crocodile demon with
leathery, russet-scaled skin; and the white fox female who
escorted me to the King’s room that night. They must be the
King’s personal guards. Dull light glints off their long armored
overcoats as they lead the assassins to the stage. While the
other two drop to their knees to face the King in silence, the
assassin being led by the wolf struggles against his bindings.
He’s shouting, lurching toward the throne. Even from here I
can see the slash of red around the man’s throat from where
the golden collar digs in. It must be agony, but he keeps
rearing forward, screaming words I can’t make out over the
braying crowd as the King regards him coolly.
The wolf soldier jerks the chain back. He slams his foot
down on the man’s back, forcing him to the floor, before
dragging him onto the stage. I get a view of the wolf demon’s
face for the first time as he turns and my breath hitches.
It’s Wren’s wolf.
So that’s why he seemed familiar—the Unveiling
Ceremony. He stood at the King’s side along with the fox and
the crocodile demon.
I turn to Wren. “That’s him, isn’t it? The wolf you were
with that night.” When she hesitates, I say, “Please. No more
lies.”
Her lips part. Then she answers stiffly, “His name is Kenzo
Ryu. Major Ryu. One of the King’s personal guards. He
oversees all the royal armies and advises the King on military
tactics.”
“And the other two?”
“The crocodile is General Ndeze. The white fox is General
Naja. She’s the highest-ranking female in the kingdom.”
My brow furrows. “What about the Demon Queen?”
“Until she gives the King a male heir,” Wren replies, “she’s
pretty much insignificant.”
A thread of pity runs under her words.
“You don’t think she will?”
“I’m not sure she can. There are rumors about the King’s…
ability.” She shoots me a sideways look. “No one would dare
speak it here, but apparently some of the clans have given him
a nickname. The Empty King.”
It takes me a moment to understand. His fertility. Or rather,
lack of it. A hazy memory returns of that first lunch in
Mistress Eira’s suites when Chenna asked whether the Demon
Queen had produced any children for the King. Blue and
Mariko had looked aghast. They must have heard the rumors
before they arrived at the palace and couldn’t believe Chenna
would approach the subject so boldly.
Suddenly the King’s anger makes even more sense. Not
just anger—desperation. Because what is a King without an
heir?
A warm, feather-light feeling rises in my belly.
Because what could Ikhara be without a Demon King?
Just then, the crowd falls silent as the King rises to his feet.
He marches forward, his gold-plated hoof-fall punctuating the
tense hush, a more controlled swagger in his gait than the last
time I saw him. His gaze roams slowly over the crowd. I catch
a glimpse of his arctic-blue eyes, the ugly smile on his
handsome face.
“My loyal subjects, my fellow demons and humans.”
Magically amplified, his voice booms out, echoing off the
walls. “It brings me no joy to stand before you today.
Executions are ugly events—almost as ugly as the crimes from
which they are born. As such, I could tell you that it would be
better to close your eyes now. To turn away when the points of
the blades pierce the black hearts of these criminals before us.”
The King rolls his shoulders back, chin tilting, voice gaining
strength. “But that is the coward’s way! Instead, we must
watch. We must observe. To remind us of everything that has
been built under the blessed rule of the Demon King. A rule
that I share with each and every one of you. Because it is only
together, demons and humans, good citizens of all eight
provinces, working alongside one another in peace and
alliance with all in their rightful place, that we can keep our
kingdom strong!”
While the crowd cheers at this, I grind my jaw. With all in
their rightful place. I know exactly where he believes Paper
castes’ place to be.
“When an attack like the one masterminded by these
anarchists occurs,” the King continues, shouting to be heard
over the noise, “it is an affront to our unity. To the world we
have built so tirelessly over these past two centuries, with our
blood and sweat and tears and hope. And we must come
together in that very unity to bring down those who try to
destroy us.” He clasps two fists, raises them to the sky. “Today
we demonstrate that ours is a power that cannot be broken!”
The noise of the crowd mounts, almost violent, a deep,
wild roar. Wren and I don’t join in, but I spot Aoki’s shining
face at the front of the viewing platform, her fists raised in the
air with the others.
It hits me like a punch to the gut.
When the crowd has finally calmed down, the King strides
up to the assassins. He bends down to face them. “You failed,”
he says simply.
They don’t react. But just as he’s about to turn away, the
assassin who was giving the wolf trouble earlier pulls on his
binds, neck arced upward, and spits in the King’s face.
The crowd bellows. I brace myself, expecting the King to
shout or strike the man. But his expression is composed.
Calmly, he wipes his face with the back of one sleeve and
smooths down his robes. Then he settles back onto the throne,
his face cold.
His voice colder. “Executioners, prepare your weapons.”
The crocodile, fox, and wolf soldiers pick up their swords,
the crowd’s braying growing louder. Each jian is long and thin
with a jeweled hilt. The blades glint silver in the lowering light
as the soldiers step behind the assassins to clear the view for
the King. It’s almost dusk. As the sun dips beyond the palace
walls, braziers around the stage burst suddenly into light,
illuminating the scene in an eerie parallel of the attack on the
theater.
Wind whips the flames sideways. I taste smoke in the air.
Shaking, I clutch Wren’s hand tighter.
The soldiers draw back their swords—
 The King raises his hand—
“Strike!”
I shut my eyes, but it’s too late. The image of the blades
disappearing into the men’s torsos is there, a searing stain on
the back of my eyelids. When I finally dare to look again, the
assassins are slumped over, swords lanced through their
chests.
Along with wearing black, the King sent out the order that
we are not to make the sky gods salute to bless the assassins’
souls as they rise to the Heavenly Kingdom. But the crowd is
packed tight, so Wren and I make the sign with our free hands
—her left, my right—our thumbs crossing together, palms
turned out.
All around comes cheering and shouting. But though the
King is talking, I don’t hear a word. I can’t tear my eyes away
from the assassins, the jian sticking up from their backs like
three broken spines and blood blooming across their clothes,
winding down to paint the floor with ribbons of deep scarlet.
The way they’ve collapsed is reminiscent of fallen dolls,
discarded by their petulant owner.
Wren’s heartbeat throbs against my palm, keeping time as
anger rises within me. Hotter and fiercer than fear, stronger
and surer than anything I’ve ever felt before, and as we stand
hand in hand amidst the scream and bray of the crowd, there is
no doubt when I promise myself that I will not give the King
the chance to discard us.
One day, we will be the ones discarding him.
I go to Wren’s room late that night, the house wrapped in
postmidnight hush. She’s awake when I come in, sitting up
like she’s been expecting me. She opens her arms and we lie
under the blankets, limbs entwined, but it’s not enough to stop
the trembling, the wildness that’s been rattling through me
ever since the execution.
Wren is the one to break the silence. Her breath tickling my
hair, she fans her hands across my shoulder blades and says, “I
heard something about the assassins.”
“What?” I murmur, face pressed into her neck.
“They were allied with the court. There are rumors that
Steel and Moon officials were involved, too, and guards.”
The news buoys me. “Why didn’t the King say anything?”
“Because it would betray his weakness. It would be
admitting he’s vulnerable within his own palace. That there are
those who defy him even in his own court.”
“There are,” I say, fingers threading with hers as I lift my
face to kiss her. “Us.”
The shadows are deep when I leave Wren’s room. I head to the
bathing courtyard to splash some water on my face—the
memory of blood and gleaming blades still clings to my skin
like dirt. But at the entrance to the courtyard, I stop.
A girl is sitting on the steps.
Moonlight catches on slender shoulders, the sheen of long,
straight hair. The girl is hunched over, crying. It’s barely
audible, but I’d recognize the stifled sound of it anywhere.
What I don’t believe at first is who is doing the crying.
I pad forward tentatively. “Blue?”
She jerks at my voice, clambering to her feet at once. “Go
away, Nine,” she hisses. Her usual scathing tone is dampened
by tears. Her eyes are swollen, red-rimmed, but she doesn’t
wipe her tears away, as if ignoring them would make them
disappear.
Gods. She’s so obstinate she’ll even defy herself.
“No,” I say.
She looks as though I’d struck her.
“I know you hate me,” I go on, standing my ground. “And
I’m not really that keen on you, either. But you’re hurting. You
shouldn’t have to go through this alone. No one should.”
“I’m not alone,” she sneers.
 My eyes sweep the empty courtyard. “Sorry. Didn’t realize
you could see ghosts.” Then I say, more gently, “Look, I’m
sure Mariko would—”
“I don’t want her seeing me like this,” Blue blurts out,
blinking rapidly as tears keep coursing down her cheeks.
“There’s no shame in being upset,” I tell her, and take a
step closer. “What’s wrong? Was it the execution?”
She turns away. Shakes her head. “The attack.”
“At the theater?”
She nods jerkily.
“Is your father all right? Did something happen?”
A laugh spurts from her lips. The sound snaps through the
quiet, a bitter bark that sends tingles down the backs of my
arms. “Oh, he’s fine. Not that he checked if I was. Not that he
cares.”
“I’m sure he cares, Blue. He’s your father—”
Her voice pitches. “All that means is I’m a pawn to use in
his game! He only cares about rising through the ranks of the
court. Giving me to the King was just a step to secure his
promotion.” She lets out another mad laugh. “I’m the only one
of us with parents in the palace, and they haven’t visited me
once.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching for her shoulder. But she
shrugs my hand away.
“I don’t need your pity, Nine!”
“It’s not pity,” I retort, my face hot. “It’s understanding.” I
scrunch my hands. “Gods, why are you like this all the time?
You’re so adamant to put yourself apart from the rest of us
when we’re all going through exactly the same thing. The rest
of us are trying to look after one another, but you keep trying
to divide us.”
Blue’s top lip peels back. “We’re not going through the
same thing. It’s nothing similar.”
 “Are you or are you not stuck here, forced to serve a man
you don’t care about?”
“You don’t get it at all,” she says in such a low hiss I barely
catch it.
“What don’t I get?”
“The difference is you aren’t expected to like it.” She
clamps her lips together, jerking her head stiffly to one side. “I
have a family here, a father who is important in the court. I
can’t go around refusing the King or speaking out against
being a Paper Girl. And I keep thinking, maybe now I’ve been
chosen, maybe now my father is one step closer to his
promotion, he’ll finally be happy with me.” Her voice cracks.
“I’ve done everything he asked. Been the perfect daughter. But
from the way my parents act, most of the time you wouldn’t
even know they have one.”
“Oh, Blue,” I breathe. But she backs away, her wet cheeks
shining in the moonlight.
“If you dare—if you tell anyone about this…”
“I won’t,” I promise, and I mean it.
But she pushes past me as though I were the one
threatening her, leaving me alone with the eerie hush of the
empty barrels and the rustle of wind through the swaying
bamboo.
 TWENTY-SEVEN

ON THE OUTSIDE, LIFE IN THE PALACE returns to normal in the

weeks after the executions, the only main change for us being
that we aren’t allowed beyond Paper House without an escort
of at least one guard. With the arrival of winter, the air grows
icy, the wind hard and biting. Colors drain from the gardens
like calligraphy paints being washed away. Since the
executions, an air of unease has hung over the palace, and it
seems a premonition somehow, all this gray and whiteness. A
reminder that more death is to come. But while I continue to
go dutifully with the other girls to classes and dinners, just as I
had been doing all these months before, on the inside,
everything is different.
With the increased security within the palace, everyone in
Women’s Court has been advised against leaving their rooms
after nightfall. Even better, the King hasn’t called for any of us
in over a month, too busy with his hunt for the assassins’
supporters and rumors of a dark new project that I suspect is
just code for too much liquor. And as the days become shorter
and the nights longer, this all gives Wren and me the cover we
need to love each other in the dark.
As often as we can, we sink into the immediacy of our
bodies moving together—our lips, fingertips, the hungry press
of our thighs. Over the nights I learn how to lick the curving
slopes of her skin, the way it makes her shudder when I run
my tongue down the ridge of her spine. And even though I
soon get used to Wren’s body, I never lose any of the
enjoyment. The wonder.
With every kiss, the pleasure is instant—a flood of heat, a
fiery rush.
With every kiss, it consumes us.
In our first qi arts lesson, Master Tekoa told us that
mastering control of our internal energy is about
understanding the concept of “nowhere.” Two words hidden
inside the one: now and here. When we practice qi arts, he
said, what we’re really trying to do is to ground ourselves into
the here and now. That being truly in the present means to
disappear.
But with Wren it’s the very opposite. Instead of
disappearing, she makes me feel reappeared. Reimagined. Her
touch shapes me, draws out the boldness that had been hiding
in my core. Where the King’s touch closed me, shut me down,
Wren’s opens me up. When I’m with her, every part of me is
weightless and free, a soaring rush igniting my veins with
desire as bright as sunlight.
Her kisses heal the parts of me that the King broke. They
tell me: You are strong, Lei. You are beautiful. You are mine.
And, always, most important: You are yours.
Because these kisses, these stolen nights with Wren, are the
only thing I’ve had control of since coming to the palace, and
it gives me satisfaction to know there are some things even the
King does not have the power to stop. It builds my confidence
that one day we’ll be able to rebel with more than just our
bodies and our love. That we will find a way to turn our
growing hope and bravery into action.
Desire cannot be tamed, the King told me that night in his
chambers. Well, he’s got one thing right.
We might be Paper Girls, easily torn and written upon. The
very title we’re given suggests that we are blank, waiting to be
filled. But what the Demon King and his court do not
understand is that paper is flammable.
And there is a fire catching among us.
A month and a half after the executions, the King finally
begins to summon us again.
Blue is first. After that night in the bathing courtyard, I
can’t help but feel sorry for her, knowing what I know about
her now. But any pity I have is tempered by my relief at
neither Wren nor me being called. These last few weeks have
been a refuge, the two of us safe in the sanctuary of each
other’s arms, the spherical world of our small, secret
geography. I always knew it was just an illusion of safety, a
temporary reprieve. But I wasn’t prepared for the fresh shot of
fear at the moment the illusion is broken.
After that, the names click by, each bamboo chip delivered
by royal messenger a countdown to the inevitable.
Chenna-zhi
Zhen-zhi
Aoki-zhi
Mariko-zhi
Zhin-zhi
Wren-zhi
As is custom, Wren has to stay behind after her name is
announced for the preparations. We’re in Mistress Eira’s suite.
Winter sunshine streams in through the open doors to her
garden, glancing off the half empty plates and bowls on the
table. I meet Wren’s eyes, struggling to keep my expression
level. While the world is bright around her, she has her back to
the doorway, so her face is shadowed. The corners of her lips
lift the tiniest fraction, more a grimace than a smile, and I get
the strange idea that she’s apologizing for something. Then she
turns aside as Mistress Eira asks the rest of us to leave.
Numb, I get to my feet.
 Someone nudges my shoulder. “Come on,” Aoki says. “We
have to go.”
I’ve been staring. “Sure. Yes, sorry.” With one last hopeful
look to Wren—who doesn’t return it—I follow Aoki out of the
room.
“She seems a bit different, don’t you think?” Aoki
murmurs as we walk down the corridor, the other girls chatting
ahead of us. “Wren, I mean.”
I hardly hear her, too busy trying to breathe normally, to
force thoughts of Wren and the King from my mind. “Oh?
How so?”
“Just… she doesn’t seem as focused anymore.” Aoki
throws me a sideways glance, slowing her pace. “You must
have noticed. Has she said anything to you?”
“Not really. I guess it’s just the stress of everything. Maybe
she’s homesick.”
Aoki nods, though she’s still watching me with an odd
expression. “Some of the girls think she might be sneaking off
at night to meet with a man.”
I push out a laugh that I hope sounds disbelieving, but from
the way Aoki doesn’t react, I can tell she doesn’t believe it. I
tuck my hair behind my ears and carry on walking, a little
faster now. “Which girls? And why would they even think
that?”
“Zhin said she saw her the night she was coming back from
the King. Wren was leaving her room. She didn’t seem to be
going to the toilet or to the maids’ dormitory, because that’s
the direction Zhin was coming from.”
“Maybe she couldn’t sleep.”
“Apparently she had shoes on, and an overcoat. Like she
was going outside.”
“So she just needed some air—”
“In the cold?” Aoki’s nose wrinkles. “At three in the
morning? With the guards outside?” She stops me with her
arm. “I know you’re close with her, Lei, but Wren is hiding
something. I’m certain. I don’t want you getting caught up in
it.”
If only she knew.
But I manage a nod. I palm my hands on the skirt of my
robes and stride onward, wresting my face into an unfazed
expression. “Thanks for telling me. I’ll ask her about it tonight
—tomorrow. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.”
That night, as I wait for Wren to return, the hours crawl by.
Every second is a slow, pulling agony. I pace my room so
many times that my vision spins, the floor seeming to careen
sideways, and I eventually have to sit down before I faint.
When footsteps finally sound in the corridor, I wait a few
moments more before going to Wren’s room. I don’t mean to
surprise her—I thought she’d have known I’d come. But I’ve
only just slid the door shut behind me when she shoves me
painfully against it, an arm across my neck, her eyes wide and
alert.
She releases me immediately. “Lei! I’m so sorry.” Blowing
out an exhale, she circles her arms round my waist, dipping
her forehead to mine. Her breath is sweet and warm on my
skin. “I’m just on edge tonight. I didn’t realize it was you.”
“How was it?” I ask tentatively, shifting back.
She avoids my eyes. “He was… rough. More so than
usual.” I wince, and she carries on quickly, “But I expected he
might be like this. The attack has exposed his vulnerability.
He’s angry. He’s trying to reassert some of the power he’s
lost.”
“So the rumors are true?” I say. “The assassins were helped
from within the court?”
She nods. “I heard that he arrested eleven officials on
suspicion of being involved with the attack just this morning.
He’s out for blood.”
“Hasn’t he had enough already?”
 In the dark, Wren’s eyes seem to flare as she answers
huskily, “Not nearly.”
Gently, I help her out of her clothes. She’s wearing a
tangerine-colored ruqun set with jewels, a slit running up the
length of one side of the skirt. But as I pull her robes off, I
discover that the slit isn’t a part of the design; the skirt has
been slashed clean in two. Only a makeshift knot at its waist
was holding it up.
I swallow, a prickly sensation creeping across the back of
my neck. The sky is clear tonight, a moonbeam slanting into
the room. By its light, I make out the dark blossoms of bruises
on Wren’s skin. There’s one on her shoulder. More along her
hips. A huge handprint wrapped around her throat.
I stare at them, heart wild. Anger charges through me so
forcefully I almost retch.
“How dare he,” I snarl.
Wren grabs my hands. “Don’t waste your thoughts on
him,” she says, lifting my fingertips to her lips.
“But—”
“Lei, please. At least not tonight. Not now. I can handle
pain—it’s only temporary. And Madam Himura will have a
shaman heal me tomorrow.”
I gape at her. “Do you realize how sick that sounds? ‘Dear
shamans, won’t you please give us some magic so we can go
back to the King and get broken all over again?’”
Wren kisses my hands softly. “No one said anything about
breaking.”
We lie down and draw the blankets over us. Moonlight
silvers Wren’s face, draws a sharp outline along the line of her
cheekbone and the hollow of her neck. My fingers trace it
down to the upward roll of her shoulder.
“Some of the girls are suspicious of you.” I say. “Aoki told
me earlier. Zhin saw you leaving your room at night, and they
think you might be going to meet someone. A lover. You have
to be more careful, Wren.”
Her brow wrinkles. “They don’t know where I’m going.”
“Neither do I.”
“Lei—”
“I know,” I say before she can finish. “You’re trying to
protect me.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
I sigh. “It’s just, I’d prefer it if you let me decide whether
to be protected.” My thumb skims her shoulder, sloping up
into the warm dip of her neck. “Maybe I can handle it.
Whatever you’ve got going on, maybe I could help.”
Wren closes her eyelids. Tiredly, she takes my hand and
moves it to cup her cheek, her palm on top of mine. She opens
her eyes. In the moonlight they are bright—the opposite of her
voice when she whispers, “You can’t. Not with this. No one
can.”
I want to press her more. But remembering what she went
through tonight—the thought of it makes bile fly up my throat
—I stop myself. Pulling her close, I burrow my nose in her
skin, drawing her cool, ocean scent into my lungs. She smells
like home, like happiness and safety and hope and… love.
I want so much in that moment to tell Wren how I feel. To
offer her the words that come to my lips every time she kisses
me now, every time she even looks my way. But I wait too
long and my courage fades. Instead I murmur, “Can you
imagine a world where we’re free to be with each other?”
“Actually,” she replies after a pause, “I can.”
“Then take me there, Wren. Please.”
She answers, so quiet I barely hear it.
“I will.”
I leave her room shortly after, so full of the glowing thrum
being with Wren brings, and the promise in her words, that a
smile lifts my lips. So when I meet Aoki’s eyes where she’s
watching from her own doorway, half wrapped in shadow,
arms rigid at her sides, it takes a few seconds for the giddy
look to drop from my face.
Perhaps if I’d not been smiling, I’d have been able to hide
it. I could have said we were just talking, the same way Aoki
and I still do some nights, though admittedly not as often
recently. But I know that she realizes the truth the minute she
sees my expression.
It’s how she looks when she talks about the Demon King.
Radiant. Lit from within.
Without a word, Aoki pivots on the spot and slams the
screen door shut behind her. The sound has bite in the quiet of
the hallway. I lurch after her, not caring in that moment who
might hear. She backs away as I enter her room, and I falter,
stung.
The look on her face. I never would have believed she
could look at me that way.
“Please, Aoki,” I say, my throat narrowing. “You—you
can’t tell anyone.”
Her laugh is hollow. The scowl warping her mouth makes
her look ugly, so unlike my sweet friend, the girl whose
laughter lifts my soul like sunshine. She usually seems so
young, full of lightness, her insides practically effervescent.
But there’s something about the way she’s holding herself
right now, as if she’d aged years in the blink of an eye.
“Is that how little you think of me?” she says, and there’s
hurt in her voice, too. “I thought we were friends. That we told
each other everything.”
“How could I have told you about this?” I cry, flinging my
arms wide. “I know how close you are with the King! You
wouldn’t approve—”
“Of course I wouldn’t! We’re Paper Girls! We’re not meant
for anyone else.”
 My fingers tighten into fists. “He made that choice for us.
How is that fair?”
“It’s not about fairness. It’s about duty.”
“Gods, you sound just like Madam Himura.”
“Good,” Aoki flings back. “That means I’m doing my job
well.”
I scowl at her. “No. It means you’re not thinking for
yourself.”
Aoki stiffens, anger rising from her like heat-shimmer on
wet stones. Her eyes are fierce, and I realize what she’s going
to say a second before she speaks.
“I love him.”
The sentence hits me with a physical weight. Silence
stretches between us, a dark, pulsing thing.
I just about get the words out. “You hated him, once.”
“I didn’t know him then.” Aoki softens, voice curling like a
sleeping cat’s tail, and she kneads her hands in front of her,
wide eyes glowing in the dark. “He’s good to me, Lei—kind
and caring and fair. He’s even said he’ll consider making me
his queen if I continue to please him.”
I almost choke. “His queen?”
Her cheeks flush, and she shrinks back. “You don’t think
I’m good enough for the throne?”
“No! That’s not it—”
“Because he could, if he wanted to. Instead of a Demon
Queen, he could have a Paper Queen. I could be his wife.”
My jaw slackens. Scenes from the past few months plow
into me, one after the other: Aoki’s eyes brightening when she
talks about the King; what she told me that night at the koyo
celebrations; her excitement at the executions; the look on her
face every time the bamboo chip arrives and her name isn’t the
one on it. Like mine for Wren, Aoki’s love for the King has
been building over the months. I’ve just been so wrapped up in
my own feelings that I didn’t realize it.
I’m supposed to be her best friend, and I didn’t even notice
she was falling in love with a monster.
It takes me a while before I can speak. I lift my chin,
looking her straight on. “You’re too good for him. You deserve
more.”
“More?” Her irises are shiny. “What could be more than
being his queen?”
After all the words we’ve thrown at each other, the silence
that follows is horribly loud. It grows, stretches, spirals out, a
physical distance, building feet and miles and whole countries
and lifetimes between us, between me and the pure, beautiful
girl who once blushed at the mention of just a kiss and worried
that she wouldn’t be enough for the King.
“I should go,” I say eventually in a constricted voice. I wait
in case she disagrees with me. But her expression is just as
defiant as before.
I turn to the door, eyes prickling. As my hand lifts to slide
it open, her voice sounds behind me.
“You really love her?”
There’s a flash of the Aoki I know in her voice: tender,
compassionate.
I spin round. “Yes,” I reply eagerly, offering her a smile. I
step forward. “Oh, Aoki, I’m so sorry—”
“You shouldn’t.”
The rest of my sentence tumbles away. In an instant,
coldness returns between us, as jolting as a wave of ice water.
Her look is so hard it’s painful to hold, and I falter back
toward the door, one arm wrapped across my chest, like a
shield.
“At least I chose who I fell in love with,” I say roughly.
As soon as it’s out I want to take it back. But I can tell by
the look on Aoki’s face that it’s too late, and I hurry from her
room before I make it even worse, tears blurring my eyes as
something splinters deep in my chest.
 TWENTY-EIGHT

SCREAMING WAKES ME THE NEXT DAY. Instead of the usual

gong, and too early, the dark still shivering with almost-burnt-
out candles and traces of moonlight on the floor. A horrible
raw sound that tears through the night on broken wings. Not
even screaming. Wailing… wild and untamed.
The sound is close. It’s accompanied by shouting, sharp
words, and the rap of talons on the floor. Madam Himura.
Something is happening to one of the girls. That’s my first
thought. My second is—
Wren.
I lurch outside, sucking in a hiss at the coldness of the
floorboards on my bare soles. The other girls are already up,
looking out from their doorways, faces tight with
apprehension. From the room opposite, Aoki meets my eyes
before quickly turning her cheek.
“Please!” a girl screams. “It won’t happen again, I
promise!”
Halfway down the corridor, Mariko is sprawled on the
floor. The robe of her nightdress hangs open, revealing the
heavy curves of her breasts, the pale flesh of her legs. She
struggles, hanging on to where Madam Himura is gripping her
hair to drag her down the hall.
 “Let’s just hear what she has to say,” Mistress Eira pleads.
She’s crouching, trying to get between Mariko and Madam
Himura.
The eagle-woman swings out with her cane. “You’re too
soft on them, Eira!” she snarls, and Mistress Eira doubles over
as the cane cracks across her back. “I told you before, when
Lei refused the King. You show them the slightest bit of
leniency and this is how they repay you!”
“Blue!” Mariko cries. Her eyes are crazed as she seeks her
out of the watching faces. “Blue, help me!”
Blue stiffens in her doorway. A glimmer of something
passes across her face, but she doesn’t move.
Wren steps forward instead. “Madam Himura,” she asks
steadily, “what is Mariko being punished for?”
Madam Himura’s yellow eyes flare. “For being a slut! She
was found by one of my maids last night, legs spread for a
soldier.”
I’m reminded suddenly of Wren’s words that night in the
isolation room. She said that the guard outside my room had
slipped away to meet a girl. Was it Mariko?
“I’m sorry!” Mariko sobs, her face splotchy and red. “I
won’t do it again!”
“Of course you won’t,” Madam Himura retorts. “Because
you’re never coming back to the palace.”
Mariko freezes. “Wh-what do you mean?”
A wheezing laugh escapes Madam Himura’s throat. “You
think you can defy the King in such a way and an apology is
all that’s needed to make up for it? Foolish girl!”
I wince, instinctively reeling back as she turns her attention
to the rest of us. She glares around with her cutting eyes. The
layered feathers on her humanlike arms ruffle open as they
spread into the beginning of wings, making her seem twice her
usual size.
 “Come, the rest of you,” she commands coolly. “You’re
about to discover what happens to paper that turns rotten.”
Using her wings to steady herself against Mariko’s
struggles, she drags Mariko down the corridor. With no choice
but to follow Madam Himura’s orders, I pad behind them with
the rest of the girls and our maids. Mariko’s maid, a plump
dog-form girl called Vee, is sobbing so hard she has to stuff
her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound.
“It’s all right,” Lill whispers, helping her along. “It’ll be all
right.”
She looks up, meeting my eyes where I’m watching over
my shoulder, and it hits me that it’s the first time I’ve ever
heard her lie.
We trail Madam Himura to an empty room. She throws
Mariko down the minute she gets inside. “Get Doctor Uo,” she
directs one of the maids as we file in with reluctant steps.
Mariko thrashes on the floor. “Please!” she begs. “I can’t
leave, not before I see Kareem! Where is he? Where did you
take him?”
Madam Himura glares down her hooked beak-nose. “Your
soldier is being dealt with by General Ndeze. He’ll be stripped
of his title and banished from the palace. That’s if the King is
feeling generous.”
Mariko dissolves into wails.
“I can’t watch this,” I breathe to Wren next to me.
“We have no choice,” she replies.
“I don’t care.” I take a step forward. Wren hisses at me, but
I ignore her, rounding on Madam Himura. “Why can’t we take
lovers?” I ask her loudly, throwing out an arm. “The King has
his pick every night, and when we leave, there’ll just be a new
set of girls for him to play with.”
Her eyes widen. “What did you say?”
“Maybe if the King weren’t such a cruel, disgusting excuse
of a leader, we wouldn’t look for comfort elsewhere—”
Though I knew it was coming, the crack of her cane still
takes my breath away.
I double over, clutching my jaw. The metallic tang of blood
fills my mouth. Wren pulls me back before Madam Himura
can strike me again, but her attention is distracted just then by
the doctor’s arrival.
Doctor Uo looks as though he’d just woken up. His robes
are mussed, his hair matted. “What’s going on?” he asks,
scratching at one curving boar tusk, blinking out from behind
his round spectacles.
Madam Himura points to Mariko. “This girl has forfeited
her place in the palace. She must be branded.”
The doctor’s expression is as blank as when he was
inspecting me. “I see.” Mariko scuttles away as he crouches
down in front of her. “Someone hold her still,” he commands,
and I’m thrown back to the assessments shortly after I arrived,
the helplessness I felt as the doctor stripped me.
I massage my jawbone, smearing blood across my sleeve.
Madam Himura waves at the waiting maids. “Help the
doctor!”
They move forward reluctantly. Mariko lashes out when
they get close, catching Lill in her ribs with an elbow. At once,
Madam Himura whirls forward and slaps Mariko so hard it
sends her cheek into the floor with a sickening crunch.
“Struggle all you want, girl,” she spits. “You’re just going
to make the scarring worse.”
It’s not until the next moment, when Doctor Uo takes a
knife from his bag, that I understand what is happening.
The doctor holds Mariko’s face still. “Someone quiet her!”
he orders as she starts to scream.
A maid brings over a wad of fabric. The doctor stuffs it
into her mouth, muffling her cries. He raises the blade to her
forehead.
The first incision heightens her shrieking. But by the last,
her sobs are silent.
When he finally moves away, I see the bloody strokes of
the character cut into Mariko’s forehead: Lan.
Rotten.
“Now everyone will know what you did,” Madam Himura
hisses. She turns to us. “Remember this, any time you think
you can defy the King.” Her eyes land on me. “You will not
get away with it.” Then she flaps an arm, barking, “Back to
your rooms! You have classes to get to. Don’t think this has
changed any of your duties.”
I hesitate, and Wren draws me away. “Don’t push it,” she
whispers.
“What’ll happen to her?” I ask in a weak voice as we head
down the corridor.
The rest of the girls are silent. As Blue shoves past her,
practically running, Chenna stares down at the floor, her lips
forming silent prayers. Zhen and Zhin walk hand in hand,
shoulder to shoulder. I try to catch Aoki’s eyes, but she’s
staring glassily ahead, absently picking at the sleeves of her
robes.
“Mariko’s marked now,” Wren explains under her breath.
“She won’t ever be able to get a job, be married. She’ll either
starve to death or find work in the only places that’ll take her.”
“Prostitution houses?”
She nods, and I press my lips tight, battling the urge to
retch.
When we get back to our rooms, I knock on Blue’s door.
She doesn’t answer, but I go in anyway.
She’s standing by the window, staring out. Morning light
filtering through the half drawn shutters frames her outline in
pale gold. There’s something so painful about the stiff way
she’s holding her body, as though to keep herself together. As
though she’d fall apart—literally, piece by piece, limb by limb,
joints unraveling in an inelegant dismantlement—if she
released herself even the tiniest fraction.
“Blue—” I start.
She interrupts, quiet. “Go away.” Her voice breaks on the
words. She repeats it, louder, with a jerk of her neck: “Go
away!”
“I’m here,” I say, moving closer. “I just wanted you to
know. If you ever need to talk or anything, I’m here.”
Blue spins round, her face streaked with tears, her eyes
manic. “I said, go away!” she shrieks, and lurches toward me.
I stumble out, not stopping until I get back to my room.
Inside, I stagger to the window and gulp in air, fingers shaking
where they’re twined around the latticed woodwork. It takes
me a long time to get my breathing to slow, and even then I
can still hear the ghost of Mariko’s screams.
That night, I write home.
For months I’ve kept my letters positive, cracking jokes as
if it were just another day in the herb shop. But tonight I can’t
do it. Outside, the wind howls, making the building creak and
groan. There’s the growl of thunder in the distance. Winters
are even harder in Xienzo, and I picture my father and Tien in
the garden, wrapped in furs as they brush frost off our dying
plants with frozen fingers, their breath curling before them.
It’s not right. I should be there. I should be with them, my
own fingers chilled, my own exhalations making clouds in the
air.
It takes me a while to come up with a way to express
myself in the letter without giving too much away, but I get it
right on the third attempt. I have no idea if my father and Tien
will even read this. I’ve still not heard a thing back despite
writing regularly all this time, and if I’m honest with myself, I
know why. It’s not hard to notice how Mistress Eira evades my
questions whenever I ask her about the letters.
 Still. Something keeps me writing.
Maybe it’s the feeling of connecting with my father and
Tien, even just in my imagination. Or the knowledge that this
is my last link with home, and if I stop writing it’s like
acknowledging that I’ve given up hope of ever returning.
Tonight, my letter is short.
Dear Baba,
Do you remember that day we went to the stream where
you found Bao and we stayed until sunset, our toes
dipped in the water, the air so still and quiet, and there
was just that one lonely bird singing?
Well, today’s been just about as good as that day.
Missing you more than ever.
All my love,
Lei
Tears cloud my eyes as I roll the letter closed. That day was
the first anniversary of the raid on our village that stole Mama
away.
It was one of the worst days of my life.
I’m just about to lie down when I sense movement in the
hallway—and somehow, I know it’s Wren, leaving Paper
House.
Anger hurtles down my veins, so sudden and strong it
surprises even me. I jump to my feet. How dare she. How dare
she, of all the days, when she knows exactly what could
happen to her if she’s found out.
What that would do to me.
I wait as long as I can bear before following her. Wind
lashes my skin as I charge across the dark gardens. The air is
frozen. Before I left, I threw a heavy brocade coat over my
nightdress, but my feet are bare, the frosted ground numbing
my toes. My hair whips around my raw cheeks.
 It takes me longer than I anticipated to reach the pine forest
where I’ve seen Wren disappear to before. I trudge through it,
keeping to a straight line in the hopes that it’s the right
direction. After a few minutes I start to worry that I won’t be
able to find her, but as I pick my way over mossy roots and
brambles of thorns, sounds rise from up ahead. Half hidden
under the noise of the wind, I make out grunts, panting, the
crush of leaves. Something dark and awful flares to life in my
belly. It—it couldn’t be.
Could it?
A few seconds later I emerge into a clearing. The long
trunks of pines close in tight, a leafy canopy overhead. And in
its center: Wren and the wolf. Not doing what I feared, but
something else, something worse.
Fighting.
My heart bounces to my throat. I’m about to dash forward
to tackle him off her, when I notice how none of their blows
are followed through, just quick contact to indicate they’ve
landed. Their movements seem practiced and familiar,
dancelike almost. Wren’s hair flies around her as she ducks a
sweeping kick. She retaliates with a jab of her hands, the
wolf’s powerful haunches propelling him back. They’re
training.
Just then, Wren makes a leaping turn—and spots me.
Her eyes are the same icy white as that night under the
theater. It takes a second for them to drain back to their usual
fawn-brown. She lands messily but is upright at once, brushing
down her clothes. “Lei,” she says, breathless, starting forward.
The wolf looks around. His ears prick when he sees me,
and with a whip of his gray-white tail he flies around, but
Wren grabs him.
“Wait!” she shouts. “It’s all right, Kenzo—”
“She shouldn’t be here!” he growls.
“She won’t tell—”
 “How do you know?”
“I just know!”
“How is that—”
“Because I love her!”
Wren’s shout is almost swallowed by the wind, but her
words reach me as clearly as if she’d bent to whisper them in
my ears. Everything seems to still—the growl of the incoming
storm, the sway of the trees in the wind. Our eyes catch across
the clearing. Wren’s look, vividly fierce and beautifully soft at
the same time, wrenches something inside me. I feel her
heartbeat as if we were pressed together, chest to chest, cheek
to cheek; I know its beat as surely as my own.
She expels a shaky breath, her face softening, “And,” she
says quietly, turning to Kenzo, “I think she loves me, too. So
yes, I trust her. We can trust her.”
Kenzo is still glaring at me. Wren tugs on his arm, half
human, half furred, muscled wolf. His lips uncurl, hiding his
fanged canines. But his ears are still pointed, the tendons in his
neck corded.
“So that’s how it is,” he says, breath furling from his long,
muzzlelike jaw.
“Yes.”
“Well, she still shouldn’t be out here.”
Wren nods. “Give us a minute?”
With a last terse look my way, the wolf turns on his heels
and bounds into the forest.
Wren crosses the clearing. In an instant, my anger fades.
Tears are wetting my face before she’s even reached me, and
she frowns, thumbing them away.
“Lei?” she says, her gaze moving over my face. “What’s
wrong? Is it what happened to Mariko?”
I curl into her arms. “Everything,” I say thickly.
 She holds me close, waiting until my breaths finally calm.
Then she draws back, palms cupping my face.
“What you said,” I mutter, my cheeks warm under the heat
of her palms and the sweet softness of her look. “Just then. To
Kenzo. Did you—do you—”
“I do,” she whispers.
My breath catches. “Me… me, too.”
Her lips part, a sigh escaping them. Gently, she presses her
mouth to mine. Then she steps back. “I’m sorry, Lei, but you
have to get back to the house. It’s not safe for you to be here.”
I scrub my tears away with the back of my hands. “I’m not
going anywhere,” I tell her. “Not before you tell me what’s
going on.” As she starts to protest, I shake my head and wind
my fingers through hers, pulling her closer. “You’re risking
everything. Your life, and mine. Because if anything happens
to you, I don’t know how I’ll cope. You’re all I have, Wren. I
need you.”
“You have me, Lei.”
“So tell me. No more lies.”
Our gazes are fixed together. And for a moment this is all
my world is: the feel of Wren’s presence, closer than a
heartbeat, and the brilliant, deep brown of her soft-centered
eyes.
I squeeze her fingers. “It’s time.”
She regards me in silence. Then, finally, she nods.
“Everything I’ve told you so far is true,” she begins,
gripping my hands. “I promise. But I’ve never told you why.
Why Ketai rescued me and brought me up as a Hanno. Why
I’m here in the palace.” She wets her lips. “Because when my
father went to the mountains of Rain following the rumors of
the Xia’s massacre, he wasn’t just searching for survivors. He
knew there’d be survivors. Or rather, that there’d be one.” She
loosens a long breath. “Me.
 “The night of the massacre, the Hannos’ most trusted
fortune-teller had a vision of a baby nestled in the snow. My
father set out to find it with the intention of training it to
continue the Xia bloodline. Not only would one of the Xia be
skilled enough to assassinate the King, but, just as important,
only this sole remaining Xia—who’d had their entire clan
murdered before them—would have the hunger to do so.”
Assassinate.
The word hangs in the air, sharp as a sword edge.
“The fortune-teller hadn’t known the sex of the baby,”
Wren continues. “My father had been expecting a boy, but
when he found me, he realized it was better this way. There
are countless male assassins. The problem is getting them
close enough to the King in the first place. A young girl
dressed up in robes and elegant manners might be able to gain
access where others could not.”
“But what about Kenzo?” I interrupt. “Couldn’t he…?”
She shakes her head. “My father and his allies have spent
years getting him to the position he’s in now. We need him
there. Assassinating the King is one thing, but if the court
remains loyal to him, what good would it do? Kenzo is our
highest-ranking infiltrator. He’s integral to seeing this change
through. Once the King is dead, he can help steer the court to
where we need it. It won’t work if he’s under any suspicion.”
“So it’s all down to you.”
Wren nods, lips taut. “That’s how I knew about the trap
door in the theater. How I get around at night without being
caught. I’ve studied the palace since I was young, learned
every corner of it. And as a Paper Girl, I’m able to get close to
the King without any guards around.” Her eyes are fire. “I’m
going to do it, Lei. I’m going to kill him.”
Thunder rolls overhead, the wind still ice-cold and lashing.
But the world seems far away, a space of stillness opening up
around Wren and me, filled with my fear and her words and
our love and the meaning, the incredible consequence, of what
she’s telling me.
“You’ve been alone with him so many times,” I say, the
words sticking in my throat. “Couldn’t you have done it by
now? The first time he called you?”
She shakes her head stiffly. “Other things have to align
first. The timing is crucial. Trust me, Lei, if there were any
way I could’ve avoided sleeping with the King, I would have
found it.” She pauses. “My father would have found it.”
“So you don’t know when it will happen?”
“Not yet. But it won’t be long. Kenzo says things are
almost ready.”
As if he’d heard his name, there’s the sound of leaves
crunching underfoot. The wolf slinks back into the clearing.
He keeps his distance but watches us, tail flicking, bronze eyes
glinting in the moonlit clearing.
Wren circles her hands around my wrists. “You have to go,
Lei. We’ve still got some training to do.”
Training. Understanding rolls over me again. I’d had
suspicions that this was what she was up to, but it’s different
knowing it. I get a flash of Wren in the tunnel under the
theater, with her white eyes—but this time it is the King she is
approaching, the King’s heart she is driving a knife into.
For the first time, I question whether he truly deserves it.
It’s only a passing thought. Because an instant later I
remind myself of the Paper caste slaves at the koyo party. The
way he coldly ordered the assassins’ executions. Mariko’s
screams, just this morning, a few short hours ago. The King’s
hot mouth on my skin, how easily he tore my clothes apart; the
pain and hunger of the week that followed.
I recall my promise at the executions. More than anything,
I want to be free. Not just free of the palace, but free once I’m
outside of it, too. How can that happen in a world where its
King allows demons to do whatever they want to those they
deem inferior? How can I live in happiness when I know now
what happens to Paper castes all across Ikhara?
Can you imagine a world where we’re free to be with each
other?
Actually, I can.
Then take me there, Wren. Please.
I will.
So this is what she meant.
“Lei,” Wren says again, after a glance over her shoulder at
Kenzo. “You have to go. Now.”
But I don’t move. “Let me stay.” The words are out of me
before I’ve even realized they were there. “I want to help.”
She pulls back. “What?”
“You’re going to assassinate the King, and I can help.”
Wren flinches, a deep furrow lining her forehead. “I don’t
mind risking my own life,” she says sharply, “but I will not
risk yours.” She tugs on my arm. “Come on. I’ll take you back
to the house.”
“But—”
She closes her eyes. “Please, Lei,” she begs, and there’s so
much tiredness in her voice that I can’t bring myself to argue
anymore. At least, not right now.
We trudge back to Paper House in silence. Wren plants a
kiss to my crown when we reach the entrance. “I meant what I
said,” she murmurs. “I love you. And you are helping me
already, whatever you think. Just by loving me back. It makes
me strong. It gives me more to fight for.”
I bite back a reply, not trusting myself to speak as she hugs
me tightly against her before she turns and jogs back to the
forest with long, loping steps.
When I’m back in my room, I lie on my sleeping mat,
trembling despite the furs wrapped around me. I stare up at the
ceiling until the shadows seep from the room and the weak
light of a winter morning settles in its place. Since that night at
the theater, I’d somehow known about Wren, known that her
fighting skills and Xia heritage were not just coincidence. But
now it’s finally become real.
Sometime soon she will try to kill the King.
And it’s a fight she might not win.
I want to jump up, run back to the moonlit clearing, beg
Wren to reconsider. Even if the King must die, there must be
some way it can happen without her life being in danger, too.
The icy focus in her eyes as she approached the assassin in the
tunnel under the theater returns to me. How the grip of Xia
magic overtook her, giving her more strength than a human
girl should have. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe years of
training and her warrior heritage can protect her.
But this is the King.
The King, with his bull-driven power and lean, ironlike
muscles. His deep, booming voice. I remember the savagery in
his eyes that night at the koyo party, and before that, when he
threw me down onto his bed and I felt more like a fragile
human than ever before.
I shiver, cradling my knees to my chest. Because beneath
her Xia heritage, and no matter how incredible she is to me,
that’s all Wren is in the end—a human girl. And we have all
been taught what happens to Paper that tries to defy demons.
It gets torn apart.
 TWENTY-NINE

THE NEXT MORNING, AOKI COMES TO my door just as I’m

leaving to go to hers.
We say it at the same time. “I’m sorry.”
I throw my arms around her, and she half laughs, half sobs,
lacing her arms round my waist. “I thought it would be harder
than that,” she sighs against my chest.
“No,” I reply, squeezing her tighter. “It should have been
easier. I’m so sorry. Some of the things I said that night…”
She clears her throat. “Some of the things I said.” We pull
apart, and she gives me a wobbly smile, though her face is
serious. “Just promise me, promise you’ll be careful, Lei. I
couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. After Mariko
yesterday…”
The echo of her screams seems to reverberate down the
corridor.
“I know,” I say. “It’s terrible. And it made me realize just
how stupid our argument was. It could have been me in her
place, and if that was the last conversation we had—”
Aoki’s freckled nose wrinkles as she says firmly, “It will
not be you.” Her fingers loop around my wrist. “You still
haven’t promised that you’ll be careful.”
 “I promise,” I lie.
Aoki nods, seemingly satisfied. Then she hesitates. “Lei?”
she says gently. “You do know you’ll be called tonight, right?”
Her words lift the hairs on my arms. Of course I knew it
had to happen. The only reason I wasn’t summoned last night
was because the King was too busy dealing with the fallout of
Mariko’s affair. But all the other girls have been called already,
so it was only a matter of time.
It’s clear to me now that he purposefully left me until last
to torture me.
I remember Wren’s declaration last night, her heartbeat
tripping against mine. I love you… It makes me strong. It gives
me more to fight for.
“I’m sorry,” Aoki murmurs. “I wish there was something I
could do.”
“I’m just glad to have you back.” I force a smile, and say in
the lightest tone I can manage, “Anyway, we’ve got loads to
catch up on. In your absence, Blue’s become my best friend
and we’ve started a Madam Himura fan club. We’re calling
ourselves the Beakies.”
Aoki giggles. “How do I sign up?”
But as soon as we loop our arms together to head to the
bathing courtyard, our smiles disappear. We walk on in
silence, Aoki’s words about the King calling me tonight
slinking round my neck like an invisible noose slowly
tightening.
Just as Aoki predicted, the royal messenger delivers my name
at lunch later that day.
I take the bamboo chip from Madam Himura with
trembling fingers, not hearing a word she’s saying. It’s all I
can do not to look across the table at Wren. She’s watching me
—her gaze is like a call, a song I always want to answer. But I
keep my eyes down as Madam Himura orders the girls out. It’s
taking everything in me just to sit here feigning calm and not
throw the chip squarely at Madam Himura’s smug face. I can’t
handle seeing Wren’s expression as well.
The girls file out. Wren’s footsteps slow as they pass.
“You too, Wren-zhi,” the eagle-woman snaps.
I stare down, waiting for Wren to leave. A few moments
later, there’s the sound of the door sliding.
“So,” Madam Himura says once we’re alone.
I look up, gold eyes meeting yellow.
“You know what’ll happen if you fail me again.”
I grit my teeth. “Yes, Madam Himura.”
She stamps her cane and gives me a dismissive wave with a
feathered arm. “Rika! Take Lei for her ye lesson.”
The journey to the Night Houses passes in a blur. When we
get to Zelle’s room, I’m a little nervous to see her after what
happened last time, but she greets me warmly, with no trace of
anger or suspicion.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you,” I say, kneeling
opposite her on the bamboo-mat floor. “For not telling
Mistress Azami what I was doing in her office.”
She lifts a shoulder, her dark hair falling past her ears in
soft waves. “It would have caused more trouble than it was
worth. And I can’t blame you for wanting to find out what
happened to your mother.” She pauses. “I’m sorry it wasn’t the
outcome you were hoping for.”
I drop my eyes to my lap. “Thanks.”
“I lost my mother, too, you know,” she says.
My head jerks up. “You did?”
“She was a courtesan,” Zelle continues, a stiffness to the
lift of her neck. She runs a hand over the viridian-green silks
she’s wrapped in today, her fingernails picking at the silver
threads patterning it. “Like me, here for any demons in the
palace with a Paper fetish. Mistress Azami gives all of us
medicine to keep us from getting pregnant, but it doesn’t
always work, and once a courtesan has a baby, she’s not
allowed to work anymore.”
I think of Mariko. “What happened to her?”
“Right after she had me, she was sent as a gift to one of the
court representatives in Jana. I’ve never even met her.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Zelle gives a little shake of her head. “That’s just life in the
palace,” she says with a bitter echo of her crooked grin.
“Have you… have you ever thought about escaping?” I ask
quietly.
Her eyes glint. “Every second.”
I have no idea how to respond to that, so we fall silent.
Eventually, Zelle says, “I heard about Mariko. You know, it’s
not the first time that’s happened. Some girls manage to keep
their affairs hidden, but it’s easy to get caught. I’ve had a few
close shaves myself.”
“You have a lover?” I say, gaping at her.
“Of course,” she replies airily with a twirl of a wrist.
“Hundreds, in fact. That is my job, isn’t it?” She gives me a
wink, but there’s something pinched about her expression as
she continues, “Yes, I did mean a lover of my own, not a
client. Though it was a couple of years ago now.”
I shift forward. “Can I ask what happened?”
“He died,” Zelle says simply.
“Oh. I’m—I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” she replies with an odd little shrug. She
casts her face to the window, and the muffled light glazes it
into a white-gray mask. “I’ve come to terms with it. Anyway,
if he were still here, we’d have been caught eventually. Then
we’d both be dead.”
Again, we fall quiet. Zelle must sense my mood, because
she doesn’t press to start the lesson. It’s the coldest day so far
this winter, the wind full of bite, but her room is warm, lantern
light flickering off her glossy hair and making our shadows
shiver.
As we sit in silence, something wild starts to wing through
me. A ragged, reckless feeling. I didn’t sleep at all last night,
thoughts about Wren and the assassination plans spinning on
through the long, dark hours. Since finding out everything, my
heart has been swinging between defiance and fear. Sometimes
all I can think of is how powerful the King is, and how
delicate Wren’s human frame is. How futile it’s been to
believe we can defy him with just our love and hope. But
seeing my name on the bamboo chip at lunch just made it even
clearer how if we don’t do anything, that’s what the rest of our
lives will be—waiting for someone to call us to do something
we can hardly bear to do. Whether we become wives to
generals after our year as Paper Girls, or stay on in the palace
as courtesans, or artists, or teahouse owners, it will all be a
performance. And all we’ll ever be are actors in our own lives.
The first time I kissed Wren, I’d already decided that I
wasn’t going to let that life become my future. I might not
have known at the time, but that’s what that first kiss was—a
promise. A seal. Not to Wren, but to myself.
I’m not spending the rest of my life a prisoner.
“I have one,” I say suddenly. It comes out before I even
know I’m about to speak. I risk a glance up, testing Zelle’s
reaction. “A… a lover.”
She gives me a small smile. “I know,” she says, and I can’t
help but laugh.
“Is it that obvious?”
“It was that obvious even in our first lesson.” She tilts her
head. “But it’s progressed to something more now, hasn’t it?”
I nod.
“You’re in love.”
 My answer comes, bright and defiant. “Yes.”
Zelle watches me, her face impassive. Then she lets out a
sigh, folding her fingers in her lap. “I don’t know what to tell
you, Nine,” she says, and her voice is weighted, a tightness to
the cast of her shoulders. “I could say that I wish the two of
you all the happiness in the world—and I do. Of course I do.
But you’re a Paper Girl. The King’s concubine. That makes
you his, and his alone.”
Whatever reaction I’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. Anger
rattles through me. Out of everyone, I thought Zelle would
understand.
“You told me that my thoughts and feelings are my power,”
I say, a ball in my throat.
“And they are. But I meant that you’d always have
something the King could never take from you. Love will only
make it harder.”
“Did it? For you?”
“It still does.” She cuts me a sharp look. “Falling in love is
the most dangerous thing women like us can do.”
“I don’t agree.”
“Oh? What do you think love is, then?”
“Necessary. Powerful. Maybe the most important thing
women like us can do.” I picture Wren’s smile, the way her
body fits with mine. My words shine with the truth of it, the
truth of her, of us. “Love is what gives us hope. What gets us
through each day.”
Zelle lifts her chin, her brows arching. “And what about the
nights? Will it get you through those?”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
For the first time, something almost angry flares across
Zelle’s features. “Don’t deny him again, Nine. I’m sorry you
have to go through this, I really am, but you have to find a way
to endure it. To hold your true feelings back. Because if he
finds out that you’ve given yourself to someone else, he won’t
just brand you—he will kill you.”
“Let him try,” I growl. My fingertips dig into my palms.
“Maybe someone else will get to him first.”
It’s out before I can stop it.
Zelle blinks.
“I—I mean,” I amend quickly, “maybe I won’t take it
anymore.”
“And what do you plan to do instead? How are you going
to stand up to the King? You aren’t a warrior. I bet you’ve
never even handled a weapon before. Didn’t you used to work
in an herb shop?”
Her words smart, even though she doesn’t mean them
cruelly.
Then I grin. Because yes, I used to work in an herb shop.
And it might just be what saves me.
My plan forms on the carriage ride back to Paper House.
When I knew the King would call me next, I thought that
I’d just have to bear it. Wren told me last night that the
assassination attempt will be soon. This might be the only time
I have to go to his chambers before we get out of here. Just
like Zelle asked me, I was prepared to endure it. That’s why I
avoided Wren’s eyes earlier. Looking at her, seeing the hurt in
them, would have made it a million times harder—when it’s
already impossible. But Zelle’s throwaway comment about my
herb-shop background reminds me that I might not be as
helpless tonight as I believe.
I might not be able to kill the King, but I can at least stall
him. And maybe this will prove to Wren that I can be counted
on to help with the assassination.
“I need your help,” I tell Lill the minute I get back to my
room, my words coming fast. I crouch down and grip her
shoulders. “There’s something I need to do before going to the
King tonight. Do you think you can distract Madam Himura
and the maids for me? Just for a few minutes?”
She tenses. “But, Mistress, the maids are already here—”
“Tell them I’m not feeling very well. That I just need a bit
of fresh air.”
Her furred ears quiver. “Maybe we should call for a doctor
if you’re sick,” she mumbles, teething her bottom lip.
“Remember how I grew up working in my parents’ herb
shop? I just want to make a quick remedy to calm my nerves.”
Lill still looks unconvinced, so I push on, “After what
happened last time, I really need to impress the King. You
understand that, don’t you? Just a few herbs. That’s all I need
to calm myself. And then I’ll be ready for him.”
This last bit at least is true.
In an instant, Lill beams. “You should have said that’s why,
Mistress! Of course I’ll help you with anything that’ll win you
favor with the King!”
I give her a hug, trying to ignore the squirm of guilt at
lying to her.
Hours later: the sky strewn with stars, the palace streets
flickering with lantern glow and the icy whip of the wind. This
time, there are fifteen guards in my escort through the King’s
fortress. I bite down laughter at how ridiculous it is, all these
armor-clad demons with weapons at the ready against a single
human girl in flimsy robes, her only armament a handful of
herbs hidden in the sash at her waist.
Major Kenzo Ryu—or Wren’s wolf, as I have come to
think of him, not without some jealousy—leads the group. He
takes my arm when we near the King’s door, shifting closer so
I catch the musky, natural scent of him. It reminds me of long
grass in the fields beyond our village, the smell of earth baking
in the sun. Even though I only saw him last night, it’s my first
chance to get a proper look at him up close. He’s young for a
major, not more than ten years older than me, gray wolf fur
poking between his armor and covering his handsome, long-
jawed face. The sharp tips of canines are just visible under his
top lip.
Over the last few months I’ve become used to being around
Steel and Moon castes, but his predatory nature isn’t lost on
me.
He’d better not be in love with Wren. The thought comes to
me in a burst of mad humor. Because I definitely won’t be the
one walking away from that fight.
The other soldiers drop back as the wolf leads me to the
King’s door, handling me with surprising gentleness despite
his size. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly in a low voice.
My chin jerks up, and he squeezes my arm in warning.
“Eyes ahead.” His voice is a deep, gravelly growl, yet
somehow warm at the same time, like the comforting purr of a
loved one’s snore. “To have to deliver you to the King,” he
explains. “I’m sorry.”
“Hopefully this will be the last time,” I mutter.
His bronze eyes flick my way before he knocks on the
door.
“Hopefully.”
There is no shove this time. No hissed “whore.” After the
doors open, I take a deep inhale and step inside. Blackness
swallows me. For a while I don’t move, just trying to catch my
breath, forcing down the liquid pull of nausea, the dizzying
skip of my pulse.
“There’s no point in hiding, Lei-zhi.”
The boom of the King’s voice startles me. Distance and the
shape of the tunnel distorts it, giving it an almost physical
presence, like a thunderclap in the dark. With a roll of my
shoulders, I start slowly forward. While I’m still concealed in
the shadowed tunnel, my footsteps echoing off the arched
walls, I run my fingers along my sash. It’s tied at my waist
over the gathered silks of my ruqun robes, knotted firmly to
keep all the material in place, and as I finger the comforting
shape of the small leaf-wrapped parcel it’s also holding, my
heart skips faster.
Desire cannot be tamed. That’s what the King told me the
first time I was here.
Well, King. You should see how untamable love makes
you.
His chambers are just as I remember. Candles fill the air, a
ruby glow, and the overpowering scent hits the back of my
throat. But there’s something different this time as I pad across
the cavernous room to where the King is watching my
approach, sloped back in his massive throne.
Me.
The first time I crossed this room, my knees shook so badly
I could barely walk. Fear seared every inch of me, like venom.
Part of me even wanted to please him. I’d committed to being
a Paper Girl, believing it was the only option I had to save my
family.
Now I march toward him with the knowledge that that part
of me is long gone.
“I was not hiding, my King,” I say, my voice echoing off
the high walls. I keep it steady. “I was just… readying myself
for seeing you.”
“You are still scared of me?”
His voice is gloating. He wants me to be scared.
“Yes,” I answer, hating that it isn’t entirely a lie.
The crooked grin he gives me is shot through with
something tense, some raw, feral quality that reminds me of
how he was that night at the koyo celebrations. His ebony
robes hang open at the chest, revealing the hard swell of
muscles.
My gaze slips to the vial of sake on the side table.
“Come here,” he commands.
 I do as the King says, the long skirt of my robes whispering
across the stone floor. I’ve only just knelt at his feet when he
grabs a fistful of my robes. He yanks me forward so hard I
have to throw my hands out to stop from smashing my
forehead into the marbled gold of his throne.
“No need to be so formal, Lei-zhi,” he says with a cutting
smile, leaning in close, frosted eyes leering. “I’ve seen you
naked, don’t you remember? Act coy, but I know all you Paper
Girls are hungry for it. So hungry you’ll even spread your legs
for one of my soldiers. Imagine!” Flecks of spit hit my face as
his voice rises. “A common soldier, when you have shared a
bed with the King!”
His breath reeks of alcohol. I wince as he tears my robes
open at the collar, baring my neck, the small swell of my
breasts.
Panic flares through me. My eyes go again to the bottle of
sake. I thought there’d be conversation like last time, time for
me to carry out my plan.
“M-Mariko was thrown out by Madam Himura,” I start,
trying to keep him distracted. Twin currents of anger and fear
twine through my voice, and they seem so much like the same
thing now—hot, bright, defiant—that it’s hard to imagine them
unthreaded. “The doctor carved the word rotten into her
forehead to make sure everyone knows what she did.”
The King’s laughter bounds around the room. “The girl got
what she deserved. No one betrays me and gets away with it.”
My jaw tightens. “Do many people betray you, my King?”
His nostrils flare. “A surprising number,” he answers
through peeled lips. “You would think my people would be
grateful for what I have done for them. All the comforts and
riches I’ve shared. The efforts I’ve made to stop the Sickness.”
He draws me closer, tracing a calloused fingertip along my
chin, his hot breaths stirring the strands of hair around my
cheeks that the maids earlier so carefully styled. “Tell me, Lei-
zhi—are you grateful for what I’ve given you?”
 “Of—of course.”
“You ran from me last time.”
I lick my lips. “I was scared—”
“I did everything I could to make you comfortable. I gave
you a home. I made sure you had entertainment. And when
you came to me that first time, I had your favorite foods
prepared, I talked to you, shared things with you.” One hand
creeps round the back of my neck, and it’s so big his fingers
close at the front, pinching the base of my throat. His cold
eyes bore into mine. “And still you ran. Still you humiliated
me. So I ask you again, Lei-zhi. Are you grateful for what I’ve
given you?”
I push the words past my lips. “Yes, my King.”
He lets me go, and I gulp in a deep breath, lifting my
fingertips to my neck.
“Then show me,” he commands. “Show me how grateful
you are.”
The intent in his words makes my skin crawl. Out of the
corner of my eye, I focus on the vial of sake, imagining
releasing the crushed herbs in my palm, the poison drifting
into the liquid.
“L-let me dance for you,” I start, my voice pitching.
Holding back my draped sleeve, I reach for the vial. “Madam
Chu taught us a new routine I think you’d enjoy. I’ll pour a
drink for you while you watch—”
“Enough!”
The King’s roar snaps me to attention. Knocking my hand
away, he snatches the vial with such force the glasses beside it
tip over, shattering on the floor. Scarlet candlelight glints off
the broken shards.
“It’s you who needs a drink if you think I brought you here
to watch you dance!”
Seizing my face, he grips my cheeks to force my lips open,
and pours the sake straight into my mouth. I splutter. The
alcohol stings my throat. I gag, but the King laughs, holding
me until my clothes are soaked and I’m coughing and
spluttering, eyes squeezed shut, skin sticky with the liquid.
When the vial is empty, he flings me aside. I double over,
retching. Wet drops splatter the floor around my hands.
“You think I don’t understand what you’re up to?” he roars,
arms wide, fists curled. “You cannot hide from me forever,
Lei-zhi. This is my palace. My kingdom!”
The boom of his voice shakes the room, sending a ripple
through the floating candles. I sway to my feet. Cast a
desperate look over the scatter of glass around me, the
splashes of ruined rice wine. There’s no more drink left to
poison with the herbs I took from the kitchen gardens earlier;
the ones that would have cramped the King’s gut and made
him too sick to move for the rest of the evening, sparing me at
least one more night.
It would only have been a temporary reprieve. But maybe it
would have been enough. Maybe after tonight, Wren would
have managed to get to the King before he got to me.
As the King makes a lurch, I spin round, clutching up the
layers of my skirt and stumbling into a run. But I’ve only
taken a few steps when his hands seize me. Lift me into the air.
With a bellow, he throws me to the floor.
My cheekbone cracks.
Pain splinters through me, fissures my skull.
The next instant, I’m swallowed by the King’s shadow as
he bears down on top of me. He brings his mouth to my ear
and whispers, crooning almost, like some kind of sick, twisted
lullaby, “I ordered the raid on your village, Lei-zhi. My
soldiers told me they killed all the women they took that day—
including your beloved mother.” And then he grabs a fistful of
the silks at my waist and tears them open as I let out a cry no
one else can hear.
 THIRTY

EVEN THE SOLDIERS ARE UNABLE TO hide their shock when I

finally stagger from the King’s chambers.
I have no idea how long I’ve been in there. Only minutes
could have passed. Or an entire lifetime. How long does it take
to break a person? To take their will and fire and spirit and
love and crush them beneath your fists?
As the doors swing shut behind me, my legs give way.
Wren’s wolf strides forward to catch me. He lifts me gently,
the other guards watching in silence as he lopes past, cradling
me to his chest. The torn robe I’ve wrapped around me is
bloodied. Dully, I notice the servants as we go by, the way
they avert their eyes. Even the Paper caste ones.
Shame flows through me, a constant, unforgiving ebb.
I look up at Kenzo. My voice is a croak. “They’ll suspect
you.”
“No,” he says, staring ahead. “They won’t. This is not the
first time a Paper Girl has had to be taken from the King’s
rooms in such a condition.”
Underneath the pain and horror: a shot of rage.
“I hate him,” I whisper with the last bit of strength I have.
Kenzo doesn’t answer, but he holds me a little closer, and
before I pass out I understand this to mean that he agrees.
When consciousness returns, the comforting scent of Wren’s
wolf is gone. There’s the whisper of voices around me. The
soft pressure of a warm hand on mine. I must be back in my
room at Paper House. I try to move, but currents of pain snap
and fizz through my body, forcing me to fall still. The pain
wasn’t so strong earlier. My mind must have blocked it out as
the King took from me what I have denied him for so long.
That’s what it felt like. A taking. A robbery.
I inch my eyes open, and even this hurts.
“She’s awake!”
Aoki’s face is the first I see. Her hand is the one wrapped
round mine, and she leans over me, eyes so wide that my
entire vision is an ocean of deep green. Then she draws away
and is replaced by Wren.
The expression on her face. I can barely look at her.
“Oh, gods, Lei,” she whispers, dipping her forehead to
mine. “I’m so, so sorry.”
I lick my cracked lips. “The wolf. He—”
She shoots me a warning look. “You mean Major Ryu?
Yes, he brought you back. He escorted you all the way here.”
My eyes drift shut.
“How kind of him,” Aoki murmurs.
There’s the sound of the door opening.
“The doctor’s on his way, Mistresses. He won’t be long.”
My heart gives a little leap at the sound of Lill’s voice.
Even though my plan failed, she’d been the one who made it
possible in the first place.
And then I remember. My plan. The herbs.
The poisonous herbs.
I jerk upright. Pain erupts, a starburst all over me. Aoki and
Wren try to draw me back down, shushing, but I struggle
against them, eyes wild.
“Where are my clothes?” I cry.
“Lei,” Aoki pleads, “you need to rest—”
But I’m almost screaming now. “Where are my clothes?”
Lill snatches up a torn bundle of fabric, lantern light
illuminating the layered pattern of my robes—wildflowers and
vines, twisted in a kaleidoscope of deep magenta and lapis.
“This is all you had with you,” she says sorrowfully, holding
them out for me.
I riffle through the flimsy material. A sob racks through me
and I slump back as if winded.
“Lei?” Wren asks, fingers light on my wrist. “What’s
wrong?”
I close my eyes. “The sash,” I whisper. “It’s gone.”
I have to wait until much later, until the doctor and shaman
have checked on me and magicked away my wounds, and
Aoki and Lill have gone to bed, to tell Wren about my plan to
poison the King.
She lets go of my hand when I’ve finished, and the gesture
loosens something in me. “So the herbs are still there?” she
asks sharply. “In his chambers?”
“Yes.”
“If he finds them—if anyone finds them…”
My teeth are gritted. “I know.”
“What were you thinking? You shouldn’t have taken such a
risk.”
I edge slightly away. “I was thinking,” I say thickly, “that I
couldn’t bear having to sleep with him.”
Wren’s face drops. “Lei—”
“And I was thinking you’d understand.”
 “I do. Oh, love, of course I do. I’m so sorry.” Warm
fingertips trace my cheek, winding round to cup my head as
she leans down and brings her lips to my hairline, holding me
close. “You know how much this hurts me, too. But if you had
managed to poison him, don’t you think the royal doctors
would have been able to figure out how it happened? It could
ruin everything we’ve been working toward. They could
increase the King’s security. Stop us from seeing him. Even
cancel the Moon Ball. Not to mention what the King would do
to punish you.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I—I didn’t think about any of that. I
just… I couldn’t bear the idea of having to go through with it.
Even once.”
Sighing, Wren laces her arms around me, hugging me
tighter. “Oh, Lei. Of course not. I’m so sorry. If there was
anything, anything I could have done, any way to save you
tonight…” Pulling back, she scans my face. “Do you want to
talk about it?”
It.
Such a tiny word for everything contained within.
I squeeze my eyelids, trying to expel the images from
them. But I know that no matter how hard I try, what happened
tonight is going to stay with me forever. The shamans might
have healed my bruises, but the King’s brutality is still all over
me. It lives in my skin.
It breathes in my bones.
More than anyone, I know how some wounds can stay
hidden and yet still be felt so keenly, day after day, year after
year.
“Not yet,” I tell Wren eventually.
She takes my hands. “Well, when and if you need to, I’ll be
here.”
I nod. Then, eager to change the subject, I ask, “What are
we going to do about the herbs? Maybe I can get them back.
I’ll go back to the King’s chambers, make up some excuse—”
“No.” Wren stops me. “It’ll only make them suspicious.
And I’m not letting you go anywhere near that monster.” She
looks away, forehead puckered, then nods. “I’ll get word to
Kenzo. He should be able to get to them before the King.”
“You think so?”
Her lips curve into a half smile. “It’s Kenzo. He’ll find a
way.”
I try to return her smile, but the tuck of my lips is wrong
and all I can do is grimace. Then her words just a couple of
minutes ago echo back to me.
“The Moon Ball,” I say. “Isn’t that the party the King is
hosting to celebrate the New Year?”
Wren nods. “What about it?”
“You said you’re worried they might cancel it.” Her
expression stiffens, and suddenly I understand. All this while
we’ve been sitting on my sleeping mat, close enough to
whisper, but now I shift back, my voice hollow. “That’s when
it’s to happen, isn’t it? You’ve been given the order.”
She looks down, long lashes hiding her eyes. “Kenzo told
me when he brought you back earlier. Everything’s in place.”
“The New Year is less than four weeks away,” I choke out.
I let out a dull, humorless laugh. “Did you know it’s my
birthday then, too? Some present you’re giving me, Wren.
You’d better not die, too, or it’ll all be too much.”
I mean it as a joke, even if it is a twisted one. But her jaw
sets and her eyes flick away, and in that moment I know.
“Oh, gods.” I scramble to my feet, something wild racking
through me. Wren reaches out, but I back into the wall,
shaking my head, my ears rushing with the whoosh of blood,
the deep pulsation of my heartbeat. “Tell me there’s an escape
plan, Wren. Tell me they’re going to get you out.”
She falters. “They’ll do their best.”
 Neither of us moves as the morning gong rings. Footsteps
and voices began to spill into the corridor. The normalcy of it
seems absurd, obscene even. How can the world still tick
simply by when this beautiful girl is admitting her fate to me,
when I can still feel the pain of the King’s fury imprinted upon
my body?
How can we just go back to that life, knowing what we
know now?
Feeling the way we do now?
“You think you’re going to get caught,” I say, not taking
my eyes from Wren’s.
“Lei—”
“Tell me the truth! You think there’s no hope of you getting
out. That they’ll capture you once you’ve killed him.”
Something in her face slackens. After a beat, she whispers,
“Yes.”
The word cleaves me, splits me straight in two.
“That’s why you didn’t want to tell me. You knew what
was going to… you didn’t… didn’t want to hurt me.…”
She gives a tiny nod.
My breath rattles through me, almost painful, but I force
myself to draw another. Then another. And with each new
inhale the fire returns to me—the red flames that burned
through my bloodstream when I walked into the King’s
chambers last night, the boldness of my love for Wren that
sings in our veins every time we’re pressed skin to skin, our
hearts racing each other.
I recall Mama’s saying: Light in, darkness out.
Perhaps it works another way, too.
Fire in, fear out.
“Let me help,” I say steadily. I take a step forward. “You’re
going to kill the King, and I’m going to help you do it.”
 Wren tenses. “I told you the other night. No.”
“Yes.” I close the distance between us, my fingers sliding
between hers. “When the world denies you choices,” I say,
echoing her words to me that night in the rain-filled garden all
those weeks ago, “you make your own.” I keep my eyes fixed
on hers. “This is my choice. The King hasn’t just harmed me
and you. Think of all the Paper castes he has his soldiers
capture as slaves and kill as easily, as if we weren’t even
human. All the families and lives they tear apart. Just like they
did with ours.” I grip her tighter. “I don’t know how much
longer I can bear it. So I’m going to help you, and then we’re
getting out of here—alive.”
Her lips press. “Lei—”
“He gave the orders, Wren.” My voice catches. “He told
me. It was him who ordered the soldiers to raid my village.”
The wet kiss of a tear tracks my cheek. “How many others has
he ordered? How many more families have been broken the
way mine was? I can’t take it anymore. I can’t just keep sitting
here doing nothing.”
More tears flow. Releasing my hands, Wren cups my face
to thumb my tears away, her dark eyes soft. Then she draws
me to her. We kiss slow and deep, a kiss I feel from the very
tips of my toes to the core of my being. A kiss I feel in my
soul. And for a few moments we get a glimpse of what the
future could be like for us—to be with each other, free, with
no fear that our love might get us killed.
When I was young, my parents used to kneel by my
sleeping mat at bedtime and tell me stories from the Ikharan
Mae Scripts, the myths about how our world was born.
According to the Scripts, the sky began as a sea of light. There
were no distinctions between stars or moon or clouds.
Everything was white.
Then Zhokka, Harbinger of Night, came.
He was jealous of the sky’s brightness. Zhokka was
originally an earth god, and he hated how he could see the sky
gods dancing high up above, bathed in light. He wanted that
light for himself, but also to take it away from them. So he
gathered an army of creatures from the darkest parts of the
earth and brought them to the sky.
The battle is supposed to have lasted over a hundred years.
The sky gods fought valiantly, but Zhokka and his dark army
finally defeated them, and as a victory prize Zhokka
swallowed all the light of the sky. Now there was only
darkness.
But Zhokka had been careless. With no light left, he didn’t
see Ahla, the Moon Goddess, creeping up on him. She’d fled
when she saw he would win the battle, and had been waiting
for the right moment to return. Taking her powerful crescent-
form, she lanced herself through the darkness at Zhokka and
split a huge, grinning gash through his face, blinding him in
the process.
Some of the light he’d swallowed managed to escape
through this tear, and these returned to their beloved sky as the
stars. And for the rest of eternity, Zhokka is doomed to roam
the galaxies, searching blindly for Ahla to take his revenge.
The story comes back to me now as Wren and I hold each
other. I always wondered what that night-filled abyss looked
like before Ahla cut Zhokka open. I could never quite picture
it. But tonight I finally understand how it would have felt.
The King is Zhokka, swallowing everything. And Wren is
Ahla—the moon, the light, the only one who knows how to
bring the stars back to my sky.
“I’m going to help,” I tell her when we finally draw apart.
“I’m going to help you kill him.”
And this time she agrees.
 THIRTY-ONE

THERE IS AN OLD PROVERB IN our kingdom: “He who seeks

revenge should dig two graves.” I’ve already prepared to dig
the Demon King’s. The other is for the girl I used to be. The
girl who was sleepwalking through her time here until she fell
in love, until she had her eyes opened to the world beyond her
walls. The girl who accused Aoki of falling for the King, for
being seduced by palace life, when she, too, was embracing it.
Well, no more embracing.
No more sleepwalking.
I don’t want an easy life. I want a meaningful one.
Now that I know what they’re planning, Wren involves me
in her secret meetings with Kenzo. It takes some convincing
on Wren’s part, especially because Kenzo narrowly missed
getting caught when he went to the King’s chambers to
retrieve the poisonous herbs I’d left there. But the wolf
eventually concedes, deciding that my role as a Paper Girl can
be useful as a distraction while Wren gets the King alone.
While it’s not much, I’m pleased to be able to do anything to
help. The smoother everything goes at the ball, the better
Wren’s chance to come away safely will be.
Every few nights, we wrap up in furs and overcoats and
head into the forest, listening to news Kenzo has brought from
the court—changes to the guest list for the Moon Ball, more
signs that the Sickness is worsening, outbursts of rebellion in
more of the provinces. Anything that could affect the plan.
And though our everyday routine as Paper Girls continues as
normal, I float through it with a kind of absent focus, tired
from our midnight excursions but also too fixed on the
approaching New Year to concentrate on much else. It’s taken
the form of a color in my mind—the brightest, sharpest white,
like light catching the edge of a blade.
In a few weeks’ time, I’ll be at the Moon Ball, distracting
the King’s guards as best as I can while Wren steals him away
to bury a knife in his heart.
One morning Lill says, “Not long now, Mistress.”
She’s in the middle of fixing my hair into its usual bun. I
start, causing her fingers to tangle.
“What—what do you mean?”
“Your Birth-blessing pendant,” she clarifies with a frown.
“Isn’t it your birthday on the New Year?”
I follow her gaze to the shrine in the corner of my room.
Because we’re not allowed to wear jewelry during our lessons,
ever since coming to the palace I’ve kept my Birth-blessing
pendant there, hanging from an unlit stack of joss sticks. It
seems like another thing from the life of the girl I used to be.
Something else to bury with her.
“Is there something you’re hoping for?” Lill asks.
“Anything involving cake,” I reply, and she laughs.
But the truth is I know exactly what sort of fate I hope to
find within my pendant, and it’s one that life within the palace
walls could never offer me.
Freedom.
When there’s less than two weeks to go, Wren and I sneak out
to the clearing in the woods. I’m expecting for us to meet
Kenzo as usual, but he isn’t here.
“He’s not coming tonight,” she tells me. “This is something
for just you and me to work on.”
It’s a still winter’s night. The forest is wrapped in silence,
the trees towering around us, shifting drops of moonlight
filtering in through the canopy overhead. The air is cool with
the promise of snow. The screech of some night bird cuts
suddenly through the quiet, and I start, grabbing my fur shawl
tighter around me.
“That,” Wren says with a smile, “is what we’re going to
try to deal with.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to be prepared in case there’s any trouble on the
night. Kenzo’s going to get a weapon to you—something
small, easy to conceal. But in case you lose it, or for whatever
reason he can’t get it to you, you’re going to have to know
how to defend yourself without it. Have you ever had any
martial arts training?”
I arch a brow. “What do you think?”
“Well, we only have a couple of weeks. We’re just going to
have to dive in.”
Wren shifts into position, knees bent, arms raised, palms
open. I’m just about to copy her because it seems that’s what
I’m supposed to do, when she lunges forward and strikes her
right hand at my head.
I clamp my eyes shut, expecting a flare of pain. When it
doesn’t come, I inch my eyes open to find her hand hovering
by my head. She draws back.
“How—how did you do that?” I gulp.
The corner of her lips tuck up, but her face is serious. “I’m
one of the Xia, remember? I won’t hurt you, Lei. I promise.
But you have to act like this is a real battle.”
“Sure,” I mutter. “Let me just recollect the last time I was
at war.”
“It’s a bit like what Master Tekoa teaches us,” Wren
continues, ignoring my quip. “You want to access your most
natural instincts and allow them to control you without you
having to think about it too much.”
“If someone is coming at my head with their fist, my
natural instinct is to run as fast as I can in the opposite
direction.”
After a moment, she asks, quiet, “Is it?”
The stillness of the forest seems to draw in. Wren moves
closer, boots crunching on the frosted grass. Our breaths form
clouds in the air.
“Think about all the times you’ve fought against what’s
been happening to you. I told you that night when the King
had you locked up. You’re brave, Lei. Braver than you think.
You fought him then, and you’ve fought him since, and I know
you are strong enough for whatever is coming next.”
I drop my eyes, bunching my hands at my sides. “It wasn’t
enough. Not that night.”
Even though Wren has made it clear she’s willing to listen,
I still haven’t spoken to her about what happened in the King’s
chambers. I’d been close a few times, lying in her arms in one
of our rooms, wrapped safely in the velvet darkness. But my
thoughts never seemed to form into a language I could share.
The only time we touched on it was the first time I was to see
the King after that night, at a dinner a week later. She’d asked
me how I felt; if maybe I wanted to feign sickness to try to get
out of it. That she’d help me do the same if he called for me
again. But somehow I know he won’t.
At least, not for a while.
The King likes to prove his power, yes. But he’s shown me
his insecurities enough times for me to know that he also
wants to be adored and admired. And he knows that those are
two things he can never force from me.
Wren twines her fingers through mine, my numb skin
tingling at their warmth. “You’re stronger now,” she says.
“You’re prepared. And you’re not in this alone.” She squeezes
my hand. “Do you remember the day of the Unveiling
Ceremony? Our maids got us ready together, and afterward
you asked me—”
“How I looked,” I interrupt dully. “I remember.”
She loosens a long exhale, wrapping us in a cloud of hazy
white. “I’m sorry for what I said then. I was so adamant when
I first got here to not let any of you in. To not let any of you
want to.” She pulls me closer. “But when I saw you later in
your dress, I couldn’t help it. I had to tell you what I thought,
because I understood then.”
My brow furrows. “Understood what?”
Wren smiles. “You. The dresses were made to represent us
based on the results of our assessments,” she explains. “Mine
was everything I’ve been trained to be. Strong, without
compromise. Unforgiving. I knew what yours meant the
minute I saw you. Your dress showed me that you had
strength, but softness, too. A sense of loyalty, but not without
fairness. Fight, and mercy. Things I wasn’t allowed to feel.
Things I didn’t know how badly I needed.” She brings her
fingertips to my cheeks, lacing them through the tangles of my
hair. “I knew from that moment that I would fall in love with
you. And for a long time, I did everything I could to resist it.
But you made it impossible.”
With a sigh, I tuck my chin, nestling into her. Her heart
thuds strong and steady against my cheek.
“Lei,” she says softly into my hair, “we can do this another
night if you’re not up to it.…”
“No,” I say, drawing back. “Now.”
Gathering a long inhale, I picture all the memories
associated with that night with the King turning into little
knives in my veins.
Fire in, fear out.
My hands bunch into fists. “All right—come at me.”
The words are barely out of my mouth when she leaps
back. With a spin, she slices the side of her hand toward my
middle. This time, I’m a little better prepared. I manage to jolt
out of the way, though she comes for me again a beat later and
has to hold back, her open palm seconds away from cuffing
my shoulder.
“Give me a chance!” I say, panting, but Wren moves again,
this time lashing out for me with her leg.
She arcs it in a low sweep along the floor, catching my feet,
and I fall back, letting out a puff of air as I land heavily on the
mossy ground.
She rolls on top of me.
“I thought you weren’t going to hurt me!” I groan.
She flashes a smile. “I only did that so I could do this.”
Her mouth lowers to mine. A familiar heat fizzes along my
veins as we kiss, tongue to tongue, lips to lips, our arms laced
around each other. I slowly forget about the frozen ground
beneath me, the eerie sounds of the forest replaced by the
rustle of our clothes and bodies as we cling to each other, our
kiss deepening.
Though flashes of that night still come to me every time
Wren and I have touched since, and she’s been careful to only
take it further when I’ve made it clear that’s what I want,
there’s something slightly different about our intimacy now.
Still, each time it gets a little easier to stay in the moment, and
right now I allow myself to let go. To lose myself in lips and
sensation and heat and love.
We’re both panting when we finally draw apart.
“Does every shifu do this with their students?” I say,
breathless. “If so, then sign me up.”
Wren gets to her feet, holding out a hand to help me up. “I
can give you as many lessons as you like when we’re out of
here. But for now, we need to concentrate. I did that to get you
fired up. To remind you how naturally you can move your
body. You need to home in on that same passion when
fighting.” Then she’s lashing at me again, spinning round with
a high arc of her leg.
I flail back a split-second before impact. “Aiyah! At least
go easy on me.”
She doesn’t smile. “I am.”
Forty minutes later—though it feels like hundreds—I’m
doubled over, gasping for air, a stitch winding up one side.
I’ve just managed to counter one of Wren’s attacks properly
for the first time, ducking out of the way of her right leg as it
kicked high toward my head, and knocking into her with my
shoulder. It barely shifts her, and she lands easily. But still. It’s
a hit.
“That was great!” she says. “Really good!”
“Thanks,” I mutter between gulps of air.
Wren closes the gap between us. She tugs my face up,
smiling. “I mean it, Lei. You’re so much stronger than I could
ever be.”
I roll my eyes. “What are you talking about? You’re the
warrior.”
“Only because it’s all I’ve known. I’ve grown up learning
this, how to fight and be brave. You’ve had to find it within
yourself, all on your own. That’s real courage.” She looks
away, her voice growing quiet. “You know, it’s not too late to
back out. I’d understand.”
I slide my arms around her waist. “Well, I wouldn’t. I’m in
this now, Wren. I’m all in.”
Her eyes flick back to me, widening—warming—with the
double meaning behind my words. I love you. The phrase
hovers on my lips then, three words, three simple trips of the
tongue. But ever since that night when we first admitted how
we felt, I still haven’t spoken them to her. However brave
Wren believes me to be, I’m not yet brave enough for that. So
instead I press my mouth against hers, hoping she can sense
the words in my kiss and know that I mean them, that I love
her and need her, and that I’m terrified for these weeks to end
because our lives are about to change forever. And some part
of me can’t shake the premonition that it’s not going to be in
the way we’re hoping.
 THIRTY-TWO

PREPARATIONS FOR THE NEW YEAR begin the day before the
Moon Ball.
As soon as we wake, we’re herded into carriages and taken
to a bathhouse in Royal Court. It’s an impressive four stories, a
large central room divided into various areas, the upper tiers
circled with balconies decorated with colored silks. I pick up
familiar scents in the clouds of steam—calendula, mulberry,
passionflower. Homesickness tugs so firmly on my soul that it
actually hurts. I could close my eyes and I’d be back there,
working in the shop with Baba and Tien, Bao barking and the
mixing pots bubbling away.
By some unwritten rule, Wren and I haven’t discussed what
will happen after we escape. It would be too much like
tempting fate, and from the way the gods have played with me
so far, that’s not a bet I’m willing to make. But alongside
being with Wren, the only thing I really want is to go back to
Xienzo and reunite with my family. Maybe we could even
make a life there with them. Our little unit has been shattered
so many times, but we’ve proven we have the strength to heal.
To make something new and beautiful from the sum of our
broken parts.
We’re led to an enormous tub in the middle of the
bathhouse. Water pours in from a waterfall-like feature, filling
the air with its rich bubbling. Three black-robed royal shamans
bless the water. Then, one by one, we step inside as they chant
a dao, settling a soft, golden magic on our skin. The ceremony
is to symbolize purification, helping us shed this year’s sins
before we enter the new one.
I stifle a grim laugh when it’s my turn. If only they knew
what Wren and I are planning. The only thing this bath is
helping me shed is the ache in my muscles from our midnight
training sessions.
Back at Paper House, we spend the next few hours having
meetings with the court’s most trusted fortune-tellers, qi
doctors, and diviners. The New Year marks the halfway point
in our year as Paper Girls. The results of these assessments
will shape our training next year as we prepare to move from
being the King’s concubines to our next roles in the palace. Or
in Wren’s case and mine, they would have, were we staying in
the palace.
I cross Wren in the corridor as our maids lead us between
rooms for the final assessment of the day. She gives me a
knowing smile that lights my heart up in an instant. As we
pass she turns her hand so it brushes against mine, almost like
a kiss.
By the time our assessments are over, night has fallen. The
grounds are cloaked in darkness, the stars hidden. As Lill
changes me for dinner, I gaze out the window, an uneasy
feeling rippling through me.
Tomorrow.
That’s it. Just one more day.
“Are you all right, Mistress?” Lill asks, fixing an ornament
in my hair with deft fingers.
I shrug. “Just nervous for tomorrow’s ball, I guess.”
“Well, don’t be. I heard the King has arranged a surprise
for you!”
Despite her grin, her words make me cold. It’s the worst
possible time for surprises. Whatever the King’s organized,
I’m sure I won’t like it. The only thing we have in common is
that we both defend what’s ours, and tomorrow night I’m
going to prove it to him.
When I arrive at Madam Himura’s suite twenty minutes
later, one of her maids leads me out into the courtyard. A
canopy of twinkling lights stretches overhead. At the center of
the garden, the pavilion has been hung with heavy velvet
curtains to keep out the cold. As I step inside, my eyes sweep
the group for Wren. She isn’t here yet. Instead, Aoki catches
my eyes. She looks a bit panicked, and she opens her lips to
mouth something at me, but before she’s able to, Madam
Himura waves me to a seat next to Blue.
“Now that we’re all here,” the eagle-woman says in her
usual croak, “I want to go over tomorrow’s proceedings. In the
morning—”
“Aren’t we waiting for Wren?” I interrupt.
The table falls quiet.
Madam Himura’s head swivels in my direction. “We,” she
responds sharply with a flash of her bright yellow eyes, “are
not waiting for anyone.”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“Wren-zhi has had to leave the palace.”
My stomach gives a dull kick. The ground seems to take a
careening slope underneath me. A high-pitched ringing enters
my brain.
“Her mother has been killed,” Madam Himura continues.
“The King has ordered her to return to her family. It’s
uncertain when she’ll be returning.”
I gape at her. “What?”
Just then, Aoki jerks forward, knocking a glass of plum
wine to the floor. Half of it splashes onto Chenna, who jolts
back with a cry. A maid rushes over to clean the mess as
Madam Himura shrieks at Aoki and Zhen, who was next to
Chenna, who yanks the hem of her dress away from the
spreading amber puddle. Amid the chaos, I breathe raggedly.
My heart hammers painfully against my ribs. I know Aoki was
trying to stop me before I said something that would have
given me away or Madam Himura punished me for insolence,
but though the rest of the girls are focused on the fuss at the
table, next to me, Blue is still.
She watches me from the corner of her ink-black eyes.
There’s a knowing twist to her lips, and after a few moments
she leans in close, cheek grazing mine, and hisses, just for me
to hear, “So that’s your dirty little secret. Won’t the King be
shocked to learn what you’ve been up to all this time?”
I don’t know how I make it through dinner. Somehow I
manage it, though I almost throw up a few times, and not from
the raw fish we’re served as part of more tiring New Year
purification symbolism. As soon as Madam Himura permits us
to leave, I get up from the table without meeting any of the
girls’ questioning looks and stagger back to my room.
“What’s wrong?” Lill asks as I burst through the doorway,
shaking.
I don’t answer her. I lurch to the window and collapse
against it, gulping in breaths, but the air is clotted, like curdled
milk, and no matter how much I gasp I can’t seem to fill my
lungs. Lill tries her best to calm me. When nothing she says or
does works, she even brings me a cup of sweet, milky teh tarik
from the kitchens, but the sugar just spikes my nerves.
When she finally manages to get me to lie down, I’m
shivering all over. “Please try to rest, Mistress,” she pleads.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just a ball.”
I close my eyes, feigning tiredness. But the minute she’s
gone, I shove back the blankets and get to my feet, pacing the
short length of my room.
One more day. That’s all that was left. One more day to
keep our secrets. One more day and we were out of here.
We were going to be free.
 Now Wren is gone, and all the years of careful planning
and preparation have been ruined in just a handful of hours.
And Blue—Blue—knows about the two of us. She could tell
the King any moment now and that would be it. All my actions
with him would confirm it. He’d know. He’d know, and my
beautiful, ferocious-eyed assassin won’t be around to take him
down before he can punish us for it.
A thought comes to me, so painful I actually gag.
The next time I see Wren could be at our own execution.
I recall the last time I saw her. The brush of our hands in
the corridor, just a second of contact. How can that go down as
our last moment together? How can that be our last touch?
My room is too suffocating to stay in any longer. Without
Wren here, I go to the room of the only other person in the
palace I fully trust.
Aoki rubs her eyes as I shake her awake. “Lei?” she
mumbles, her voice thick with sleep. “What’s happening?
What’s wrong?”
“I can’t sleep,” I say.
Yawning, she sits up and opens her fur blanket. She drapes
it around my shoulders as I nestle in beside her. She smells
like sleep, like softness and safety, and I release a long exhale,
leaning against her in silence. It reminds me of when I used to
snuggle in with my parents when I had a nightmare. The
thought that just a few hours ago I was so hopeful that I’d
make it home lances me afresh, and I grind my teeth together
to stop the tears.
Aoki wraps her arms round her legs, propping her cheek on
her knees to look sideways at me. “I’m so sorry about Wren’s
mother. Do you know if they were close?”
It takes me a moment to untangle her question from Wren’s
original Xia family. She’s talking about the Hannos, of course.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. Wren has always spoken far more
about Ketai Hanno than his wife. “I don’t think so.”
 “Still, it must be awful.” After a beat, she goes on carefully,
“The King is close with the Hannos. I’m sure he’ll do
everything to look after Wren and her family.”
“They’re Paper castes, Aoki.”
“And still one of his most trusted clans. You know, he even
gave them a special guard made up of his own soldiers?”
“Maybe one of those guards was the killer,” I snap before I
can stop it.
Aoki winces. “I know you’re upset, but what you’re saying
is—”
“Possible? Likely?”
“The King and the Hannos have always supported each
other, Lei. Why would they turn on each other now?”
Because maybe the King suspects what the Hannos are
planning. Maybe Wren’s mother was murdered by the King’s
men to send a message to them. Or maybe, if he believes Wren
to be involved, he had her mother killed as a way of getting
her out of the palace. A death in the family is one of the only
reasons a Paper Girl is allowed to take leave.
But I keep my thoughts to myself.
I walk out of Aoki’s room half an hour later, feeling even
worse than before. My mind is reeling, and I’m so distracted I
don’t notice the figure in my room until it’s too late.
A fur-covered hand clamps across my mouth.
“Not a word,” growls a low, husky voice.
 THIRTY-THREE

KENZO DOESN’T LET ME GO until we’re outside, cloaked in the

darkness of the gardens. His bronze eyes fix on my own as he
glares down at me, waiting as I gulp in air, recovering. Our
breaths spiral in the frozen air. It takes me a moment to notice
that he’s wearing silk robes, his marbled wolf’s coat combed
and slick. He must have come straight from the King’s pre–
Moon Ball banquet.
“You scared me!” I hiss at him once I’m able to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he says, though his expression remains hard.
“It was the only way I could get you alone. I was meant to
meet Wren to finalize the plans for tomorrow. Then I heard the
news. I waited as long as I could before coming to find you.”
I blink. “Find… me?”
“The plan has to go ahead, Lei. Wren won’t be able to
return in time, but everything else is ready. You are going to
have to kill the King in her place.”
There’s a pause.
Then I laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am deadly serious,” he replies, a growl deep in his
throat.
“Look,” I say, lifting my hands and taking a step back, “I
want to help, but—”
“You didn’t expect to have to get your hands dirty?”
My mouth snaps shut. “I didn’t expect to be the one to do
it. Last time I checked I wasn’t a lost member of the Xia
trained since birth to be a secret warrior-assassin-goddess.”
Wind catches my hair, making it dance. I clutch my night
robe tighter around me. The air is as frosted as the ground, and
the flimsy material of my nightdress isn’t much protection
from the cold. But Kenzo doesn’t seem to notice. I suppose
having fur makes you forget how vulnerable bare skin can be.
He regards me impassively with his bright wolf eyes. “We
can adapt the plan,” he suggests eventually.
I goggle at him. “Adapt the…”
“All the elements are in place. You’ll be taking over
Wren’s role, which you’re already familiar with. Being able to
get the King alone, for him to let his guard down—that’s the
important part. That’s why Wren had to spend this time
cultivating a relationship with him. Only a Paper Girl can kill
him without us risking our position in the court or exposing
our involvement.” He pauses, something gentler in his look
when he adds, “You have motive enough. It will look like a
passion crime.”
“But Wren will be coming back, won’t she? She’ll come
back and then we can try again.”
Kenzo shakes his head. “There’s no time.” Even with his
voice lowered, it still has bite. He moves nearer to grip me by
the shoulders and I brace at the sensation of demon hands on
me. They’re so large they easily span the space from my neck
to where my arms start to slope down. Memories jolt through
me from that night with the King. Noticing my discomfort,
Kenzo lets me go, but he stays close. “Listen to me, Lei. It has
taken us years—Wren’s entire lifetime—to reach this point.
You know how much we’ve sacrificed for this. We’re so close.
If we don’t act now, we might not get another chance.”
I hug my arms across my chest, shivering. “What—what do
you mean?”
“The King has been growing suspicious. I fear the Hannos
are losing influence over him. Since the assassination attempt,
he’s been hungry for retribution, to catch the court members
who helped them. He knows there are those in the palace
who’d betray him. I believe he’s starting to look at me as one
of them.”
“But I thought you’re one of his most trusted advisers.”
“I am.” Kenzo’s lip curls, a wolfish gesture, his ears
flicking forward. “And it’s been many hard years to get there.
But recently, the King hasn’t been so receptive to what I’ve
been advising. The Sickness is getting worse, and he’s
convinced it’s because of the gods. That they’re punishing him
for being a weak ruler. He’s been pushing ever more
aggressive tactics to try to demonstrate his might.”
I nod. “He told me the same.”
“It hasn’t been easy,” Kenzo continues, rubbing a hand at
the side of his neck, mussing his smoothed-down fur. “I’ve
been trying to advise him differently, but I need to maintain
my cover. It sickens me to think of all the deaths I’m aiding.”
He turns his face away jerkily and lets out a cold laugh. “You
know, there are official royal executioners. By ordering me,
Naja, and Ndeze to do their work that day, the King was
sending a clear message—do not cross me. Look at what
happens to those who do.”
I squeeze myself tighter. “If he’s suspicious of your loyalty,
why hasn’t he confronted you yet?”
“Because he understands the benefit in keeping his enemies
close. Do you know how the Hannos even came to be aligned
with him?”
I shake my head.
“They were one of the strongest clans in Ikhara before the
Bull King’s ascension two hundred years ago,” Kenzo
explains. “They occupied the entire Han territory. That’s
where they get their name—from the two ancient families in
the region, the Hans and the Nos. The Bull King was
originally from Jana, from a tiny trading post village in the
southern deserts. He had no influence over Han. He was only
able to take control because the Hannos were supporters of
equality between demons and humans. They welcomed
immigrant clans and were keen to develop bonds between all
castes. By all accounts, the Bull King impressed them with his
intelligence and ambition, and he rose quickly through their
ranks. And what were the Hannos rewarded with?” Kenzo’s
nostrils flare as he lets out a hard puff of air. “Betrayal. The
Bull King used his influence on the Hannos’ rule to empower
the demon castes, manipulating them, making them hungry for
control, then used their power to overtake their court.”
My eyes go wide. “And the Hannos still made an alliance
with him after all that?”
“The Night War was devastating for Paper castes, Lei.
We’ve all heard the stories passed down by our ancestors.
Years of cooperation and partnership with demons, eradicated
in an instant. Of course, there has always been conflict
between clans. But now there was a force uniting the demon
clans, giving them reason to forge alliances and maintain
peace between their groups in order to hold power over Paper
castes. You yourself have experienced this force firsthand. I
am sure that the last thing the Hannos wanted was to pledge
their allegiance to the very demon who betrayed them. But the
clan needed time to recover, and Ketai’s forbears understood
that they needed the King’s support in this new world. That
they could later use his power as their own. So they went to
him, groveling.” A growl rises in Kenzo’s throat. “How could
the King resist the sight of his enemies, made to kneel at his
feet like beggars?”
“But he knew what he’d done to them,” I say, absently
pushing aside the windblown hair from my face. “Didn’t he
worry they’d end up betraying him, too?”
Kenzo releases a rough laugh. “An arrogant warlord like
him? I bet he didn’t think of it once. All he saw was a chance
to use their connections among the human clans. Look at the
trouble the King is facing now. Winning a war is the easy part.
All it takes is brawn. Maintaining your rule afterward is the
real test.”
I stare. “So the Hannos have been planning their revenge
for two hundred years?”
“How many years would you wait for revenge against those
who stole your kingdom from you?” Kenzo’s bronze eyes fix
me to the spot. “Who tore down what you had so patiently
been building? Who slaughtered hundreds of thousands of
your kind, and laughed while doing it?” The hatred in his
voice is as powerful as thunder; it rolls through the air between
us and into my bloodstream, an electric vibration that charges
my whole body. He adds, quieter, but just as fiercely, “I’d wait
a lifetime to gain my revenge against someone who hurt just
one person I love. For an entire kingdom of them?”
I think of Mama.
Of Wren.
Kenzo watches me. “Two hundred years doesn’t seem so
long now, does it?”
“But… what happens after? Once they’ve had their
revenge? If that’s what it’s all about—”
“Of course it’s not. By all accounts, the Hannos were
genuinely open to seeing how this King’s rule developed.
Along with needing to recover their military strength, I’m sure
that was another factor in their waiting so long. But the
Demon King’s regime only proved to them the importance of
claiming back the throne. Now, with the Sickness and greater
rebel activity than ever before, the King’s rule has grown even
harsher. And not just for Paper castes.”
He turns jerkily away, staring into the darkness. When
Kenzo looks back, there’s something sad and almost broken in
his eyes, which makes me wonder if there’s a story behind his
words, what memories might be haunting him.
“Is that why you’re helping the Hannos?” I ask.
“Something happened to make you turn against the King?”
 “Yes,” he answers simply. He looks down at me through
narrowed eyes. “Wren told me you’re from a rural village in
Xienzo. Maybe it’s hard for you to understand, coming from
somewhere so peaceful.”
I take a shaky inhale, harden my gaze. “We were attacked
by the King’s men seven years ago. They took my mother.”
“So you know what it’s like to have a loved one stolen
from you,” the wolf says. With surprising tenderness, he
reaches for my hands. His huge, pawlike hands easily swallow
mine, but unlike his touch earlier, it’s comforting this time,
almost brotherly. The way he is with Wren. He comes closer,
the earthy scent of him unfurling from his ash-gray coat,
ruffled now from the wintry wind. “Wren trusts you, Lei. She
believes in you, and that means we all do. Will you do this for
us? Will you kill the King?”
And even though it terrifies me—even though all I want is
for a laughing Wren to come out behind a bush to tell me this
is all some crazy, horrid joke—there’s no hesitation when I
answer.
“Yes. I will.”
Kenzo blows out a forceful exhale. Lowering his head, he
brings the backs of my hands to his forehead in a light press
and murmurs huskily, “Thank you, Lei. Eighty times, thank
you.”
“On one condition.”
He looks up.
“My father and Tien are protected from any punishment
should…” I swallow. “Should it go wrong.”
“Of course. We’ll look after them, whatever happens. You
have my word.”
I nod. Then I take a ragged breath. “Well. I guess it’s
settled, then.”
In an instant, Kenzo’s furred fingers wrap around my own,
as though closing the promise into my skin. “Come,” he says,
and tugs me in the direction of the forest. Though I stumble to
keep up with his long, loping gait, he doesn’t slow. “Time to
show me what you’ve learned from Wren.”
The clearing is hushed, the heaviness of the cloudless night
pressing down on us like one of the sky gods’ mighty hands.
Kenzo draws me into the center, and I think he’s going to say
something—I’ve just agreed to murdering the King, after all.
But just like that first time with Wren, the swing of his fist
takes me entirely by surprise.
I yelp, scooting back just in time. “Wait—”
He cuts me off with a spinning kick, the whir of his foot as
it passes overhead making me flinch.
“The King will not wait,” he growls.
“Don’t you think I know that? At least give me a moment
to prepa—”
He interrupts me with a thrusting punch to the gut. His
pointed fingers catch me right in the middle, the contact
throwing me off balance. I fall over, more out of shock than
anything, a sharp exhale escaping my lips as I land painfully
on my tailbone.
“Wren never hit me!” I shout up at him, rubbing my spine.
Kenzo’s lips pull back in a wolfish snarl. “But the King
will.” Still, he holds out a hand, helping me to my feet. “This
time tomorrow, you’ll be alone with him. And unlike us, the
King will not go easy on you. He will not hold back. You have
to be prepared for what that will be like. The minute he
realizes what you are doing, he’ll retaliate. It’ll take everything
you have to stay alive.”
I jut my chin, glowering. “Why did you even ask me, then,
if you think I don’t stand a chance?”
“I don’t think that. It’s just that your chance is slim. But
this is how the earth and heavens work. How they have always
worked. All that is needed for anything to happen is for
someone—god or mortal, demon or man—to see that slim
chance, and take it.”
He fiddles with the tie at his waist, pulling up the hem of
his shirt to reveal a leather band slung above his hips. Fixed to
the belt is a short sword. I get a glimpse of a delicately
engraved jade hilt before Kenzo’s fingers close around it. The
metallic song of the blade as he pulls it free from the scabbard
sets my teeth on edge, reminding me of that night under the
theater, the moment the assassin drew his blade on Wren.
The moment so many things changed.
“All court members carry a dagger like this one,” Kenzo
says. He holds it out for me to examine. “Including the King.”
I finger the edge of the blade. The thought of it piercing the
King’s skin—digging in through muscle and tendon, spilling
blood—seems unreal, something out of a dream.
Stowing the dagger, Kenzo steps back. “Take it from me,”
he says, and splays his arms.
My first few attempts are pitiful. I comprehend now just
how easy Wren was being on me. Kenzo offers no such
exemptions. He bats me roughly away every time I get close
and attacks back at a relentless pace. In just a few minutes I’m
sweating despite the cold, my panting breaths fogging the air. I
can feel bruises beginning to flower under my skin.
“Maybe you were right,” he says after my latest attempt
has me sprawled on the ground where he threw me—and not
lightly.
I clamber to my feet, massaging the cramp in my side.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it is hopeless. We should have asked one of the
other girls. Any of them would do a better job than you.”
“I know what you’re doing,” I shoot back.
He cocks his head. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Wren got me fired up, too. But at least she did it with
kisses.”
 Something twitches across his lips. “Would that work?”
I grin, half manic with exhaustion, and he returns it, his
wolfish mouth widening, until both of us break into laughter,
Kenzo with his head thrown back and me doubled over,
clutching my belly. The noise is jagged and wild in the wintry
hush of the forest. We laugh harder than his joke warrants.
Tears fill my eyes, and suddenly I’m not laughing anymore.
When Kenzo sees this, he hesitates, a tender look crossing his
eyes, and it’s this that reminds me so strongly of Wren—of the
way she looks at me right before a kiss, or right after, open and
vulnerable and full of hope—that before I even realize what
I’m doing I’m lurching forward.
Kenzo reacts a second too slow. For the first time, my
hands make contact. I push him back, clinging onto his rough
fur as he grabs my collar to prize me off. With a grimace, I
butt the heel of my right hand into his neck. At the same time,
I bring my knee between his legs, and as he slackens, I tug
aside his robes and wrap my fingers round the hilt of the knife.
I tumble off him, laughing again now, holding the blade up
to the sky. “I did it!” I shout. My voice breaks. I swipe a sleeve
across my face, and though the tears don’t stop, I keep
laughing anyway, the knife lifted high in my shaking fist. “I—
I did it.”
Kenzo gives me a half smile just as humorless as my
laughter. “Yes. You did.” His furred hand wrapping around my
own, he brings the point of the blade to rest at the soft
underbelly of his neck. “But do not forget the last part. Right
here, Lei. This is where you aim tomorrow.” He squeezes my
fingers, the engraved edges of the jade hilt digging into my
skin. “Push the blade deep, and do not stop.”
 THIRTY-FOUR

THE EVE OF THE NEW YEAR, the palace is transformed.

Decorations have been going up in all the courts. I’m kept
busy as a small army of maids prepare me for the ball, but Lill
manages to sneak me outside for a few minutes to see what’s
been going on. A tidal wave of scarlet and gold appears to
have stormed through the palace. Women’s Court is on fire,
vibrant ribbons and streamers adorning every building.
Lanterns of all shapes and sizes hang from the eaves, along
with strings of copper coins, glinting as they turn in the breeze.
Bowls of offerings filled with kumquats and stacks of
succulent peaches and clementines sit on porches. Cracked
mirrors to ward off evil spirits have been set beside every
doorway, a New Year’s superstition that we also followed back
in Xienzo.
Lill tells me the King lent royal shamans to each court to
infuse magic into some of the decorations. She points out a
giant paper crane, symbolic of good fortune and longevity, that
has been erected in a courtyard across the street. The bird is at
least fifteen feet tall. Its garnet beak glitters in the winter sun.
As we watch, it stretches its great wings, paper feathers
rustling.
I lace my arm round her shoulders and smile down at her.
My eyes sting. I blink quickly to keep the tears away. “Thank
you, Lill,” I say thickly. “For everything.”
 The smile she returns me is so wide and trusting I have to
look away.
Over the next few hours, I, like the palace, am also
transformed. My body is polished and oiled with an amberlike
liquid containing flecks of gold that catch the light with every
movement. Kohl rims my eyes, artfully smudged with bronze
shadow; shimmering pearl-powder embellishes my cheeks. A
pale paint is swept over my lips, enhancing the brightness of
my irises. It’s like putting on a mask, each dab of color, each
stroke of a brush, and I imagine the paint as armor. My battle
gear.
As they work, I visualize adding other, hidden layers onto
my armor—all the reasons I am doing this.
What happened to Mama. What has happened to other
mothers, other women and men and children of raids just like
the one on my village. My love for Wren. My love for Aoki
and even the other girls, and the hope that this can bring all of
us freedom, along with every Paper caste slave. The executed
assassins. On my second night in the palace, the woman who
screamed at me a word I’ve been unable to forget since.
Dzarja.
It’s not my own kin who I’ll be betraying tonight.
And then, of course, the final reason: a night, just a few
weeks ago.
A night I will never allow to be repeated.
Once my makeup is complete, the maids arrange my hair
into a plaited bun at the nape of my neck, twined through with
beads and tiny yellow chrysanthemums, before dressing me in
a vivid red cheongsam with long lace sleeves. It’s so tight-
fitting it pins my rib- cage in place.
I repress a mad laugh. Well, at least I’m dressed the part.
Because what reputable assassin doesn’t wear perfume and a
slinky dress?
By the time the maids leave, night is falling. They file out
slowly. I’m about to turn away when the last girl pauses in the
doorway, fiddling with the hem of her dress. I go forward to
help her—it must have caught on something—but as I bend
down she pushes something into my palm.
“Good luck, Lei,” she whispers, pewter eyes meeting mine.
She bows and hurries away.
As soon as I’m alone, I open the silk-wrapped package.
Lantern light catches on a thin blade, barely longer than a
needle. Its lacquered bone has been made to look like a hair
ornament. Carefully, I tuck it into the top of my thick braid
with trembling fingers.
This is it, the last piece of my battle gear.
My weapon.
Before I leave, I go to the little shrine in the corner of my
room and take my Birth-blessing pendant from where it’s been
hanging. I loop it around my neck. It’s heavier than I
remember. Just like I used to, I cup it in my palm, wondering
what future it holds for me. But this time there is an additional
question I’ve never had to ask myself before.
Will I even live to find out?
Aoki meets me outside Paper House. She’s also dressed in red,
as is tradition for New Year celebrations, delicate robes, as
thin as moth wings. Her lips look sensual painted in a dark
ruby color, and she seems so far from the nervous sixteen-
year-old girl I met on that first night in the palace that I have to
blink back a sudden rush of tears.
“The King won’t be able to take his eyes off you,” I tell
her, and from her smile I can tell that for the first time, she
truly believes it.
The journey to the Inner Courts flies by in a whirl of color
and noise. Every street overflows with decorations. Music sifts
through the air, dancers performing in twirling dresses, the
bells on their anklets chiming. Children scream with laughter
as they chase each other down the streets, scarily realistic
origami masks of the heavenly rulers strapped across their
faces. One of them dashes so close to my carriage the oryx
veer quickly aside to avoid her. The little girl laughs, long hair
streaming behind the angry red face of Nizri, Goddess of
Chaos. She waves as she watches us go, but there’s something
creepy about the contrast of that light, high-pitched laugh with
the furrowed leer of one of the most dangerous gods, and I
shrink away from the window.
By the time we arrive at the Moon Ball my heart is beating
so hard it physically shakes me. The tree-lined avenue is busy.
As my palanquin waits in a long line of others, I check again
that the pin is still in place. My fingers tremble so much that I
almost unravel the whole fancy hairstyle my maids spent so
long creating.
Outside, I join the rest of the guests as we’re led toward a
large round building made entirely of glass. Its domed roof
sparkles with streams of tiny lights. A ring of enchanted
gardens surrounds it, fireflies shimmering over the treetops.
Mistress Eira told us earlier that the building is called the
Floating Hall, and I see now why—because of the way it
perches over a lake, held up by thin crystal columns rooted in
the water, it looks like it’s hovering in midair. The aquamarine
glow from the lake below sends shifting ripples of color across
the glass.
Inside, the hall is packed. For the New Year, all the guests
are wearing red, but instead of looking celebratory it’s like
being swallowed by a sea of blood. Bodies press from every
side. Music fills the domed space, rising over the buzz of
voices.
I try to stay close to Aoki, but the wave of the crowd
separates us. I end up getting shifted toward Blue and the
twins.
“Beautiful dress, Lei,” Zhin remarks, her sister nodding in
agreement.
“Yours too,” I say, distracted, barely glancing at what
they’re wearing. “Both of you.”
 Smiling, they turn away to greet someone else. As soon as
their backs are turned, Blue wraps her hand round my wrist,
pulling me close. Her fingers dig into my skin. “I know what
you’ve been up to, Nine,” she whispers. “You and Wren.”
I wrench my arm away. “Please, Blue. Please don’t tell
anyone.”
She laughs, her eyes wild. It takes me a few moments to
realize what it is I’m seeing in them.
Triumph.
“You’ve already told him,” I croak. The words stick in my
throat. “After what happened to Mariko—”
“You don’t understand at all, do you?” Blue cuts in,
scowling. “It’s because it happened to her that I told! It wasn’t
fair, Nine. She was cast out to heavens know what kind of life
and we’re still here, living in luxury, and all this time, you and
Wren, loving each other…” Her voice spits with venom.
“Being happy.”
“He’ll kill us,” I say.
Something broken crosses her face, making her look
strange, not quite right, like the echo of a person. “So? You
don’t even want this life.”
Just then, someone bumps into me, knocking me off
balance. By the time I look back around, Blue is gone.
I make my way into the crowd, ice unspooling in my veins.
The King knows.
As if what I have to do already weren’t hard enough.
Laughter and the cascading song of strings whirl round me.
I shoulder my way past gossiping court members and servants
carrying trays of tiny cakes nestled on crystallized sakura
leaves. Overhead, strings of lights drape from the dome like
scattered stars. The sapphire glow of the lake shimmers up
through the glass, giant koi and sea horses swimming in its
depths. The ball is a dizzying kaleidoscope, but my focus is
honed, and I whip my head left and right, hunting for the King.
I can’t act until Kenzo’s signal, but I need to keep an eye on
him.
And then.
There.
Thick, pointed horns. Mahogany-brown hair. That familiar
smile, all teeth. The red of the King’s robes is dark, almost
purple, the color of plums or old blood.
Naja’s with him. Her snow-white fur sparkles with silver
powder, a long-tailed sari clinging to her lean, foxlike figure.
She scans the crowd as the King gazes down the length of his
smooth bovine nose, talking to a couple dressed in red baju
sets, surprisingly plain for the occasion, their backs to me. As
if sensing me watching, the King lifts his eyes.
His grin sharpens. He leans aside, whispering something to
Naja.
The white fox glides over to me, slinking sinuously
through the crowd. “Hello, whore,” she remarks casually.
“Hello, jealous bitch,” I shoot back.
No point acting polite anymore. One way or another, I’ll be
out of here tonight.
I can tell my comment catches Naja off guard. She stiffens,
cool eyes gleaming. “I would be offended,” she purrs,
composing herself, “if I actually cared what Paper trash
thought.”
“Well, let me try harder, then—”
She holds up a hand to silence me. “Enough games. The
King has a message for you. He’s kindly invited a couple of
people he thought you’d be pleased to see. He wants you to
know that if you try anything tonight—run away, disrupt the
ball—they will be killed.” She leans in, her voice smooth, like
the gleam of stones on a riverbed, and just as hard. “Don’t
they look happy? Such a shame they won’t be that way for
long.” And with a flick of her tail, she stalks off.
 I frown, peering ahead through the shifting crowd. The
couple glance around as the King gestures to something on the
other side of the hall, and I glimpse their faces.
My heart stutters. It’s some trick of the light. A waking
dream. Because surely it can’t be real, the two of them here, so
far from where they should be, safe and hidden on the opposite
side of the kingdom.
But it is them.
Baba. Tien.
My eyes take in their pressed clothes, the self-conscious
way they’re holding themselves. And worse: the way they
seem distracted despite the fact that they’re talking to the
King, because they are looking with hopeful, eager eyes for
me.
“You bastard,” I snarl.
Because now I understand what the King’s plan is. This
was the surprise Lill was talking about yesterday. Thanks to
Blue, he knows I have betrayed him. That I’ve been betraying
him night after night, with no less than one of my fellow Paper
Girls. And as with the assassins, he’s going to teach everyone
what it means to betray the King.
Tonight he is going to kill me.
And he has brought my family here to watch.
I’m striding forward before I know what I’m doing, my
hands curling in fists, a shout readying on my lips—
Someone grabs me by the arm.
“No!” I cry as they drag me away. I struggle, but their grip
is strong. They lead me out of the hall and onto a balcony. A
glimpse of night-cloaked gardens, fireflies dancing over the
treetops, and then I’m whirling round, my voice rising to a
shout. “How dare you!”
Zelle gazes back at me, the ghost of a smile on her lips. “I
just saved you from doing something exceptionally stupid,
Nine,” she says calmly. “A thank-you would be preferable.”
I fall still. “What—what are you doing here?”
She gives a little sigh. “I’m part of the plan, aren’t I?
Anyway, Mistress Azami always sends a few of the Night
House girls to events like this. Good for trade.” At my
confused look, she says, “Oh. Kenzo didn’t tell you.”
I gape at her. “You’re working for them, too?”
“Well,” she replies with a sniff, “I prefer to think of it as
working with them. But yes. I am.”
Her words from the other week come back to me: Love will
only make it harder.
“That’s why you were like that in our last lesson,” I say
slowly, finally understanding. “You knew about Wren and me.
And you knew I’d get hurt when Wren left the palace, or she
—” I cut off. With a lick of my lips, I go on, “Was that why
you covered for me when you found me in Mistress Azami’s
rooms?”
Zelle shakes her head. “I didn’t know then. But I could tell
you were telling the truth about looking for your mother, and I
felt sorry for you. You have a good heart, Lei.” Her voice
hardens. “But you wear your emotions on your sleeve. You’ve
got to keep yourself together, at least for a few more hours.”
“He was talking to my father!” I burst out, splaying my
arms. “And Tien! Blue told him about Wren and me, and he’s
going to use me as an example tonight. Punish me in front of
everyone.” My breath hitches. “He wants my family to see me
die.”
Zelle grips my shoulders. “We won’t let that happen, I
promise. Anyway, you’ll get to him first, right?” She winks,
shifting back, but her voice is serious and I look away.
“I wish Wren were here,” I murmur.
“We all do.”
“Do you think the King had her mother murdered to get her
out of the palace because he suspects the Hannos?”
“I’m not sure about that,” Zelle says with a frown. “The
King is definitely suspicious of them—but he’s suspicious of
everyone right now after what happened at the theater. I don’t
think he’d attack some of his most prominent supporters
without being certain they’re working against him. It’s
different from acting out against the Cat Clan, for example.
They’ve always been enemies. He’ll want to maintain a good
relationship with the Hannos. I think it’s more likely that what
happened to Wren’s mother was a bad stroke of luck on our
part.” Gaze fixed on me, she asks, softer, “So. Are you ready?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
“You have to be confident, Nine. Do it cleanly and quietly.
This way, we take control from within, with the least amount
of bloodshed.”
“And if I fail? If the King discovers the Hannos’ plans?”
“There will be another war.”
War. It’s a word in our kingdom that carries power, even
though none of us have lived through one. The memories have
been handed down to us, heavy handfuls of violence and
slaughter, and the decades of rebuilding afterward, which,
directed by the Demon King, inscribed prejudice into the
landscape as deeply as if it were grooves of water in bedrock.
A group of female demons stroll by in a cloud of perfume
and giggles. Once they’ve passed, Zelle moves to my side,
elbows hooked over the top of the railing as she leans against
it, gazing over the gardens. Something about the expression on
her face makes me sure of who she’s thinking about.
“Your lover,” I ask. “Did the King…?”
She jerks her chin. “Not himself. But… on his orders.
There was a rift in the court a few years ago after the way the
King handled an uprising in Noei. The soldiers who spoke out
against him were executed. Mistress Azami told Kenzo what
happened—yes, she’s working with us, too,” she adds at my
sideways glance. “He’d been looking to recruit one of us for a
while. Courtesans have access to the court’s most powerful
members. With a glass of plum wine and the slip of a dress
they can be easily persuaded to give their secrets away.”
“It seems everyone’s had someone they love taken from
them by the King,” I say bitterly.
Zelle’s fingers lift to the base of her neck. “Well, not after
tonight.”
The cerise ruqun she’s wearing is slung low, collar wide
and hanging off her shoulders to expose the shadow of her
cleavage and the gold choker sitting above it. The choker is
emblazoned with the character ye, marking her as one of the
palace’s concubines. Her fist tightens around it, as though she
wants nothing more than to rip it off and fling it out over the
treetops. Then, pushing back from the railing, she shoots me a
crooked smile.
“We’re all behind you, Nine.” Her fingers brush my arm
before she glides back into the party.
I wait a bit more on the balcony, taking in the cool night
air. I’m just about to leave when the tread of approaching
hooves makes me freeze.
“My, my. Can this really be the same shopkeeper’s
daughter I met in Xienzo six months ago?”
Lights hanging overhead catch on the scar that snakes
down the left side of General Yu’s face, that familiar, scar-
wrenched grin. Our paths haven’t crossed, even after all this
time in the palace, but I’ve felt him with me every step of the
way; in the memory of his threat to Baba and Tien, everything
he represents as the beginning of all this, the demon who tore
me from my home.
But General Yu is right. I have changed.
When he reaches for my cheek, I step back before he can
touch me.
“General,” I say smoothly. I flash him a sweet smile,
though my tone is acid. “You should be careful. I doubt the
King would take kindly to seeing you touching one of his
Paper Girls.” My smile sharpens. “Actually, I don’t take kindly
to it, either. Touch me again, and I will cut your fingers off.”
Biting back a grim laugh at the look on his face, I head
back into the ball.
My heart beats quickly as I locate the King, this time
keeping my distance as I wait for Kenzo’s cue. The informal
style of the Moon Ball is one of the reasons why they chose
tonight for the assassination—chaos provides cover. But it’s
also the only time in the whole year when the royal shamans
stop working. At the turn of the New Year, for one hour only,
their protective enchantment on the palace lifts as they
perform the customary rites of giving thanks to the heavens.
This magic-free hour is our only chance at escape.
As the minutes tick by, the King keeps Baba and Tien close
to his side. A few times I catch a glimpse of their faces, and
the happiness that lights them—the hope—aches deep in my
gut. It’s all I can do not to run across the hall and throw my
arms around them. To distract myself from my nerves, I plot
ways in which to get them alone. So when a chance actually
opens up, it takes me a while to realize it’s more than just a
fanciful daydream.
The King has stepped aside to discuss something with a
group of intimidating-looking demons I take to be clan lords.
Naja has joined General Ndeze to attend to some important
business outside the hall. Before she goes, she leaves a couple
of guards with my father and Tien, but I don’t pay them any
attention as I push my way across.
I stride right up to Baba and throw my arms around him.
He bursts into tears at the same moment I do. Our bodies
shudder against each other. Then Tien is joining us, her bony
arms clutching me so tightly I’m amazed they don’t snap.
“What happened to politeness and decorum?” I mumble
through tears.
She squeezes me tighter. “Oh, be quiet, you little
nuisance.”
It’s almost like being back in Xienzo. I’m wrapped in
everything I’ve been missing so badly, the smell and feel and
love of my lost home, and none of us needs to say anything
because everything we could say is contained here, within the
press of our bodies.
Then the guards wrestle us apart.
“No!” I yell, thrashing.
Around us, the guests are stopping to look. The guards
don’t hold my father and Tien once we’re separated, just
reaching out arms to keep them back, but the gorilla-form
guard who’s got me restrains me a bit too tightly, his huge
furred hands easily spanning my shoulder blades.
“We were instructed to keep you apart,” he tells me, pulling
me away.
“Wait!” I cry. Baba and Tien look horrified, and I want just
one more moment with them—even half a minute, a few
seconds, just enough to tell them everything will be all right.
But the guard is twice my size, and gods know how many
times stronger, and soon I’m on the far side of the hall.
When he lets me go, I jerk away, puffing aside a loose lock
of hair.
“I will wait with you,” he says, the leathery skin of his face
impassive.
Glowering, I turn away. There’s no point in trying to get to
Baba and Tien again, but I still look into the crowd, standing
on my toes to try to catch another glimpse. Instead, I spot the
sloping gait of Kenzo stalking toward me.
In an instant, everything stills.
Kenzo gives the guard a glance, but keeps his expression
neutral as he strides past me, just close enough for me to feel
the brush of his fur—and to slip something into my hand.
Keeping it low so the guard won’t see, I open my fingers.
Inside: an origami bird.
 A wren.
It’s time.
With a deep inhale, I tuck the paper bird into my sleeve.
But as I’m about to move, the music stops. Raised voices are
suddenly loud in the quiet, and there is the clink of glasses
being set down, murmurs of surprise, the trailing ends of
laughter.
“Heavenly Master and honorable court members,”
announces an invisible voice, magically magnified. “Our
esteemed guests. Please make your way to the stage for a
special performance by this year’s Paper Girls.”
Fingers pinch my shoulders. “Come on, girl,” snaps
Madam Himura’s hoarse voice. “The others are already
dressed.”
My stomach drops. The dance Madam Chu’s been teaching
us to perform tonight. I’d forgotten all about it.
Ignoring my objections, Madam Himura drags me across
the hall and out onto the balcony, broader here at the back of
the building, where a curved, weblike cage arcs overhead. A
stage is set up beneath it, polished floor shining.
She pushes me into a curtained-off area where the other
girls are waiting. “Get her into her costume,” she orders the
maids.
I try to object, but they crowd me, peeling my cheongsam
off. They re-dress me in the multilayered gold robes of our
dance costume. One of the maids picks at my hairstyle and the
braid loosens. I clutch at my hair, swirling round just in time to
see the blade fall. Light catches on its edge. Then it’s hidden
by the skirts of the maids as they usher me toward the other
girls.
Panic unfurls, fast and hot.
“Please!” I say, batting them off me. “I can’t do the dance!
I need to go!”
Holding up the hem of her long skirt, Mistress Eira hurries
to my side. “Lei? What’s wrong?”
From behind the curtain, the musicians start playing. The
murmuring of the crowd mutes as a melody rises.
Mistress Eira smiles. “There’s no need to be nervous. Your
dancing has improved so much over the past few months. You
should be proud.”
I crane my head to look past her, hardly hearing what she’s
saying. The blade glitters on the crystal floor, picked out by
the aquamarine glow of the lake. “I—I dropped something,” I
say.
“There’ll be plenty of time to get it after the performance.”
“It can’t wait. Mistress, please…”
And finally, she follows my gaze.
There’s a long pause. She asks, sharp, “Is that yours?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
In one quick movement, Mistress Eira goes over and
snatches the blade from the floor, swiftly hiding it in the folds
of her robes. Her mouth is set so tightly her lips have almost
disappeared. “I am going to dispose of this, and you are going
to go out onto the stage and perform as though this never
happened. Do you understand me, Lei-zhi?”
That first night I arrived at the palace, Mistress Eira’s use
of the Paper Girls’ honorific with my name was given with
pride. Now it stings.
Know your place, she is telling me. Remember who it is
you are.
I flex my fingers. Because I know exactly who I am, and it
is not the perfect Paper Girl she wants me to be.
My gaze hardens. “Did you even try to send my letters?” I
ask icily.
She just blinks.
“I thought as much.” Then I turn my back on her, taking
my place in the line of girls.
A moment later, the music swirls into a new chord. Our
cue. One by one, we pad onto the stage, our arms raised high,
the trailing sleeves of our costumes hiding our faces, and one
of us hiding something more—a sinking heart, a pang in her
chest, and the feeling that everything she has been fighting for
has been lost.
 THIRTY-FIVE

MADAM CHU EXPLAINED THAT THE DANCE we’re performing

tonight is another symbolism of purification for the new year,
though it seems to me more a way for the Demon King to
show us off to his guests.
Over the course of the dance, each layer of our costumes is
shed. Every robe we remove has to be cast off in the careful
way we were taught, the fabric rippling through the air, a
shining arc of gold in the lantern glow. Beneath the last layer
is a thin slip that barely hides our modesty. As the best dancer
of our group, Wren was chosen to have center stage during this
final act to offer her last layer to the King, but in her absence
Chenna was given the role. She moves gracefully across the
stage, dark skin luminous under the lights. The mesmerized
faces of the crowd follow her. But as she flutes out her wrist,
angling her throw just right so her discarded robe settles in the
lap of the King, it isn’t her he’s watching. It’s me.
Me his eyes are fixed upon, bright and dangerous.
Me he coils his lips back at in a smile that shows every one
of his teeth.
Hatred pulses inside me, a dark heartbeat. I might not have
a weapon anymore, but I still have my fists. During our
midnight lessons, Wren’s shown me just how effective a
properly angled kick to the groin can be. It won’t be enough to
take down the King. But it’ll give me enough time to find the
blade he always carries and turn it against him.
We leave the stage to the applause of the crowd. As soon as
we’re behind the curtain, I hurry past the swarm of maids,
ignoring the curious looks of the other girls as I head back into
the ball, still just wearing the tiny gold slip. At least it’ll be
easier to run in than that ridiculous cheongsam.
I haven’t gone far when the sound of my name makes me
look round.
Aoki’s followed me. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her breath
catching. “Why haven’t you changed back into your dress?”
Her face is flushed from dancing, a gloss to her vivid emerald
eyes. She looks radiant. Queenly.
I gather her into my arms. “I love you, Aoki,” I whisper
into her ear.
She jerks back, scanning my face. “Lei? What’s going on?”
“I just want to wish the King a happy new year.”
“But—”
I kiss her forehead. While she’s still blinking in surprise, I
hurry away before she spots the tears welling in my eyes.
How painful it is to say good-bye to someone who has no
idea you are leaving.
The King is still on the balcony, servants fussing around
him. I slow as I approach, trying to arrange my features into a
calmer expression than what I’m feeling, but a jolt shoots
down my spine as he sees me coming. His stare hardens. He
waves the servants away. Behind him, Naja’s lip curls. General
Ndeze is nearby but too busy entertaining a giggling group of
courtesans to take any notice. A flash of long, glossy hair, a
revealing ruqun—Zelle is a member of his doting audience. As
she swings her head round midlaugh, she catches my gaze and
gives an almost imperceptible nod.
“Lei-zhi,” the King greets me. Sparkling lights catch on his
gilded horns.
 I bow. “My King.” I force my voice steady, though it
sounds strange to me, too hard and low. “I hope you enjoyed
the performance, even if you have seen us undressed before
you so many times already.”
Something stills in him. His smile sharpens. “Perhaps even
more so,” he answers coolly. “It’s especially pleasurable to
know that none of those watching have had the same privilege.
Because, of course,” he adds, leaning in, “your lover isn’t here
tonight, is she?”
Though my pulse skips, I furrow my brow, feigning
confusion. “Forgive me, my King, but I don’t know what you
mean. My only lover is right here.” And even though it sickens
me to do it, I inch closer. My fingers quiver as I rest them
against his chest.
Behind him, Naja starts forward. But she stops at the
King’s raised hand.
“I haven’t been honest with you the nights we’ve been
together, my King,” I go on quickly, keeping my eyes on his.
“I’ve—I’ve been scared. I admit that I didn’t want this life at
first. But after our first proper night together, my emotions
have changed. My… desires.” One hand still on his chest, I
bring the other to my neck and trail it down the front of my
slip, lingering at my navel.
The King regards me in silence.
“Please,” I say. “May we go somewhere private? These
feelings are overpowering me. I need to explore them with
you, my King. Alone.”
His expression remains unmoved for a few long, torturous
seconds. Finally a lazy grin stretches across his face. “I knew
you’d come around, Lei-zhi.” Straightening, he circles his
fingers round my arm, a fraction too tight. “We’ll go to the
gardens. They will be private enough.”
He turns us toward the staircase winding down from the
balcony. A few of his servants and guards hurry forward, but
he waves them away.
 Naja strides over, ears pricked. “My King—”
“Leave us,” he orders.
As we start down the steps, I look around and find the
white fox watching us with her cool silver eyes. Even when
we’re out of sight, I shiver, sensing her gaze still on me, like
the hidden eyes of the moon.
The King leads me deep into the enchanted gardens.
They’re wilder, more wooded than the typical Han style,
knotted banyan and katsura trees forming a leafy ceiling
overhead. Light from the receding hall speckles the ground. A
stone path cuts through the undergrowth, the shadows all
around spotted with color: the pink leaves of hibiscus flowers,
cobalt-blue orchids, yellow frangipani. We follow the path to a
pond crowded with water lilies. Sweet fragrance honeys the
air. Each lily sparkles, a tiny star nestled at the center of its
petals, and I sense the warm brush of magic like a kiss in the
air.
The King looks at me. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
He hasn’t let go of me all this time. As we draw up to the
water’s edge, he pulls me close, one hand cupping my chin. “It
is, isn’t it?” he murmurs. He smiles, and it seems like he’s
about to kiss me.
Then his lips twist into a sneer.
“A beautiful lie.”
Panic snaps through me.
I try to shift back, but his grip tethers me to the spot. “What
—what do you mean?”
The words have barely left my mouth when his hands
clamp around my neck. With a roar, he lifts me into the air,
holding me out over the water. A group of nearby birds scatter
into the night sky—and with them, my composure. With
horrible choking sounds, I claw at his hand, gasp for air.
 “That is what you are, Lei-zhi,” he snarls. “What did you
think? That you could fool me? I am the King!”
I dig my fingernails into his hide-wrapped wrist, but it’s
thicker than human skin and I can’t get purchase. Distantly, I
register music drifting from the party. The scattering of notes
and lilting strings is half lost under the pounding in my ears,
the King’s heavy breathing.
The corded muscles in his neck tense as he squeezes my
neck tighter. “What is it with you women, always spreading
your legs for lesser lovers? Does it make you feel wanted?
Loved? Never mind. The reason does not interest me. Only the
punishment.”
“You… bastard,” I choke out.
He roars, slamming my head into the trunk of a nearby tree.
The pain is instant, a crack so fierce it splits my vision.
When the King’s face appears again, spit clings to his lips,
a vein throbbing in his forehead. “I brought your father and
that old lynx-woman here to watch you die. You know that,
yes? But a public execution would have to be at the hands of
someone else.” A grin, all teeth. “This is better. Here, I can
take my time. I can break every bone in your body, until the
pain is so consuming you won’t even know your own name.”
He swings me round, smashing me into the tree a second
time. The force makes me bite down on my tongue. Blood fills
my mouth. Tears stream down my cheeks. But the pain helps
sharpen my focus. Reminds me why I’m here.
Takes my hate and turns it into a blade.
I spit a wad of bloody saliva into his face. “You can kill
me,” I hiss, forcing each word past his tightening grip, “but it
won’t stop them. They are coming for you.”
It’s fleeting, but I see it spark across his eyes then—fear.
And I comprehend now that it’s not a new emotion to him. It’s
just been in hiding. All it needed was something to call it
forth, to trip his mind into panic.
 He stills. “You know.” A pause, then his voice rises.
“Who? Tell me! Tell me who dares plot against me!”
Blood trickles down my forehead. I blink it away. “Go
ahead. Kill me. I’ll never tell you.”
With a deafening bellow, he rears down and plunges me
headfirst into the pond.
Choking—
Spluttering—
So cold it’s burning—
Water plugs my mouth and throat, clamps around me like a
fist. I kick out, but the King holds me down. Lights burst in
front of my eyes. There’s rushing in my ears and my stomach
is churning and my heart is pounding, pounding, pounding—
He pulls me from the pool, and I hang from his arm,
retching and coughing, teeth chattering in the iced winter air.
“Who?” he demands again. “Is it the Cat Clan? The
Hannos? What are they planning?”
I sneer at him. “You’ll be dead before you know.”
This time I’m expecting it, but that doesn’t make it easier.
Water rushes up my nose as the King pushes my head down.
Something slimy brushes my face as it swims past. He holds
me under for longer, until blackness creeps across my brain, a
tempting dizziness that tries to spin me to sleep. Part of me is
ready to let it take me. But the other part—the stronger part—
rallies desperately against it.
This time when the King drags me out, he casts me to the
ground. I skid along the grass. The earth is hard, frosted over.
My fingers scrabble at the soil, trying to find purchase. Just as
I push myself up, he kicks me in my middle.
I collapse, mouth wide in a silent scream. Something
cracked; I felt the snap. A rib.
One more stomp and he’ll crush my heart.
 Rearing over me, the King pins my arms overhead. “I’ll
ask one more time, Lei-zhi.” He speaks slowly, almost calm,
though his eyes are wild with fury and something else, that
mad look I first saw in him the night of the koyo party and
worse each time since, like he’s unraveling from within. His
breaths steam in the frozen air. “If you still refuse to answer, I
will go back to the ball and drag your father and lynx-woman
here and kill them in front of you. Will that be enough
incentive for you to speak?”
I growl, jerking underneath him, but he presses his full
weight on me and it’s useless, I’m useless, I can’t win. How
could I ever have thought I could win, a Paper Girl against her
King? And then—
Shouting. The crunch and snap of plants underfoot.
Someone’s coming.
The King looks up.
Just in time for the knife that is whirring through the air to
embed itself hilt-deep into his right eye.
 THIRTY-SIX

ZELLE CHARGES INTO THE CLEARING AS the King pitches off

me, blood streaming down his face.
“Finish it!” she screams.
Behind her—Naja.
The white fox is astonishingly fast. She catches up to Zelle
in two bounds, her sari loosened at the front and flaring behind
her, and in one swift movement she reaches out, clasping Zelle
in her long, clawlike fingernails, and snaps her neck in two.
The sound is awful, a clean, high crunch.
I stagger to my feet. Naja looks up, Zelle discarded in front
of her. There are noises in the distance—clashing weapons,
screams, something like the deep churn of fire—and I see
flames reaching into the sky, lighting the night with streaks of
orange and vermilion.
The Floating Hall is on fire. Which means the palace must
be under attack.
The knowledge hits me hard.
We failed.
Then I lock eyes with Naja and everything else is whipped
from my mind, leaving only the burn of anger, hatred, darkest,
deepest pain, and Zelle’s last words to me, so simple, so
terrible.
Finish it.
I lurch toward the King. The grass is wet with his blood
and my feet skid, but the fall helps me, propels me forward.
He sees me coming a second too late. His face contorts. Hands
shaking, he reaches for the hilt of the knife embedded in his
eye—but I get there first. Letting out a cry, I wrench it out of
his blood-drenched socket.
And drive it into his throat.
Surprise. That’s his first expression.
The second is fury.
He jerks under me, but I cling to the hilt, fingers slick with
the blood gushing around it. I throw my whole body forward,
using my weight to embed the knife deeper. Together we fall.
I’m flung forward, sprawled over his chest, but I keep pushing
the blade into his neck. The sounds he’s making are horrible—
gurgling, babylike. He thrashes. Lashes out. Even though
they’re sloppy, there is still power in his blows, and the pain of
my broken rib flares with each one. But I grit my teeth against
it and hang on.
One of the King’s eyes is blue and piercing. The other is a
vivid red mess.
I snarl like a wild thing and jerk the knife side to side. It
barely moves, wedged into bone and cartilage, but I force it,
feeling things breaking, the snap of living tissue. Over the
King’s choked noises, there is an awful keening sound, high-
pitched and raw, and I think at first it’s Naja, but of course it’s
not.
It’s me.
Then I remember—Naja.
My fight with the King could have only lasted seconds.
The fox female is upon me just as I turn to look for her, curved
claws breaking skin, drawing blood as they dig into my
shoulders. She tosses me to the ground. Kicks me again and
again. The blows come too fast for me to escape. I can’t even
catch my breath, can barely see. The pain is agonizing,
unbearable, the hottest heat and fiercest white, a widening sky
opening to swallow me whole. I’m going to die, and the
knowledge of it, the searing certainty, is the worst feeling I’ve
ever known.
“Get off her, you bitch!”
Wren’s voice rings out, as bright as a dream.
I don’t see her until she tears Naja off me, and even then it
takes me a moment to recognize her. She’s wearing battle
clothes, leather armor over a midnight-blue tunic and trousers,
and her eyes blaze with the white of a Xia warrior, the same as
that night under the theater. She draws two swords from the
sheaths crossed at her back. Some unfelt wind moves the hair
around her face, making her seem eerie, like some dark
goddess, and even I get an instinctive lurch of awe.
Naja falters, just for a moment. Then she shakes herself.
Draws tall. “I told the King it was you,” she snarls, and lunges.
They fight viciously. Instinct overpowering form. Naja’s all
animal, the wildness of her demon form taking over. Gone is
the composed court guard standing always at the King’s side.
The cool, still gaze. She doesn’t even have a weapon because
her body is the weapon. Hunched over in a crouchlike stance,
she fights with spins and jabs, slashes and bites.
They move so quickly it’s hard to follow. The clearing is a
whir of limbs and blood sprays, the thud of bone on flesh.
“He defended you,” Naja spits. Her mouth is foaming,
blood turning it pink where it runs from a gash in her cheek.
She blocks a parry from Wren and swipes a leg in a low
sweep, which Wren jumps to avoid. “Even though you
betrayed him by sleeping with that little golden-eyed slut, he
said he couldn’t punish you yet because the Hannos have done
so much for him. He had his suspicions, but he still hoped.
That’s why he sent you home when he heard of your mother’s
death. He was showing your clan the loyalty he deserved.”
 Wren’s knuckles are white where they grip her swords.
“Loyalty?” she says with a disbelieving laugh. She lurches
forward, arms arc overhead as she leaps, bringing down the
two blades together as one.
Naja dances back just in time.
“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Wren spits.
“And your people do?”
“They thought they did. They learned the hard way that it’s
a rare thing in this world.”
“Ironic, isn’t it? How now they’re the ones teaching others
that same truth. Tell me, how does it feel to betray the demon
who has been unfailingly dedicated to your worthless keeda
clan all these years?”
Wren ducks a blow. Naja recovers quickly, and this time
her elbow catches Wren in the side, causing her to stumble.
“Bitch,” Wren pants.
Naja laughs. “Manners, Paper whore.” But I catch her
barely veiled awed look again as she appraises Wren’s
unnatural appearance.
In the time it takes for the fox to hesitate, Wren strikes out.
One of her swords catches Naja’s shoulder. Blood spurts in an
arc, staining her snow-white fur. Hissing, she lashes out, her
heel cracking across Wren’s jaw, making her head snap round
and drawing a spurt of red, the crunch of bone.
The two of them drop back into defensive stances, chests
heaving. Wren swipes a sleeve across her mouth.
Then Naja looks to me. Her eyes widen. “Watch out!” she
yells.
Wren pivots to look, lowering her swords a fraction—and
opening up space for Naja to attack.
But I saw what the fox was planning a second before she
acts. As Naja kicks off her back feet, I lunge to intercept. We
collide with a crunch. Pain screams through me as my broken
rib is crushed even more, the gashes in my shoulders ripping
open. I throw a punch, but it’s weak and she overpowers me in
a second. Tosses me aside. She swings an arm back, clawlike
fingers aiming for my throat—
“Wren! Lei!”
Naja falters as Kenzo bounds into view.
He moves fast on his muscled wolf haunches. He’s
gripping a bamboo stick sideways in both hands. Its ends drip
with blood.
“Go!” he roars. “There’s no time!”
Naja’s face is wild. “Keeda-lover!” she spits.
She starts upon him in a whir of kicks and claw swipes.
Kenzo holds her off with his staff, his powerful wolf haunches
digging into the earth as she pushes him back.
“Go!” he shouts at us again.
Wren hesitates, her eyes slipping back to their normal
brown. “But—”
“Now!”
She stows her swords and grabs my hand. As she pulls me
away, I look back over my shoulder and catch one last glimpse
of the King’s body sprawled upon the bloody grass. He looks
strangely small. His limbs are thrown out at his sides, as if
he’d fallen over from too much sake. At his neck, the knife
juts, sticking up where I left it, and a ragged exhale escapes
my lips.
It’s over. It is done.
I did it.
The King is dead.
Wren leads me in the direction of the Floating Hall, the growls
and thuds of Naja and Kenzo’s fight fading behind us. As the
trees start to thin, the hall comes into full view. It’s utterly
consumed by flames, a glowing dome of gold. Heat blazes off
it. The noise is a living thing, full with electric crackling. From
under it come the sounds of battle; metallic clash and hoof
thunder, screams and yelling. Flecks of burning ash drift
through the air, like the opposite of snow.
This is it, then. Master Takeo’s prediction. A night of
smoke and flames, the palace destroyed from the inside out by
a girl with fire in her veins.
“What happened?” I call out to Wren as we run.
“Our cover was blown,” she shouts back. Her hair whips
behind her. “Someone must have given us away. You got to the
King just in time.” She squeezes my hand. “You did it, Lei.
You killed him.”
I almost trip. “But now the court knows who was involved!
Everything you were working for, the care you all took to keep
it secret—”
“We’ll worry about that later.”
“And why are you even here? You shouldn’t have come
back, Wren. You shouldn’t have risked it.”
“Of course I came back. I had to make sure you were safe.”
When we reach the edge of the gardens, the ground shifts
from loamy earth to a hard stone path. We’re right by the hall
now. Underneath, the lake glows from the blaze above. Its
surface fissures with ripples—the fish are jumping, stirred by
the heat. There are bodies in the water, and I cast a terrified
eye over them, praying that none of them belong to Baba or
Tien.
My stomach jolts. Kenzo promised to keep them safe. But
how can he protect them when he’s fighting with Naja?
“My father,” I choke. “Tien—”
“They’re being looked after,” Wren promises.
Slowing, she leads us around to the east side of the lake.
I’m finally able to breathe somewhat normally, though now
that the shock is wearing off, pain replaces it. My wounds
from the King’s and Naja’s attacks burn and throb. They’re
hurting more with every step, but I grind my teeth together,
determined not to show it.
“How are we getting away?” I ask.
Wren looks round, firelight sliding across her face. “The
same way I got here so quickly. Wings.”
With a tug on my arm, she pulls me off the path and into
the undergrowth. We swipe away the tangled branches. The
ground is uneven, clumped with roots. I focus on my steps,
trying not to trip.
I hear the demon before I see him: the deep rumble of giant
lungs. Wren calls out, and a croaky voice answers.
“Did you find her?”
“Yes,” she replies as we emerge into a dappled grove.
“Merrin—meet Lei.”
Wind tugs the furled petals of flowers from the magnolia
trees lining the clearing, a whirling flurry of pink and white.
Some of the leaves catch on the dusky pewter feathers of the
huge bird demon rising to greet us. He is an owl-form, far
larger than any demon I have seen, with an intelligent face—
beaked owl features molded with human—and keen orange
eyes. Like Madam Himura’s, his arms are long and humanoid,
rippling feathers wound over them and fluting out at the edges
in the weird hybrid wings that all bird-forms share. He has his
elbows cocked, his wings only extending halfway in the small
grove, but still their span is impressive. Each feather is tipped
with black. Power thrums from him, and as we approach he
stands a little taller, the pierce of his eyes making me falter.
“Merrin?” I say.
He gives me a mock bow. “At your service, lovely. But I’m
afraid we have to hurry the introductions.” His head tilts,
listening. “Someone’s coming, and I doubt it’s a welcoming
committee.”
He dips a wing to the ground. Wren leads me up along it
and onto his back. I try to move lightly; his feathers are soft,
downy-light.
Merrin laughs, a rattling sound at the back of his throat.
“No need to be so gentle, sweetheart. I’ve caught mice for
dinner heavier than you.”
Behind me, Wren tucks her legs alongside mine and leans
forward, gripping the back of Merrin’s feathered neck.
“Ready?”
Before I can answer, we jerk back.
There are shouts, thudding footsteps.
A blaze of arrows cut through the air.
“Hold on!” Wren yells, pinning me down as Merrin kicks
off the ground so powerfully the shudder in his muscles
ripples through my own.
We lift into the air, the forest rushing past. A second volley
of arrows fly our way and Merrin careens sharply to the side to
avoid them. An arrow tip grazes my cheek. He banks. One
wingtip brushes the treetops. He rolls a tight corner, then beats
hard to gain height. In just a few seconds we are soaring high,
the clouds just above our heads, a dark, silver-glazed belly.
I’ve always wanted to fly, to know what it’s like to dance
on the wind currents.
The reality is nothing like I imagined. Merrin cuts fast
through the air, the pounding of his winged arms rocking Wren
and me, and I cling to his feathers, convinced I’m about to
slide off his back at any second.
Far below, the palace is a blaze of lights and fire. Relief
washes over me, as fierce and radiant as a sunburst.
We’re free.
Then Wren cries out, “To the right!”
My head whips round and I spot them—a group of Moon
caste bird demons. There must be more than twenty. I make
out the shape of hawk, crow, vulture, eagle. Of all the demon
forms, bird castes are the most foreign-looking, with their
unsettling blend of feathers and beaks with humanoid form,
and to see so many now, winged arms spread wide, racks fear
through me.
They’re approaching fast, not weighed down by
passengers. Though they aren’t as large as Merrin, everything
about these birds screams predator. Glowing yellow eyes.
Beaked, hook-tipped maws. Armor is strapped to their bodies,
their taloned feet fitted with blades.
Merrin lets out a hiss. “Not these assholes.”
“The Tsume!” Wren shouts in my ear. “The King’s elite
bird warriors.”
“And of course,” Merrin says, “they keep badgering me to
join. How many times must an owl say no?” There’s a pause.
“Sorry about this, girls,” he says, then tucks in his wings.
We flip upside down—
And plummet through the air.
I scream as we hurtle toward the earth, wind lashing my
face, my gut lurching. Tears stream down my frozen skin. The
drop is so fast that one of my hands slips from where I’m
clutching at Merrin’s feathers, and the wind tugs at me, trying
to yank me away. With a twist of her arm, Wren grabs me. She
digs her heels into Merrin’s sides, holding us down. The caws
of the Tsume follow us.
Ahead, the rooftops of the palace are getting closer, but
Merrin doesn’t slow.
“We’ll crash!” I yell.
Neither Wren nor Merrin answers. I squeeze my eyelids
shut; the last thing I see is the curved eaves of a temple roof
hurtling toward us.
Merrin pulls out of the dive without a second to spare.
The movement is so sudden it almost jerks us from his
back. Pain flares through my rib cage and shoulders. Wren and
I grunt, our arms almost wrenched from their sockets, but we
manage to cling on.
Thuds, shrieks, the sound of wood shattering behind us.
Some of the Tsume didn’t pull back in time.
I risk a glance round and my pulse stutters.
Some of them did.
They speed toward us. The hawk at the head of the group
lets out an ear-splitting caw. He gains on us in seconds and
slashes out with a metal-tipped talon, the blade catching
Merrin’s flank. He cries, dropping suddenly, but then he rights
himself and takes a sharp turn, weaving between the rooftops.
The hawk follows. Smaller and lighter than Merrin and the
rest of the birds, he gains on us quickly again, this time
drawing up beside us. Garnet eyes glitter from under a hooded
bronze battle helmet that wraps his upper face and covers the
top of his short beak-nose, tapering to a sharp hook.
“Shame on you, brother,” he says, his voice a high-pitched
croak. “Letting Papers ride you.”
Merrin shoots a quick look over his shoulder as Wren
reaches back to draw one of her swords. “At least I’m not
wearing that ridiculous hat.”
The hawk hisses. With a flap of his wings, he swerves
towards us, lashing out with his metal-hooked beak. Wren is
ready for him. Still clinging on to Merrin’s feathers with one
hand, she arcs her other arm toward him, blade flashing. The
sword catches the hawk across his helmet with a metallic
crash. He squawks in surprise, faltering, just as we take a
sharp turn.
There’s a sickening crunch. I look round to see the hawk
tumbling down the side of the tall temple pillar we managed to
avoid.
Merrin flies between the rooftops, the palace a blur of
shapes and colors. The perimeter wall rears up ahead. We fly
straight for it. Again, Merrin turns at the last second. The bird
demons following us hit the black rock at full speed, the sound
of their necks snapping loud as a whip crack. Twisting round
to look, I see the huge crow pull up just in time—though
judging by the way he lands sprawling on the top of the wall,
clutching a winged arm across his torso, he damaged one of
his shoulders.
He lets out a furious shriek as he watches us fly on.
Below, the landscape changes to the shadowed stretch of
bamboo forest. Darkness falls as the lights of the palace
recede. Merrin keeps close to the treetops, but as time passes
and no more of the Tsume come for us, he spreads his wings
wide and takes us up into the clouds.
“Oh, dear,” he says when there’s nothing around us but
white mist and eerie silence. “They’ll only want me even more
after that.”
I let out a shaky laugh. My skin feels raw, lashed by the
wind. The air is wet up here in the clouds. Beads of water
cling to my body, making me suddenly aware that I’m still just
in my thin dancing slip, though the gold fabric is soaked
through with red: my own blood, and the King’s.
“Is this a good time to wish you a happy birthday?” Wren
asks, and I laugh again. She lowers her lips close to my ear.
“You have it with you, right?” she asks, serious this time.
I know immediately what she’s referring to. “Yes,” I reply.
She plants a kiss on my cheek. Her breath is hot on my
frozen skin. “You can open it when we land.”
I sense the pull of my necklace, suddenly heavy where it’s
hanging, exposed, over my collarbones and swinging with
Merrin’s wing beats. All these years waiting for this day,
waiting to discover the word—the future, the world—my
Birth-blessing pendant contains for me. But now, flying
through a sky that tastes like ash and endings, I’m not sure I
want to know anymore.
We were meant to escape the palace quietly. Instead, the
Hannos and their alliances have been exposed.
There is no doubt about it. A war is coming.
 THIRTY-SEVEN

MERRIN FLIES ON UNTIL WE ARE far from the palace. The night
is starless, snow clouds thick above. The air tastes like ice.
Below: a carpet of darkness. There are no settlements here, or
at least any that I can see. Wren tells me we’re to the northeast
of the palace, in the foothills of the mountains bordering Han
and Rain—the infamous Kono Pass, impassable even by flight
because of the turbulent currents and jagged peaks. We’ll stay
at a hideout tonight before leaving for the Hannos’ fort in
Ang-Khen tomorrow.
Or at least, that was the plan.
“We’ll send a message to my father as soon as we can,”
Wren says as Merrin begins to lose altitude. “Ask him what we
should do. I doubt our home is safe anymore, or any of our
holdings. The ones the court knows about, anyway.”
“Could you ask him about my father and Tien, too?”
“Of course. I’ll make it one of his priorities. I’m sure they
are safe, Lei.”
My stomach is hollow. “The court know Kenzo is working
with your father now. That he’s been plotting against the King.
He won’t be able to take over the council.”
Wren’s voice is hard. “Not if he killed Naja.”
I picture the fox female’s wild eyes, her relentless energy.
Somehow I can’t imagine her allowing herself to lose. At the
same time, I can’t imagine Kenzo losing, either. The warmth
of his fur as he carried me from the King’s chambers comes
back to me, the safe feel of his muscled arms and his smell,
deep and almost sweet, like wind-stirred grass.
He’d better win. Not just for us, but for what Naja did to
Zelle.
“She killed her.” The words choke in my mouth and I have
to clear my throat before I continue, “Naja. She killed Zelle.”
“I know,” Wren replies quietly. “I saw her body.”
“She was kind to me,” I murmur, my eyes blurring. “When
I was scared, that first time before going to the King. And
when I snuck into Mistress Azami’s room. And at the end. The
King was about to kill me. She saved me. But I couldn’t save
her.”
I push my face into Merrin’s feathered neck, tears sliding
down my frozen cheeks.
The screeches of animal calls rise as we approach the
forest. Merrin flies low. It’s difficult to make out much in the
blackness, but soon he shifts course, wings canted back to
catch the air, and after a few wide, slow circles he brings us
down through the treetops into a clearing, where we land with
surprising lightness. He lets out a caw. As if in answer, lights
spark into flame in the near distance. Through the matted
vegetation, they illuminate the hulking silhouette of an
abandoned temple, half of it seeming to be carved out of the
very mountain itself. There’s the glimmer of water from a lake
stretching out to one side.
Wren and I climb down from Merrin’s back. I stagger
sideways as my feet hit land. It still feels like I’m listing from
side to side, and every part of my body aches from clinging so
tightly to his feathers. More of me is hurting than not, but I
hold myself upright, forcing a grim smile when Wren tries to
help me.
“I’m all right,” I say. “Honestly.”
 With a throaty purr, Merrin shakes himself, stretching his
arms wide. The feathers wrapping them flutter before half of
them fold back down, lying flat over his arms so his wings are
only half the size they were before.
“I take it back, lovelies. You’re definitely heavier than
mice. Palace food has spoiled you. I hope you brought some
with you?” he adds hopefully.
“Actually,” Wren says, “we should have. I’m not sure how
long we’ll have to hide out here.”
“I think you’re forgetting we’re an elite pack of warriors,”
Merrin replies. “Hunting won’t be a problem.”
“I’m not a warrior,” I say.
“Sweet girl,” he replies, head swiveling in my direction,
“you killed the King. You’re the most warrior of us all.” His
beaked mouth lifts in a grin. “Besides, are you sure you aren’t
part demon? I guess you haven’t had time to look in a mirror,
what with all the assassinating and mortal danger and whatnot,
but whatever those fools at the palace put on your eyes earlier
has smudged.” He flaps an arm. “You’re looking a little…
panda-form.”
Before I can thank him for his kind assessment, the sound
of footsteps makes us look round. Three figures emerge from
the shadows of the foliage. Their lanterns cast an amber glow
on their faces. One is a human boy, Paper caste, with a narrow
face, a worried slant to his soot-black eyes. The other two are
wiry Moon caste leopard demons—siblings even, judging
from their appearance, and not much older than Wren and me.
They approach in a feline prowl, tails flicking behind them.
Their spotted heads are similar, with short, black-lined snouts
and round ears beaded with piercings.
“Wren! Merrin!” shouts the female leopard, breaking into a
loping run. She squeezes Wren before looping her arms round
Merrin’s neck. “You’re late! We were so worried.”
“I hope your lateness isn’t a sign that things didn’t go
smoothly?” asks her brother.
 Wren’s gaze meets his. “I’m afraid it is.” She pulls me
forward. “But our main goal has been achieved, and we have
Lei to thank for that.”
The leopard-boy looks at me, his eyes wide. “The King is
dead?”
I take a shaky inhale before replying, the answer still
unimaginable even to me, with his blood smeared all over my
skin.
“Yes.”
The first flakes of snow are beginning to fall as I step out
under the temple’s eaves. The moss-trimmed lake spreads
before me, dark and glossy in the starless night. I set the
lantern down and take a seat on the wide stone stairs, clutching
the fur cloak the leopard-girl, Willow, lent me. The temple
looks like it’s been abandoned for centuries. Weeds and
wildflowers grow in thick sprouts from cracks in the rock.
Birds have made their nests in the minarets and peaked
rooftop. A great banyan tree towers from one of the temple’s
walls, roots as large as the rooms it has grown through, its
vines dangling in netted curtains and littering the ground with
leaves the size of Merrin’s hands.
I pull my necklace over my head and sharply inhale at the
fresh pain it flares in my shoulders. The gold shell of my
pendant is still unbroken, perfectly seamless. Carefully, I cup
it in my palm, looking for a way in, when its casing cracks
neatly open in two. And, years after it was made, its secret is
finally offered to me.
For a moment, I stare in silence. Then a laugh escapes my
lips. Tears blur my vision. Because the word that floats inside,
a single character in brushstrokes of softest black, is so perfect
it’s a wonder I never guessed it.
Flight.
I look a moment longer. Then I snap the pendant shut and
run back into the temple, shouting Wren’s name over and over,
half laughing, half crying, heart bursting with the awe and sun-
bright surety of it. Because that is what Wren is to me—my
wings. And with her love, she’s taught me how to use my own.
To fight against what oppresses me. To lift and launch and soar
into the air, just as we did tonight, just as we will have to do
every day if we are to make the kingdom safe, just as we will
continue doing for the rest of our lives, flying, dancing
through the brilliant skies, reaching new heights together,
always together.
A war might be coming.
But we have the wings to fight it.
IN THE FLAME AND SHADOW OF the burning night garden, the
white fox crouches beside her King. The motionless form of
the wolf is sprawled on the bloody earth behind her.
She doesn’t care about him. She doesn’t care that the two
keeda girls have escaped. Let them run. Let them believe they
have won.
She knows better.
Careful to avoid his wounds, she touches her hand to the
King’s wrist—and feels it. A pulse. Faint, but unmistakable.
He lives.
The fox caresses her King’s face. “I knew a mere human
girl couldn’t kill you,” she whispers. Then she stands and calls
for one of the waiting soldiers to fetch a shaman.
 AUTHOR’S NOTE

THE STORY WITHIN THESE PAGES IS a work of fiction, but also a

work of love. The world of Ikhara has been heavily inspired
by growing up in Malaysia, a country with a dense mix of
cultures, and also by my identity as a person of mixed
ethnicity. As such, it’s a bit of a hybrid—like me. I feel
extremely lucky to come from a multicultural home. It has
shaped my influences and perspectives—and will forever
continue to do so.
The conception of Girls of Paper and Fire also comes from
a personal, deep yearning for more diverse novels, particularly
in YA. I believe it’s important for everyone, but especially
young people, to see themselves in the stories they consume—
to feel acceptance and kinship. To be inspired for their own
stories, real and imagined. Even magical worlds have their
roots in our own. I would love to see more books reflecting the
rich variety of our individual realities.
The story of the Paper Girls is one that is, sadly,
representative of many women’s experiences. My own
included. While I realize these are hard discussions, especially
for teens, it is of vital importance we have them. Books can be
safe places to explore difficult topics. While we cannot shelter
young people from being exposed to sexual violence, whether
through lived experience or indirectly, we can give them a way
to safely engage with and reflect upon these issues. I hope
Girls provides such a space.
For any readers who have experienced sexual assault: I am
so, so sorry for what you have been through. My wish is that,
like me, you were able to find some form of kinship and
empowerment in Lei’s journey. Despite the darkness of the
story, there are many positive messages that I wanted to
convey to readers going through their own traumas: supportive
relationships and friendships. The ability to find hope even in
the hardest times. The power of female strength. The
knowledge that you can go through horrible things and not just
survive, but live.
This is a story close to my heart. I hope you enjoyed it.
If you are the victim of sexual, emotional, or physical
abuse, please consider speaking to a trusted adult, or
contacting one of the following resources if you need to seek
help anonymously.
RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network)
Call: 1-800-656-HOPE
Chat: online.rainn.org
Info: rainn.org
Love Is Respect—National Dating Abuse Hotline for Teens
Call: 1-866-331-9474
Info and chat: LoveIsRespect.org
Text: LoveIs to 22522
National Domestic Violence/Abuse Hotline
Call: 1-800-799-SAFE
Info and chat: thehotline.org
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THIS BOOK AND I HAVE BEEN through a lot. If I do the math, it’s
something like three relationships, five homes (across two
countries), one change of agent, one change of career, eleven
rounds of editing, two disastrous haircuts, what must be fifty
million cups of tea, and countless emotional crises, quite a few
of which the book itself caused. But despite our difficult
journey together—or perhaps, because of it—Girls has
become a sort of friend to me. Seeing it now so beautifully
made up and having its own life out in the world independent
of me is a proud, proud moment.
I owe a hundred thank yous to everyone who helped get us
to this point:
To my yoga teacher, Matt Gluck, whose class I was in
when the first line of Girls came to me and led me into the
story. Also for inspiring me to set out on my own yoga
teaching career! My classes have become the perfect antidote
to lonely writing days.
To author friends who read early versions of Girls and gave
much-needed feedback and encouragement: Kendra Leighton,
Katy Moran, Emma Pass, Kerry Drewery, Sangu Mandanna,
and Lana Popovic. Your enthusiasm for Girls kept me going.
Thank you also to Brian Geffen for early notes that helped
shape the world of Ikhara into what it is now.
To the Mad Hatters—Sarwat Chadda, James Noble, Alex
Bell, Louie Stowell, Jane Hardstaff, Rohan Gavin, and Ali
Starr—for celebrating the highs and commiserating about the
lows with me, and providing the best kind of response to both:
cocktails and laughter. Our London nights are some of my
favorites. Sarwat, thank you especially for your early insight
and never-ending encouragement.
James, you are my rock. Thank you for always believing in
me and knowing how to pick me up. I’m endlessly grateful to
have you in my life.
To Taylor Haggerty, for being Girls’ tireless champion and
always being ready with insight and positivity whenever I’m
lacking in either. When I was querying this time around, a
friend told me to choose the agent I feel like I could write the
best books under, and so that’s what I did. I look forward to
many more books together. And to Holly Root, thank you for
playing matchmaker!
To my amazing Jimmy team—Jenny Bak, Sasha
Henriques, Sabrina Benun, Erinn McGrath, Julie Guacci,
Aubrey Poole, James Patterson—for taking a chance on Girls
and working so hard to make that chance count. Jenny, you’re
a dream to work with. Thank you for your patience,
understanding, impeccable editorial insight, endless bounds of
enthusiasm, and always knowing the right thing to do for our
book. You made Girls into what it is today. I feel like the
luckiest author in the world to call you my editor.
To so many of my amazing friends who have spent hours
listening to me talk about imaginary worlds—Alex, Peter,
Claudia, Tom North and Tom Latimer, Luke, Amber, Polly,
Rich Galbraith and Rich Lyus, and to many more I haven’t
named—I blame sequel brain. Thank you so much for your
support and inspiration throughout this process.
To my parents, for being the perfect blend of crazy and
caring. Dad: I have no doubt that I wouldn’t have become a
writer were it not for your bedtime stories and quiet,
unwavering support. Mum: you brought me up to be both
knowledgeable and proud of my Chinese-Malaysian heritage.
This book is a testimony to that.
To Callum, for championing me always, anywhere, and
through anything. You still know me better than anyone. You
also frustrate me more than anyone, but I love you even so.
 To Fab, for giving me a new home and a life filled with so
much happiness I can hardly stop smiling. You’ve made
writing a lot more difficult because of that, but I forgive you.
It’s worth it a million times over.
Pour la vie.
Finally, to everyone who picks up a copy of Girls—it
means a lot to me that you’ve given your time to this little
book. It’s not perfect, but I did my best to write it with
sensitivity, passion, honesty, and care, and I hope you can feel
that through the words. Thank you for reading.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

NATASHA NGAN is a writer and yoga teacher. She grew up

between Malaysia, where the Chinese side of her family is
from, and the UK. This multicultural upbringing continues to
influence her writing, and she is passionate about bringing
diverse stories to teens. Natasha studied geography at the
University of Cambridge before working as a social media
consultant and fashion blogger. She recently moved to Paris,
where she likes to imagine she drifts stylishly from brasserie
to brasserie, notepad in one hand, wineglass in the other. In
reality, she spends most of her time getting lost on the metro
and confusing locals with her French.
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