by Natasha Ngan
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 cor
ner 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.
