by Natasha Ngan
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 war
m. 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.”
