by Natasha Ngan
“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 ha
ir 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.
