by Natasha Ngan
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?”
