The Girl King

by Mimi Yu

  She slid down boneless until her face touched the cool of the floor. What will I do?

  Lu would know. But Lu was gone. And Min knew, with each timid beat of her despairing heart, that she was not Lu. Hadn’t that always been the problem?

  Help me, she thought. A desperate prayer—but to whom? There was no one left to hear her.

  “I am.”

  The other girl’s voice slid around inside Min like oil in a glass. “I’m still here.”

  Fear shot through her, pulling her upright. “You!” she cried. “But Brother, he … he—”

  “Killed me?” the shamaness concluded with sweet scorn. “I died long ago, before you were born.”

  Min frowned, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of a hand. “W-who are you? What do you want?”

  The shamaness sighed, as though disappointed. “The question is, what do you want, Min?”

  “I—I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not lying!”

  “Aren’t you? You’re a liar, Min, and that’s what liars do.”

  “I’m not!” Stupidly, tears welled in her eyes again.

  “You are. Listen to me: in this world, there are only fools and liars. Fools are largely ordinary, but every now and then one will be born who is blessed—golden. Golden fools are beautiful, so they can afford to be honest. They float above the rest of us, wearing their pretty truths on their breast like a badge.”

  Lu, Min thought, and it was like a cold finger prodding the meat of her heart.

  “The rest of us aren’t allowed such luxuries. We’re too twisted and cruel and ugly. If people saw what we were—well, that is why we must lie, isn’t it?”

  “We …,” Min repeated softly. Her tongue was thick and slow in her mouth, like running in a dream. Perhaps this is all just a dream, she allowed herself to think. Stupid. She knew what this was, even if she couldn’t admit it.

  “Yes, Min,” the shamaness continued as though she had heard. Perhaps she had. “We. You know what you are. You’ve always known.”

  “No, no, I’m not, I won’t—”

  “Don’t be sad, you silly girl,” chided the shamaness, and it was so playful as to be scornful. “Golden fools are all alike, but there are so many different kinds of liars. We’re forced to toil, nothing is given to us that we don’t tear our fingers to the bone digging for, but liars are so full of possibility. There’s nothing that can’t be won with a well-crafted lie. Why, in the right light, a liar might even glint like gold.”

  Her voice was beautiful and hideous in equal measure, a hoarse singsong both sweet as a child’s and guttural as a death rattle, with none of the harsh crackle of the fire-creature in the brazier.

  “What do you want?” Min whispered.

  “I want the same thing you do.”

  Min closed her eyes. Each word seemed to scrape and claw away at her, leaving her raw and open all over.

  “But I don’t know what I want,” she insisted again.

  She could see it though, even as the words left her: she would grow tall and elegant, her face shifting into a cool mask of beauty like her mother’s. Her voice would strengthen with wisdom and her nunas would love her for it. She would use it to make clever jokes that would make them laugh. And every time Set looked upon her, her and the blessed golden children she bore for him, he would see her.

  “I want to be free,” the shamaness sighed, almost wistful. “Just as you long to be free of me, of yourself as you are.”

  Was that freedom she was imagining? It felt like power. Perhaps freedom was a sort of power. Or perhaps freedom could only be won through power …

  “How do I do it?” Min’s eyes were open now in the dimness of her too-small bedroom.

  “Go north,” said the shamaness. “Just like your beloved and his false monk bid you do. Go north. Take me home to Yunis. Once I am there, I will be free to leave you to your stupid little dreams of sons and beauty.”

  Could it be that simple? Her heart clenched, daring to hope.

  “But,” Min said as she realized, “Set only wants me because I have you.” What could she possibly offer him otherwise? She was just a stupid little girl, slow-witted and plain.

  “Find him Yunis, and he will love you for it,” the shamaness said. “Grant him Yunis, and you will grant him endless power. After that, what is there he can’t forgive?”

  Like a conjuring, Set’s face swam before her eyes, indistinct as water. He saw her and smiled, flooding her with a peculiar warmth. Warmth like safety, like certainty. It felt, Min thought, a lot like love.

  Yes. If I give him Yunis, it will be enough. The hope surged through her, bright and urgent. I’ll give him Yunis, and I’ll give him sons, and I’ll be so clever and obedient he won’t be able to help but love me, magic or no.

  Perhaps he would even let her pardon her sister. Lu could never rule, of course—oh, that would make her angry—but surely Set could find a place for her in the court.

  “And I will be able to have children? Once you’re gone?” Min pressed. She had to be sure.

  “All the hideous little princes you can manage to squeeze out.”

  An unpleasant thought came to Min then. “But Set wants to destroy Yunis, doesn’t he?” she asked, her voice catching on the words. “He just declared war on them.”

  “He does,” the shamaness purred. “He wants to gut it and use it and rend it until nothing remains but ashes and lost hope.” Min could feel the oily pleasure, the smile in her voice.

  “But why …” Min frowned. She was missing something, but what? Stupid, why am I so stupid? “Why would you want to destroy your own home?”

  “Tell me,” the shamaness sighed wearily, as though speaking to a difficult child. “Tell me about your home, Min. What does the word mean to you?”

  And she saw Butterfly and Snowdrop and Tea Rose, giggling together in a closed cluster ahead of her on the sidewalk.

  And she saw her mother, so beautiful and severe and cold—always radiantly cold—sighing over her shoulder as they both gazed despairingly at Min’s reflection in the mirror.

  And she saw Lu. She saw her from behind, the swing of her long braid as she walked away. Always toward something else, some place Min couldn’t quite follow.

  And she thought perhaps she understood.

  CHAPTER 18

  North

  They awoke to a pounding at the door.

  They’ve come for the princess, Nok thought as he opened it.

  “Adé?”

  Nok gaped at the girl in the doorway. He glanced nervously over his shoulder but only saw Omair. The princess was nowhere in sight, hopefully heeding his instruction to stay hidden. “What are you doing here?”

  “You missed my engagement party yesterday,” Adé said, chewing her lip. “I was worried.”

  “Your—” Nok closed his eyes. “I … I forgot.”

  “Oh.” She rocked on her heels, then thrust a parcel toward him. “It wasn’t much fun, to be honest. There are all these wild rumors flying about the Ellandaise being forced to leave the city so no one was in the mood …” Perhaps mistaking his nervousness for boredom, her voice trailed off. “Anyway, that’s not important. I brought you a slice of cake. Leftover from the party. Try it; it’s nice.”

  He looked down at the parcel in her hands. It was wrapped in soft white cotton and tied with a string. “You can’t be here right now,” he blurted, regretting it as a flash of hurt distorted her pretty features. Just for a moment; then she was setting her jaw.

  “What’s going on, Nok?” she demanded, pushing past him. “You’re acting strange—well, stranger than usual.”

  Helplessly, Nok moved to let her in. He glanced outside, but the view was clear. Not a person in sight. He closed the door behind them.

  “Adé!” Omair was rising from his seat at the table. “What an unexpected surprise.”

  The girl favored him with a warm embrace. “It’s so good to see you!”


  “Look how you’ve grown! How are things in the city?”

  “Well, it’s complete madness this morning, of course.” Then, seeing their blank stares: “Have you not heard about the emperor yet?”

  Nok felt a prickle of heat on the back of his neck. “What about the emperor?”

  “Oh!” Adé said softly. “He—he’s dead.” As she spoke, she set her parcel of cake on the table—right beside Lu’s sword. The princess had left it out. They noticed it at the same time. Adé’s eyes widened at the exposed hilt with its imperial insignia: a solid-gold tiger’s head, the roaring mouth filled with harsh carnelian.

  “Nok,” she said slowly. “This sword …”

  Her words fell away into a scream of shock.

  He followed her eyes to where Lu stood in the doorway of his bedroom, bow drawn, an arrow pointed straight at Adé’s heart.

  “No!” Instinct threw Nok between the two girls. “Put that down!”

  Lu’s bow clattered to the floor. “She saw the sword.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” he barked at her.

  “Is that …?” Adé’s voice was faint behind him.

  The princess’s voice was low and hoarse. “Tell me what you just said about my father.”

  “Get back in that room and stay!” Nok snapped.

  She never took her eyes off Adé. “Tell me what happened to my father.”

  Adé looked between Nok and Omair before saying slowly, “I’m so sorry, but your father, the emperor—he’s … he’s passed.”

  Lu’s eyes were wild but dry. “When?”

  Adé shook her head. “Yesterday, I think. They’re coronating your cousin today—”

  “He has no claim!” Lu blurted hotly. “He was only ever going to be crowned if he married me—”

  “If he married a princess,” Omair corrected softly from behind her.

  “Yes, exactly …” Her voice dropped off. “Min.” The name fell from her lips, soft and terrible.

  Adé hesitated, then nodded. “He’s marrying your sister.”

  The princess closed her eyes. Her mouth trembled, and for a moment it looked like she might be sick. Nok almost felt sorry for her in that moment.

  “There’s more,” Adé continued, and her voice took on a queer softness, as though she were approaching a feral animal. “They say it was you. That you killed your father and fled. They’ve dispatched soldiers to find you. There’s a reward for your capture—dead or alive.”

  “That’s a lie,” Lu blurted. “I would never—that’s a lie!” She took a step toward Adé, as though she had been the one to make up the story.

  Nok could see the truth dawning on her now. She’d been set up. If her cousin could not kill her, he would do worse—turn her into a murderer, a traitor. Guilty of regicide and patricide—a criminal of unforgivable proportions. Who would be hated and hunted from one end of the empire to the other.

  “So, what now?” Lu demanded. “It’s not over. Set can’t have won.”

  “Yuri may have underestimated him,” Omair mused.

  “Set underestimated me!” Lu snapped. She looked as though she were barely resisting the urge to hack Omair’s kitchen table to pieces. “He can’t think he’ll get away with this! I have to do something.”

  “We will,” Omair reassured her. “When Yuri gets here.”

  “And what about her?” Lu said, nodding toward Adé. “What if she tells someone she saw me?”

  “She won’t,” Nok interjected.

  “How can you be sure?” the princess pressed, looking past Nok to size up the other girl. “How can you trust her?”

  “They can trust me!” Adé said hotly, glaring back. “Omair and Nok are my friends—I’d never do anything to hurt them.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Your Highness.”

  Lu scowled, holding Adé’s gaze for a moment longer. Seemingly satisfied by what she found there, she grabbed her sword from the table and retreated out of the kitchen.

  Nok groaned, slumping against the wall. Beside him, Adé was trembling.

  “Nok, what is happening?” she hissed. “What is Princess Lu doing in your house? You know half the imperial guard is looking for her.”

  Omair came in close and took her by the arm. He looked at her, eyes solemn. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, Adé. Not your mother, not Carmine—”

  “Of course not!” She turned to Nok. “You know me, Nok. I would never—”

  “You need to go,” he interrupted harshly. His fear was wearing thin and only anger remained in its wake—anger at Lu, and at himself for letting things go this awry. “I told you, you can’t be here. It’s not safe. Please, go. Before someone sees.”

  He pulled the girl from Omair’s gentle grasp and threw open the front door.

  Five soldiers astride as many warhorses stood in the yard. Heavy swords hung from broad leather straps at their waists. The men’s steel-studded uniforms were torn and splattered with dried mud that did not entirely hide the cobalt Hana-blue cloth beneath or the red-flame badges of the Hu Empire emblazoned on their chests.

  Nok’s knees buckled.

  The man in their lead slid from his saddle. “You, there! Is this where the healer lives?”

  Nok wanted to pat his boot, where his knife was sheathed.

  “Boy!” the soldier called again, stepping closer. “We’re looking for the healer.”

  “Nok,” Adé hissed through clenched teeth, panic rising in her voice. “Say something.”

  “Might be he’s mute,” he heard another of the men say.

  “Do you speak, boy?” the lead soldier demanded. He was near enough now that Nok could see his eyes. Brown, nearly black, like his own. Unlike him, the soldier had a beard. It was growing in patchy. “A farmer told us a healer lived up this ridge. Our friend here needs some help.”

  There was a sixth in their party. Injured. The man’s leg was wrapped in soiled makeshift bandages. He rode double with another soldier, leaning against him for support.

  “One more brave casualty fallen in service of the great empire and its bloody fire pit,” jeered one of the men, a hulking wall of muscle with long mustaches and fast, mean eyes. Nok despised him on sight.

  “Omair’s an apothecarist,” he told the first soldier. He willed himself not to look over his shoulder, where Lu had been moments earlier.

  “Well, does this Omair know how to treat a wound?”

  No good came from imperial soldiers, but no good ever came from refusing them, either. What would happen if the next villager they came across directed them back to Omair’s and they discovered he had lied?

  “Come inside,” he heard himself say.

  The lead soldier instructed the others to help the injured man down from his mount. While they busied themselves, Nok turned to Adé, her arm still clutched in his own. His pulse quickened as their eyes met—she was here because of him. If anything happened to her—

  “Go,” he hissed, pushing her out the door. “Ride fast. Don’t look back.”

  Her eyes were wide in fear. “Nok, what about you?” she whispered.

  “It’ll be all right,” he told her, but the shaking in his voice did little to instill confidence. “They don’t know she’s here. Everything will be all right.”

  “Nok, I—”

  “I promise. We’ll see each other again soon.”

  The lead soldier and two others were approaching, carrying the injured man between them. “Please,” Nok said, pushing Adé lightly away. “For me. Just go.”

  He saw her look back just once, before she mounted her borrowed mare and disappeared over the side of the ridge, leaving him alone. Good, he thought. Whatever happened here, she would be safe.

  “Omair?” he called back into the house. “Some soldiers need your help.” He hoped they couldn’t hear the strain in his voice.

  “Of course. Come in, come in!” came Omair’s immediate response. Nok hesitated, but only for a moment.

  He du
cked reflexively in the low doorway as they entered. The lead soldier followed his example, but the other three were not paying attention and the tallest of them bashed his head. His helmet took the brunt of the blow, but he cursed loudly anyway.

  Crowded into the small dwelling with four big men, Nok was momentarily overwhelmed by their stink—stale mud and unwashed bodies. Out of the corner of his eye he scanned the room, but aside from Omair, it was empty.

  “Welcome, good soldiers,” he said, giving a little bow. “What brings four of the empire’s fine warriors to our home?”

  The lead soldier bowed brusquely. “I am Captain Sohn of the Bei Province imperial infantry. We are pursuing a fugitive in the area, but Soldier Lim here suffered a deep cut in his calf and we’re concerned about infection.”

  “A fugitive?” Omair’s eyes widened. “He must be quite dangerous to warrant such an elite search party. Should we be worried?”

  “We’re looking for a girl, actually,” Captain Sohn said shortly. “A princess. Tall, pretty. Have you not heard of the emperor’s death? Princess Lu is wanted for his murder.”

  “Oh my.” Omair clutched a hand to his chest. “We’ve heard nothing. News travels slowly out here. My, my. We live in very dark times.”

  The lead soldier ignored the comment and merely said in clipped tones, “Please see to Soldier Lim’s injuries. My apologies for the inconvenience. The heavens will reward you for your service to the empire.”

  Meaning, we won’t be paying you for your work, Nok translated in his head.

  Omair just smiled. “Injury and illness keep no one’s schedule. A healer must keep everyone’s.”

  Captain Sohn appraised the cramped quarters. “I’ll wait outside with the rest of my men. Soldier Wailun, stay here with Lim,” he told the largest of the men—the one with the mustache and mean eyes, Nok noted with dismay.

  Sohn and the other soldier departed. As Nok filled a kettle with fresh water, Omair patted a cushioned chair by the lit fireplace. “Why don’t you bring—Soldier Lim, was it? yes?—over here.”