Girls of Paper and Fire

by Natasha Ngan

  “Make sure to bring your letters to me when they’re done,” Mistress Eira instructs. “I’ll give them to my most trusted messenger to deliver.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Mistress. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  She returns my smile. But just before she turns away something flutters across her eyes: the barest shadow of sadness. Perhaps it’s all this talk about the past, about life before the palace. I recall what Mistress Eira said about waking up from dreams of her childhood, her once dye-stained hands delicate and bare, and comprehend that although she might have avoided answering my question about whether she misses her home, I am sure of what the answer would be anyway.

  I know what it means to dream about the past.

  To dream about things you have loved, and lost.

  NINE

  PAPER HOUSE IS ALREADY BUSY WHEN I wake the next day, the sunlit air bright with the sound of maids hurrying in the hallways, orders being called from room to room. Excitement carries through the air, an electric hum. It takes me back to festivals in our village, when every street would be draped with crimson banners during the fifteen days of the New Year, or lit with sparklers and firecrackers for spirit-warding ceremonies in the winter. Tonight, cities across the kingdom will be celebrating in our honor as we participate in the Unveiling Ceremony, where the Paper Girls are officially presented to the court.

  I can still hardly believe that this year that includes me.

  Lill is so excited about the ceremony she barely pauses for breath from the minute she comes to take me for my morning bath. “I haven’t been able to visit my parents and tell them about becoming your maid yet,” she chatters as I soak, her fluted deer ears quivering. “They’re not going to believe it! Mistress, you might even see them during the procession! I wish I could be with you. The look on their faces if they knew…”

  I float my hands out, scooping the bubbles on the surface of the water. “When was the last time you saw them?”

  “Oh. It’s been quite long. Almost half a year.”

  I splash round. “Half a year? But they live here, right? In the palace?”

  Lill nods. “I lived with them in Mortal Court before I moved here. And they work in City Court, which is just south of here. I just don’t get many days off. Not that I’m complaining,” she says hurriedly. “The ones I do, I spend with them. I have a little brother and sister, too. I try to bring them treats from the kitchens whenever I visit—” She cuts off, blanching.

  “Don’t worry. If anyone notices, tell them it was me. The portions here are way too small.” Lill’s smile comes back, grateful, even though this sweet girl shouldn’t have to worry about stealing a few bits of food to bring to her siblings. “I hope you can see them soon,” I add.

  She bows her head. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  I place my wet hand over hers where she’s holding the edge of the tub. “You know, I had a Steel caste friend back in Xienzo, too. She worked in my family’s herb shop.”

  “Really?” Lill’s eyes widen. “We were told castes don’t ever work for ones below them outside the palace.” She blushes and goes on quickly, her head lowered, “Oh, I didn’t mean that it’s wrong for me to be working for you. It’s a huge privilege, Mistress. It’s just, Mistress Eira told us it’s an exception that the Paper Girls have demons as servants. She said the King himself requested it. Only Steels, though.” She glances up at me from under thick lashes. “I—I’m sorry I’m not Moon.”

  I almost laugh, the notion that I would prefer a Moon caste for a maid—or just anyone other than her.

  “You’re perfect, Lill,” I tell her, and the beam of her grin is so luminous it seems to wash the whole courtyard with gold.

  Following tradition, each of us is dressed in silver for tonight’s ceremony. Silver is a powerful color: a symbol of strength, success, wealth. Yet because of its closeness to white, the mourning color shared by all Ikharan cultures, it is sometimes thought to bring bad luck. When Lill tells me about this tradition, I understand the message it is sending to the kingdom.

  Support the King, and you will be rewarded.

  Cross him, and you will suffer.

  As it’s Lill’s first time being a Paper Girl’s maid, her preparations are overseen by one of the other maids—Chiho, a serious-looking Steel caste lizard-girl, human in appearance apart from the coating of sleek pine-green scales along her bony arms and neck. Chiho dashes between rooms, trying to teach Lill while getting her own girl ready, until Lill suggests we get ready together. I can’t remember which girl Chiho is a maid to, so when she appears in the doorway with Wren behind her, I stiffen.

  Though still in her bathrobe and only half made up, Wren looks striking. Her cheeks have been colored a deep plum shade that brings out the dark sheen of her eyes and lips, and her hair cascades over one shoulder in flowing waves. She picks up the hem of her bathrobe as she steps inside. My eyes are drawn to the movement, and I do a double take.

  Wren’s feet are worn, their soles hard and calloused. They’re more like my own feet. Workers’ feet. Not the delicate kind you’d expect from the pampered daughter of the Hannos.

  Catching me looking, she releases her robe and the hem drops to the floor.

  “Right,” Chiho says to Lill. “Let’s continue.”

  Wren avoids my gaze as she kneels in front of me. I fight the childish urge to shout at her, to make her look at me. I remember what Aoki told me about Wren being aware of people hating her. Well, she isn’t exactly helping the matter, is she?

  It takes an hour for Chiho and Lill to finish with our faces. Coated with polish, my eyelids and lips are sticky. The first thing I do when they step back is lift a hand to rub my eyes, causing Lill to have a mini panic attack and assess closely for damage, even though I hadn’t touched them yet.

  Chiho circles me, making one final inspection. “Good,” she says eventually, and Lill beams.

  My eyes cut to Wren, who still hasn’t said anything all this time. As she gets up to leave, I lift my chin and blurt out brusquely, “Well? How do I look?”

  I want to take it back immediately—I sound petulant and stupid, and I’m not even sure why I care about her opinion. But Wren has already stopped. She glances over her shoulder, dark eyes under heavily glossed lids finally meeting mine. “Like you’re not ready,” she says bluntly, her face expressionless, before following Chiho out of the room.

  Her words sting. I look away, my cheeks glowing.

  Lill leaves the room, returning a few minutes later with a silk-wrapped package. “Your dress,” she announces, almost reverently, as she hands it to me. “The royal tailors were given the results of your assessments and told to create unique pieces for each of you. It’s meant to be a statement to the court about who you are. Something to give the King an idea about what you’re like.” She beams. “Go on, Mistress! Open it!”

  Rolling my eyes at her excitement, I pull aside the folds of silk. There’s the wink of metallic silver. Carefully, I lift the dress out and lay it on the floor.

  It’s the most exquisite dress I have ever seen. Not that that’s hard—I haven’t seen many. But even including the outfits the other girls wore on the first night at the palace, this one outshines them all. Cut long and slender, sleeveless, with a high collar, silver threads woven through flicker like running water when they catch the light. The delicate silk fabric is almost sheer. A scattering of moonstones, and diamonds wind along the hips and chest.

  I stare down at myself, my belly doing a low flop. Just a handful of these jewels would be enough to support my family for life.

  Lill lets out a squeal so high-pitched it almost shatters my eardrums. “Oh, it’s so beautiful! Try it on, Mistress!”

  Many awkward wiggling movements later, the cheongsam—as I know now this modern style of dress is called—is on. It fits perfectly, clinging to my frame like a second skin. Despite the jewels, the material is light, mere brushings of gossamer across my skin. Magic thrums in the
fabric. Whatever enchantment has been placed on the dress also makes it glow. Every movement I make sends out scatters of silvery light, as pale as moonbeams.

  I raise a brow at Lill’s expression. “This is the first time you’ve not had anything to say.”

  She giggles. “Better enjoy it, Mistress! I don’t know how long it’ll last.”

  After a final once-over, we head through Paper House to its main entrance, where the procession will start. Though the dress fits perfectly, less perfect is my ability to move in it, and it takes me a while to get used to wearing something this formfitting. Not to mention, it feels so expensive I’m worried about damaging it; every table corner glints threateningly. As the muffled buzz of voices and music outside grows louder, my heart thuds harder. Maids bow as I pass, some holding up good-luck offerings of red flowers, others sprinkling salt in my path, a custom I’ve never seen before. We would never waste salt in my house like this.

  When we’re almost at the entrance, I spot the familiar blaze of auburn hair. “Aoki!” I call, and she turns, breaking into a grin.

  “Lei! Oh, you—you look…” Something shifts in her tone, a twist of envy. One hand fingers the collar of her own dress as her gaze travels slowly down mine.

  “You look amazing!” I say quickly. “What a beautiful ruqun.” I look it over appreciatively. The layered sheets of material are shimmery and light, decorated with patterns of leaves in thick brushstrokes. When I run my fingers over them, the leaves seem to ripple, swirling as if in a wind. More magic.

  She tucks her chin, lashes low. “They say they’re designed to reflect our personalities. It sounds silly, but as soon as I put it on, I felt like I was home. Like I have a part of the countryside with me. But you…” She reaches for my dress, then stops short. “You look like a queen.”

  Her words send a shudder through me. That’s the last thing I want to look like. I think of Baba and Tien. What would they say if they saw me in this dress, my face and hair decorated even more elaborately than our entire village during New Year celebrations?

  If I were a queen, then that would mean I would belong in the palace. And I don’t.

  As Aoki and I walk down the last few corridors together, the sound of cheering grows so loud now it vibrates in my rib cage. We step out onto the porch into sunlight and a clapping crowd. The streets around Paper House are packed. My breath hitches. I’ve never been in the midst of so many people—let alone Steel and Moon castes, all crammed together—and even though their applause and shouts are friendly, the sheer number of them makes me uneasy.

  Along one of the streets, the crowd is parting to let through a train of ornate carriages carried by muscled oryx-form demons in red and black robes. The King’s colors. Aoki nudges me excitedly as they advance. Wind flutters the ribbons draped over their open sides. Every step they take makes the bells hanging from their horns sing.

  They come to a stop in front of Paper House. Madam Himura moves forward, shouting to be heard over the noise. “Presenting Mistress Aoki-zhi of Shomu!”

  A servant comes to take Aoki to her carriage. She gives me a quick look—her jade-stone eyes gleaming, whether from excitement or fear I can’t tell—and our fingers brush before she’s led away.

  Next, Madam Himura calls Blue, then Chenna. All too soon it’s my turn.

  I stumble forward, head low against the stare of the crowd. With a bow, the oryx drop to their knees. A servant helps me up into the lowered palanquin. The interior reminds me of the carriage I traveled in with General Yu, with its plush, perfumed cushions and elegant wood paneling. As I settle on the bench, my breath grows tighter. That carriage stole me away from my home—what kind of life am I about to be led into with this journey? In this beautiful cheongsam, being carried on the backs of demons, I feel like a dish being served for the King’s dinner, and a shiver runs down my spine.

  Just when will he choose to devour me?

  TEN

  MY VIEW IS OBSTRUCTED BY THE long sashes hanging over the palanquin’s open sides, so this is how I see the palace properly for the first time: in snatched glimpses, the blur of movement and color. The lowering sun tints everything in a golden haze. It looks dreamlike, and feels it, too, as though I were looking out through someone else’s eyes. I’m about to become a Paper Girl. The concept is still ridiculous and ungraspable, even though here I am, sheathed in silver, hundreds of humans and demons watching my carriage pass, craning for one look at my face.

  Yesterday Mistress Eira showed us a map of the palace. I picture it now, trying to keep track of where we’re going. I haven’t forgotten about finding my mother. Maybe I’ll see something that will give me a clue as to where she might be.

  The palace grounds are arranged in a gridlike system, divided into courts, which are further separated into two areas: the Outer Courts, where all the daily services, work, and residential areas are, and the private Inner Courts, where only those of certain positions are allowed. Women’s Court is in the northeast block of the palace, in the Outer Courts. We first travel south, passing through City Court, a vast, bustling area of trade, markets, and restaurants. Then we head west through Ceremony Court, the square behind the main gates where I arrived with the General, and on to Industry Court, with its smoking forges and leather-tanning houses. Next, we move up the west side of the palace. We pass through Mortal Court—Lill’s family’s home, another citylike area where the maids, servants, and low-level government officials live—and then Military Court, home to the training grounds and army barracks.

  There are two areas in the Outer Courts we don’t visit. At the northwest tip of the palace, Ghost Court is the official burial grounds. It would be bad luck to pass through such a place on a night of celebration. We also avoid Temple Court, which is within the exterior walls of the palace itself. The royal shamans must never be disturbed; only with the King’s permission can one enter their holy grounds. At one point, though, when we take a perimeter road through one of the courts that takes us right up to the wall, a warm, prickly sensation ripples across my body, the thrum of magic imbued in my dress seeming to shiver and rustle in response.

  Night has fallen by the time we arrive at the Inner Courts. At once, the crowds thin out. It’s still busy, with every court official and their servants out to greet us, but the grounds here are more spacious, so the effect is of a sudden dampening, like a thick fog pillowing the world. The quiet comes as a shock after the jubilant atmosphere of the Outer Courts, and suddenly I miss the noise and chaos. I watch the darkening grounds through the window with a growing sense of unease, my tongue padded and dry in my mouth.

  We’re almost there.

  The landscape of the Inner Courts is a mix of lantern-lit streets, elegant pearl-white squares, and manicured gardens, the perfume of flowers cloying in the air. Moonlight reflects off a sweeping crescent of water that loops in and out of sight as we travel—the River of Infinity. It flows in a figure eight through Royal Court, the area at the heart of the palace, designed to bring the heavens’ fortune on the King.

  The last part of our journey is marked when we pass over the central-most point of the river where the four curves meet. A gilded bridge arches over the water, lined with onlookers. They toss red blossoms at us, the petals catching in the wind and swirling around our carriages like a blood-drenched snowstorm.

  “Heavens’ blessings!”

  “May the gods smile down upon you!”

  Their words are well meaning, but much less exuberant than those of the Outer Courts. The closeness of all these demons makes me press back from the window. We’re almost over the bridge when there’s the thud of something ramming the carriage.

  I fling out my arms as it jerks to the left.

  Another thud.

  This time the carriage lurches sideways, almost tipping over. I smash into the side, fingers scrabbling for hold just in time. A few seconds later and I would have fallen through the open side. As the oryx right the carriage, I steady myself, rubbing my right sh
oulder where it hit the wood. Yells and shouts are coming from outside. Still cradling my shoulder, I cross the floor and peer out through the fluttering ribbons.

  And gasp.

  A human—Paper caste, her furless, scaleless, clawless body standing out against the otherness of the demons all around—is being pinned to the ground by two guards. Her robes are thin and worn. Servants’ clothes. Paper caste servants aren’t allowed in the Inner Courts; she must have snuck in somehow.

  Just then, she lifts her head and our eyes meet. I don’t know what I was expecting. That they’d be filled with compassion, maybe, a kindred connection from one human to another. But instead, her look is fire.

  “Dzarja!” she shrieks. Flickering lantern-light distorts her face, making her mouth seem too wide, her cheeks sunken hollows. “Dirty sluts! You shame us all!”

  Above her, a guard lifts a club.

  I look away, but not quickly enough. The heavy crunch rings in my ears. The accusatory glare in her eyes just before the club was brought down on her skull shimmers on the back of my eyelids, a ghostly afterimage. Lowering my lashes, I hover my fingers at my chest, then turn them outward with my thumbs crossed: the sky gods salute for a newly departed soul.

  “Mistress, are you all right?”

  I jolt as a horned face, part rhino, skin thick like hide, appears through the ribbons.

  I open my mouth a few times before finding my voice. “Y-yes.”

  “Apologies for the disruption. You will be continuing on your way now.” The guard bows.

  “Wait!” I say as he turns to leave. “The woman. Why did—why was she—”

  His expression doesn’t change. “Why was she killed?”

  I swallow. “Yes.”

  “She was a slave. She wasn’t permitted to be in the Inner Courts. And she posed a threat to the King’s property.”