Girls of Paper and Fire

by Natasha Ngan

Maybe the one person who can tell me what happened to my mother is the last person I’d ever want to ask.

  At dinner, Madam Himura tells us we’ll be attending a dance performance later that evening. “The King will be in attendance,” she says. Her yellow eyes cut to me. “So no mistakes.”

  An excited thrum runs through the room. Zhen and Zhin lean their heads in, whispering, and Blue and Mariko swap knowing looks. It’s the first time we’ll be crossing paths with the King in public, and while some of the girls seem happy by this news, a coldness slithers over me at the mention of him.

  I glance across the table in Aoki’s direction. She doesn’t make any sign that she’s heard, still poking her food with her chopsticks, head propped on one hand.

  When we get up to leave, I notice Blue hanging back. I hover in the doorway, pretending to be adjusting my shoes. As Madam Himura rises from the table, Blue approaches her in a purposeful stride.

  “What is it?” the eagle-woman snaps.

  Blue rolls her shoulders. “I—I want to know whether my father will be attending the performance tonight,” she declares.

  “It’s not my duty to memorize guest lists, girl.”

  “But—”

  “Send a messenger to ask.”

  Blue mumbles something.

  “Well,” replies Madam Himura, waving a feathered arm, “that’s not my problem. Your father is an important man. He’ll respond when he sees fit.”

  I hurry away before they catch me listening. Something sour turns my stomach, remembering my conversation with Chenna, but it takes me a while to place the feeling because it’s not something I ever thought I’d associate with Blue.

  Pity.

  Back in my room, Lill hums as she dresses me in velvety amethyst-colored hanfu robes stitched with a floral print. “Tonight, Mistress,” she announces with a grin, “you’re going to look so beautiful the King won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

  I arch a brow. “That’s what you said last time. Remember what happened?”

  “Don’t remind me!” As she fusses with the positioning of the layered fabrics, she adds, “I overheard one of the court messengers speaking to Madam Himura.” Her grin creeps wider.

  “Oh, no.” I grimace. “What now?”

  With a clap of her hands, Lill does a little dance on her tiptoes before bursting out, “You’ve been chosen to sit next to the King tonight!”

  I look away jerkily, and Lill falters.

  “Aren’t… aren’t you happy?”

  I answer her through gritted teeth. “Can’t wait.”

  “Don’t worry, Mistress,” she says. Her small hand lands on my own. “He’s bound to pick you tomorrow after seeing you like this. I’m sure of it.”

  What I don’t tell her is that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  I can’t deny that every time the royal messenger delivers the bamboo chip and my name isn’t the one on it, it’s started to bring a twist of shame. Along with Blue’s snide comments and Madam Himura’s constant admonishments, it hasn’t been easy being the unchosen girl. Every day I think of General Yu’s threat. How long will they keep me in the palace without being chosen by the King? What happens if he never picks me? Will they throw me out? Somehow I can’t imagine Madam Himura sending me merrily on my way, a packed lunch and some money in my pocket, wishing me and my family all the best for the future.

  But even the fear of what could happen has been outshadowed by relief. Of not having to face the King for one more day, at least. Of being able to ignore the real reason I’m in the palace in the first place. And while I’ve discovered that a month is not long enough to forget a face such as his, it is enough time to create distance from that face, and the demon it belongs to.

  Later that evening, as we travel through the palace to where the dance recital is being held, his presence starts to reveal itself, like smoke on the wind, a bitter taste that knots my stomach.

  Rain pounds on the carriages as we pull up to one of the Inner Court theaters. The dark wood walls of the theater are slick from the deluge. Over the sound of the storm, music thrums from within: the melancholy song of an erhu, piping reeds, low drumbeats. A troop of umbrella-wielding servants usher us inside. We file into the theater’s main hall, a grand, circular room. At the center is a round stage ringed by cushions.

  Mistress Eira takes my arm. “You’re with me, Lei.” She smiles, leading me to the front row.

  Around us, court members in an array of demon forms are taking their places, shadows distorted by the lantern glow. My breaths come more shallowly as we kneel on our cushions, and I hold myself stiffly, trying not to flinch each time I hear the heavy drop of hooves. To distract myself, I focus on the stage. There’s a dusting of snowlike powder sprinkled across it.

  Mistress Eira follows my gaze. “Sugar dust,” she says.

  I look round. “What is it for?”

  “The dancers kick it up with their movements so it settles onto our clothes and skin. It’s more for display, really. But it’s also said to encourage sensual thoughts.” Her voice drops. “Men and women will know their lovers’ skin will taste sweet later tonight.”

  An image flares into my mind: the King, leaning in close, a thick tongue sliding out to run along my bare collarbones.

  “I—I can’t do it,” I say suddenly. Pushing my palms into the floor, I start to my feet. “I can’t, I won’t—”

  Mistress Eira seizes my arm. “Hush, Lei!” she hisses, yanking me back down with pinching fingers. “You can never speak this way in public. Never. Do you understand? Imagine if word got back to Madam Himura. To the King.” She waits as an elegant-looking lion-form demon strides past, his arm looped over the shoulder of a smaller lion-form male. They share a chaste press of their snouted noses as they pass. Relaxing her grip a little, Mistress Eira continues, “I understand your fear, but you have to see it as just another aspect of your job. Not even one that takes too long—a few hours and you’ll be back in Paper House. And while I can’t promise that you’ll enjoy it, it might not be as bad as you feared. Remember, even that which seems impossible at first can be overcome by strength of mind and heart.”

  It’s an old saying, one everybody in Ikhara is familiar with. I turn it over on my tongue, hunting for comfort in its words. For some reason, it makes me think of Wren. The way her eyes often gaze into the distance during dinners and lessons, as though she’s retreating somewhere deep within herself. Is this how she copes with sleeping with the King? Protecting her true self by folding it away where he can’t reach?

  I look across the stage to where she’s sat opposite me, expecting to find her staring off into the distance. But my breath catches—because she’s looking straight at me. And this time, instead of emptiness, Wren’s eyes shimmer brightly with fire.

  Then a voice rings out through the theater, and our connection breaks. “Honorable members of the court, presenting our Heavenly Master, our gods’ blessed ruler and commander of all beings who walk the mortal realm, the King!”

  Every member of the audience drops into a bow. My cheeks are still flushed from Wren’s look as I lower my forehead to the floor, but the rest of my body is clammy. Silence claims the hall. The only sounds are the rustling of fabric and the thrum of rain on the roof. And, beneath my ribs, the frantic slam of my heart. It seems impossible that no one else can hear it. Even now, Baba and Tien must be raising their heads in Xienzo from their late dinner after another busy day to wonder what that distant drumming sound is.

  The hall is quiet for a few moments more. Then—hoof-fall.

  I fight the urge to jump up as they approach in a slow gait, coming to a stop right beside me. Heat ripples from the King’s body as he kneels down, close, not touching but so near his presence is as heavy as a sky full of storm clouds, and the smell of him fills my nose; that sharp scent of bull, raw and masculine.

  “Heavenly Master,” I murmur along with the rest of the room. There are rustling sounds as everyone in the audience
sits back up. I straighten, my eyes locked on the floor, aware of his stare.

  “Lei-zhi,” he says, drawing the letters out. There’s a smirk in his voice. “Am I to always find you face-first on the floor?”

  “If that is where you want me.” I inject the words with as much derision as I dare, adding a quick “Heavenly Master” for good measure.

  His boom of laughter shudders deep, right down to my bones. “So, how have you found your first month at the palace? I hope it has been enjoyable.”

  “In… some ways,” I answer carefully.

  “In some ways! Tell me those that disagree with you, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  Oh, just the small fact that I’m a prisoner here. But I keep my eyes down and mumble instead, “The days start very early. And we have a lot of lessons. And the food could be better, I suppose.”

  Again, his laughter rattles me. “Now, I know at least that last one’s a lie. We have the most superior chefs in all of Ikhara. I challenge you to find better. But perhaps,” he goes on, his tone cooling somewhat, “your tongue hasn’t become accustomed to fine food yet. I can only imagine what your meals were like in Xienzo. Do not worry, Lei-zhi. I am sure your tongue will become accustomed to palace delicacies soon enough.”

  The double meaning in his words jolts me, but I only have a few seconds to falter before he speaks again, his voice flat and serious now.

  “The court tells me you’re blessed with eyes leant by the Moon Goddess herself. Show them to me.”

  With a deep inhalation, arranging my face into as calm an expression as I can muster, I lift my chin. And finally, after all these weeks, the King’s cool gaze meets mine.

  His spine stiffens. Not in fear, or even surprise. But the way a cat goes still when it’s spotted a mouse. How the world grows silent before the roar of a storm. His stillness seems to ripple through the room until everything is frozen, everyone focused on the two of us, the fix of golden eyes on blue.

  A smile sneaks across his lips, accenting his pointed cupid’s bow. “So. They weren’t exaggerating.”

  I bow my head. “I am humbled by your compliment, Heavenly Master,” I force out.

  There’s a pause. “You haven’t thanked me for my other one.”

  I jerk my chin up. “The—the other one?”

  “You must have been wondering why I haven’t called you to me yet, no?” The King leans down until his face is just a hairsbreadth from mine and curls a hand round my cheek, holding me with just a fraction too much pressure. “Didn’t you know, Lei-zhi,” he murmurs, grin sharpening, “I always save the best for last.”

  The announcer’s voice sounds again, signaling the start of the show. But the King doesn’t look away—and I don’t dare to.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a sleek dog-form dancer entering the stage. A lone string melody starts up. The dog-girl launches into movement. Scarlet ribbons tied round her wrists fly out in long, rippling waves. She dances across the stage, lifts high with fast kicks of her slender haunches, turning the air around her into a whirl of red.

  A shower of sugar dust falls over us. Slowly, not taking his eyes off mine, the King runs a thumb over my lips and raises it to his own, tasting it with his tongue.

  “Delicious,” he growls.

  The next day, the name painted on the bamboo chip is mine.

  FOURTEEN

  THE TABLE ERUPTS, ALL THE GIRLS talking at once. Madam Himura has to slam her hands down to shock them into silence. “This is not some housewives’ mahjong party!” she cries, yellow eyes blazing. “Are you forgetting who you are?” She points a taloned finger at the door. “Go! Mistress Tunga is expecting you.” When I start to stand, she gives an exasperated sigh. “Not you, Lei.”

  Whispering, the girls file from the room. Aoki looks over her shoulder as she goes, offering me a smile I can’t return. Wren also pauses in the doorway. She looks round. Just like last night when our gazes caught across the stage, there is a radiance in her eyes that pulls something in the pit of my stomach into life.

  “Good luck, Lei,” she says. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

  I blink after her as she slides the door shut.

  “So. The King has finally summoned you.”

  Madam Himura’s voice cuts through the quiet. I look down at my lap, where my fingers twine together.

  “Mistress Eira predicted it,” she goes on. “Apparently he was quite taken with you at the dance recital last night.” With a rustle of feathers, she comes round the table to kneel beside me. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Lei-zhi. Being scared of your first time is normal. All girls are.”

  I bite my lip. “Is there… is there any way—”

  She clicks her beak. “Do not ask the impossible of me. The King’s decision is final.” A clawed hand lands on my shoulder with surprising gentleness. “You’ll feel better once it’s over. You might even grow to enjoy it in time.”

  I remember Aoki’s tear-streaked face.

  “I doubt it,” I mutter.

  Madam Himura snatches back her hand, the callous tone returning to her voice just as quickly as it went. “Whether you enjoy it or not is beside the point. This is your job. And as with all your duties, you will perform to the best of your abilities. Even if your abilities don’t seem much.” She jabs her cane against the floor. “Rika!” she barks at one of the maids. “Take Lei for her ye lesson.”

  I frown. “Ye lesson?”

  “Night skills,” Madam Himura responds curtly. “To prepare you for tonight.”

  She doesn’t say it, but the word is in the air with us, sharp and cutting and cold.

  Sex.

  I’m finally about to be trained for the most important role of a Paper Girl—and the one I’ve been dreading the most.

  Hidden in the southeastern corner of Women’s Court, beyond high walls and set deep within gardens scented with the rich, heady fragrance of jasmine and frangipani, are the buildings where the palace courtesans live. The Night Houses. During her description of the different areas of the palace when we first arrived, Mistress Eira didn’t go into any further detail, telling us only that they are strictly out of bounds unless we’re given explicit permission from her or Madam Himura. Now, pulling up outside the concubines’ home, I wonder why. It’s not as if we’d just be able to saunter in. Along with the steep walls, dozens of soldiers line the deep gate leading into the grounds. Sunlight glances off their leather armor, the elaborate sheaths of the jian crossed at their chests.

  Rika, Madam Himura’s maid, helps me down from the carriage. The guards don’t move, but their gazes flick over me. I catch the eye of a tall cheetah-form soldier as we pass. She has a surprisingly sweet face, sandy fur almost as pale as skin, looped black markings around each eye. She gives me a smile, friendly somehow despite the glint of canines.

  My eyes shift from her to the demon next to her, then the next. I turn to Rika. “They’re all female!” I say.

  She nods. “Male guards aren’t allowed permanent fixtures in Women’s Court.”

  “But what about the visitors? Aren’t they men?”

  “There’s an entrance on the side that leads directly from City Court for them to use.” Then she adds, almost as an afterthought, “That’s where the house with the male courtesans is, too.”

  “Male courtesans? For the female court members, you mean?”

  “No, Mistress. They are also for male court members.”

  We fall silent. I can’t say I’m that surprised by this news. At our nightly events there have sometimes been male demons who have had other men as their escorts, like the two lion-men last night. But I’ve never seen it the other way round—two female lovers.

  We don’t say any more as we head along a winding path through the gardens. It’s peaceful here among the trees, the floor dappled with sunlight. The grounds are lush and wild, with willowy trees and tangled knots of flowering shrubs, vibrant after last night’s storm. Red saga seeds pepper the grass. There’s the tril
l of birdsong, the rustle and rush of breeze-blown leaves. The violet beams of half hidden pavilions wink from deep in the foliage. As we pass one, movement from inside draws my attention. The view is partially blocked by the swaying leaves of a ginkgo tree, but I make out the form of a naked woman beyond the latticed balcony.

  Her long raven hair tumbles to the floor. Two elklike antlers twine elegantly from the crown of her head. Tossing her head back, she shifts, and the brown-haired body of some kind of bear-form demon sits up from under her. His hands grip her shoulders as she moves on top of him. I can’t hear their noises from here, but it’s clear what they’re doing.

  My cheeks burn. I look quickly away, hurrying down the path with my eyes fixed on the ground.

  After a few more minutes the gardens open onto a square populated with a cluster of low, two-tiered buildings. Moss crawls up their green-and-red walls. Over their open entrances hang banners marked in sweeping calligraphy, each displaying the same character: ye.

  A figure emerges from the middle house. “You’re late.”

  The woman cocks her head to one side, arms folded across her chest. She’s a dog-form demon, Moon caste, the spotted umber hair flowing over her lithe frame just showing the beginnings of gray. Long legs—a meld of human limbs and dog haunches—show through the split in her maroon robes. Though her ears are floppy, any softness this adds to her appearance is countered by the keen contours of her face and the flint-colored stare she gives us as we approach.

  Rika bows. “Our sincerest apologies, Mistress Azami.”

  Just as I start to mumble a greeting, the dog-woman strides forward and grabs my arm. “Your job during these lessons is not to talk,” she snaps, yanking me up the steps into the house. “It’s to listen. Only listen. Can you do that? Can you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut for the next few hours?”

  I almost trip on the lip of a step. “Y-yes, Mistress.”

  “What did I just say? Aiyah, you’re a slow learner, aren’t you? Let’s hope you have some talent between the sheets to make up for it.”

  With an irritable click of her tongue, she drags me up a flight of stairs to the upper floor and down a narrow hallway. I get only a quick impression of the building’s interior; low, shadowed corridors, glimpses of moving figures from behind thin rice-paper screens, and sounds, unfamiliar but somehow… not. Heavy groans. A stifled moan.