Like last night, Nitta was shockingly light when Wren held her, yet the smile she flashed was exactly as it was before her accident: bright and sharp and teasing. It ached something deep beneath Wren’s ribs.
“How much do you wanna bet that by the end of the meal Lova is begging Tien to join the Cat Clan?” Nitta asked in a whisper. “Oh! How much on Tien usurping Lova within a week?”
And, just as she’d smiled for the first time in weeks, Wren let out a burst of laughter. It was honest and unexpected, devoid of any bite, and came from a genuine place of happiness—a place that had been ripped from her with the loss of Lei.
The feeling didn’t last long. Wren maneuvered Nitta into position at the table when a sound reverberated through the fort. It was the song of the three immense bells mounted in the east wing’s tower. An alert that clan members were approaching.
Lova rose at once. “They’re back. I’m going to see how my cats are doing.” And she marched from the room without waiting for a response.
“Aiyah,” Tien complained, picking up her chopsticks. “Why does everything have to be so loud in this place. Can’t an old woman eat in peace?”
Wren touched Nitta’s shoulder. “I should welcome them. Will you be all right here?”
“Sure! I’m famished. Besides, I bet Jinn-ahgu and Tien-ayi would love to hear stories from our mission. I’ve got loads of good Lei ones—that girl is one daring little Paper.” Nitta waggled her eyebrows at them, and Jinn’s lips quirked.
“My daughter is just like her mother,” he said. “Brave.”
Tien huffed, her mouth full of food. “You mean reckless.”
“And smart—”
“Smart-mouthed.”
Nitta beamed at Wren. “See? We’ll be fine here. Go check on Ketai and Caen.” Her face softened. “I hope it wasn’t too hard on them.”
As Wren descended the stairs, she prepared herself. She wasn’t quite sure what they’d find; they’d not sent a messenger with news in the days they’d been away, so clearly they’d been busy. From what the young jackal-boy said during Wren’s interrogation, it seemed unlikely they’d arrive in time to save the city, though Wren had clung to the hope they somehow had. Yet when she strode out into the rain-sodden grounds, she saw she’d been foolish to do so.
Clan members spilled out around her, less controlled in their reactions. There were cries and wails. Individuals sprinted off toward the bedraggled group riding slowly up the hill, shouting out names of friends, lovers, family members who’d been a part of the army Ketai had taken with him to Nantanna.
An army that was now a fraction of its original size.
Wren stood rigid, forcing herself to be the calm clan leader her father expected of her, as his broken army advanced, and steeled herself for whatever awful news they were most certainly bringing with them.
EIGHT
LEI
MY NEW ROUTINE IN THE PALACE is so similar to when I was a Paper Girl it’s as though I’ve slipped back in time, gotten caught in some twisted loop, forced to replay some of the worst months of my life.
Each morning, Madam Himura tramps into my room with a group of blank-faced demon maids. I’m fed the same, simple breakfast—tea and two slices of kaya toast—before being washed, dressed, then ushered out the door to my next chaperones, these ones far less dainty: my guards. They’re the same eighteen guards who accompanied me the night of the banquet when the King announced my return to the court, led by the towering gazelle demon I’ve since learned is Commander Razib. They march me to and from whatever events the King bids me to that day, which often run so late into the night that when I’m finally brought back to my room, I crawl into bed fully dressed and fall head-first into nightmares.
Despite their similarities, though, my new routine comes with some major differences—the biggest of which is that I’m never left alone with the King.
Not much more is asked of me than to sit dutifully at his side, draped in my Moonchosen uniform of black and gold. Through lunches in pretty gardens blossoming with spring’s arrival, intimate tea ceremonies, and lavish, lively banquets with court officials, I keep my mouth shut and my ears open. I’m even brought to watch a couple of military demonstrations, though I notice I’m never allowed to be close when court officials come to discuss the war with the King. No matter how frustrating this is, I treat it as a victory.
It means the King is scared—of me. Of the enemies he clearly worries still lurk within the palace. And while I doubt he believes I’ll be able to connect with them, given our packed schedule and how close an eye he’s keeping on me, it shows he understands that any piece of information in my hands might be used against him, no matter how small. How, with the right intent, words can be sharpened into blades.
Yet what makes me most sure of the King’s fear is that he never once brings me to his chambers. The King of before would have brought me to his bed, just to enjoy breaking me. But this subtly new King, who hides his nerves behind too-hard laughter and grandiose proclamations of power… this King knows that if he brings me to his chambers, it might instead be me who breaks him.
Whenever I’m on the brink of crumbling, the King’s nearness too much one particular day, or I lurch awake in the middle of the night from a nightmare in which Wren’s dismembered head rolls across the bloodied ground at my feet, I remind myself of this: The Demon King of Ikhara is scared of me. I repeat Zelle’s words to me the first time we met, until they become a mantra, a comforting refrain that stokes the fire in my core.
They can take and steal and break all they want, but there is one thing they have no control over. Our emotions. Our feelings. Our thoughts.… Our minds and hearts are our own. That is our power, Nine.
Never forget it.
Days slide by, each following the same grim pattern, until one morning I wake and know this one will be different.
Nothing is out of the ordinary—yet. The dawn light filtering in through the windows is just as it was yesterday. The birds outside sing the same shrill song as they skate through the pale sky. Throughout the morning, Madam Himura barks orders at the maids while they dress me in a fresh set of hanfu, careful never to catch my eyes, even when they’re coloring my face with powders and paints.
But I can feel it. Like the electric shiver before a monsoon deluge, or the sharpness of air before snow; the sense of change to come.
Usually when we leave the room, Madam Himura hands me over to the guards. Today, she accompanies us. Her cane and talons click out of time with the other demons’ heavier, sturdier footfall.
Here it is. The first difference.