“The King didn’t let me out of his sight for a second. But…” I hesitate, knowing the weight of what I’m leading to. I choose my words carefully. “We touched. The King made me place a gingko leaf to her belly to bless the baby, and the Queen held my hand. I think it’s a Han tradition.”
Chenna doesn’t interrupt, still incredulous—and, now, something more. Emotion hums beneath her collected manner, and I lean in closer, wanting to confide in her further as I sense her silently encouraging me to.
“And the look she gave me… Chenna, she was telling me something. About the baby.”
I’m breathless now. After Wren and Aoki, Chenna’s always been the Paper Girl I’ve felt the strongest bond with, and unlike the others, she’s always taken an active interest in the politics of our kingdom. I want to trust her—and she’s never given me reason not to. I scan her features: those big, treacle-dark eyes, shimmering with intelligence; her tightly set jaw; slim brown lips slow to smile.
I glance about to make sure the others are still out of earshot. Then I say in an undertone, “The Queen doesn’t want the King to have his heir. She knows what it’ll mean for Ikhara. I think she’s on our side.”
Our side.
I let the words speak for me, and watch as understanding passes over Chenna’s features. Her eyes blaze. “Then we have to get her out.”
“Yes,” I reply, my pulse racing. “We do.”
Over the next fortnight, spring comes into full bloom across the palace, a wave of pastel hues and spilling petals, and greens so rich they make my eyes water. Days dawn warm and sunny before winds bluster in clouds, bringing flurries of rain that are blown away to make way for bright, star-flourished nights. In Xienzo, spring has always been good to us, nourishing our plants and clearing winter’s grip on the land. When my mother was still alive, my father would come home with armfuls of meadow flowers, knowing how she loved their colors and honeyed scents. I still recall the sound of her delighted laughter. How she’d weave the smaller blossoms through my hair. Once, she made me a crown of peonies and pronounced me Ikhara’s first Paper Queen, and we all grinned, as if we truly believed there could ever be such a thing.
In the Hidden Palace, the season that once brought me so much joy only taunts me. The prettier the palace grows, the crueler my life here becomes.
I’d thought things would get easier with the other Paper Girls around. That it might be a bit like last time, when, despite the trepidation a delivery of a bamboo chip with red calligraphy carried, I had friends. A makeshift family in these girls. The lightness at the end of the day when we got back to Paper House and I knew a few stolen moments joking with Aoki or chatting with Lill or—best of all—loving Wren awaited.
Now, Wren and Lill are gone. And when I return to the room in the Moon Annexe, there is no laughter to share with Aoki. Only her hurt, jealous eyes, and the slow breaking of my heart.
“Give her time,” Chenna keeps reminding me, and I do; the way she avoids me, I don’t have much choice. But I worry if I wait too long, the wounds I’ve inflicted upon her will heal over, trapping our friendship beneath hardened skin.
Still, I don’t lose sight of my plan. It’s expanded now to include saving the Queen and her child, but even the simpler things—how to remove my and Aoki’s bands, or connect with allies—seem impossible. The King keeps a close eye on me when we’re together, and though I pay attention to everything that goes on at each seemingly vapid banquet and dance recital, I fail to find anything useful.
Until this afternoon.
I’m at a parade in Military Court, watching from beside the King’s throne as different battalions showcase their skills. There are archers who shoot fire arrows into the sky to spell out the King’s title. Sword-wielding soldiers who perform a complex drill in such tight quarters I’m amazed their blades never catch. Muscled silat cekak warriors grapple and throw their enemies with astonishing speed, one warrior for every ten opponents. A duel between two of the court’s most skilled fighters has even Naja offering her praise when it ends after thirty minutes of breathless action.
We’re set up on a viewing platform overlooking one of the training grounds. Silks flutter overhead, offering shade. Below, warriors fight in the exposed pit, the stench of sweat strong even from here. Still, by the time the last presentation is announced, we’re all sweating, too, and Naja orders her maid over to fan her.
A lizard-girl who looks a few years older than me kneels right behind me, angled to direct the large leaf at Naja, who sits to my other side. I glance over my shoulder and recognize the demon’s angular face tipped in russet scales. She’s Naja’s primary maid—Kiroku, if I’m remembering the times I’ve heard Naja berating her correctly.
Kiroku begins wafting the leaf, making a gentle rustle. I’m turning away, appreciating the breeze on the back of my neck, when her gaze meets mine.
I’ve learned every look the demons of the court give me, and hers is one I rarely see: something intent, knowing, and urgent.
Just like the one the Demon Queen gave me that night in her room.
The air is bright with battle cries as the final regiment showcase their skills—but it’s still not enough to hide my voice if I tried to talk to Naja’s maid now. Then an idea springs to mind.
I pretend to watch the show while sliding my hand on the rug spread beneath us, making sure I move slowly enough to avoid attracting either the King’s or Naja’s attention. I grasp a stone that was kicked up earlier by one of the warriors and hide it in my palm. As soon as there’s an extra surge in noise from the pit, I launch the stone with a flick of my wrist—right at Naja.
The white fox hisses with surprise as it pings into the side of her face. The rock is so tiny it can’t have hurt, but it’s had the effect I wanted. A few court members pitch forward to help her, including Kiroku.
“Oh, my gods!” I cry dramatically, throwing my hands out. “General Naja! Are you all right? I think you’re bleeding!”
“Get off me, stupid girl!” she snarls, batting me away.
“What in the gods is going on?” the King growls.
“Naja’s been injured!” I shout.
Murmurs rise, councilors farther away shuffling to see what the hubbub is. As Naja turns to hiss at a demon who’s come to check on her, I shift back, hands over my mouth in fake shock, and murmur to Kiroku where she’s kneeling forward, her face right beside mine.
“The small bird flies.”
I don’t dare look at her. There’s a split second where I wonder if I’m making a huge mistake. Maybe what I took for a meaningful look was simply more demon repulsion.
Then I hear her whispered response.
“On the wings of the golden-eyed girl.”
Excitement rushes through me. I inch my head just the slightest to meet her striped reptilian eyes and say, “I need help.”
“It’s coming,” she replies swiftly. “We’re getting you out.”
I flinch—because that isn’t what I wanted to hear. I can’t leave yet. I still have the girls and the Queen and her baby to protect.