Mistress Azami hesitates. Then she sighs. “The small bird flies on the wings of the golden-eyed girl,” she says. When I frown at her, bemused, she explains, “It’s the code we use to know who we can trust—”
Laughter from a nearby group of demons startles us. Beyond them, I spy my guards pushing through the crowd, Naja leading them. The same maid who helped her earlier—a dull-scaled wiry lizard-girl—supports her as she walks. Naja’s snowy face is set with its usual ferocious determination.
I turn back to Mistress Azami, wanting to ask for news from outside the palace, but she speaks first, low and urgent. “Lei, listen. I can’t be sure of the King’s plans—he has a habit of changing his mind last minute. But from what my informants tell me, things are about to get a lot more difficult for you. Promise me you’ll stay strong. Play your part. Be patient. Whatever happens, you must go along with the King’s games. It’ll be too dangerous not to—”
“Mistress Azami.”
The dog-woman’s features slip into a neutral look. She turns, greeting the white fox with a bow. “General Naja.”
“How nice to see you spending time with your old student. I trust you had a lot to catch up on. The last time you saw each other was quite an eventful evening.”
Naja’s suspicion is evident. But Mistress Azami gives her a thin smile, unflustered. “And how good it is to see you looking so well, General. The gods have blessed your recovery. Another reason to celebrate tonight.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Lei-zhi, I do hope to see you again soon.”
As she walks briskly away on her haunched legs, Naja jerks her chin toward me. The guards take formation around us.
“Careful, Lei-zhi,” she whispers, as I’m marched back to the King. “There are those in the court who cannot be trusted. It would be a terrible shame if the King were to find out you’ve fallen in with the wrong crowd under his watch for a second time.”
“Yes,” I reply coolly. “And with you keeping such a close eye on me. How disappointed he’d be.” Then I turn away, resisting the urge to laugh at the look on her face.
If I am to be the King’s Moonchosen, I will play my part for now, just as Mistress Azami asked.
But I never said I wouldn’t cause a little trouble.
The demons celebrate long into the night.
The King keeps me close. I greet sycophantic court members with a flat smile plastered across my face. I force myself to appear interested as they fawn over him: What a brilliant maneuver, Heavenly Master! Only a month into war and we have dealt the traitors such a blow! Ketai Hanno’s pitiful alliance will surely not recover from this! Instead of their words, however, it’s Mistress Azami’s I am focused on. What does she know? What is coming that’s about to make my life more difficult—as if being back in the King’s palace isn’t enough? And who among these awful demons might be a secret ally?
When the party finally winds down, the King bids his guests farewell before—angling us carefully so they all see—he draws me close. After a second’s hesitation only the two of us notice, he plants a kiss to my forehead. There’s the rustle of clothes as the remaining demons lower into reverent bows.
I follow suit the second the King releases me. My hands to the marble, I grind my forehead against it even harder, trying to scrape away the feel of his lips on my skin. None of us move until the familiar heft of his hoof-beats fade. Then my guards wrench me to my feet, leading me back to the room I woke in earlier, which I suppose is mine from now on. At least it’s more comfortable than the last. Best of all, I have a window, which means I might well be able to figure out a way to climb down. And if not, I’ll always be able to look out at the sky and remember what it is I am fighting for.
My wings. Flight.
Freedom.
Not only for me, like the last time I was here in the palace. But for all those like me—girls and Papers and even demons. Anyone in Ikhara who has felt the brutal force of the King and his court.
Before my guards leave, the gazelle demon grabs my arm. “We’ll be right outside,” he snarls, then shoves me through.
The door slams. In an instant, I fall to my knees and retch. Tears leak down my cheeks as I throw up everything I ate so eagerly a few hours before. I know the guards can hear, but I can’t help it. I’ve spent all my force to get through the evening. To be able to be so close to him and not fall apart.
When I’m done, I wipe my sleeve across my mouth and crawl to bed. I burrow beneath its silks, still fully dressed, and hug my knees tight. The bangle strapped to my right wrist digs into my skin. It strikes me that the last time I was in a proper bed was in the White Wing’s Cloud Palace. To think that was months ago, right at the beginning of my journey with Wren and the others.
Wren and I shared a bed in the bird demons’ palace for two nights. The first, she snuck out and murdered one of Lady Dunya’s daughters. Yet just hours before, I embraced her in the bathing room as she broke down at the news the King was still alive. As she admitted what had happened to her at his hands. As, finally, for the first time, she gave her trauma a voice.
I huddle under the covers, holding myself because the girl I love isn’t here to do it, recalling Wren’s assessment of us based on the dresses we wore the night of our Unveiling Ceremony when we were first presented to the King.
The dresses were made to represent us based on the results of our assessments. Mine was everything I’ve been trained to be. Strong, without compromise. Unforgiving. I knew what yours meant the minute I saw you. Your dress showed me that you had strength, but softness, too. A sense of loyalty, but not without fairness. Fight, and mercy. Things I wasn’t allowed to feel. Things I didn’t know how badly I needed.
Wren’s words sting. Because life is not as simple as two dresses, cut to be the opposite of each other. If I have learned anything since this war began, it is that souls are messy, imperfect things. Even the most beautiful of them have the capacity to be cruel.
Uncompromising and unforgiving.
Fair and merciful.
Hearts are all of these things, and more. And no matter how complex, how contradictory they might be, that doesn’t mean they do not deserve love, or forgiveness.
Or a second chance.
SIX
WREN
WREN WAS PACING HER ROOMS when the shouting began.
She snatched the gutting knife from her side cabinet without a second’s hesitation and sprinted into the hallway.
It had been a few days since her father and Caen left for Nantanna with a contingent of their army and allies. Lova had stayed behind to help protect the Jade Fort with her, sending her second-in-command Nor in her place as the Cat Clan’s representative. Wren was doing her best to keep the fort running smoothly, constantly on high alert. She hadn’t been sleeping much before. Now she barely closed her eyes, tracing the same pattern across the floorboards of her bedroom as she braced herself for something that seemed to have finally arrived.