I’m not used to being naked in front of someone else, but Lill acts like it’s nothing, as direct with her work as with her questions. She dunks a sponge into the water and scrubs it over me before dragging a comb through my knotted hair. Eventually, her chatter starts to put me at ease. She reminds me of Tien, albeit a younger and far less bossy version. And after my long journey to the palace, it’s impossible to deny the pleasure of warm water on my skin. The bathwater is soon muddy, while my skin has done the opposite, the grime and sweat-gray sheen that has accumulated over the past few days shed with each stroke of the sponge, until I am revealed anew, baby pale and as polished as a coin.
Afterward, Lill dresses me in simple taupe-colored robes similar to Madam Himura’s hanfu, though the design and material is far plainer and the sash is slimmer. “You’ll only wear this type of hanfu on days you don’t have to leave the house,” she explains.
“The design of Mistress Eira’s robes are beautiful,” I say as her deft fingers adjust the cerulean sash at my waist. “Am I right that their style is originally from Shomu?”
Lill nods. “It’s the traditional dress of the White Wing Clan themselves.”
“So why is it worn here in Han?”
“Well, I don’t know if this is true exactly, but legend has it that the original Bull King fell in love with one of the clan lord’s daughters. He admired the clothing style she wore so much that he had it adopted here in Han, and Rain and Ang-Khen too.”
Of course. Forced assimilation. Just another of the wonderful things to come from the Night War two hundred years ago.
Lill’s doe ears quiver as she steps back to assess her work. “You’ll see, Mistress. Food, architecture, art, music… all the most beautiful things in Ikhara can be found in the palace. Like you!”
I grimace at this, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “Speaking of that,” I say. “What are they like? The other girls?”
“Oh, beautiful, too, of course. But they’re going to be so jealous when they see you. No Paper Girl has ever been blessed with eyes like yours.” She picks up my dirty clothes, adding, “Wait here, Mistress. I’ll just throw these away.”
I nod, distracted. Blessed. The word rings even more hollow tonight. My eyes are the reason I’ve been ripped from my home. Just like the original Bull King spying something so beautiful that he claimed it for his own. They’re not a blessing—they’re a curse.
And then I remember.
“Wait!” I say, lurching after her. Lill blinks as I reach into my trouser pocket, drawing out the familiar egglike object inside.
She smiles up at me. “Your Birth-blessing pendant!”
Its gold casing gleams in the lantern-light. Ever since I was young I’ve kept it with me, worn it as a necklace, something comforting about its weight against my chest bone.
“When does it open?” Lill asks, eager, as I loop it around my neck and tuck it under my robes.
“In six months,” I mutter.
Her eyes light up. “Maybe your fate is love, Mistress—with the King! What an honor that would be!”
And her look is so hopeful I have to turn away.
When Tien told me how many families see great honor in their daughters being chosen, I couldn’t understand it. Honor is in family, in hard work and care and love, in a small life well lived. Yes, sometimes I’ve wished for more. Grumbled at Tien’s bossing about, at the long, tiring days of shop life. Dreamed of starlit nights of adventures and a world outside the village and a love so bold it sets my heart alight. But always my future was framed in the safe arms of Xienzo. Of my family. Of my home.
A few minutes later, Lill leads me through the muted house, sounds of daily life muffled behind the painted doors. Dark wood corridors shine with polish. The paneled walls are draped with batik silks and delicate paintings. Every inch of the house drips with elegance. Even the air seems rich somehow, clean and perfumed.
We reach a set of sliding screen doors. Raised voices sound from within.
“Nine girls?” a thin, reedy voice declares. “Nine? It makes no sense! It’s eight. It’s always been eight. That’s the tradition.”
“Continue this way, Blue, and I shall gladly throw you out to return the group to its original number.”
“I’d like to see you try, Madam Himura. You know the power my father holds in the court. I don’t think he’d take kindly to you casting me out.”
“Who’s that?” I whisper to Lill.
“Mistress Blue,” she replies. “Her father, Lord Ito, is very famous. He’s one of the only Paper caste members of the court.” As the voices die down, she asks, “Are you ready to go in, Mistress?”
I take a slow inhale, then nod.
Lill gives me an encouraging smile. Then, sliding the door open, she announces with a bow to the room beyond, “Presenting Mistress Lei-zhi!”
The scents hit me first: incense from joss sticks and burners; the delicate fragrance of chrysanthemum tea. Maids in pastel-colored robes drift round, pouring the tea from porcelain pots with graceful curves of their wrists, and even they would be intimidating if they had walked into my parents’ shop. But compared with who they’re serving, their presence fades.
The Paper Girls.
Kneeling round a low table in the center of the room, they cut striking figures draped in vivid, lustrous fabrics, like a collection of living jewels. I take them in one by one. There is a girl with the bronzed, almost russet-brown skin common in the Southern provinces, draped in vibrant orange robes that remind me of the sarongs we have in the North, her raven hair twisted into a plait threaded with beads. At her sides are a stern-looking girl with a sharp, bobbed haircut at odds with her curvaceous figure, and a petite girl in an ice-blue dress. Opposite them sits a sweet-faced girl with rust-colored hair, dense clusters of freckles adorning her nose and cheeks. She gives me a nervous smile as our eyes meet. A pair of twins kneel next to her, pale-faced and straight-backed, like identical dolls, their lips drawn in a berry color to match their modern, high-collared dresses, so figure-hugging it pulls a blush to my cheeks.
Then I notice a girl set apart from the group. Unlike the rest, she’s sitting almost casually, long legs folded to the side. Her draped skirt and blouse are tailored from a velvety ink-black fabric shimmering with intricate embroidery, like a star-dusted night. Wavy hair cascades to her waist. Even the maids have been openly staring since I came in, but this girl is still facing away, gazing over her shoulder with a bored expression. A slight pout puckers her darkly glossed lips. Just when I’m about to turn away, she looks round.
Our eyes catch. At least, that’s what it feels like—a physical hold. She returns my gaze with a look so intense it roots me to the spot before her curved, catlike eyes flick away.
“This is her? This is the irresistible Nine?”
A high voice cuts through the quiet. It’s the girl we heard outside, Blue. She’s tall, even standing next to Madam Himura, with narrow shoulders and glossy azure-black hair, straight and smooth. Her features match the sharpness in her voice, angled cheekbones like two blades and narrow eyes shadowed with paint glinting out from beneath blunt bangs. The front of her emerald dress dips daringly low, revealing a flat triangle of alabaster skin.