“What is it?” I press.
“Well, I don’t really like to talk about other people’s business. But seeing as it’s Blue…” She wets her lips. “Do you know who her father is?”
“Someone important at court, right?”
“Not just someone important—he’s the King’s only Paper caste adviser. Even the Hannos aren’t involved with the King’s council. Everyone knows the King is paranoid when it comes to dealing with the clans. Probably worried he’ll upset them one day and they’ll turn on him. But Blue’s father was exiled from his clan years ago.”
“Why?” I ask.
Chenna shrugs. “There are lots of different rumors. But whatever it was, he ended up here, and because he’s a free agent, the King seems to trust him more than most.”
“What’s this got to do with Blue?”
“Everyone knows her father is after a promotion. The King’s first adviser died earlier this year and he still hasn’t appointed a successor.” Chenna’s coal-black irises don’t leave mine. “Blue is eighteen. She could have been entered into the Paper Girl selection before now. So her father putting her forward for the first time this year seems rather convenient, don’t you think?”
I frown. “But the selection process—”
“Is not mandatory for daughters of court officials.” She nods. “Not that there are many Paper caste court officials anyway, of course. But for the few who are, they’re granted an exception. Unless—”
“The family wants them to be considered, and enters them voluntarily,” I finish.
“What’s more,” Chenna goes on, “I heard some of the maids talking about how it was common knowledge Blue didn’t want to be put forward as a Paper Girl.”
Silence unfolds at this. Out of all the girls, Blue is the one I would have bet on for fighting tooth and nail to be selected. I imagined her following the selection of the Paper Girls since she was young, playing dress-up with her maids, pretending she was one of the chosen.
“Her father used her,” I state, hollow.
“It’s exactly what Blue would have done herself,” Chenna replies with a lift of a shoulder.
The coolness in her voice makes me wince. Tien had told me how Paper caste families offer up their daughters in the hopes of gaining favor with the court. But hearing Chenna talk so frankly about it…
Being traded against your will by your own father can’t feel nice. Even for someone like Blue.
“Chenna,” I say as she moves away, “how do you know all this?”
Something flickers in her dark eyes. “The King talks a lot,” she answers, an edge to her voice. “Especially after a few glasses of sake.”
It’s not until I’m coming back from the toilet that I comprehend the significance of Chenna’s words.
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.