Mistress Eira takes my arm. “You’re with me, Lei.” She smiles, leading me to the front row.
Around us, court members in an array of demon forms are taking their places, shadows distorted by the lantern glow. My breaths come more shallowly as we kneel on our cushions, and I hold myself stiffly, trying not to flinch each time I hear the heavy drop of hooves. To distract myself, I focus on the stage. There’s a dusting of snowlike powder sprinkled across it.
Mistress Eira follows my gaze. “Sugar dust,” she says.
I look round. “What is it for?”
“The dancers kick it up with their movements so it settles onto our clothes and skin. It’s more for display, really. But it’s also said to encourage sensual thoughts.” Her voice drops. “Men and women will know their lovers’ skin will taste sweet later tonight.”
An image flares into my mind: the King, leaning in close, a thick tongue sliding out to run along my bare collarbones.
“I—I can’t do it,” I say suddenly. Pushing my palms into the floor, I start to my feet. “I can’t, I won’t—”
Mistress Eira seizes my arm. “Hush, Lei!” she hisses, yanking me back down with pinching fingers. “You can never speak this way in public. Never. Do you understand? Imagine if word got back to Madam Himura. To the King.” She waits as an elegant-looking lion-form demon strides past, his arm looped over the shoulder of a smaller lion-form male. They share a chaste press of their snouted noses as they pass. Relaxing her grip a little, Mistress Eira continues, “I understand your fear, but you have to see it as just another aspect of your job. Not even one that takes too long—a few hours and you’ll be back in Paper House. And while I can’t promise that you’ll enjoy it, it might not be as bad as you feared. Remember, even that which seems impossible at first can be overcome by strength of mind and heart.”
It’s an old saying, one everybody in Ikhara is familiar with. I turn it over on my tongue, hunting for comfort in its words. For some reason, it makes me think of Wren. The way her eyes often gaze into the distance during dinners and lessons, as though she’s retreating somewhere deep within herself. Is this how she copes with sleeping with the King? Protecting her true self by folding it away where he can’t reach?
I look across the stage to where she’s sat opposite me, expecting to find her staring off into the distance. But my breath catches—because she’s looking straight at me. And this time, instead of emptiness, Wren’s eyes shimmer brightly with fire.
Then a voice rings out through the theater, and our connection breaks. “Honorable members of the court, presenting our Heavenly Master, our gods’ blessed ruler and commander of all beings who walk the mortal realm, the King!”
Every member of the audience drops into a bow. My cheeks are still flushed from Wren’s look as I lower my forehead to the floor, but the rest of my body is clammy. Silence claims the hall. The only sounds are the rustling of fabric and the thrum of rain on the roof. And, beneath my ribs, the frantic slam of my heart. It seems impossible that no one else can hear it. Even now, Baba and Tien must be raising their heads in Xienzo from their late dinner after another busy day to wonder what that distant drumming sound is.
The hall is quiet for a few moments more. Then—hoof-fall.
I fight the urge to jump up as they approach in a slow gait, coming to a stop right beside me. Heat ripples from the King’s body as he kneels down, close, not touching but so near his presence is as heavy as a sky full of storm clouds, and the smell of him fills my nose; that sharp scent of bull, raw and masculine.
“Heavenly Master,” I murmur along with the rest of the room. There are rustling sounds as everyone in the audience sits back up. I straighten, my eyes locked on the floor, aware of his stare.
“Lei-zhi,” he says, drawing the letters out. There’s a smirk in his voice. “Am I to always find you face-first on the floor?”
“If that is where you want me.” I inject the words with as much derision as I dare, adding a quick “Heavenly Master” for good measure.
His boom of laughter shudders deep, right down to my bones. “So, how have you found your first month at the palace? I hope it has been enjoyable.”
“In… some ways,” I answer carefully.
“In some ways! Tell me those that disagree with you, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Oh, just the small fact that I’m a prisoner here. But I keep my eyes down and mumble instead, “The days start very early. And we have a lot of lessons. And the food could be better, I suppose.”
Again, his laughter rattles me. “Now, I know at least that last one’s a lie. We have the most superior chefs in all of Ikhara. I challenge you to find better. But perhaps,” he goes on, his tone cooling somewhat, “your tongue hasn’t become accustomed to fine food yet. I can only imagine what your meals were like in Xienzo. Do not worry, Lei-zhi. I am sure your tongue will become accustomed to palace delicacies soon enough.”
The double meaning in his words jolts me, but I only have a few seconds to falter before he speaks again, his voice flat and serious now.
“The court tells me you’re blessed with eyes leant by the Moon Goddess herself. Show them to me.”
With a deep inhalation, arranging my face into as calm an expression as I can muster, I lift my chin. And finally, after all these weeks, the King’s cool gaze meets mine.
His spine stiffens. Not in fear, or even surprise. But the way a cat goes still when it’s spotted a mouse. How the world grows silent before the roar of a storm. His stillness seems to ripple through the room until everything is frozen, everyone focused on the two of us, the fix of golden eyes on blue.
A smile sneaks across his lips, accenting his pointed cupid’s bow. “So. They weren’t exaggerating.”
I bow my head. “I am humbled by your compliment, Heavenly Master,” I force out.
There’s a pause. “You haven’t thanked me for my other one.”
I jerk my chin up. “The—the other one?”
“You must have been wondering why I haven’t called you to me yet, no?” The King leans down until his face is just a hairsbreadth from mine and curls a hand round my cheek, holding me with just a fraction too much pressure. “Didn’t you know, Lei-zhi,” he murmurs, grin sharpening, “I always save the best for last.”
The announcer’s voice sounds again, signaling the start of the show. But the King doesn’t look away—and I don’t dare to.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a sleek dog-form dancer entering the stage. A lone string melody starts up. The dog-girl launches into movement. Scarlet ribbons tied round her wrists fly out in long, rippling waves. She dances across the stage, lifts high with fast kicks of her slender haunches, turning the air around her into a whirl of red.
A shower of sugar dust falls over us. Slowly, not taking his eyes off mine, the King runs a thumb over my lips and raises it to his own, tasting it with his tongue.
“Delicious,” he growls.
The next day, the name painted on the bamboo chip is mine.
FOURTEEN
THE TABLE ERUPTS, ALL THE GIRLS talking at once. Madam Himura has to slam her hands down to shock them into silence. “This is not some housewives’ mahjong party!” she cries, yellow eyes blazing. “Are you forgetting who you are?” She points a taloned finger at the door. “Go! Mistress Tunga is expecting you.” When I start to stand, she gives an exasperated sigh. “Not you, Lei.”