Afterward, Lill dresses me in a long embroidered skirt of cream and charcoal black, tied at my waist with a ribbon of velvet over a gauzy pearl-colored shirt with draped sleeves. It’s a teasing mix of conservative and sensual. The full skirt hides my legs, but the sheerness of the top exposes the shape of my breasts and the slender slope of my shoulders. It makes me intensely aware of what I’m wearing it for.
Or rather, what I’m wearing it before.
Lill is quiet as she works, sensing my mood. Before we leave, she places a leaf-wrapped bundle at the head of my sleeping mat. “I’m supposed to remind you to mix these with water as soon as you get back,” she says, avoiding my eyes. “And you have to drink the whole thing, Mistress. Even if it tastes bad.”
The herbs to stop pregnancy. I’d forgotten about them.
I nod to show Lill I understand. But my stomach is already churning, and I have no idea if I’ll even be able to keep down a few sips after what’s about to happen. As Lill leads me through Paper House to where a palanquin is waiting, it takes all my effort not to be sick right here and now.
The small burst of courage Zelle’s lesson gave me slips away even more with each moment drawing me closer to the King: Lill wishing me luck as I climb into the palanquin; the swaying stride of the oryx on the journey through the darkening palace. Arriving at Royal Court, the line of soldiers standing guard outside the King’s fortress is just as intimidating as my first visit, a row of armor and horns. Inside, I’m taken to a windowless room for a purification ceremony. A group of royal shamans move in a ring around me, swinging gold thuribles as they chant, incense twining into ropelike tendrils around my body, a physical manifestation of how trapped I feel.
By the time I’m brought to the King’s private rooms, my panic is deep, a physical thing. Everything in me wants to turn. Run away. But I force myself to recall General Yu’s threat, and Wren’s reminder that our actions impact not only us but our families, too.
I have to keep Baba and Tien safe. And, just maybe, the King will have some answers about my mother.
The soldiers escorting me are led by a Moon caste fox female who I recognize as one of the demons at the King’s side during the Unveiling Ceremony. She must be one of his personal guards. She is undoubtedly beautiful, with sharp, vulpine eyes, and a slender body, human and fox blended seamlessly under a coating of sleek fur the color of freshly laid snow. Something about her stirs a deep current of unease in me. Through life in the palace, I’ve been slowly getting used to the presence of demons, but being so close to them still unnerves me. Especially Moon castes, with the promise of power in their animal-like limbs. The sense that they could tear me apart any second they chose.
We stop at a set of heavy opal doors set into an arched recess in the stone. The fox raps her knuckles against them and they glide slowly open, revealing a high-ceilinged black tunnel. I gag on the warm, perfumed air that rushes out.
The fox female glares down her powder-white nose at me. “The King is ready for you.” Her voice rings high and cold, every syllable injected with disgust. Clearly she hates the fact that her precious King takes Paper caste girls to his bed.
Well, fox, I want to tell her, I’m not so keen on it, either. But I don’t say, can’t say, anything. The darkness of the tunnel fixes my gaze. It seems to pull at me, coaxing me forward. But my feet stay rooted.
The King is in there.
Waiting for me.
The fox makes a hissing sound with her teeth. “What,” she snarls with a flick of her tail, “have you never seen a door before? Oh. Of course. I forgot you’re from Xienzo. I suppose you keeda peasants can’t afford them.” Then she grabs me, whispering into my ear so only I can hear—“Whore!”—before shoving me inside.
I pitch forward, just managing to stop myself from falling as the doors shut with a weighty thud behind me. The tunnel is dark. The heaviness of the air seems to press on me from all sides, and I hug my arms around myself, my breathing loud. The idea that I could just stand here and not move is tempting, but it would just be delaying the inevitable. With a shaky inhale, I straighten my spine and start forward.
Soon I make out a faint red light up ahead. I move a little faster. A few moments later I emerge into a high, vaulted room. The ruby glow is coming from the hundreds of candles peppering the room—along the floor, in clusters on top of cabinets and side tables, even floating in the air—giving off heat and a cloyingly sweet aroma that makes my gut cramp. And there, in the center of the room on an enormous golden throne—
The King.
He’s dressed in his usual black-and-gold robes, but tonight they’re tied loosely, cutting a deep V down his torso, revealing chestnut-brown hair and the ripple of muscles. It strikes me again how humanlike his body is, and I recall Zelle’s words earlier about how similar the castes actually are. If you ignored his bull’s coat and the elongated pull of his jaw, the King could almost pass for human. Then my eyes travel down, to the muscled calves tapering into gold-plated gray hooves, as big as a pair of stone weights, and I remember seven years ago, the sound of demon footfall so alien to our village.
I lower into a bow, knees and forehead to the floor. The polished rock is frozen against my skin. “H-heavenly Master,” I greet, and I’m furious with myself for the shake in my voice, the way it echoes weakly in the vast room.
“Come, now, Lei-zhi,” the King says smoothly. “There’s no need to be so formal. Not when it’s just the two of us.” His tone is light, but the command in his words is clear. When I unravel from my bow, he beckons me forward, gesturing to the table in front of the throne. “The royal chefs have prepared us dinner. I took the time to find out what your favorite dishes are.” Candlelight picks out the copper hairs in his coat. He cocks a smile. It’s wonky, almost boyish, at odds with the deepness of his voice. “Sugared almonds are a particular weakness of mine, too.”
My eyes take a quick sweep of the bowls and plates spread across the table. There are prawn dumplings and scallion pancakes, steamed turnip cakes and cuts of roasted chicken breasts glistening with sauce, wine-steeped dates and fried red bean dough balls covered in syrup and coconut flakes. A glass carafe of sake sits to one side, along with two bowls for serving. But even though the food looks delicious, I can’t smell anything over the horrible sweet perfume of the candles. My veins are clotted with it.
Keeping my head low, I kneel at the table across from the King, still battling the urge to be sick. “I’m humbled by your thoughtfulness, Heavenly Master,” I murmur.
He slaps his hand down onto the arm of his throne. “What did I just say?” His raised voice booms through the chamberlike room. “All you girls are the same. Heavenly Master this, Heavenly Master that. It’s tiring. Sometimes I think these rules were made just to bore me.” He leans forward, fixing me with his iced stare, the gold tips of his horns catching the light. “Do you know why my ancestor, the first Demon King of Ikhara, had the title Heavenly Master instated?”
“N-no.”
He eases back in his throne. “Other warlords and clan leaders are known individually by their names, the families they descended from. It allows for easy infamy. For reverence. But it also means anyone can make a name for themselves. After emerging victorious from the Night War, the Bull King chose to shed his name completely. He saw it as symbolic. A way to elevate his status. Instead of mere mortals, he and his successors would be revered as an all-powerful entity. We would be gods.” Something ugly wrings the King’s face. “Yet tell me, Lei-zhi, what is the point of a god whose people know nothing about him? Whose followers cannot call upon him by his own name?” He snorts. “It’s like worshipping a ghost.”