“But aren’t those things natural?” I ask. “Earthquakes, droughts…”
“Indeed. But something is causing them to get worse. And I think I finally understand what it is.” With a tilt of his head, the King raises his eyes to the sky.
I follow his gaze. The wind has blown the clouds away to reveal a sky brilliant with starlight and the crescent of the moon hanging right overhead, sharp as a scythe. At first, I don’t understand what he’s suggesting. Then it hits me.
“You mean the gods?”
“They’re angry,” the King growls, the familiar bite returning to his voice. A muscle tics in his jaw. “They’re punishing us for something. See? Even Ahla takes her warrior form to taunt me.” His eyes are shiny. “I need to appease them.”
I remember what General Yu said to Mistress Eira about the King’s superstitious nature, what Chenna told me about the reasoning behind his picking her first. Our belief in the gods is so organic and deep-rooted there can often be something customary about it. But there is nothing perfunctory about the fever-glow now on the King’s face. Though it would be blasphemous to speak out loud, the question comes to me, undeniable.
Is this magic or madness I’m seeing? Faith or desperation?
“How—how will you do that?” I ask in a hushed voice.
The King’s bowed lips stretch, a grin more teeth than smile. “Punish those who disobey me,” he says huskily. “Rid the kingdom of those who are not faithful.” His frosted eyes slide my way, and the silence stretches out. Then, abruptly, the tension drains from his face. Slinging an arm around my shoulder, he spins us back round, the corners of his mouth lifted. “Come, Lei-zhi. We’d better get back to the others. I don’t want them getting jealous.”
And his chatter is once again so light and easy that I almost believe I imagined the threat in his words.
The party spirals on into the night in a whirl of laughter and starlight and the jewel-bright reflections of lantern light on water, everything colorful: the sounds, the conversations, the smiles, the dresses. It’s the first time there’s been such a big gathering, and from our corner of the floating tearoom, the girls swap gossip about the guests.
“Look!” Mariko cries, pointing to an elegant woman with porcelain skin. “That’s Mistress Lo, she’s one of the most famous Paper Girls. You must have heard of her. She runs a beauty parlor in Women’s Court. We must ask Madam Himura if we can visit it.…”
More pointing. “Oh, that’s Madam Daya! She was married to a General straight after her time as a Paper Girl. Apparently the General saved the King’s life in an assassination attempt and she was his reward.…”
“Isn’t that Mistress Ohura? She’s still so beautiful.…”
The voices of the girls float around me. My eyes keep sliding back to where Wren and the King are talking under a pagoda at the water’s edge. They’re too far to make out anything more than their outlines, but the closeness of their shadows, the King’s huge bulk dwarfing Wren, sends something sharp down my veins.
“They’ve been there for ages,” Aoki grumbles, her eyes following mine. There’s jealousy in her gaze, too.
He makes me feel special.
Disgust quivers through me at the memory of her words. I tear my eyes away. “I’m going for a walk,” I say, and get to my feet and start walking before she can follow.
I turn down a few of the floating walkways and head up onto the grassy bank of the river, picking a random direction to wander in. The noise of the party fades as I trudge into the dark grounds. Over my head, a flock of birds wheel noisily, wingtips kissing the sky. Their freedom pierces me. What would happen if I just took off right now? Chased after them, danced in the midnight shadow of their bodies so high above, and we could be mirrors, echoes, them in the air and me on the ground—
The thought cuts off. Because of course: the palace walls.
Somewhere in the distance, I sense their presence, their black embrace. The birds would fly right over them, and all I’d be able to do is watch, fingers pressed to the frozen rock.
Suddenly the darkness isn’t so welcoming anymore. I’ve just started to head back to the river when I stop at the sound of something in the shadows. Is that… crying?
Scanning the grounds, I spot a woman sitting on the sloping grass a few feet away. Reflections on the river’s surface outline her in shimmering silver. She’s wearing a patterned sari, its pale-pink fabric light against her brown skin. I recognize her robes—she’s one of the former Paper Girls, the one who was married to some General.
“Hello?” I call, taking a few steps toward her. “Madam Daya, is it?”
Hunched shoulders tighten. “Get away!” she hisses. It comes out strangled, the words strange and contorted.
“Is everything all right?”
The woman doesn’t turn. “Who is that?” she replies, hoarse.
“I’m Lei. One of the Paper Girls—”
She whirls around in an instant, springing to her feet. I stagger back, but she catches me, nails pinching into my arms as she brings me close.
A scream catches in my throat. Madam Daya’s face is shadowed, but that only seems to heighten what a mess it is, moonlight glinting off the raw peeling skin slipping from her face like melted wax; rotted teeth; the bulbous, veined eyes.
Words tumble from my lips. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“Look at me!” she cries. “It’s all his fault!”
“Wh-whose fault?”
“My stupid husband’s! He made a mistake during the raid at Shomu Pass, and the King refused to grant him our annual magic allowance, and without my regular visits from the shaman…” She shakes me, crazed, tears leaking from those horrible red eyes. “I can’t go back to the party looking like this!”
As she talks, skin drips from her cheeks and chin. A ragged scrap unpeels, falling on my own face, and I shriek, tossing my head to get it off me.
Madam Daya lets out a mad laugh. “That’s it! Try to get away. But you’ll look like this one day, too, you know. When you’re forced to use endless enchantments just to keep yourself looking young and pretty for whatever worthless man the King gives you to like a prize show-tiger, you’ll understand. You’ll know.”
And it suddenly clicks what’s happened to her.
Qi draining.
Since magic is an element that comes from the closed circle of our world, it cannot be made, only exchanged through a shaman’s chanted dao. Yin and yang, energy, lifeblood, qi—all of it is a balance. A flow. It’s what the King was talking about earlier. Shamans must adhere to the equilibrium when drawing magic from the earth by offering gifts in return, whether it be burying money for spirits or scattering plant seeds, or carving tattoos in their skin, the pain serving as payment, the markings bindings of their loyalty. Even then, when too much magic is asked from the gods, their enchantments can start to fail, or even backfire.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I stammer, though my words sound empty even to me.
The woman laughs. “You will be one day, little girl. You’ll be sorry you ever came to this heavensforsaken place.”