“That’s a good girl.”
He pushes me into the carriage, so roughly I trip. Baba and Tien erupt with cries, pulling a ragged sob from me, and it takes everything I have not to look back as I climb onto the padded bench. The carriage heaves under the General’s weight as he gets in beside me. Moments later the horses start to move, breaking into a loping canter that carries us quickly out of the village, my world once again crumbling around me to the sharp stench of bull demon and the sound of trampling hooves.
THREE
EVERYONE IN IKHARA KNOWS OF THE Paper Girls.
The tradition began two hundred years ago after the Night War, when the Bull King of Han, the central-most province in Ikhara, won control of the other seven, from desertlike Jana in the South to my home, Xienzo, in the North. Before, each province had its own sets of governing systems, its own laws and customs specific to their cultures. Some provinces were ruled by a dominant clan, while others were unstable landscapes of ever-shifting power plays between ambitious clan lords. And while Paper castes had always been viewed as lesser than demons, there was respect for the positions we held in society, the services and skills we offered. But after the Night War, the King imposed his rule on every province—and along with them, his prejudices. Royal soldiers patrolled the flatlands and plains, scoured villages and cities to dispense the new regulations. Demon-run businesses flourished; Paper caste families were pushed to the dirt. Within the centralized system, the larger cities grew ever richer and more powerful, while smaller settlements faded into servitude.
The years following the Night War were almost as dark as the ones they left behind. In the absence of the duels and political deliberations that would have once sorted temporary peace in a way all parties could respect, old resentments between clans grew. Long-standing rivalries continued to simmer unchallenged. And now there were additional uprisings and plays for power between the royal emissaries and the clans.
Order was restored the only way the King knew how.
Bloodshed.
To encourage union among the diverse clans and cultures, the court established a new custom. Each year, the King would select eight Paper caste girls as his courtesans. The court said that choosing girls of the lowest caste proved what a just ruler the King was, and the families of chosen girls were showered with gifts and wealth, ensuring they never had to work another day in their lives.
Tien told me once how families in provinces close to the royal heart of the kingdom, such as Rain and Ang-Khen, prepare their most beautiful daughters for the role from youth, even making underhanded deals to ensure the girls are remembered when the annual selection time comes.
In my village, the story of the Paper Girls is told in whispers behind closed doors. We lost too much in the raid seven years ago to want to share anything more with the court.
But perhaps the gods have forgotten us, or grown bored with our small corner of the kingdom. Because here I am, about to share the last thing I’d ever want to offer the King.
Myself.
For a long time, the General and I ride in silence. The carriage is luxuriously decorated, the bench adorned with perfumed cushions and silks, intricate carvings detailing the wooden walls. Scatters of light feel their way in through the shuttered windows. There’s a slight charge in the air, an electric quiver that, even with my limited experience of it, I recognize as magic. That must be what’s guiding the horses, what lends them their unnatural speed.
Another time and I would have been fascinated by it all—the mysticism of shaman work, the beauty of the carriage. But my vision is red-tinted, filtered through recent events, an unrelenting bombardment of one nightmarish image after another. Bao, speared through. Blood on my father’s brow. Tien’s scream when the General came for me. My home, our home, our lovely little shop-house shattered and broken, and farther from my reach with every sway and bump of the carriage.
And instead, drawing ever closer—the King’s palace.
A Paper Girl.
Me.
“Don’t look so sad, girl.”
General Yu’s rumbling voice makes me start. I press further against the side of the bench, but there’s no way to ignore the reek of him, the wet heat of his breath.
Is this what the King is like? The thought of touching—of being touched—by a demon like this sends a fresh wave of nausea into my throat.
“You have just been handed a fate girls across the kingdom can only dream of,” the General says. “Surely it would not pain you to smile?”
I swipe my tears away. “I dream of a different fate,” I reply with a sniff.
He laughs, smug. “What better life could a daughter of an herb-shop owner wish for?”
“Anything than being the concubine of the King.”
The words have barely left my lips when the General seizes my face with his brown-haired hand, pinching my cheeks so hard my jaw pops open. “You think you are special?” he growls. “That you’re above being a Paper Girl? You have no idea what the rest of the kingdom is like, foolish girl. All you country folk hiding here in your nowhere corner of your nowhere province, thinking only of your small, closed lives…” His nostrils flare, hot air hitting my face. “You think you are beyond the reach of the court. But you are wrong. The Demon King’s rule is all-powerful. You felt that power once seven years ago, and you feel it again today. How easy it was for me to take you from your home—like plucking a flower from a bed of weeds. Just as it happened with your whore of a mother.”
With a throaty rumble, he casts me aside. My cheekbone dashes into the wall. I can’t help but cry out, and I stuff my hand quickly over my mouth to smother it.
General Yu smirks. “That’s it, girl. From what I hear, the King enjoys it when his whores scream.”
Glowering, I sit back up, rubbing my cheek. “You know what happened to my mother,” I say through gritted teeth. “What those soldiers did to our village.”
“I might have heard something,” he replies with a shrug. “But I can’t be sure. Those kinds of things all merge into one another.”
My hands bunch into fists. “They destroyed our village. My family.”
The General’s voice is cool. “You’d best forget you ever had a family, girl. Because you won’t be coming back.”
“Yes, I will,” I whisper as he turns away, and the words feel like a promise on my lips.
A new thought comes to me then, so brittle I’m scared to let it take hold: Did Mama make a similar promise, too, once? Seven years ago, did she travel this same route that I’m on now, whispering a wish for the wind to carry to the kinder gods? Burumi perhaps, God of Lost Lovers? Or sweet, patient Ling-yi with her wings and blind eyes, Goddess of Impossible Dreams? Mama always held the gods closer than Baba and me. They might have listened to her. And if, and if…
I always imagined the soldiers would have taken Mama and the other women they captured to the royal palace—the very place General Yu his soldiers are bringing me.
I gaze out the window through glazed eyes, a warm kernel of hope working through me. Because as much as I don’t want to leave my home, this might be my chance to finally find out the truth about my mother.
And, just maybe, find her.
The horses ride on for hours, showing no sign of slowing. We sweep through the Xienzo countryside, a green-brown blur of fields and low mountains, flowering meadowland, and forests. I’ve never been this far from my village—not even more than a few hours’ walk home—but the scenery is recognizable so far, similar to the landscape around our village.