“I know,” I say, tilting my head back to nestle my face into her neck. I breathe her crisp, blue-green scent in, so cleansing in my lungs. “I miss my family, too. Everyone keeps telling me to forget about them, but I can’t just let them go.”
Wren’s voice is fierce. “Then don’t. I haven’t.”
“Doesn’t it make it harder?”
“Yes,” she answers. “But I don’t want an easy life. I want a meaningful one.”
As we head back to Women’s Court, and throughout the rest of the day, Wren’s words play over and over in my head, building and strengthening, like a light growing brighter and fiercer the longer it burns, a candle-flame in reverse. Every time our eyes catch across a room—Wren’s gaze soft with our secret but radiant with something else—or we stroll down a corridor, standing a fraction closer than before, the caged thing stirs inside me. Not just with desire, but for the kind of life Wren was talking about under the tree. The courage I heard in her words.
I don’t want an easy life. I want a meaningful one.
The image of the old Paper Girl from the koyo party comes back to me: her melting face, her desperation. All this time I’ve been trying to adjust to my life here in the palace. To fit into the life expected of me. But am I losing sense of who I am, who I want to become?
Dzarja. The label is ugly, but only because I let it be. The realization strikes me with such force that I’m incredulous to have not thought of it before.
Perhaps being a traitor can be a good thing if you are betraying those who deserve it.
That night, I wait until the house is silent before going to Wren’s room.
She is on her feet at once. “Lei? What are you doing?”
I cross the room. Push her up against the wall. “Telling the easy life where to go,” I say, and lift my lips to hers.
“Wait,” she murmurs against my mouth, stiffening.
My breathing is quick. “Haven’t we done enough of that already?”
There’s a moment’s pause—and then her lips close on mine.
A sigh runs through me. Loosening a soft, sweet growl, Wren laces her arms round my neck, hands tangling in my hair, her mouth opening to move with mine. My world dissolves into heat and velvet touch. The two of us fall into rhythm, as natural and easy as if we’d done this a thousand times before. Has Wren done this before? The thought flares into my mind, almost taking me out of the moment. But I shove it away. Because maybe it’s just like this because it’s us, and it’s right.
Desire charges through my bloodstream. Sighing, I draw Wren closer, our kiss growing fiercer. Urgent. Mouth wide, I brush the tip of her tongue with my own. She tastes like a monsoon, like storms and danger. In return, she nips my bottom lip, sending a sharp current of heat between my legs, where my pulse throbs, a fluid beat. My fingers skim over the silky fabric of her night robe. Her body is hard and muscled and so beautiful it hurts. I want to know every part of it at once. I want to melt into her. To disappear into the softness of her kisses, of her skin and smooth, liquid heat.
Sliding her hands down my back, Wren squeezes my waist, drawing a gasp from my lips. The flaring heat inside me swells. I have the wild notion that this must be what Master Tekoa’s prediction was about: the fire, the red flames within me. But how would it bring down the palace? This is a secret fire that can only be kindled—and caught—by the girl whose lips are upon mine.
Eventually we pull apart, our breathing heavy.
Wren drops her forehead against mine, half panting. “All right,” she says shakily, a trembling hand lifting to cup my cheek. “So maybe the hard life isn’t so bad after all.”
I laugh. “Was that a joke?”
“I am capable of them, you know.”
“Prove it. Make another one.”
She gives me a feline smile. “Can’t I just kiss you again instead?”
My pulse flits as she dips her mouth toward mine. But just then, there’s the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
We lurch apart. In the shadowy room, Wren’s eyes are wide, moon-bright. We wait, breathless, the seconds ticking by slowly until finally the steps fade. There’s the sound of a door closing a few rooms away.
“You should get back,” Wren whispers once it’s quiet again.
Our mouths find each other’s one last time in the dark, and I sigh into her sweetness, her liquid warmth.
“Don’t come tomorrow,” Wren says when we pull apart. I freeze, but she continues with a smile, “I’ll come to you instead.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I murmur.
Her expression sobers. “I keep my promises, Lei,” she replies quietly. “Whatever they might cost me.”
TWENTY-FOUR
WHEN I WAKE THE NEXT MORNING, I lift my fingertips to my mouth, still lying tangled in my sheets, eyes shut. My skin is warm and mussed from sleep. There’s a tingle in my lips where I press them, but otherwise there’s no hint of what happened just hours ago. At least, not physically. My mouth seems the same, my lips just as they were before: smooth, small, lonely. I brush my fingertips over them, hunting for Wren’s presence. Honeyed shafts of sunlight fall across my sheets. I forgot to close my shutters last night, and the warmth of the rays seems to indicate that the gods are aware of what occurred between me and Wren.
And some of them approve.
Stretching, I roll over with a yawn. My gaze lands on the shrine in the corner of my room. A trickle of unease slithers through me.
I’m not in a rush to find out what happens to us if any of them don’t.
When she comes to collect me for our morning lessons an hour later, Wren gives no outward indication of what passed between us last night. But once we’re outside, the other girls chatting easily around us, she slows her steps just enough for us to fall out of earshot.
“I can’t stop thinking about last night,” she murmurs, her beautiful black-brown eyes shining.
Her words are as sweet as a song. I can’t hide my grin. I chance a quick press of my shoulder against her arm, angling my face into her. As if on cue, Blue flicks her head round, and Wren and I spring apart, pretending to be very interested in the hems of our hanfu.
If I thought the day before our kiss was hard, the day after is a million times worse. It becomes a practice in patience, something Tien would no doubt say I have very little of. Time stretches out, infuriatingly slow. I’m longing for the night to come so we can get past whatever function we have that evening and I can once again be alone with Wren. But then Mistress Eira reminds us at dinner that we’ll be seeing the King at the shadow play performance we’re attending tonight.
Something dark and red hums through my veins at the mention of him.
Across the table, Aoki shoots me a concerned look. She must be remembering what I said to her at the koyo party about how I won’t let the King have me. She cocks her head, questioning, and I wrest a half smile to my face.
“Are you all right?” Wren whispers once the other girls sink back into conversation. She’s kneeling next to me, our thighs almost touching under the table.
“Yes,” I answer, and though my throat is narrow, I mean it. As a maid reaches across us to tidy the plates away, hiding us from view, I catch her fingers in mine. It’s just a moment—like all of our stolen touches. But it reminds me that I have the strength to defy the King, even in small, secret ways such as these.