The King raises his hand—
“Strike!”
I shut my eyes, but it’s too late. The image of the blades disappearing into the men’s torsos is there, a searing stain on the back of my eyelids. When I finally dare to look again, the assassins are slumped over, swords lanced through their chests.
Along with wearing black, the King sent out the order that we are not to make the sky gods salute to bless the assassins’ souls as they rise to the Heavenly Kingdom. But the crowd is packed tight, so Wren and I make the sign with our free hands—her left, my right—our thumbs crossing together, palms turned out.
All around comes cheering and shouting. But though the King is talking, I don’t hear a word. I can’t tear my eyes away from the assassins, the jian sticking up from their backs like three broken spines and blood blooming across their clothes, winding down to paint the floor with ribbons of deep scarlet. The way they’ve collapsed is reminiscent of fallen dolls, discarded by their petulant owner.
Wren’s heartbeat throbs against my palm, keeping time as anger rises within me. Hotter and fiercer than fear, stronger and surer than anything I’ve ever felt before, and as we stand hand in hand amidst the scream and bray of the crowd, there is no doubt when I promise myself that I will not give the King the chance to discard us.
One day, we will be the ones discarding him.
I go to Wren’s room late that night, the house wrapped in postmidnight hush. She’s awake when I come in, sitting up like she’s been expecting me. She opens her arms and we lie under the blankets, limbs entwined, but it’s not enough to stop the trembling, the wildness that’s been rattling through me ever since the execution.
Wren is the one to break the silence. Her breath tickling my hair, she fans her hands across my shoulder blades and says, “I heard something about the assassins.”
“What?” I murmur, face pressed into her neck.
“They were allied with the court. There are rumors that Steel and Moon officials were involved, too, and guards.”
The news buoys me. “Why didn’t the King say anything?”
“Because it would betray his weakness. It would be admitting he’s vulnerable within his own palace. That there are those who defy him even in his own court.”
“There are,” I say, fingers threading with hers as I lift my face to kiss her. “Us.”
The shadows are deep when I leave Wren’s room. I head to the bathing courtyard to splash some water on my face—the memory of blood and gleaming blades still clings to my skin like dirt. But at the entrance to the courtyard, I stop.
A girl is sitting on the steps.
Moonlight catches on slender shoulders, the sheen of long, straight hair. The girl is hunched over, crying. It’s barely audible, but I’d recognize the stifled sound of it anywhere. What I don’t believe at first is who is doing the crying.
I pad forward tentatively. “Blue?”
She jerks at my voice, clambering to her feet at once. “Go away, Nine,” she hisses. Her usual scathing tone is dampened by tears. Her eyes are swollen, red-rimmed, but she doesn’t wipe her tears away, as if ignoring them would make them disappear.
Gods. She’s so obstinate she’ll even defy herself.
“No,” I say.
She looks as though I’d struck her.
“I know you hate me,” I go on, standing my ground. “And I’m not really that keen on you, either. But you’re hurting. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone. No one should.”
“I’m not alone,” she sneers.
My eyes sweep the empty courtyard. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you could see ghosts.” Then I say, more gently, “Look, I’m sure Mariko would—”
“I don’t want her seeing me like this,” Blue blurts out, blinking rapidly as tears keep coursing down her cheeks.
“There’s no shame in being upset,” I tell her, and take a step closer. “What’s wrong? Was it the execution?”
She turns away. Shakes her head. “The attack.”
“At the theater?”
She nods jerkily.
“Is your father all right? Did something happen?”
A laugh spurts from her lips. The sound snaps through the quiet, a bitter bark that sends tingles down the backs of my arms. “Oh, he’s fine. Not that he checked if I was. Not that he cares.”
“I’m sure he cares, Blue. He’s your father—”
Her voice pitches. “All that means is I’m a pawn to use in his game! He only cares about rising through the ranks of the court. Giving me to the King was just a step to secure his promotion.” She lets out another mad laugh. “I’m the only one of us with parents in the palace, and they haven’t visited me once.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching for her shoulder. But she shrugs my hand away.
“I don’t need your pity, Nine!”
“It’s not pity,” I retort, my face hot. “It’s understanding.” I scrunch my hands. “Gods, why are you like this all the time? You’re so adamant to put yourself apart from the rest of us when we’re all going through exactly the same thing. The rest of us are trying to look after one another, but you keep trying to divide us.”
Blue’s top lip peels back. “We’re not going through the same thing. It’s nothing similar.”
“Are you or are you not stuck here, forced to serve a man you don’t care about?”
“You don’t get it at all,” she says in such a low hiss I barely catch it.
“What don’t I get?”
“The difference is you aren’t expected to like it.” She clamps her lips together, jerking her head stiffly to one side. “I have a family here, a father who is important in the court. I can’t go around refusing the King or speaking out against being a Paper Girl. And I keep thinking, maybe now I’ve been chosen, maybe now my father is one step closer to his promotion, he’ll finally be happy with me.” Her voice cracks. “I’ve done everything he asked. Been the perfect daughter. But from the way my parents act, most of the time you wouldn’t even know they have one.”
“Oh, Blue,” I breathe. But she backs away, her wet cheeks shining in the moonlight.
“If you dare—if you tell anyone about this…”
“I won’t,” I promise, and I mean it.
But she pushes past me as though I were the one threatening her, leaving me alone with the eerie hush of the empty barrels and the rustle of wind through the swaying bamboo.
TWENTY-SEVEN
ON THE OUTSIDE, LIFE IN THE PALACE returns to normal in the weeks after the executions, the only main change for us being that we aren’t allowed beyond Paper House without an escort of at least one guard. With the arrival of winter, the air grows icy, the wind hard and biting. Colors drain from the gardens like calligraphy paints being washed away. Since the executions, an air of unease has hung over the palace, and it seems a premonition somehow, all this gray and whiteness. A reminder that more death is to come. But while I continue to go dutifully with the other girls to classes and dinners, just as I had been doing all these months before, on the inside, everything is different.