I’M STILL BLURRY FROM SLEEP WHEN I’m woken the next morning by the slide of doors. There’s the patter of bare feet in the hall outside, then muffled voices, excitement barely constrained by whispers. With a yawn, I untangle from my sheets and pad out blearily into the corridor, arms folded across my waist.

“What was he like?”

“Did he tell you any secrets about the court?”

“One of the maids told me his bedchamber is covered completely in moonstones and opals—is it true?”

Chenna’s room is at the opposite end of the hall, and though I can’t see her past the backs of Zhen, Zhin, Mariko, and Aoki crowding in her doorway, I assume she’s somewhere inside. Sure enough, her voice floats out a second later.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

I roll my neck as I amble over, easing out the crick from sleeping. Wren’s door is shut, and so is Blue’s, but as I step in front of her room, there’s a movement behind the rice-paper screen and I notice the very Blue-shaped shadow bunched at the edge of the door. I push down the urge to call her out, instead turning to where the other girls are clustered in the doorway across the hall. Zhen and Zhin greet me as I join them, but Aoki and Mariko don’t look away from Chenna.

“Just a few details,” Mariko presses, leaning in, the shoulder of her robe slinking down her arm. She flips it back up distractedly. “We’ll find out for ourselves soon enough.”

“Exactly.” Chenna’s face is tight, a slight flush of color darkening the apples of her cheeks. But apart from that, she looks just as she did the day before—unruffled. The picture of composure. “So you don’t have long to wait.”

Mariko pouts at this, but the twins nod.

“We’re sorry,” Zhin says. “You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to.”

“But if you do need to talk,” Zhen adds, “we’re here.”

With a kind smile, the twins return to their rooms with their arms linked, heads close. As Mariko huffs and moves away, I slip in beside Aoki. She blinks, barely registering me.

“Oh! Hi, Lei.” Her eyes click back to Chenna. “Well, thanks anyway…” she mumbles before heading off.

“Lei,” Chenna greets me unsmilingly. “I suppose you have a hundred questions, too?”

“Actually, just one.” I drop my voice. “How do you feel? I hope… I hope you’re all right.”

Chenna blinks at me. She smiles, though it’s stiff. “I’m just fine. Thank you for asking.”

Her eyes glide past my shoulder as the door behind me opens. I brace myself for the cutting remark that’s surely about to come, but instead Blue’s voice floats out calmly and politely.

“Good morning, Chenna. Nine.”

I lift a brow, glancing round to see Blue slink down the corridor, her long azure hair swishing.

“Wow,” Chenna says once she’s gone. “She’s really annoyed.”

I give her a wry smile. “She was so sure she was going to be picked first.”

A frown puckers Chenna’s forehead. “You know, I thought so, too, what with her father’s position in the court. But when I asked the King why he chose me, he said it was because of some dream he had the night before. He’d been in Jana, flying over the southern deserts. He thought it was a sign from the heavenly rulers that they wanted him to select me.”

“Maybe I can bribe a shaman to keep his dreams out of Xienzo,” I murmur.

As she goes to shut the door, Chenna adds, eyes not quite meeting mine, “Or all of Ikhara, for that matter.”

As the days sift past, my life dissolves into a blur of routine and ritual. It surprises me how quickly I fall into the palace’s rhythms, the shape of my world before coming here erased as though by water on ink and replaced with a new life of lessons and gossip, banquets and ceremonies, rules and rituals. I don’t forget about wanting to find out what happened to my mother, but I’m so busy I don’t get the chance. I also know that kind of thing won’t go unnoticed, and General Yu’s threat is still fresh in my mind.

You are going to try, and you are going to succeed! Or else your family—what pitiful part that’s left of it—will be punished. Make no mistake, keeda. Their blood will be here. Do you understand me?

On your hands.

Any time I have the urge to give up or defy Madam Himura’s orders, the General’s cool voice slinks back into my ears, and I know the only option is to keep going.

At least, for now.

Each day as a Paper Girl begins with the morning gong. The maids will have woken earlier to ready the braziers and bathing barrels and light incense, their smoky-sweet scent always in the air. Lill takes me to the bathing courtyard to wash before dressing me in simple cotton robes, my hair swept into a tight bun on the top of my head. Once we’re ready, we have breakfast—usually rice balls, pickled vegetables and salted fish, and delicate cuts of fresh fruit: peaches, papaya, honey apple, winter melon—before heading to our first lesson of the day.

After my embarrassing performance at the Unveiling Ceremony, most of the teachers don’t seem to expect much of me. One of them especially takes an instant dislike to me. Mistress Tunga is a broad-hipped woman with wide-set eyes who leads our lessons in movement, covering everything from how to walk elegantly to the proper way to kneel in robes. She often singles me out as an example of how not to do things. She’ll have me pace the length of the room in front of the other girls, a practice block held between my knees, while she points out every mistake. “No, no, walk taller, Lei-zhi! Remember what I said last week? Imagine a thread running from the base of your feet to the top of your head. Now, lean back just so and let your hips jut out the tiniest amount.… Not like that! You look as though you’re about to keel over from too much sake. After what happened at the Unveiling Ceremony, that’s the last thing you want others to think of you. All right, settle down, girls! Sniggering isn’t becoming.”

Just as bad are our dance classes. They’re taught by Madam Chu, a dignified old swan-form demon, the pearly feathers flowing over her slender body tinged with gray. She flits around us, feathers rustling as she sets us into place. This isn’t dancing the way I saw it done back home, all abandon and laughter and loose limbs. This is a kind of clockwork, technical thing. Every flute of a wrist, every curve and bend of a limb is measured—or not, as it often applies to me.

After our morning classes we return to Paper House for lunch, either with Mistress Eira or Madam Himura, to update them on our progress. If the King desires the company of one of the girls, this is usually when we’re notified, and that girl is taken away for preparations. For the rest of us, it’s back for more lessons until sunset. By then I’m desperate for sleep, but our nights are just as busy. There are banquets with court officials, trips to plays and dance recitals, ceremonies to attend.

By the time we finally return to our rooms, it’s often past midnight. Despite our tiredness, Aoki and I usually stay up for a while, sipping tea and snacking on pineapple tarts Lill sneaks us from the kitchens. In these stolen moments, all the stress of our lessons, of being away from our families and having to adjust to this new way of life, melts away, and I go to sleep afterward with a smile on my lips and warmth in my chest that feels a lot like happiness.

And yet.

As the days go by without my name appearing on the bamboo chip, an uncomfortable notion starts to grow inside me: that it never will. And while part of me, most of me, is relieved, there is also shame, and the bright, cruel sear of failure.

Even though Aoki still hasn’t been chosen, either, it’s me Madam Himura scolds. Every day she reminds me what a disappointment I am. “You’d better find a way to show him those heavens-blessed eyes of yours soon, before I throw you out like the waste of space you’ve so far proven to be.”

Once, I dream of the Unveiling Ceremony. But when I stagger out of the enchanted pool, it’s General Yu who gazes down at me from the King’s throne, a half smile twisting his face.

“Look what you’ve done.” He holds up his arms. From his hands, my father’s and Tien’s severed heads hang, blood dripping to the floor. “Catch,” he calls, and throws them to me.

I wake up, a scream dying on my lips.

There’s nothing more I’d like to do than try to escape. To go back home. But every time I consider it, the General’s threat comes back to me, along with the sound of the guard’s club coming down onto the servant woman’s head on the bridge outside Royal Court. And I remember that if I fail, I might not even have a home to return to.

After a month at the palace, I’ve barely improved in any of our lessons. When my attempt at the fan dance Madam Chu is teaching us ends with my fan flinging from my grip after I shake it too vigorously and hitting her between the eyes—which unfortunately she couldn’t see the funny side of—she keeps me behind after class.

“But lunch—” I start hopelessly.

She flutters a winged arm. “Don’t you have a banquet tonight? You can miss one little meal.” Then, raising her voice, she calls, “You too, Wren-zhi.”

Wren pauses in the doorway, the other girls filing out past her. “Madam Chu?” she asks, turning.

“Practice with Lei-zhi. Maybe she’ll pick something up from you.” Then the swan-woman strides out the door, her feathers ruffling.

“Well,” I say into the silence. “At least we’ve got a Blue-free hour.”

Wren doesn’t laugh, but when she approaches me, her expression is a little softer than usual. “So, what are you having trouble with?”

“Um… all of it?”

She arches a brow. “Helpful.”

I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s just so… precise. I can’t control my body the way you can.”

“That’s what it looks like when I dance?” she says, a wrinkle creasing the tip of her nose. “Controlled?” I’m surprised—there’s hurt in her voice.

“No!” I say quickly. “That’s the point. You’re in control, but it’s like you’re not. Natural, that’s what I mean. It seems so natural to you.”

It’s true. I’ve watched Wren in our classes, and though she excels in all our lessons, dancing is where she comes alive. There’s an effortlessness about the way she moves that reminds me of the bird-form demons I used to watch flying over the mountains beyond our village. She is graceful. Free. When she dances, she loses her usual haughty, absent look, something gentle taking over her features—and sending a warm new sensation through me that I can’t quite place.

Wren collects a fan from the cabinet at the side of the room and flicks it open. “All right. Let’s start with something simple.” Her posture loosens, a slight bend in the knees, a tilt to her hips. Closing her eyes, she holds both arms to one side. She pauses here, and her stillness is as purposeful as movement. A shaft of muffled light filters in through the rice-paper walls of the rehearsal room, casting her outline in an amber glow, and my eyes trace the high arches of her cheekbones, limned in gold. As graceful as all the times I’ve watched her before, she draws the fan across her chest, rippling it like a wave.

Then she opens her eyes. “Your turn.”

“That’s simple?” I grumble as she hands the fan to me, our fingers brushing.

“Just try it.” But I’ve barely gotten into position when Wren stops me. “Not like that. You’re too forceful with your movements. You have to move more lightly. See?” Her eyes travel over my body. “Even the way you’re standing is wrong.”

A ripple of irritation runs through me. “I didn’t realize standing was on the list of Paper Girl requirements,” I retort. “I thought the King was more interested in the lying-down kind of activities.”

Her lips purse. “You don’t need to say it like that.”

“It’s true, though, isn’t it? What’s the point of all this, all these stupid lessons? There’s only one thing we’re really here to do.”

And I haven’t even been wanted for that.

The thought squirms into my head before I can stop it.

“You have to think about the future,” Wren says, frowning at me. “After this year, you’ll still have some role to play in the court. What do you want to do? Who do you want to be?”

“Not a dancer, that’s for sure.”

That earns a half smile from her. “Come on. At least try. You might be better at it than you know if you just focus. And you’ll never get better if you don’t give yourself a chance.”

I open my mouth to argue but catch myself. Because she’s right. I haven’t been giving it my all. Even though I’ve fallen into the routine of palace life, my heart isn’t in it.

How can it be? It’s still back in Xienzo, with my father and Tien, and a life I wish every day was still mine.

“Oh, fine,” I mutter, glowering. Tears are pricking my eyes now, and the last thing I want is to cry in front of Wren. Gritting my teeth, I give the movement she demonstrated a few more tries while she hovers nearby, providing pointers. I try to concentrate on the wave of my wrist, the tilt of my hips, but I can’t seem to get it right, I grow more frustrated with every minute. Without warning, Wren moves in close. Her fingers curl round my arm to pull it into position, and the intimacy of her touch, her nearness, flusters me, and I drop the fan.

“Focus!” she snaps.

I clench my jaw. “I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

I shrug her away from me. “Well, maybe I don’t want to perform well. Maybe I don’t want any of this.”

“And you think I do?” Underneath her usual stern tone there’s something delicate, almost broken. Her chin lifts, rich brown eyes regarding me. “None of us had a choice in this. But we do it for our families, because otherwise the King will—”

She stops abruptly. The end of her sentence hangs in the air between us.

I recall General Yu’s threat. Maybe it wasn’t just me that received one. Maybe the coins and riches showered on Paper Girls’ families are less a reward and more a reminder that the King has bought their daughters’ obedience. And if they break it…

“All right,” I sigh, picking up the fan. “Let’s try again.”

Half an hour—and many dropped fan incidents—later, Wren and I head back to Paper House. From outside Mistress Eira’s suite comes the chatter of the girls, the muffled footsteps of maids. Delicious food smells waft out, making my stomach growl. But when Wren moves to head straight in, I hold out a hand to stop her.

“Thank you,” I say. “For helping me. You were right. I haven’t really been trying.” I puff out air, rubbing the back of my neck. “I guess it felt like I’d be letting my family down or something. Like I was happy to be here.”

Her eyes move away. “I don’t think any of us are truly happy to be here.”

“Excuse me? Have you met Blue?”

“Right,” she replies with a lift of her brows. “Because she’s so happy all the time.”

I blink, and Wren opens the door, something closing back over her expression. Following her inside, I send a quick bow in Mistress Eira’s direction before kneeling down beside Aoki. “Thank the gods there’s food left,” I murmur, picking up my chopsticks. “I’m starving.”

She doesn’t look up. Her face is frozen, eyes locked on something small in her hands, and when I peer round to see what it is, my own expression freezes.

Red calligraphy; a scarlet summons.

Slowly, I set my chopsticks down. “Are you all right?” I ask in a whisper.

She gives a jerk of her head that I take to be a nod.

Zhin’s voice pipes up from across the table. “You must be excited, Aoki!” A sincere smile lifts her cheeks.

Still staring down at her hands, Aoki gives another stiff nod. I notice that her fingers are trembling. Underneath the table I press my thigh to hers.

There’s a harsh laugh. “Looks like our little Aoki is finally about to become a woman,” Blue purrs. “And at only sixteen.” She looks round the table, purposefully avoiding my eyes. “That’s all of us now, isn’t it?”

“You’re forgetting Lei,” Mariko sniggers.

Blue’s dark irises flick my way. “Oh, yes. I forgot all about her.”

My fingers knot, but before I can say anything, Mistress Eira stands up. “I wasn’t called by the King for two whole months after our ceremony,” she announces smoothly, giving me a smile across the table.

That makes Blue’s and Mariko’s smirks drop.

“With some girls,” Mistress Eira continues, “he enjoys the wait.” She steps over, holding out a hand. “Come, Aoki. I’ll help you get ready.”

Aoki winces. With a jagged breath, she looks at me, a white tinge to her lips where she sucks them in. “It’s what I wanted,” she breathes as she gets to her feet, a whisper that only the two of us hear, and I’m not entirely sure which one of us she’s trying to convince.

That night as I stay up waiting for Aoki to get back, I write home.

My brush hovers over the paper, wanting to add more. But Mistress Eira made it clear that I wasn’t to give out any details about the palace or my life here. Anyway, I wouldn’t want my father and Tien to know how difficult I’m finding things. I set the brush down, waiting until the ink dries before touching my fingers to it. As I trace each character, I imagine Baba’s and Tien’s hands doing the same in a few days. I bring the paper to my lips for a kiss. Then I roll the letter up, fastening it with a ribbon.

At this hour, the only light comes from the lantern in the corner of my room. Pattering rainfall fills the midnight hush. I sit back on my sleeping mat, pulling my legs to my chest. This is the third letter I’ve written to home, and I still haven’t heard anything back. I probably shouldn’t read too much into it—there are so many explanations as to why they haven’t responded yet. But I can’t help it. Maybe Madam Himura found out about the letters and stopped them from being sent as a punishment for my embarrassing her at the Unveiling Ceremony. Guilt wrings my belly as I remember Wren’s warning earlier today. Maybe, if I was performing better in my classes…

The sound of movement in the hallway snaps off the thought.

I get up, tucking my hair behind my ears, and move to the door. A figure passes, footsteps light.

Aoki’s back.

Clutching the silk of my night robe tighter around me, I glide the door open. The air is fresh from the rain, the floorboards cool beneath my bare soles. “Aoki?” I call softly after the retreating figure.

She doesn’t stop.

I hurry after her. She turns the corner, disappearing through a door that leads to the gardens at the back of the house. I hesitate. We’re not supposed to leave our rooms at night, let alone go outside. And if Aoki wanted me to go with her, wouldn’t she have left the door open?

Unsure now, I slide the door ajar. Rain-cooled air greets me. Beyond the house are gardens, graduating from manicured lawns and flowerbeds to a dense pine forest in the distance, moonlight silvering the treetops. I spot Aoki’s retreating figure just before she’s swallowed up by the dark line of the forest.

Only it isn’t Aoki.

It’s Wren.

Under the moonlight, her outline is unmistakable: long-limbed and broad-shouldered, with that slinking, feline prowl.

I stare at the spot where she disappeared between the trees, battling the urge to charge after her. Because while being caught wandering the house at night might earn us a slap and a lecture from Madam Himura, actually leaving the house to go gods-know-where and with gods-know-who will certainly have more serious consequences.

My lips press tight. And after her telling me to be careful.

I tiptoe back to my room. Sleep doesn’t come for a long time. I keep picturing Wren moving through the forest, winding her way easily through the pines, smiling as she spots the person she’s snuck out even in the rain to meet. In my head it’s a tall, shadowy man. He opens his arms and she wraps herself around him, dissolving into his touch, and in the pit of my belly, something dark stirs.