YOU’VE MADE HISTORY, NINE,” ZELLE TELLS me when Mistress Azami takes me to her room the next morning.

She looks just as beautiful as last time. A rust-colored dress falls to her knees, exposing the slender shape of her calves, and a necklace of gold leaves adorns her collarbones. She props herself up one elbow and watches me with her head cocked as I kneel opposite her, drawing off my shawl and coat. Her room is warm. The shutters are drawn to keep out the wind, and in the corner a brazier flickers. The silk sheets on her bed have been traded for furs, a mark of how long ago it was I first came to her.

Two months. It feels like a lifetime, but also just yesterday, just a moment and a heartbeat ago.

I force a smile. “I have?”

Zelle grins. “You’re the only Paper Girl I’ve taught who’s refused the King.”

The smile drops from my face.

“Oh,” she says, and own smile vanishing. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d be proud to know that.”

“Actually, I’d feel better knowing every Paper Girl tried to refuse him.”

Her gaze sharpens. There’s a beat before she murmurs, “Wouldn’t that be something.”

We start the lesson by running over what we covered last time. I try to appear focused, but as the minutes tick on, I snatch more and more looks at the door. I must be fidgeting so much that Zelle finally asks, “Is something wrong? Mistress Azami told me you personally asked for this lesson. If you’ve changed your mind—”

“That isn’t it,” I say quickly. “It’s just… could I go to the toilet? I’m desperate.”

She rolls her eyes. “Go on, then. But don’t let Mistress Azami catch you. I’m not meant to let you out until the lesson is finished.”

I hop to my feet and sing a thank-you as I dash outside. The house is muted at this time of day. My footsteps sound too loud, and I try to pad lightly, head down. On the stairs, a statuesque Moon caste panther-form demon glides past me, jewels adorning her feline ears, an amethyst-colored dress fallen off one shoulder to reveal her smooth, furred arm. She catches my eye, giving me a little shrug and a half smile as if to say, Long night.

When I reach the ground floor, instead of heading to the toilet, I cross the landing to the main corridor leading off it. I’ve not seen much of the Night Houses apart from Zelle’s room, but if its layout is similar to other buildings in Women’s Court, then, as the head of the household, Mistress Azami is likely to have a suite on the ground floor at the back of the house. I pass a few more quiet rooms—and some not so quiet—coming to a stop outside the door at the end of the hall.

I press my ear to the wood. Silence.

Preparing some excuse in case she is inside, I rap my knuckles on the door. Nothing. Carefully, I inch the door open a crack, wait again, then slide it wider and dart inside.

As I was expecting from someone so crisp and ordered, the room is spotless, all neat lines and bare surfaces. From the low table dominating the room, I guess that this is Mistress Azami’s entertaining space. I move lightly to a set of doors on the far right side and, after listening for sounds from within, head through into what must be her office. Cabinets line the walls. A finger of smoke furls from an incense pot in the corner of the room, nestled in a shrine crowded with miniature jade statues of the heavenly rulers. There are only sky gods; Mistress Azami must be from the North, like me. I’m just moving to the nearest cabinet when there’s a thud from the room above.

I freeze.

Another thud; boards creaking; the muffled sound of laughter. One of the courtesans and her guest. Glancing round the room as though Mistress Azami might dance out at any moment, I open the top drawer of the closest cabinet, my breathing shallow.

Inside are ordered scrolls, scraps of paper. I flick through them, but they just seem to be accounts of some sort, so I move on to the next drawer, then the next. I’m just about resigned to the fact that I’ll have to head back to Zelle’s room before she gets suspicious—and that my plan for having this lesson in the first place has failed—when I open a drawer of the last cabinet to find a set of beautifully bound scrolls wrapped in leather. Brushstrokes mark them as the records of the Night Houses courtesans.

The hairs on the back of my arms lift, remembering what the King told me. If my mother was taken back to the palace, this is where she’d be.

Each scroll is dated. I riffle through them, a jolt running up my spine when I find the one from seven years ago. Carefully, sending another glance over my shoulder, I unravel the bindings. I hardly dare to breathe. If I find Mama’s name here, it could mean that she might still be alive—might even be here still, right here in one of these buildings.

The thought of being so close to her makes something deep at the core of me still.

As my eyes glide down the list of names, the paper trembles in my fingers. It was spring when the soldiers came to our village; there were blossom petals in the air. Her name should be one of the first. But by the end of the scroll, I haven’t found it. I look over the names again and again, wishing hers to appear, hoping for some magic, some kind god to give me something good to hold on to.

Tears prick my eyes. I can barely make out the characters as I stare down at the scroll, battling the urge to tear it to shreds with my teeth.

“What are you doing?”

I whirl round. Zelle is standing in the doorway.

“I—I was just looking for something,” I blurt, swiping a sleeve across my face as she walks over. My cheeks are wet from tears I hadn’t realized were falling, and I sniff, trying to blink them away.

“I can see that.” Her voice is hard, but not unkind. She squints at the scroll in my hands. “What exactly were you looking for?”

“My mother,” I mumble thickly.

“Your mother is a piece of paper?”

I don’t laugh. “She was taken from our village by soldiers seven years ago,” I turn the paper for her to see. “This is the list of courtesans from that year. I—I thought her name might be on it.”

Zelle’s dark eyes glint. “And is it?” she asks quietly.

I choke the word out.

“No.”

Just then, Mistress Azami’s barking voice carries into the house from outside. In one swift movement, Zelle sweeps forward and snatches the scroll from me. She rolls it up in its leather sleeve with deft fingers before replacing it in the drawer, then, seizing my arm, she pulls me through Mistress Azami’s rooms and into the hallway just as the dog-woman strides into the house.

Her pointed ears prick at the sound of our footsteps. “You’re finished already?” she asks, slanting gray eyes fixing on us.

Zelle heaves a sigh. “Not happy if we’re late, not happy if we’re early. Are you ever happy, Mistress Azami?”

“Not while you’re around,” she grumbles, though a curl of amusement touches her lips. She beckons me forward. “Come on, girl. Your maid is outside.”

I look over my shoulder before I leave, wanting to catch Zelle’s eyes. But she’s already walking away.

Outside, Rika greets me. She accompanies me back through the gardens of the Night Houses in silence, easily sensing my mood, and though I’m aware of my feet moving and the cool blow of the wind, all I can hear is blood rushing in my ears.

My mother wasn’t—isn’t—here.

I should be relieved. Mama wasn’t forced to become a courtesan. She didn’t have to suffer that. But as the King said, that would have been the only outcome of the soldiers bringing her to the palace, which means they probably didn’t even bring her here at all. Which means…

At once, I double over, retching noisily.

“Mistress, what’s wrong?” Rika asks, rubbing a hand on my back. “Are you sick?”

Yes. I’m sick. Sick of all this.

But instead I shake my head, forcing the nausea down. After a while I’m able to continue on, but as we walk, I jam my knuckles into my belly. There’s a pain there, deep in the pit of me. A hard core, like a stone. It feels as though I’ve lost something. That I left something of mine behind in the Night Houses.

Something that was keeping me alive.

Something like hope.