WE SPEND A SLEEPLESS NIGHT BACK at Paper House, waiting in one of the parlors as a group of doctors and shamans check us over one by one. The hours slip by in shocked silence, all of us dazed. Madam Himura calls us to her suite early the next morning. We haven’t even had a chance to bathe or eat breakfast, and our hair and clothes still reek of smoke. “The royal messenger just left,” she tells us once we’ve all sat down. “Our guesses were right. The attack was an assassination attempt.”

Wren shifts forward, her back rod-straight. “Who by?” she asks.

“All we know is that they were a group of ten Paper caste men. Three were taken alive. The other seven were killed at the theater by guards.”

An image comes to me of Wren’s white eyes as she turned the man’s sword on himself. Not just guards. I sense her looking my way and stare ahead, my jaw set.

“But the King wasn’t even at the theater,” Chenna points out.

Madam Himura clacks her beak. “Thank the heavenly rulers! A messenger came to stop him just as he arrived. One of the royal fortune-tellers had a premonition of the attack. That’s how they got the shamans to the theater so quickly.”

Blue shifts forward, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. “Was anyone hurt?” she asks, and though her voice is steady, there’s an undercurrent of something nervous in it. The gray morning light picks out her cheekbones, carving dark hollows beneath them. “From the audience, I mean.”

“Two court officials were killed. Twelve more injured.”

“Because my father was there,” Blue goes on, “and I haven’t heard from him—”

Madam Himura holds up a hand to silence her. She looks around at us down the hook of her curved beak-nose, her yellow eyes unblinking. “The King has taken the assassins for questioning. For now, he has ordered your usual schedule to be on hold. You’re to stay in Paper House until further notice.”

As the rest of us go to leave, Blue makes a beeline for Madam Himura. “My father,” she starts again, but the eagle-woman waves her away.

“Not now, girl.”

“But—”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Madam Himura squawks. “Just because your father is a member of the court does not mean it affords you any special privileges! Open your mouth once more today, and I will not hesitate to throw you out.”

Blue’s lips flatten into a bloodless line. Glowering, she strides past us, Mariko hurrying after her.

Aoki and I are the last to leave. We walk slowly down the corridor. “Two people dead,” she mutters. She gives me a sideways glance. “Can you believe it? It could have been us, Lei. Thank the gods Wren found that trap door.”

I make a noncommittal murmur—because I saw the look on her face, and it wasn’t surprise. It was surety.

The two of us head to the bathing courtyard. I’m eager to get the stink of smoke out of my hair, the traces of darkened blood on my skin from where Wren lifted me out of the tunnel. We’re just passing through the corridor where our bedrooms are when there’s the sound of a door opening behind us. Zhen’s head pokes out of her room.

“Oh,” she says, looking relieved. “We thought it might be Mariko and Blue. Do you want to join us?”

I know what they’re doing, and talking about last night is the last thing I feel like. Not least because since I confronted her outside the theater, Wren hasn’t come to talk to me yet, and I’m starting to wonder whether maybe I was too hard on her. She was just protecting us, after all, like Aoki said. But Aoki nods, and I follow her into Zhen’s bedroom, not wanting to be alone right now, either.

Chenna and the twins are inside. They look grim, Zhin sitting against the wall under the window with her legs pulled up to her chin while Zhen kneels on the bamboo mat floor, her dirt-stained robes ripped at one shoulder. Chenna gives me a humorless smile, shifting slightly to make room for us. As I kneel, I smooth down the rumpled fabric of my cheongsam. My fingers catch on a torn slash. Through it, the skin of my thigh shines palely. Even burnt and dirty, the dress is still almost the same hue as the flames that scorched it, making me think of what Blue said to me before the play began.

Looks like Master Tekoa was right about all that fire, Nine. You’re practically a human lantern.

Was that what happened last night? Did I somehow, unknowingly, cause the attack?

“You were saying you think the assassins are from Noei?” Zhen directs at Chenna once we’re settled. “The same region as those slaves at the koyo party?”

Chenna lifts a shoulder. “It’s just a guess. But it seems too much of a coincidence that this happens a week after they were brought here, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure,” Zhin replies. She rubs her arms where they’re looped round her legs. “There are so many Paper families and clans with reasons to hate the King.”

“And the raids have been going on all over Ikhara,” her sister adds. “Our father told us before coming here that the King is blaming them on the rebels. That they’re doing it to discredit him with the Paper castes.”

Beside me, Aoki shifts, fluting her fingers over her skirt. “I don’t think the King would do that.…”

“I’m not sure what the King wouldn’t do,” Chenna says stonily, and though I agree with her, I don’t say so.

Aoki’s cheeks color. “He has a lot to deal with,” she mutters.

“Yes,” Chenna retorts. “It must be hard for him here in this luxurious palace, with all these beautiful things around him.”

“You mean like us?”

The girls stare at me, an uncomfortable silence descending over the room. I haven’t ever told them what I really think of being here—excluding Aoki and Wren, of course—though I suppose my actions have made it explicit enough. I’ve guessed at Chenna feeling a similar way; she wears her duty well, but grudgingly. But Zhen and Zhin have always seemed happy to be here.

“Don’t you feel bad for the things we’ve seen happen to Paper castes here who aren’t protected by the King in the same way we are?” I ask into the quiet. “Didn’t you feel anything for those slaves the other night?”

“Of course I did,” Chenna says, shooting me a stern, almost hurt look. I remember the disgust in her eyes as we watched the slaves, side by side in a crowd of demons. Her prayer to Kunih. She lifts her chin. “But what can we do about it? It’s the same outside the palace. Even my father, as well respected as he is in Uazu, has had to suffer bullying from Steels and Moons. I’ve seen the way they look at us. The whispers behind our backs. Most of the time, they don’t even bother to whisper.”

“It was like that for us, too,” Zhen says. “Sometimes the worst of it even came from other Paper castes. Like we were somehow betraying them by being involved in the court.”

“That’s what I mean,” I press. “Here, we’re not experiencing life the way most Paper castes do.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Aoki’s flush deepens as all of us turn to her. “I mean,” she continues, more tentatively, picking at the torn threads of her hem, “we’re treated well here. We’re looked after—”

“Oh, like how I was chained to the floor and starved for a week?”

“Well,” she says, her cheeks pink, “it could have been worse.”

Her words hit me with the shock of a slap. The twins stare as Aoki and I glare at each other.

“Look,” Chenna says, raising her palms, her voice steady. “You both make good points. I hear what you’re saying, Lei. I’m sure we all do. We’re not denying the privilege our status has brought us. But I don’t see how we can change anything. Aoki’s right. It could have been a lot worse for you—and what you went through was already so bad. And that was for offending the King in a personal way. This is Ikharan politics we’re talking about. This is bigger than us.”

That’s exactly what I’m trying to say! I want to shout. But I’m still reeling from Aoki’s comment, and underneath their wariness, Chenna and the twins look exhausted. The same fatigue hits me afresh. After what we all just went through, we don’t need to be fighting among ourselves as well.

The pleading look on Wren’s face last night comes back to me. How she must be feeling even worse, given what she did to protect us.

I shift my legs uncomfortably. Now I’m sure I was too harsh on her.

Zhin clears her throat. “So. What do you think will happen to the assassins?”

I look across at her, grateful for the change of subject. “Well, we know they’re being questioned.”

She shakes her head, brow knitted. “I mean… after.”

“Court law for treason of any kind is execution,” Chenna states matter-of-factly.

Execution. The word is as sharp as its meaning.

“And in the palace,” she goes on, “executions are public events.”

My mouth twists. “We’ll have to watch?”

Chenna nods. The twins share an apprehensive look. Aoki stares fixedly ahead, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Maybe they’ll just imprison them,” Zhin suggests eventually.

“And I suppose,” Zhen says, “they could always, maybe, find them not guilty?”

Chenna and I both raise our eyebrows at her.

“They would have killed him,” Aoki says, quiet and a little shaky, looking down at her palms. “Are we forgetting that?” When no one replies, she scrambles to her feet, hands clutched into fists. “I’m tired of listening to this,” she declares, her face red. “The King might be scared, too. Did any of you think about that? And we’re not even allowed to see if he’s all right. He’s worried, and hurt, and all alone.…”

“Aoki—” I start, getting to my feet.

“Not now, Lei,” she mumbles thickly. Rubbing her face with the heels of her hands, she puffs out a loud breath before rushing out of the room.

“Maybe you should give her some time,” Chenna suggests quietly when I move to follow her. “She’s probably just in shock after what happened. She needs to rest.”

Zhin’s eyes click to me. “I think we all do.”

The three of them decide to get some sleep, but when I leave, I pass the door to my bedroom. I continue to the bathing courtyard as originally planned, half hoping to find Aoki or Wren there. Still, when I find it empty, I’m suddenly grateful for a moment to myself.

Hidden in the steam, I undress by my usual tub, throwing my dirty clothes to the floor with slightly more force than necessary before climbing into the water. It takes a long time to scrub the dirt from my body. Even after I’m clean, last night’s smoke clings to me, an invisible second skin. I stay in long after my fingertips grow wrinkly, unable to shake the unease that’s been coursing through me all night. Every time I close my eyes the image of Wren and the assassin is waiting for me—the surprised look on his face, the calm, focused expression on hers.

She’s a true Xia. A warrior.

A girl trained to kill, in the heart of the kingdom.

A girl who can get closer to the King than most.

I can think of an explanation as to why, but I’m not sure I want to believe it.

Just as I’m about to get out, the sound of approaching steps makes me start. I swirl round, splashing water over the side of the barrel. Through the clouds, I make out a tall figure coming toward me. My belly loops. It’s her.

I duck lower, crossing my arms over my chest, suddenly hyperaware of my nakedness.

Though Wren’s face is composed, there’s a tender look in her eyes. She stops a few feet away. “Can we talk?” she asks, and the tentativeness in her voice—the idea that she’s even worried I could say no—strikes me with fresh guilt.

I nod, but she doesn’t come any closer.

Even in last night’s ruined dress she is beautiful. Though the jade-green silks of her hanfu robes are slashed and charred, the color still brings out the glossy tan of her skin, the definition of her long, muscled limbs. My instinct is to run to her, to hug her, kiss away her pain. But even if I understand why she did it, the memory of her stabbing the man in the tunnel holds me back.

That wasn’t the girl I kissed two nights ago in a dark bedroom. The girl who held me as I cried under the whispering boughs of the paper-leaf tree, who made me feel so safe.

My eyes drop to the stain of blood on the collar of her robes. “You killed a man,” I state, hollow.

“Only to protect you and Aoki.”

“And that makes it right?”

“Of course not. But I had to do something, Lei. He would have tried to kill us all.”

A bead of moisture slips down my temple, and I swipe it away, hurriedly crossing my arms again. “It wasn’t us he wanted. They wanted the King. And he wasn’t even there.”

“Is that why you’re angry?” Wren asks, an odd tilt to her voice. “Because you wanted them to kill him?”

I hesitate. “Maybe,” I murmur, my cheek turned. Then I look back, forcing myself to meet her stare. “What do you think?”

Wren’s expression is unreadable. She stands stiffly, arms rigid at her sides. “‘Just as Zhokka and Ahla chase each other across the skies,” she recites, “does darkness not follow light, and light follow darkness, neither one truly ahead of the other?’” The saying is old, familiar with everyone in Ikhara. “I like to think there’s some good behind even the darkest sins. That death can be warranted if it paves the way for hope.”

I edge forward in the tub. “Is that why you are a warrior? Because you are, aren’t you, Wren? You fight like the Xia.”

Her neck flexes as she swallows. I sense her wanting to refuse to answer, but finally she gives a small jerk of her head that I take as a nod. “I’ve been trained in the Xia form since I was young.”

A flashback to the glimpse of her feet that morning before the Unveiling Ceremony, when she held up her robe as she stepped into my room. So that’s what turned them rough.

“Trained by who?” I press.

“My father, partly. And my shifu, Master Caen.”

“They can fight like the Xia?”

Wren shakes her head. “My father is skilled at qi work, and Caen is one of Han’s finest fighters. But I’m the only one who can bring the two together properly, the way the Xia did. It’s in my blood,” she finishes softly.

I remember her sadness at the temple in Ghost Court, her longing for her lost family. The same sense of loss rings in her voice now.

“Why were you even taught?” I go on, more gently now. “I’m guessing daughters of nobility don’t usually get trained in martial arts.”

“Actually,” Wren says, “they often are. Especially in Ang-Khen and Han. Though it’s seen as more of a ceremonial skill than one to be used in real battle.”

“But yours isn’t just an aesthetic practice.”

“No.”

“And it’s a style that the original King himself outlawed.”

“Yes.”

“So why was it allowed?”

“It… wasn’t. I was trained in secret.”

Silence unfurls between us at this.

Wren remains still, not breaking eye contact. There’s a defiance, a pride to the set of her shoulders and the way she lifts her spine tall, chin slightly tilted, that brings me back to the aloof girl I first met all those months ago. But despite her posture, that girl is looking at me with such tenderness in her eyes it makes my heart lurch, and all the intimacies we’ve shared shine within her warm irises, as luminous and sweet as stars.

Part of me is hurt by how much Wren has hidden from me—and I can tell she’s holding back even more. But tightness knits my chest at the thought of losing her.

It hits me then how much trust she’s putting in me by telling me this. I could ruin her with this information. Her entire family. The Hannos are some of the King’s most trusted supporters, and here is Lord Hanno’s daughter herself, a warrior trained in a forbidden language of fighting, within the palace of the demon whose ancestor massacred those who practiced it.

And I think I know why.

I take a breath, readying myself to ask her. But before I can say anything, Wren crosses the distance between us. Without a word, she reaches back and releases the sash round her waist.

I splash back, gaping at her. “What—what are you doing?”

“There are some things about myself I can’t tell you,” she interrupts, quiet and fierce, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to give myself to you. I’m always truthful to you in here, Lei.” Her fingers hover over her heart. Then, holding the collar of her robes, she draws them off her shoulders and lets them drop to the floor in a cascade of silky fabric.

Wren’s body is so different from the other girls. Lives of luxury have kept their figures soft, but hers is muscled and strong. Beautiful and dangerous. My eyes travel over her long, elegant neck; her wide shoulders; the deep shadow down the center of her chest, a line I long to follow with my tongue.

I return my gaze to her shining face. “Wren,” I begin, but she shakes her head.

Slowly, not taking her eyes off mine, she climbs into the tub. As she slides down in front of me, water rolls over the edges and up to my neck in a warm wave that reminds me afresh that Wren isn’t the only one who’s naked.

I shrink back. “We—we can’t do this. Not here. Someone could see.”

“They’re all sleeping.” Her voice is husky. Low. Wet fingertips lift to my cheek. “Don’t worry, no one can see through the steam. We’ll hear them coming anyway.” She moves closer, her breath hot against my face. Something more than desire shimmers in her eyes, some tender vulnerability that is betrayed in her voice as she goes on, “Last night I could have lost you.”

The steam lifting from the water swirls around us, a soft cocoon.

“You saved me, Wren,” I whisper. “Aoki, too. You got us out safely. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you last night. It’s just—”

“I know.”

“I was shocked.”

“I know.”

“Scared.”

Wren scoops her hand behind my head, dipping her forehead to mine. Her lashes flutter. “Me, too,” she sighs.

“You didn’t seem it.”

“I’m trained not to. I’m trained to be strong. To not let anybody see my weaknesses. My fear. But I’m scared, too, Lei.”

I lean back to look at her. Her face is grimy from ash and sweat, and her black hair is streaked with more dirt. She looks just how she sounds—tired. Broken. The circles under her eyes are deep, like bruised fruit. Tangling my fingers in her hair, I draw her close. I kiss each eye, as gently as I’m able. Then her lips.

Compared to our first kiss, this one is gentler, but no less deep.

Mouths, and softness, and the liquid heat of the steam. Our hands holding each other’s faces in tight, as though we’d be lost without the press of the other’s mouth to ours. There are words in our kiss. I feel them between our lips, unspoken but just as clear as if we had been talking. Or perhaps more clear because we’re not. There’s no hesitation or misunderstanding to block or diminish their meaning. Just the simplest, most instinctive language of forgiveness.

Forgiveness, and hope.

One of my hands moves down Wren’s back, skimming her shoulder blades to nestle in the low curve of her spine as our bodies arc together under the water.

Footsteps. Entering the courtyard.

In an instant, we untangle. Wren jumps out of the tub. She slings on a bathrobe as a figure comes into view through the swirling mist.

Blue smirks at the sight of us—me, breathless and flushed, water shifting around me; Wren dripping water onto the wooden boards, the sash around her robe hastily tied. My lips feel swollen from the press of Wren’s, and I resist the urge to cover them with my hands.

“This is intimate,” Blue purrs.

“I was just leaving,” Wren says smoothly, pushing her hair back over her shoulders.

Blue arches a brow. “Already? You haven’t even washed your hair.”

I glance at Wren, my breath hitching. Her hair is still matted with ash, and knotted now from my fingers. Giving Blue a cool, I don’t know what you’re talking about stare, Wren strides out of the courtyard, every bit as composed as usual. But I can tell by the way Blue’s smile widens that she has noted my alarm. And while she may not know what just happened, she can certainly make a few guesses.