Girls of Paper and Fire (Girls of Paper and Fire #1)(10)

The fox-boy stops in the doorway. The white tip of his tail flicks.

“It’s just… they’ll notice,” I continue. “That some food is missing.”

He hesitates. Then he says jerkily, “It’s my portion.”

This simple act, the kindness of it, surprises me so much—especially coming from a Moon caste, willowy vulpine haunches showing beneath his worker’s sarong—that I just blurt straight out, “Why?”

Looking over his shoulder, he doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “Why what?”

“Why help me? I’m… I’m Paper.”

The fox-boy turns back to the door. “So?” he answers. “You need the help more than anyone.”

I blink, glad that he’s gone before he can see how much his comment has stung. I consider not eating the dumplings out of principle—who needs pity dumplings, anyway? But I’m too weary to hold out for long. Still, his words stay with me. It makes me recall something Mama once told me, when I’d come back from a trip with my father to a neighboring town to collect a batch of rare herbs.

“A fat man threw his banana skin at us!” I told her when we arrived home, indignant, my eyes puffy from crying.

My mother had shared a look with my father before crouching down in front of me, hands cupping my wet cheeks. “Oh, darling,” she said, before asking me calmly, “Do you know why?”

I sniffed, my little fists bunched. “He told us we shouldn’t be in the same shop as Steels or Moons.”

“He was a demon?”

I pouted. “A fat, ugly dog one.”

Behind me, Baba snorted—falling quiet quickly at the look my mother gave him.

“Would you like to know a secret?” she said, pulling me closer and tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ears. “A secret so secret not even those who know it are always aware?”

I nodded.

Mama smiled. “Well, despite what they look like, all demons have the same blood as us. Yes, even fat, ugly dog ones. If the gods gave birth to us, why should we be any different? We are all the same really, little one. Deep down. So don’t you worry about what the silly man said.”

And six-year-old me had nodded, believing her. Trusting in the certainty of her words even if the world was trying to prove me otherwise.

Then—a year later. The claws and fire, the crush and cries.

We might be the same deep down, Paper, Steel, and Moon, but it didn’t matter then.

I rub my arms over my pale leaf-thin skin.

And it doesn’t matter now.


On the morning of the fifth day at sea, shouts ring out from the deck. Though the words are muffled, stolen by the wind, one reaches me. It flies into my heart on wings both shadowed with fear and bright with relief.

Han. The royal province.

We’ve arrived.

I scramble to the window. At first I can’t see anything, but after a minute the shape of the coast reveals itself, the city nestled in the bay growing clearer as we approach.

The Black Port, Han’s famous port city. The dark rock of the surrounding cliffs are what gave it its name, and under the glare of the sun the stone has a sheen to it, making it look almost wet. But what strikes me more is the size of the city. It’s bigger than I could possibly have imagined, dense and sprawling, carving a deep line along the coast and backing into the mountainous terrain. Tiers of wooden houses stretch for miles. Their dark walls are stained from the salt-rich air, and their roofs curl upward at the edges like paper that has started to burn.

Mirroring the city, the harbor in front is just as crowded. Thousands of boats cluster in the water, from small fishing tugs with multicolored sails to papaya-shaped boats laden with fruits to round, barrel-like water taxis all in a line, waiting to ferry passengers along the bay, and elegant ships decorated with silk ribbons. We weave through them, drawing close enough to some to make out the individual patterns of their sails, the names scrawled on their sides. There are good-fortune characters, clan insignias, coal-black bull skulls stamped on the scarlet sails of towering military ships.

“You’re alive, then. We thought you were so sick you might vomit up your own soul.”

I pivot round to see General Yu in the doorway.

I give him a scowl. At least I have a soul.

Before I can speak, he waves a hand, already turning. “Come.”

When we emerge onto the deck half a minute later, my hand flies to shade my eyes. After so long inside, the openness of the sky and sea all around stuns me. Everything is luminous. Sun-glazed. As my eyes adjust, I make out our surroundings, from the gaudy-colored sails of the ship docked beside us to the spotted bellies of gulls swooping overhead. The dock is alive with movement. Every gangway, air-walk, bridge, and boat deck swarms with hurrying figures. Unlike at the port in Noei, there are far more demons here—more so than humans—an indication of the province’s affluence and power.

I swallow. The sight of so many Steel and Moon castes is an unwelcome reminder of where I am. Who I am.

I hug my arms around myself, feeling exposed in my tatty clothes.

“General,” Sith announces, appearing at the top of the gangplank. “The carriage is ready.” As he bows, his eyes lift and find me. A smirk plays across his thin lips.

Something hot sparks in my chest as I remember his scaled fingers on me. Glaring, I jut my chin.