Girls of Paper and Fire (Girls of Paper and Fire #1)(6)

Before I can say anything, the sound of barking makes us all look round. A tiny figure sprints down the street toward us on stubby legs—white fur, gray spots.

My stomach drops. “Bao,” I croak. Then, louder, “Bao! Inside, now!”

As usual, he ignores my orders. He skitters to a stop in front of us and sinks down on his front legs, baring his teeth.

The General smiles back, revealing his own.

“Hello, little one,” he murmurs. He peers down his muzzled nose at Bao, who is skittering on his paws at the General’s hooved feet, which are almost bigger than Bao himself and mounted with thick copper plates that look as though they could crush even a human skull in one stamp. “Have you come to say good-bye to your friend?”

He reaches out. Growling, Bao snaps at his hand.

The General’s eyes cut to the lizard-form soldier as he withdraws. “Sith. Help him, would you?”

The reptile smirks. “Of course, General.”

He reaches for the sword at his belt. There’s the cry of steel, the flash of a blade through the air. In one fluid movement, Sith lunges forward and drives the point of his sword into Bao’s belly. Then he raises the blade toward me, and my dog with it.

It’s as though the world had suddenly tilted off-kilter. The ground, shifted. My heartbeat goes jagged, and it’s as if I were floating, rising up and away from everything as, at the same time, everything spiraled closer toward me.

Bile lurches up my throat.

Bao.

Bao—who hasn’t yet made a sound. For one desperate moment I convince myself that he’s all right. That somehow his belly is hollow and the sword has lanced nothing but empty air, and in a minute he’ll hop to the floor and wag his tail, run to Baba for treats, dance circles around Tien’s legs. Life will be normal again, and this awful nightmare will be just that: a nightmare.

Something to wake from. To escape.

But then Bao begins to twitch and whimper. Blood wells at his wound. It runs down the blade, thick and dark, pooling around Sith’s scaled fingers, where they grip the lacquered bone hilt.

“Better say good-bye, girl,” the lizard hisses to me. A forked tongue skates over his lips. “This is the last you’ll see of your family. And if you don’t come quietly, this’ll be how your father will end up, too, and that ugly old lynx-woman. Is that what you want?”

I wrench my gaze to where Baba and Tien are struggling against the tiger soldier’s hold. My eyes meet my father’s. I give him a half smile, and he stills, face slackening with something like hope.

“I love you,” I whisper. Just as understanding sparks in his gaze, I turn to General Yu. I force out a deep exhale, blinking back tears. “I’ll come quietly,” I tell him.

“That’s a good girl.”

He pushes me into the carriage, so roughly I trip. Baba and Tien erupt with cries, pulling a ragged sob from me, and it takes everything I have not to look back as I climb onto the padded bench. The carriage heaves under the General’s weight as he gets in beside me. Moments later the horses start to move, breaking into a loping canter that carries us quickly out of the village, my world once again crumbling around me to the sharp stench of bull demon and the sound of trampling hooves.





THREE


EVERYONE IN IKHARA KNOWS OF THE Paper Girls.

The tradition began two hundred years ago after the Night War, when the Bull King of Han, the central-most province in Ikhara, won control of the other seven, from desertlike Jana in the South to my home, Xienzo, in the North. Before, each province had its own sets of governing systems, its own laws and customs specific to their cultures. Some provinces were ruled by a dominant clan, while others were unstable landscapes of ever-shifting power plays between ambitious clan lords. And while Paper castes had always been viewed as lesser than demons, there was respect for the positions we held in society, the services and skills we offered. But after the Night War, the King imposed his rule on every province—and along with them, his prejudices. Royal soldiers patrolled the flatlands and plains, scoured villages and cities to dispense the new regulations. Demon-run businesses flourished; Paper caste families were pushed to the dirt. Within the centralized system, the larger cities grew ever richer and more powerful, while smaller settlements faded into servitude.

The years following the Night War were almost as dark as the ones they left behind. In the absence of the duels and political deliberations that would have once sorted temporary peace in a way all parties could respect, old resentments between clans grew. Long-standing rivalries continued to simmer unchallenged. And now there were additional uprisings and plays for power between the royal emissaries and the clans.

Order was restored the only way the King knew how.

Bloodshed.

To encourage union among the diverse clans and cultures, the court established a new custom. Each year, the King would select eight Paper caste girls as his courtesans. The court said that choosing girls of the lowest caste proved what a just ruler the King was, and the families of chosen girls were showered with gifts and wealth, ensuring they never had to work another day in their lives.

Tien told me once how families in provinces close to the royal heart of the kingdom, such as Rain and Ang-Khen, prepare their most beautiful daughters for the role from youth, even making underhanded deals to ensure the girls are remembered when the annual selection time comes.