The Girl King (The Girl King #1)(34)

Nothing. It wasn’t her, it was them. Butterfly always seemed so sure of herself, but in the end she was only a servant.

The others were staring now. Min glowered back at them. It was time they recognized her as their mistress, not their charge. “Go! All of you!”

They filed out, wordless and radiantly uncomfortable. Snowdrop moved as though to close the pocket doors, but Butterfly yanked her along by the sleeve, leaving the doors open a crack.

Min collapsed back into her bed, scowling into the swallowing softness of the blankets. Outside, she could hear the faint, traipsing giggle of the stream in her courtyard garden, but that was all. It occurred to her that this was the most alone she’d been in a long time. Perhaps ever. It felt nice, just lying there by herself.

Except for the hard pain against her chest. Something was trapped between her and the wooden platform of her bed. She propped herself up onto her elbows and tucked her chin to her neck to look down. Of course—her quartz necklace, heavy on its chain. Set’s necklace.

She felt a trill of excitement in her belly. Stupid, really. She wasn’t some flighty little baby to be awed by a handsome boy, and he was a man grown, and most likely going to marry her sister . . .

Still. She sighed and flopped down onto the bed again, squeezing the crystal tightly in her palm. It was warm, just as it had been the night he’d given it to her. The night that had felt like a dream, she thought. Another rush of pleasure tickled her belly when she remembered how he’d called it their secret. And it was. No one else knew—not her mother, not Lu, not her nunas. It belonged to them—to her—alone.

Min lifted the pendant with one hand. It caught the shaft of sunlight streaming through the half-opened doors and flung scintillating motes of pinks and greens and yellows across the room, the color streaking down the papered walls. She pressed the crystal up against one eye, closing the other so that the whole of her world was contained within that iridescent prism. It was a nice idea: everything clean and tiny, a tinted and lilting pastel version of itself.

A shadow fell over the doorway, eclipsing the light and throwing her tiny glowing world into darkness. Min scowled. “Snowdrop, I can see you. I said I wanted to be left alone . . .” she began, lowering the crystal.

White silk robes flashed in the slivered doorway.

Min sat up. The heavy pendant dropped hard against her sternum, as though echoing her racing heart.

No one but she and her nunas and perhaps Amma Ruxin would be in her apartments at this hour. And neither nunas nor ammas wore white. Who would? White—the color of mourning. Of ashes. Of death.

Cautiously, Min stood. “Hello?” she called.

There was no answer. Then she heard a pair of pocket doors down the hall whisper open.

Min walked over and peered out of her room, fingers perched gingerly on the wooden frame of her own doors. She heard Butterfly giggling from within the closed room directly across the way, familiar and oddly distant.

Then she saw it: the doors at the far end of the hallway were opened, just wide enough for a girl Min’s size to slip through. Shafts of sunlight wove their way through the woody vines and glossy green leaves of the jasmine growing over the open, trellised ceiling above, but Min shivered. It was strange, how an open door could frighten her so.

Something brushed her cheek and she nearly screamed. It was only a falling jasmine flower, though, from the vines overhead. Min glared at where it had come to a rest on the floor just beside her foot, snow-and-pink petals fringed in the sour brown of its waning. She made sure to step on it as she walked out the open door into the courtyard.

And found herself standing between the two guards stationed there. Of course—how could she have forgotten them. She opened her mouth to explain she was going for a stroll, then snapped it shut, her face flushing in panic at the flimsy lie. They were sure to fetch Amma Ruxin no matter what she said, but perhaps they could at least tell her who had come through—

“Would’ve loved to join the hunt,” said one of the guards.

“Excuse me?” she squeaked.

The other man grunted in agreement next to her. “Would you want to be in the princess’s party, though, or the general’s?”

The first man gave a sly grin. “I’d want to be in the winning party, naturally.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“Which is the winning party.”

“Clever,” his friend said, and snorted.

“Discreet,” said the first man.

Min cleared her throat, shocked that they hadn’t seemed to notice her presence yet. “D-did someone come through here just now?” she asked in a voice that quavered far more than she would’ve liked.

But instead of straightening and stammering apologies, the guards just chuckled between themselves. The first one stretched, then twisted at the waist and bit out through a yawn, “Whatever the results of today are, things are going to get wild around here.” He turned and raised his eyebrows at the other guard then, looking directly at Min.

Or . . . through her.

This time, she couldn’t stop the cry of alarm that rose in her throat.

It hardly mattered, though—neither of them heard it. Instead, the second guard asked, “Listen, have you got some extra tobacco? I’m dying for a smoke.”

The first one nodded, glancing around surreptitiously to make certain they were alone before pulling a rolled cigarette from within his belt pouch. Then, casual as anything, he handed it to the second guard.