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“Noted, sister.”
Wandei leaned forward, setting down the paper he’d been folding into a fan. “If it really is a curse, then finding the other cultists won’t prevent the inevitable. What can we do if Kiata does catch fire like she warned?”
I hesitated, nervous to speak what was on my mind. “Magic is what fuels her curse, so only magic can stop it.”
“But how?” asked Wandei.
I turned to Benkai. “When you are at war, who do you seek to be your ally?”
“The enemy of my enemy,” he replied easily.
“Exactly,” I said. “The priestesses’ enemies are the demons. I’ve…I’ve been thinking I should talk to them.”
I expected my brothers to disagree, to argue with me and tell me it was a dangerous idea. My expectations were met. All six of them began talking at once, but I could hardly hear what they were saying. For they weren’t the loudest voices in my head. That belonged to my bird.
What are you possibly going to say to them? Kiki trilled. “I’m sorry, but would you mind slaying all of my enemies for me? As a thank-you I’ll bring you cakes for the next thousand years while you remain imprisoned in the mountains. Oh, and please stop making the earth quake whenever you feel angry about being locked up—it’s frightening the villagers and waking them up in the middle of the night.”
It did sound ludicrous when she put it that way, but still…
“What will you say to them?” Hasho echoed Kiki’s question.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I admitted. “I thought I’d have more time to think about it.”
Wandei swatted his fan at a fly buzzing over Yotan. “According to the priestesses, you have one day. If you insist on this course of action, I’d say you better get thinking.”
* * *
I went for a walk to clear my mind. Autumn had arrived overnight, yellow crowns staining the trees and frosty dew clinging to the eaves of the Cloud Pavilion. Takkan was supposed to be waiting for me, but I heard him laughing with two children beside the carp pond. Both hung at his sides, pulling his arms and speaking so quickly I could only catch the words princess and story.
When they saw me, they jolted. Their eyes went first to my hair, loose and unpinned and entirely silvery white, then to Kiki, who sat on my shoulder, her paper wings beating as vivaciously as a real bird’s. They waved shyly before remembering to bow.
I waved back, smiling cautiously until they started to giggle. For what reason I couldn’t possibly fathom.
“That’s Princess Shiori, isn’t it?” the girl whispered to Takkan. “Where’s the bowl on her head?”
He’d told them about the bowl? No wonder she was staring.
“Will you tell Suli and Sunoo what happened to the bowl?” Takkan asked me.
“It broke,” I said bluntly. I wasn’t good at stories.
“When she found a way to end the curse,” Takkan said, picking up from my words, “the bowl shattered into a hundred pieces, saving Shiori’anma from a horrible, wicked fire.”
“I’m glad,” said the boy, clapping his hands. “But why’s her hair white?”
“From chasing ghosts,” I replied. “And battling demons.” I bared my teeth and made a monster face. The children laughed. Then they chased gleefully after Kiki—not bothered at all that she was a magical flying paper bird—and I beckoned Takkan to the footbridge.
“Sunoo and Suli,” I mused, gesturing at the pair. “Friends of yours?”
“Good friends,” replied Takkan. “Their father, Mr. Lyu, is the head messenger.”
Takkan had known the gardener’s name too. “Do you know everyone in the palace?”
A shrug. “I’ve become acquainted with some of the staff. They’ve been kind.”
“Unlike your fellow lords and ladies?”
From his silence I could already guess. Gindara’s court was full of sycophants and status seekers, and I imagined it hadn’t been overly welcoming to my rustic, Northern-bred betrothed. Not even my brothers would have done what Takkan had done for me last winter; he’d opened his home to me when he’d thought me a humble tavern cook and had treated me no differently than a highborn lady. For a lord, even of the third rank, he was hopelessly guileless and unassuming. The court must have devoured him whole.
