TWELVE GIRLS; AN auspicious number. As we gathered at the Gate of Good Service, I scanned the faces around me in the twilight. Some of the women were tense— no doubt the three bodies in the canal were playing on their minds — while others had the glazed eyes of dragon chasers, the drug loosening their minds as well as their bodies. Momo had told us to stay well away from those girls; they had no sense of their own safety or anyone else’s, she’d said. The warmth of the day still held, and the smell of sweat was barely masked by the clash of perfumes on the bodies around me. We were corralled between the men who were our “protectors” and the soldiers who manned the gate. I shifted my sweaty grip on the neck of my lute and leaned over to Vida. She was standing, feet apart, arms crossed.
“You look like you are on guard duty,” I whispered.
She unwound her arms and pressed her hands together. “What is the delay?”
A woman sidled up to us. “I didn’t know there was going to be a Peony,” she said loudly, directing the attention of all the other women to me. She was dressed in a gown similar to Vida’s, although considerably more skin showed, and when she smiled, I saw her teeth had been dyed black, the custom marking her as a married woman from the far southeast coast. How had she got so far from her home and husband? “We’ll have music,” she added. “We can dance.”
“What? Are you trying to be an Orchid?” another Safflower scoffed.
The two women began a soft exchange of insults, pulling the focus of the others away from me. I looked back at Yuso; the stern commander I knew was hidden beneath a ratty beard and worn clothes and a slouch. He yawned, affecting boredom, but his eyes met mine in swift reassurance. Dela stood beside him, absently scratching the stubble on her face. She hawked and spat.
I rocked forward on my toes and watched two of the gate soldiers search a dragon chaser. The girl giggled and draped herself against them until they finally pushed her face-first and limp against the raw boards of the new gate. Only twelve days ago, Ryko and I had followed a battering ram through that gate, fighting our way into the courtyard on the back of a horse. I shivered, remembering our beast trampling a soldier, the man’s chest caving under its hooves. Was Ryko also remembering that same desperate night? His face held only impatience as he lounged beside a Trang Dein man, the two of them a wall of islander muscle.
“Little Sister Peony, please give me your lute.” I jumped as a very young, pock-marked soldier held out his hand. The old- fashioned courtesy matched his shy smile. “I will be careful with it.”
I passed him the instrument. He gently shook it and peered into the exquisitely carved sound holes, then handed it back.
“I am sorry, Little Sister, but I will have to search you.” The pits on his face stood out white against the vivid scarlet of his blush. “Orders.”
I bit the inside of my cheek as I felt his hesitant hands pat my chest and waist, then around my hips. Beside me, Vida was getting the same treatment from another guard, but with far less deference.
My young soldier ducked his head. “You can go in now.”
I tried a Peony smile — slow and mysterious, as Moon Orchid had taught me — and saw him flush again.
Vida fell in beside me, and we walked through the gate into the courtyard that ran alongside the huge kitchens. I circled my hand around my wrist and felt the shape of Kygo’s ring, hidden under the leather thong that was wrapped and tied into a thick bracelet. It had been Moon Orchid’s idea, and the care she had taken to wind it around my moon wrist had felt like a silent blessing.
I glanced back; Ryko was walking through the gate. We had all made it into the palace. I sent a quick prayer to Tu-Xang, the oldest god of luck. He was known to protect fools and thieves.
Four men bustled up, barely acknowledging our ragged bows. Their black caps and the green feathers pinned to their robes marked them as stewards. Momo had been right: we had no guards once we were inside the walls, only eunuchs. On the terrible night of the coup, Ryko and I had seen many of the eunuch attendants hacked to death, but these four seemed officious and self-satisfied, as though such atrocities had never happened. It seemed the change of an emperor — even a brutal change — did not stop the machinery of the palace.
“Follow me,” one of them called. “Keep together.”
A few women hooked arms, their soft whispers breaking into quick nervous laughter. I glanced at Vida and caught her hand, partly to keep our paces matched, but mainly for the comfort of another human touch. She squeezed my fingers. We rounded the kitchen buildings, the salty slick of fish stock on the warm night air, and passed the wall that enclosed the imperial guest apartments, the former home of Lord Eon. For more than a month I had lived as a Dragoneye Lord in the Peony Apartment, and here I was, back as a Peony Blossom. A mad desire to laugh bubbled through me.
We turned along the avenue that led past the lesser banquet hall. This part of the palace had not sustained much damage. There was more destruction, I knew, on the other side, around the central harem where Lord Ido had used his dragon power to blast through the sanctuary wall. Perhaps his torture was the gods’ way of punishing him for his transgression against the Covenant of Service.
The eunuchs led us past the hall to the third guest apartment: the House of the Five Color Cloud. It was our destination, for we were ushered into the formal garden, and the lead eunuch dropped back to walk beside Yuso and Dela.
“You and your men cannot enter,” the eunuch told them. “At any time. Do you understand?”
Yuso shrugged. “We understand.” He opened his hand, showing a set of dice. “We are used to waiting.”
As we approached the elegant door screen, the energy within the group of women shifted. Even the dragon chasers straightened, and I felt Vida tense through our linked hands. It was up to me now to get us past the next obstacle: Sethon’s brother. Momo had been certain he would call for a steward. She knew him and this world, but what if he decided he did want a Peony, after all? A stark memory from the coup — a maidservant screaming, struggling under a soldier — shuddered through me. I tightened my grip on the lute. Ahead, the soft murmurs of the women ceased as the steward clapped to announce our arrival, the glow from a pair of brass lanterns casting his shadow long across the raked pebble path.
The black-toothed Safflower turned to face me. “You should be at the front,” she said in the silence. “What are you doing back here?”
I stared at her surprise, unable to come up with a quick answer.
“Well, if you get your fat arse out of the way,” Vida said tartly, “Fortune Peony will be able to take her proper place.”
Black Teeth scowled at Vida, but she moved aside. “Fat arse?” she muttered as we passed. “Look who’s talking.”
Vida quelled her with a look. I forced a serene smile as the other women shifted for us, a few murmurs of discontent fading at Vida’s silent belligerence. We took our places at the front of the straggling line and stepped onto the low wooden viewing platform. The screen door snapped open. A plump servant glanced at us, then bowed to the steward.
“They’re late,” he said. He jerked his head back to the sounds of male laughter inside. “They are already drunk as newts.”
A whisper rustled through the women, the tension rising.
“Then let them in,” the steward said.
With a parting sniff, the servant bowed and led us into an elegant foyer, our footsteps muffled by fine straw matting. I recognized the layout; it was the same as the Peony apartment, with a formal reception room at the front and private chambers at the rear. From the murmuring and sharp bursts of laughter, it was clear that the men waited in the reception room.
The servant clapped at the screen door and the sounds of conversation stopped. My mouth dried, parched of everything except fear. Beside me, Vida pressed her hands against her chest.
“Vida,” I whispered. She looked at me, my own panic mirrored in her eyes.
“Enter,” called a male voice.
The servant pulled back the screen, his portly body folded into a low bow.
My blood roared in my ears. Before me, men in the dark blue tunics of the cavalry lounged around a low table, its polished surface littered with long-necked decanters and platters of food. My eyes skipped across the faces, some assessing, some leering. And one, surprised — no doubt High Lord Haio. The smell of cooked meat and male
