The sorceress continued to stare at Nothing with her life-and-death eyes. “I told him I could split him open and look into his heart for my consort, my lost demon. If Kirin did not remember who he was, maybe I could free my demon from that uncertain house and begin again. But Kirin pointed to a carving in the wall and said, ‘I have seen that many-petaled flower before.’ And so I did not split open his chest. He said, ‘Do what you will. Nothing will come for me.’ ”
Warm gladness burst in Nothing. “He trusted me,” she whispered at the sorceress.
“He gave you up,” the sorceress replied. “You came, just as he promised you would. Nothing, indeed.”
“I’m here. Let him go.”
“That is not in my nature.”
Nothing crossed her arms over her chest. “That is an excuse.”
“Bargain with me,” the sorceress murmured. She skimmed a finger along the rim of her glass while her eyes held Nothing’s.
“Let Kirin go, and I will stay.”
“Stay and what? You’re not as beautiful as he is. I am looking for my answer in the heart of the most beautiful maiden. I have that. What better could you offer? Your heart?”
Angry suddenly, Nothing said, “That was a terrible story! I still don’t know your curse.”
“That isn’t the end of the story.”
“What is?”
“Have you seen the many-petaled flower before?”
Nothing stopped. She had. She knew.
A lifetime of spying, collecting hints and gossip, of living in the walls, served her now, and she knew. She touched her cheeks, dragging her hands down the paint, smearing the green and red demon makeup. She realized why the sorceress had been surprised to see her like this. “You think I’m your demon! Not Kirin. I’m the—you think I’m the great demon of the Fifth Mountain!”
That heavy heartbeat roared in her ears.
The sorceress stood and knelt just beside Nothing, putting her hands palm up against her silk-covered lap. Nothing stared in abject astonishment. The sorceress’s pupils turned red again, elongating. She said, “Marry me, my love. Before it is too late.”
Nothing leapt to her feet. “No!” she cried. She flung herself away, turning for the missing door. “Let me out!”
A small arched doorway appeared, and Nothing ran through it.
SIXTEEN
NOTHING QUICKLY FOUND HER room with its red-and-pink carved door. She touched the many-petaled knob and hissed, letting go as if burned. But it opened and she stormed inside, throwing herself down before one of the many mirrors leaning, nailed, hanging from the obsidian walls. Her makeup was a raw, rotting wound on her face, melting between girl and monster.
With paint-stained fingers, she pulled at her clothing to bare the scar. It was tiny, pink, wrinkled like a fresh burn. A dried-out cluster of petals pressed between the pages of a book. A peony lipstick mark from a kiss to the heart.
Just like the many-petaled flower carved all over this mountain.
“I’m Nothing,” she whispered.
Jerking to her feet, she tore through the room, digging through the trunks and among the sheets of the hanging nest until she found it: the green silk baby blanket with its delicately embroidered flower.
Nothing pressed it to her face, breathing in: it smelled like nothing at all. Or the slightest hint of shrine incense.
Curling up her knees, she clutched it to her chest and felt—nothing.
SEVENTEEN
MAYBE NOTHING SLEPT: SHE felt restless and scattered, her mind spinning in choppy circles, her pulse erratic, her legs sore as if she needed to move them. She tried to think through her entire existence, for evidence she was a normal girl, or at least a slightly strange one. Not a demon. It was impossible! Demons were dead; she was alive. The sorceress couldn’t have succeeded. The witches in the palace would have noticed, or the priests, or at least the great demon of the palace.
Unless that was why it liked her. Because she was a demon reborn. Maybe it was true: the great demon had known but not said anything. Demons kept their own counsel.
What else explained her brand? The matching many-petaled flower here in the mountain? That she’d appeared from nowhere, without a mother or name?
No, Nothing thought. There could be countless other explanations.
She closed her eyes, but as she traced her memories, she found herself awash in random moments with Kirin. Kirin tying the bracelet of her hair reverently around her wrist, and allowing her to do the same to him; his gentle thumb brushing a tear from her cheek the first time she escaped from the witches; that same day, eleven-year-old Kirin’s fury as he demanded the witches be banned from Nothing’s presence; racing across the patterned sand of the Garden of Moons; shooting her an approving dark smile when he noticed her crawling above the First Consort’s library, perfectly balanced on the ceiling beam; kneeling together at a shrine to the great demon of the palace and tapping coded messages against each other’s knuckles while the priests recited prayers. And his arms tight around her when they said their farewells at the beginning of this summer. “I’ll see you soon, and then after the investiture, we’ll never be separated again,” he’d murmured, and Nothing had whispered into his ear, “I want to go with you.” “I don’t think you truly do, and this is my only time with Sky.”And Nothing had realized suddenly that he was correct: she hadn’t wanted to leave the safety of her palace house. It was too frightening. Kirin knew her better than she knew herself, sometimes.
Every part of her life was anchored somehow to Kirin, since that day in the garden when he’d stared her down.
No matter what else, she had to find him. Somehow he would know who or what she was.
Nothing got up. She still wore the fine undergarments from the night before and stripped them off. With a bit of fresh water from the ceramic bowl on the stand, she rubbed as much of the demon paint away as she could, on the hem of the very lovely blue dress. It smeared on the silk like an old wound.
Nothing didn’t feel like a demon. She felt like… nothing. Like herself. What was she supposed to feel?
Standing, Nothing glowered at herself in one of the little mirrors, then went to the trunks to pull out something to wear.
Once dressed in a short black tunic over a wrap skirt, her hair finger-combed, Nothing marched to the door.
It opened before she could touch it.
Spring stood with a tray of food balanced against her hip. “Oh,” the girl said.
“Spring.” Nothing blocked the way.
“I brought you breakfast.”
Nothing bit her lip, thinking of what the sorceress had said: Kirin would eat what Nothing ate. With a firm nod, she backed out of Spring’s way so the other girl could set the food down upon the makeup table.
“You have green under your ear,” Spring said. Her pink orchids bobbed gently against her braids as she lowered her chin shyly.
“Huh,” Nothing said around a bite of warm bread, rubbing absently at her ear.
“No, ah…” Spring reached for Nothing’s other ear, but paused just before touching her.
Nothing stopped chewing and stared at Spring, wide-eyed. She dropped the bread back onto the tray and used the sleeve of her robe to rub where the girl indicated. It was satisfying to ruin another piece of the sorceress’s gifts.