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.
And spat him out.
“Don’t worry,” I admitted. “I think they’re intolerable too. Why do you suppose my best friend is a paper bird?”
“And all the cooks on Cherhao Street?” Takkan teased.
“Exactly.” I leaned over the bridge, watching Suli’s braids bounce across her shoulders as she chased Kiki around the pavilion. From the back, she looked like Takkan’s younger sister.
“You must miss Megari,” I said. “You haven’t seen her in over half a year.”
“We exchange letters often. That’s how I got to know Suli and Sunoo—they take my letters to their father in exchange for stories.”
“What kind of stories?” I probed. “I want stories too.”
“Most were about you.”
Oh.
“I missed you when you were in Ai’long,” Takkan said. “Telling stories about you helped.”
I swallowed, unable to tamp down the warmth ballooning in my chest. “I’m still angry with myself for losing the sketchbook you gave me,” I confessed. “But I’ll never lose your letters. I’ve memorized half of them already. I’ve been rereading them every night to help me sleep.”
“You bruise me, Shiori,” said Takkan wryly. “They’re that dull?”
Grinning, I mimicked a young Takkan: “ ‘My sister found a centipede in the granary this morning and—thinking it was a sweet and harmless caterpillar—brought it to lunch. My ears are still ringing from how loudly Mother screeched.’ ”
Takkan’s palm went up to his face. He looked like he wished he could jump into the pond. “Did I write that?”
“You did.” My grin turned wicked. I loved seeing him uncomfortable, then chasing that discomfort away in the next breath. I scooted closer until our arms overlapped on the wooden railing. “Your letters are a treasure. When I read them, I feel a little less…lost. I feel like I’m where I belong.”
I stared into the water, watching orange-and-black-spotted carp nibble the supports of the bridge. “Your heart is your home,” I murmured. “Until you understand that, you belong nowhere.”
“You said that to the pearl when we were on Lapzur,” Takkan remembered.
So I had. I’d been so desperate to get the pearl to listen to me, I’d forgotten that the words came first from Elang. A message from one half dragon to another. I hoped Elang would find his home one day.
“I’m still not sure I understand what it means for me,” I confessed.
A shadow came over Takkan’s eyes, and I could tell that his thoughts had returned to our present conundrum. He turned to face me. “What can I do to help?”
The simple question, so unbidden and so earnest, made me look up from the water.
“I don’t know what to do about the demons,” I admitted. “If I keep them trapped, magic stays trapped too. But if I free them…I unleash chaos upon Kiata.”
“What do you think you should do?” Takkan tipped my chin up. “I know you, Shiori. You think there’s another way. Tell me.”
I inhaled a shaky breath and gathered my courage. “I…I can’t forget the way Khramelan spoke about them. He felt…sorry for them. It makes me wonder whether I can reason with them. Maybe even ask for help.”
Takkan blinked in surprise. “Well, they can’t be any less agreeable than the priestesses.”
That got the slightest smile out of me. “True.”
I loosened the comb from my hair. I hadn’t brought Takkan’s gift to Lapzur for fear that I’d lose it, the way I’d lost his sketchbook, and I held it now, admiring the cranes, the rabbit, the moon painted on its spine. “I never asked—did you paint this?”
“Yes,” answered Takkan, clearing his throat. “It was Megari’s idea to include the rabbit. She said it’d bring luck…and the cranes would watch over you.” He paused. “She’s been folding them like you taught her. She begs for you to come home and enchant them to life. Apparently, Pao has been giving her grief about sneaking out of the fortress, and she could use an army of paper birds on her side.”
An army of paper birds on her side. My eyes went round, and I straightened, unable to contain the excitement suddenly bubbling in my chest. “Takkan—I think that’s it.” I clutched his hands, buzzing now.
“What is?” Takkan asked.
“Can you get me a thousand sheets of paper?” I said. “Send another letter to Megari too. Tell her she’s a genius.”
* * *
“We’re going to fold paper birds,” I announced to the small group that had gathered in my chamber. Takkan, my brothers, and Qinnia sat in a semicircle on the floor, stacks of paper laid out before each of them. “A thousand paper birds, to be precise.”