I snag the star god by the collar of his robes and toss him to the arena floor. He lands with an unceremonious yelp, surrounded by tortured souls. There’s a beat of absolute stillness—before oneof the human souls dares to put their hands on him. She’s quickly joined by someone else now clawing at his robes. Within seconds, the star god is pulled this way and that; scratched, beaten, and maimed without remorse.
His cries go unheeded by all.
“Are you sure we should leave him here like this?” Wen asks as he rejoins us, Sooah in tow.
I bring a hand up to my mask, making sure that it’s secured in place, before I shrug my shoulders. “Nothing wrong with a taste of your own medicine.”
Sooah signs something quickly. A simple point in the direction of the nearest moon gate. I understand her meaning:Let’s get going.
19Yue
Hunting Log #383:
Time is impossible to track in Hell. Has it been weeks, or mere days?
Despite leaving the arena behind,the stench of blood and sweat and aggression has seared itself into my nostrils. The fact that we have to survive eight more of these trials has me in a particularly foul mood, though I suppose progress is progress.
“The Court of Hunger,” Wen mutters as we make our way up the steps of another pavilion. “You reckon they’ll try to starve us to death?”
I snort. “How utterly imaginative.”
Sooah points toward a small garden just past the pavilion, drawing my attention to the open space and drooping wisteria trees. They have no petals, their branches naked and thin. Despite its barren state, there’s tranquility to be found here. Especially after witnessing the carnage of the Court of Wrath.
She gestures slowly, and I’m able to discern her simple signs. She presses her palms together and places them on the side of her cheek, like a pillow, before pointing at the ground.
Sleep here.
“Good idea,” I reply. “You three need your rest.”
“Someone needs to keep watch,” Wen insists.
I take a deep breath. “I can do it. I don’t need nearly as much sleep as your kind does.”
Suspicion flits across Wen’s face—which is, frankly, unsurprising—but the captain has the final say. Sonam nods, just once, before striding over to a jade bench. He sits with a heavy exhale, slouching forward, the weariness of all we’ve seen bearing down on his shoulders. He looks so much older like this. I wouldn’t be surprised if his troubles lead him to an early grave.
Sooah is the next to follow suit, shrugging off her laminal armor to find a seat of her own. Wen stares at me for a while longer, but I don’t detect his usual malice. I think he’s beginning to tolerate me, though I’m not sure whether to feel grateful.
While the humans settle in for the night, I climb the garden wall and sit on top of the cold bricks, taking in the view of the Jade Palace from my new vantage point. It is a sight to behold, the heart of it all. Smaller palaces exist within larger ones, an intricate network of nesting districts and neat passageways cordoned off with ever taller walls. When I stare at the Jade Palace, I can’t help but feel miniscule. Insignificant.
If I die with a scream in my throat, will anyone remember my piercing cry? If I go quietly, one final whisper of breath before the lights dim, will someone lay my body to rest? Picking at my fingernails, I think of my sisters. Even if I hadn’t run that day, the Maskmaker ensured there was nothing left of them to mourn. They were burned beyond the point of ash, stolen by the passing breeze. If I die, I might have liked a grave marker and flowers. Wishful impossibilities, of course, but a demon can dream.
“It’s even more beautiful in the light of day.” Sonam’s voice is calm as he hoists himself up onto the wall beside me. He keeps agenerous distance, roughly five arms away. A smart, safe choice. “And the gardens are normally lush and vibrant. From what I remember as a boy, anyway.”
I stare at him, my lips pressed into a thin line. “You should be resting.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Did Your Highness have bad dreams?” I mean to tease, but the way the words come out makes me sound sincere.
“Too anxious,” he confesses. His honesty surprises me. After a long moment, he asks, “Who’s the Maskmaker?”
I sigh. “He’s none of—”
“Don’t tell me he’s none of my concern,” he interjects. “This isn’t the first time he’s been mentioned. I think you can agree that his ability to wear our faces complicates matters. I need to know more, Yue.”
The sound of my name makes my breath hitch. He pronounces it carefully, precisely. The low rumble of his voice is much too soothing. I don’t trust it.
“When I was a pup, I found myself caught in a trap,” I explain slowly. “Wound up falling into a tar pit that local hunters concealed with leaves. I was stuck there for three, maybe four moons. The more I struggled, the deeper I sank. It was only a matter of time before I’d suffocate. Or starve.”
