I’m the one to break up the conversation with a loud clearing of my throat. I come to an abrupt halt, looking around before glancing down at my palm. The welts have all but faded away, leaving a lone dot on the pad of my palm. We’ve followed the outer edge of the sixth Court of Hell, making sure not to venture too far in lest we somehow stumble our way into its trial.
“This is it,” I inform the group.
“Are you sure?” Wen asks, an eyebrow arched skeptically.
I can’t exactly blame him. I see no obvious entrance here. Just a high wall to our left, the rows of abandoned houses to our right, and nothing much in between. No gates, no doorways, no tunnels. Could this be another of the star goddess’s tricks?
“Let me see.”
It’s Yue who speaks, her words soft as she takes a step toward me. She doesn’t wait for permission. She takes my hand and inspects my skin with a furrow knitting her brow. My chest tightens. We haven’t spoken a word to one another since we left the abandoned house. Where I might once have relished her silence, now it makes me anxious. By keeping her at arm’s length, I’ve somehow bruised my own soul.
It’s the only explanation for the way my heart twists when Yue refuses to meet my gaze; for the chill that slithers down my spine when she turns away without further acknowledgment. I was the one to put up the walls between us, but it is she who now reinforces them.
I tell myself it was the right decision. It had to be.
Yue sniffs the air, her eyes eventually settling on the jade tiles beneath our feet. She tilts her head to the side, contemplative,before tapping her foot. “There’s a draft beneath us,” she explains. “Does the Jade Palace in the mortal realm boast servant’s corridors?”
Jun used to speak of the network of underground tunnels the servants used to get from one pavilion to the next like ghosts beneath the royal family’s feet. How I wished to explore them, though Jun warned me that if I ventured down where I didn’t belong, I’d get lost with no hope of return. It was a scary enough prospect that I soon abandoned the idea.
“They do,” I reply.
We search the ground together, prodding tiles to see if any come loose. It takes us a few minutes, but we finally discover a cluster of four tiles that shift beneath our weight. Bending down, we lift one tile each, exposing a dark tunnel burrowed just beneath. The hole is exceedingly narrow, no wider than the length between my elbow and the tip of my middle finger. It’s difficult to determine how far the tunnel goes or how steep the drop could be, but it’s clear those aren’t the most pressing issues.
There’s no way I’m going to fit, Sooah laments.None of us will. We’ll suffocate down there.
“What do you suggest, then? It’s not like we have another choice.”
We have the choice not to die beneath the Jade Palace, Sooah argues.
It’s unlike them to bicker—perhaps Hell is changing us for the worse.
“Enough,” I say tersely. “I have an idea.”
I reach for my hunting log and rip out a few blank pages from the back. This will be an excellent test to see if the magic works on any type of canvas. I retrieve the Maskmaker’s paintbrush and search my mind for sources of inspiration. Sooah’s right. There’s no way the four of us will fit through the tight servant’s tunnels.
Four young children, on the other hand…
I can recall being around very few children in my life. My brothers were never around, several years older than me and therefore too busy with their studies to tolerate my existence. Even more so after I was sent away to live in one of my father’s distant summer homes. Hidden away, along with my mother, as a disgrace. I was raised by a handful of maids and eunuchs, but there were precious few people my own age.
I recall one of the stable boys in training. I had wanted to be his friend, but he was always too anxious to play. I paint his face on the first piece of paper, scouring my memories to capture every little detail. When I’m done, I hand the freshly painted mask to Wen.
The next face I recall belonged to a servant girl. She was kind, if I remember correctly, though I rarely saw her. She was as quiet as a mouse and just as small—which I realize now will certainly work out in our favor. I paint the next mask, making sure to count out the three moles I remember so distinctly on the right side of her face before giving my newest creation to Sooah.
As for my own mask, what better choice of a visage than my own? I’m certainly familiar enough with it to paint a younger self-portrait.
Now, for the last and final.
I look up at Yue, disheartened to find her still staring off at nothing. She’s a wilting flower, the slump of her shoulders and the droop of her head giving her whole body an unnatural lean to the side. I can’t explain the terrible ache in my chest when I look at her.
I paint her mask with care, choosing the face of one of my earliest friends. A very distant cousin I haven’t seen in many years. She was married off decades ago to a minor lord in the far north, but I still remember those precious summers spent under the care of the same history tutor. Cousin Xiao was always quite small for her age, a fact that will no doubt serve us well.
Approaching slowly, I clear my throat to catch Yue’s attention.
“Will you wear this for me?” I ask. My words come out a near whisper, as if I’m afraid to disturb her mournful contemplation.
Yue sighs, nodding wearily. “Yes.”
She removes her mask and allows me to trade it for another without protest. While I’m mindful of her true form, I’m by no means as afraid of it as I once was. I tie her other mask to my belt for safekeeping.
