"You die by your own hands?" Lu Yuer laughed, sharp and bright as broken porcelain.
Her laugh hit the silk walls and the two concubines beside her giggled like trained birds. I tasted iron and silk; blood was already on my forehead where that first pushed hand had found a seam.
"Say it again," I said. My voice was calm. It did not sound like mine.
Lu Yuer leaned forward, fans and rings chiming. "You really think the Regent will mourn a ward? He buried your household five years ago and he put you here to be seen and discarded. Do us the honor."
"Do us the honor?" I repeated. I reached for the needle tucked between my sleeve and skin by habit, not by accident. The movement was so small no one noticed until it was a blade between knuckles.
"You're pale," Lu Yuer said, pretending charity. "Will you at least make it entertaining?"
I slapped her before she could arch her smile into cruelty.
The sound of skin on cheek was not loud, but it made the room stop breathing.
Lu Yuer's expression broke like a porcelain mask. Her cheek flushed red, then white. Her hand flew to her face and then to the sleeve she raised to hide trembling fingers.
"You—" she hissed. "You insolent—"
"Don't call me insolent," I said. "Call me what I am. Call me wronged."
She staggered back on her cushions, eyes wide. The concubines' laughter died. A maid behind
