“Ah, very good,” said the Lady of the Lychee Tree.

Her voice was as soft and uninflected as a wind through an orchard, and it reminded me of the Lady of the Gingko Tree. She’d been another of Cassius’ courtiers, one of the most graceful women I’d met. Her every gesture had painted a scene of golden leaves fluttering down a crisp autumn sky. Cassius had loved to watch her dance.

I hadn’t thought about her in ages. I wondered what happened to her, after the dynasty collapsed and the court scattered. I both could and could not see her ruling over an Earth Court like this.

Huh. That statement…really hadn’t said much, had it? I cocked my head to a side, considering.

Meanwhile, this tree spirit was lifting a hand, lychee white and translucent. One of her ladies-in-waiting, a spirit whose gown was iridescent blue and streaked with black like butterfly wings, accepted the lacquer tray from the Steward. She proffered it to her mistress, who examined the size, shape, color, and texture of each fruit in turn. Then a second butterfly lady-in-waiting peeled them, letting none of the juices drip off her fingertips.

Ah, truly the Lychee Grove Earth Court was a place that observed proper protocol!

As the Lady sampled one fruit of each type, expressions flitted across her face like sunlight through leaves. At the end, she breathed a long sigh. “As always, regardless of how much time and effort my farmers devote to developing new varieties, the Enchantress’ Smile hath still won.”

Another butterfly spirit, this one in the form of a human man, had been standing behind her during the tasting process. Now he stepped forward and spoke for the first time. “My lady, would it not be wise to send the Queen at least one of the new varieties, lest the farmers lose heart?”

The Lady cast an affectionate, regretful glance over the uneaten fruit. “No, I am afraid that these little ones simply are not ready yet. Wouldst thou send a half-trained girl-child to serve the Queen?”

Her adviser, however, didn’t give up. “My lady, every year that you reject the new varieties and send only the Enchantress’ Smile as tribute, you reinforce the idea that only the old ways will do. I fear that, in the long run, this practice will stifle innovation – ”

A new voice, strident and abrasive, shattered the peace of the garden. “Oh, nonsense, Ancemus! Art thou even listening to thyself? How canst thou advise thy Lady to send subpar gifts to Her Majesty? Thou dost insult them both!”

I knew that voice. Oh, I knew that voice. It raised all the feathers on my back, the way it used to raise every single fur on my tails.

A second later, into the pavilion charged the most annoying spirit in Serica. She was mostly shaped like a human female, but her appearance was deformed by two round ears that ruined her over-complicated updo, and by a fat, coarse-haired, dirty-grey tail that stuck out the back of her dress.

A horde of hangers-on barged in after her. Because of course she had to bring her own peanut gallery wherever she went.

At the sight of the raccoon dog spirit, the Lady of the Lychee Tree’s adviser stiffened but refused to retreat. Good for him. A butterfly with a backbone.

“My lady Anthea,” he bit out. “I was not aware that you had arrived.” His tone suggested that he appreciated her presence about as much as I did.

Truly, the Lady of the Lychee Tree appointed wise, discerning advisers! It boded well for the future of her fief.

“Well, obviously!” Anthea gave a careless wave of her hand. Oversized rings weighed down every finger, including her thumb, and way too many jade bangles in clashing colors jangled around her wrist. “I meant for my visit to be a surprise. It wouldn’t be a surprise now, would it, if thou knew’st that I was coming?”

Without waiting for an invitation or even a formal greeting from the Lady whose court this was, that shameless raccoon dog plopped into a chair. Anthea had always assumed that she could get away with treason, just because some people with no taste (i.e. Aurelia’s faction) hailed her as “cute.”

I clenched my bill, furious at her insolence. On behalf of the Lady of the Lychee Tree, of course.

“Good day, old friend!” Anthea said with a cheer that no one else felt. “Testing out this year’s lychees? And the Enchantress’ Smile hath won again?” Unbidden, she grabbed a lychee and popped it into her mouth.

Vulgar familiarity was still her style, I saw. As it had always been.

The Lady spoke at last. But not to deliver the crushing rebuke I was looking forward to. “Good day, Anthea. It is good to see you well. How fares the Queen?” Her lips actually curved up in a smile of welcome. Of welcome! For Anthea, of all people!

The raccoon dog shrugged, that vulgar gesture suiting her perfectly. “Oh, well enough, well enough. Still trying to retake the west. Father’s dying wish and whatnot. The court’s gotten so boring now that all the gallants talk of is fighting for the Queen and winning glorious victories in her name.”

Anthea had always had a shallow grasp of politics and military affairs, too.

Her peanut gallery seconded her with cries of, “Ugh, so boring!” and “The boring-est!”

“Do you know how the war is going, my lady?” Ancemus interceded.

At his gesture, the ladies-in-waiting unfurled a large map across a table. A map! He was definitely my new favorite person!

Squirming through the window lattice, I perched on a display shelf next to a vase for a better view. To my disappointment, this map only showed the southern half of Serica, but that was all right. I more or less remembered Flicker’s map of all of Serica, so I could fill in the missing parts. Cocking my head to a side, I studied the tiny characters. Let’s see, Lychee Grove, Lychee Grove, where was Lychee Grove….

Aha! The fief of Lychee Grove lay in the middle of South Serica, meaning that the shortest path back to the Claymouth Barony would be a straight line northeast over the Snowy Mountains. Maintaining the correct heading might be a bit tricky, but the sun rose in the east and set in the west, so as long as I used it for a compass, I’d be fine.

Poor Ancemus was still attempting to interrogate Anthea about the battles to retake the west while her peanut gallery interrupted with idiotic comments. I admired his determination and mentally wished him the best of luck. As for me, I was out of here.

I was going home.

The sun stood high in the sky by the time I started flying over the lychee farms. The tiny shadows made it hard to judge directions, but I figured I’d just start flying north and correct course later. At any rate, it was better than listening to Anthea’s vapid chatter.

As I flew, with the sun hot on my wings, I fumed.

Why had she survived the end of the Empire when I had not? Why hadn’t Lady Fate picked her to bring down the dynasty? If Heaven had assigned her to destroy Cassius, I’d still be living merrily as a nine-tailed fox, a millennium and a half old at this point, with all the powers and pleasures that that entailed.

Instead, Anthea was the one who had survived to gloat over my death. She was the one who got to live on and on, moving from court to court as her whims or necessity dictated.

And by “necessity,” I meant when a monarch fell, the kingdom plunged into political and economic chaos, and she moved on to a different one where the nobles still had the leisure to wear hand-painted silk gowns and savor delicacies and compose poetry and create art inspired by her. She was shallow like that. All raccoon dogs were. It was their nature.

When the sun started sinking down and turning the flooded rice paddies gold and black, I began to search for dinner. I got lucky. As I’d seen with that young woman back in Lychee Grove, South Sericans were great bird lovers. Some kind soul had laid handfuls of uncooked rice grains across the windowsill of a small farmhouse, and several sparrows were already there, pecking away. I fluttered down to join them, prepared to do battle for my share, but there was no need. The food was so plentiful that they made room for me to eat.

Mmmm, the rice here was so fragrant. I gobbled down great mouthfuls. Was it extra tasty because I’d been flying all day, or because it was grown locally, as opposed to rice in Cassius’ capital, which had to be transported all the way across the wheat-bearing Golden Plains? Now I wondered how Claymouth rice tasted. I hadn’t tried any as a turtle, but I would this time as a sparrow.

First, though, I’d find Bobo, who was probably still moping over Stripey’s and my deaths. I couldn’t tell her where he was now, but I could distract her with tales of the south. Pangolin spirits with their pinecone tails, houses built on stilts over the river, gardens that extended as far as the eye could see, entire lychee orchards and farmers who worked on developing even more varieties to send to the Queen – Bobo would love it. I could already see her shining eyes and hear her excited, “Really? I want to sssee that too!”

I’d have to tell her about the South Sericans’ speech style too, with all the thee’s and thou’s and wherefores and how now’s. We’d have a good laugh together over that.

And then I’d check on Taila (who had to be terrorizing all the adults in her life), and the rest of my taskforce, and the school – oh! Oh! I had to know how they’d gotten rid of that demon army in the end! Den and Floridiana must have sent them packing back to the Wilds. Ha. That was a story I wanted to hear.

Mmm. My belly was so full that I was going to get a tummy ache if I kept eating. Satisfied, I raised my head and spread my wings, preparing to search for a good shrub to slumber in until morning.

At the corner of my vision, something moved. Something with ropes knotted into a lattice –

A net! A net was dropping down over me and the other sparrows! This was a trap!

On instinct, I cheeped a warning, pumped my wings, and shot sideways. Not fast enough! It was just like that life when I was a butterfly!

The net fell over us, and we flung ourselves against it, chirping and fighting to squeeze between the ropes. My wing caught on a knot and twisted. Fragile bones snapped. I screamed.

A human girl’s voice shrieked, drowning out the other sparrows’ cheeping. “Mama! Mama! Why’s it making that noise?!”

Another female voice, older, yelled back, “Who cares! Just wring their necks quick so I can get on with supper!”

“But Mama, what if ‘tis a spirit?”

“Can’t be! No spirit would be dumb enough to get caught in thy net. Now stop being squeamish and wring their necks!”

A human face loomed over us, wide-eyed and horrified. A pair of work-roughened hands grabbed each sparrow and twisted their necks in turn.

Snap.

Flapping wings fell still.

Snap.

A head drooped at an impossible angle.

Snap.

Claws went limp.

No, no, no! This couldn’t be happening! I couldn’t die here! I literally just left the nest!

Writhing and flapping, I fought as hard as I could to wrench free of the ropes. More bones snapped. I screamed again. This wasn’t working! And even if it did, my wing was so broken that I could barely move it. How was I going to fly across the Snowy Mountains?

A hand seized my body, crushing my good wing. Fingers wrapped around my head.

I collected myself enough to form a single word. Wait –

A shriek. The hands convulsed.

Snap.

Forty-nine days later, I hovered in Flicker’s waiting room, a ball of blackness once more. Ugh. What a waste of one and two-thirds months! I glared at his office door, willing him to reincarnate the previous soul faster so I could interrogate him about the status of the Claymouth Barony.

Naturally, it didn’t work.

A clerk escorted another soul into the waiting room and left it in a corner. It hung midair, calm and patient.

Stripey! Could it be Stripey?

No, this was a Yellow-Tier soul. There was no way Stripey could have accumulated enough positive karma in forty-nine days to reach the next Tier…right?

Actually, I didn’t know how close he’d been to Yellow Tier last time. Maybe – just maybe –

I chimed and zipped across the waiting room, startling the Yellow-Tier soul into a backward bounce.

Hi! By any chance, two lives ago, were you a whistling duck spirit called Stripey???

In my excitement, I’d gotten too close to the soul – in fact, our edges were practically overlapping – and it buzzed a warning before it floated back to put a good three feet between us.

Its voice, when it spoke, was male – but it was not Stripey’s. It was definitely not Stripey’s. Only one person I had ever known in all my lives could have managed that blend of horror and prissy judginess.

Marcius, ex-Star of Scholarly Song and ex-emperor-in-waiting, exclaimed, Piri?!