Page 30 of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

“All right,” he said. “But that doesn’t tell us what we’re supposed todo.”

“We have to commune with them,” she said. “Which meansyouhave to summon them. I can’t—not without being able to touch the things around me. We bring them to us, and maybe that will be enoughto prove ourselves. Perhaps that alone will end this…association the two of us have been forced into.”

“And if it isn’t enough?”

“Then the first step isstillto summon them,” she said. “So we can get some answers. Spirits who have been formed and dedicated to a service can no longer speak—or perhaps they choose not to. But newly summoned ones can; they respond when I make requests of them. Our best hope is to learn from them what they want of us.”

“Fine,” he said, leaning a little closer.

“Fine,” she said, leaning even closer.

A contest of pride, then. He leaned in a titch. She responded. Then he got just a hair’s distance from her, smiling, as there was no space remaining.

So she inched forward and stubbornly touched her nose to his.

Enveloping warmth.

Understanding.

A sharing of frustration, anger, confusion.

Connection.

Passion.

They both splashed backward, and Painter gasped. It was completely unfair how—

“Aargh!” Yumi shouted at the sky. “It isridiculouslyunfair how…distracting that feels!” Then she looked at him, glaring still, and sullenly sank into the water down to her chin, covering herself as best as one could under the circumstances. She didn’t blink once as she did it.

“Don’t stare,” she muttered.

“Stare?” he said, turning away, feigning indifference. “At what? There’d need to be something worth looking at before I’d be tempted to stare, Yumi.”

Then, because he wasn’t actually a heel despite what saying those words implied, he felt guilty. He walked out of the pool, telling himself—and his blush—that he didn’t care if she watched him. Chaeyung and Hwanji approached, bringing him towels and clothing.

“Just don’t faint this time!” Yumi called from behind. “We have work to do today, liar.”

Yumi was dauntedby the number of towns she’d visited but couldn’t name. She was a servant of the people of Torio; shouldn’t she be able tonamethe places she’d helped?

Yet she saw so little of them. Only their cold springs—or bathhouses, for those that didn’t have a spring—and their shrines and places of ritual. The different towns blurred together, interchangeable in her memory. At times she almost thought they could be the same town over and over—that she went to sleep and her wagon was pulled around in circles to give the illusion of motion before stopping right back where she’d begun.

She was ashamed of that thought, because the places were important and unique to the people who lived in them. Take this shrine, where Painter knelt today per her instructions. Most shrines were in gardens, with cold stone so the flowers could spin low to the ground.

This one was instead in the middle of an orchard. Nearby, trees drifted and bumped against one another, chained in place to keep themfrom floating off but given enough slack to always be in motion. The air was cooler than she liked, and the dim light of the sun behind so many branches reminded her of Painter’s world. However, this was a differentkindof dimness: broken up instead of absolute, like sunlight made festive. The trees in turn were spangled with fruit. The celebration here was a quiet one.

Though the workers had been cleared out to give the yoki-hijo silence for her meditations, this was plainly a cultivated spot. Any fallen fruit had been collected before it could bake into sticky tar. People worked in here frequently.

Which meant the people of this town didn’t strictly obey tradition by setting the shrine off from commonly trafficked areas. She’d seen it before, and…well, a rebellious part of her approved. These people wanted their shrine near as they worked. There were spirit statues on the roof, created by a yoki-hijo to have no purpose beyond watching over the workers to give them comfort.

Why shouldn’t people adapt tradition to their needs? It was a dangerous line of thinking—so when Liyun noted the cultivated trees and the statues on the roof of the shrine, she frowned. Then, fortunately, she bowed and withdrew—leaving the yoki-hijo to her ritual prayers.

As Liyun retreated, Painter let out a long sigh. “Something’s wrong with that woman.”

“Liyun-nimi,” Yumi said, “is animmaculatewarden. You will expunge such terrible ideas from your mind.”

“Why?” he said. “It’s not like I’m saying it to her face.”

“Thinking it is as bad,” Yumi said. “You are a yoki-hijo.Youare better than such thoughts. You must be pure, not just in action, but inmindandsoul.”

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