“It sounds like tea.” She plopped her chin in her free hand as she mused over the revelation.
“What do you mean?” the prince asked.
“Tea leaves are stored dry in airtight containers that block light. Light and moisture damage the taste. Mold can also be an issue if they get wet.”
Mitch squeezed her hand. “How do you know so much about storing tea leaves?”
Quoting Lady Saveria, Tasia pitched her voice lower to sound like her mother. “‘Well-bred young ladies pride themselves on their knowledge of serving and storing tea.’” She returned to her regular manner of speaking. “Anyway, I’m guessing that dissolving it in liquid would be the easiest way. The villagers went through a lot of punch at the last dance.”
The light had brightened a tad, and she could see both men nodding at her slowly, and with raised eyebrows. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost say they looked impressed.
Determined not to feed ill-advised pride, she pressed on and addressed Mitch. “I couldn’t smell it, but you reacted pretty strongly. Do you know if it has a strong flavor, too?”
He shook his head, a motion she felt more than saw.
“Hmm.” She pondered for another moment. “I still think tampering with the punch would be the best way to ensureeveryone partook. We’ll keep that in mind. Now, as for next week, there are a couple of ways I think would ruin the filemu—”
Two outbursts—identical in sentiment and volume, if not words—interrupted her. Neither man paused to let the other speak, so Tasia had to pick out the meaning in the overlapping indignant spluttering. She gathered that they were concerned about her doing anything that would put her in Grandmother’s crosshairs.
Tasia freed her hand from Mitch’s grasp so she could hold both of hers out. The men quieted.
“I know better than to just stop the deliveries. I’m sure a villain like ‘Granny’”—she used the less respectful name to show Mitch that she understood his perspective—“would do something horrible to me if she found out that I knew what she’s planning.”
Rooting around in her pocket was difficult with multiple layers—and while sitting on the floor—but eventually, she found what she was looking for. “But don’t worry, I have my knife!” She brandished the folding blade, then realized that she had neglected to flip it open.
The second round of protests gave her time to fiddle with the knife. She had thought her practice would be sufficient to flick it into the open position without looking, but not working on it for a couple of weeks had atrophied the skill. Tasia got the knife open and parsed through the overlapping voices about the same time. The prevailing sentiment was that her tiny blade was insufficient protection.
Putting her knife away (safely!), she held up both hands again. “Are you two willing to listen to ideas forundetectablymessing with the filemu?”
She was hard-pressed not to laugh at the identical grunts of begrudging assent that came from either side of her.
“As I was going to say”—Tasia looked from one man to the other—“I want to try wetting the leaves and then drying themout again. I think that would lessen the potency. We won’t know for sure without testing, but you could sniff them in your—” Her words came to an abrupt halt because she had forgotten that Prince Frank didn’t know about Mitch’s wolf form.
Mitch nudged her knee with his. She ploughed on as if nothing was amiss. “And tell us if the smell has weakened. That could work, right?”
Ever kind, the prince let the odd moment pass. “It’s as good a plan as any,” he mused.
“I’d say it’s fairly brilliant,” Mitch corrected.
“You are right; I misspoke. I certainly wouldn’t have thought of it.”
Tasia glowed under the undeserved praise. “At home, it would be a cinch to dunk the leaves, then bake them in the oven.” She looked out the window. “If it were summer, they might even dry on the way. I can smuggle out a small kitchen towel, but I can’t cart an oven through the woods.”
“If you can bring the towel, I think we can get the leaves wet at the stream crossing, then wrap them tightly in the towel until we get somewhere that I can build a fire.”
“How are you going to hold them over the fire without burning yourself or the leaves?” Prince Frank asked with simple curiosity. “And what about breathing the fumes? Does that affect the mind the way ingesting does?”
“I’ve got a small frying pan,” Mitch volunteered. “As for the second part . . . I don’t know. To be safe, we should probably stand upwind.”
Tasia agreed.
Prince Frank slapped his hands on his knees. “I think it’s time for me to leave. Not sure if my portion of this discussion was truly helpful, but I feel better about leaving you.” He stood. When the other two moved to stand, as well, he waved themback down. “Let’s not risk being seen in a group. I’ll travel as fast as I can. Look for me in the next two-and-a-half to three weeks.”
It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that Tasia realized they hadn’t covered every scenario that had interfered with her sleep. “Oh! We forgot to discuss how we’re going to stop Grandmother’s thugs from taking over the town.”
“We can discuss that in a moment.”
Something about his tone had her squinting to see his expression. He thwarted that by standing up to stretch. Then he took the prince’s place and leaned against the wall. He no longer had the desk at his back, but he could see the window and the door.
