“You there!” he yelled as I darted out of the window. “Stop!”
I ran as fast as I could, jumping over the wide puddles across the stone courtyards. The torches had long since gone out, extinguished by the rain, and I hurried back in near darkness.
Hours later, I sent Kiki for news of Takkan.
She came back with nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
He wasn’t dead. Not yet.
That much I learned the next morning. Every few hours, the servants brought soup to Takkan. Thick herbal concoctions that made my nose wrinkle and my eyes water. From the long faces the servants wore each time they came back, I gathered they weren’t doing much good.
That was all I knew about how he fared; the kitchen had gone quiet in the wake of his return. There was little gossip, and even less news—worrisome but also reassuring. No news meant he wasn’t dying. I hoped.
I kept sane by busying myself with chores. The storm had worsened, which meant fewer trips to the storehouses and more time in the kitchen. I offered several times to prepare my soup for Takkan, but no one understood, so I tried to be useful in other ways. But no matter how quickly I finished mopping and scrubbing, Chiruan’s shrimp-eyed cooks, Rai and Kenton, wouldn’t let me near their worktables, not even to wash the rice.
“This rice will touch the mouths of Lady Bushian and her household,” Rai barked. “We can’t have it reeking of fish.”
When I tried to wash the fish, they whisked that away from me too. “They might have let you cook in Tianyi Village, but not here. This is a lord’s manor, Lina. Can’t have your filthy spirit contaminating his food.”
Chiruan watched from his corner, his eyes disapproving, but he never said a word.
The worst was at lunch, when all the other servants gathered at the long table in the anteroom. Every day when I went up to get my food, Rai swatted my hands away.
“Demons don’t need to eat,” he said. “Certainly not meat or vegetables.”
Kenton was just as bad. “You want extra food, Lina? Here.” He scooped a ladle of water into my bowl, then snickered.
I glared at him, thinning my lips and sucking in my cheeks to form a monstrous expression that seemed to petrify the cooks. It was a small way of getting back at Rai and Kenton. Often I fantasized about rolling them in sticky rice and locking them in the fish cellar—an offering to the rats.
I was sitting alone at the table when Chiruan set a bowl of steamed rice in front of me, then a small dish of carrots and mushrooms and a bowl of soup.
“Don’t mistake this for pity, Fishgirl,” he said gruffly.
I stared at him, moved by the unexpected gesture.Thankyou.
“But, Chiruan,” Kenton protested, “Lady Zairena said—”
“This kitchen is my domain!” Chiruan shouted, startling us all. “Not Zairena’s. Not Hasege’s.Mine.Fishgirl is under my command. Understood?”
“Understood,” everyone murmured, and lunch began.
Three bites into the meal, a lady with a scarlet umbrella appeared outside the window, approaching the kitchen. Her head was wrapped in scarves to block the rain, and I held my breath, hoping against hope that it was not—
Zairena.
“Close the windows!” the servants whispered. “Quickly!”
They scattered, all seeming to know the purpose of her visit. They dashed to the pantry, gathering ingredients, while Rai and Kenton fetched a teapot, a sieve, and a stone mortar.
“Lady Megari must be unwell again,” Chiruan muttered, setting down his bowl. Smoke had begun to cloud the kitchen, and he fanned the flames. “The girl’s got a stomach weaker than a butterfly’s lately. Shame, her spirit’s so strong.”
I started to open one of the windows, but Chiruan stopped me. “Don’t. Lady Zairena says the outside air will spoil her tea.” He exhaled sharply, betraying a mixture of irritation and respect. “It’s a special brew, taught to her by the priestesses in Nawaiyi. Does wonders for Lady Megari.”
Under my bowl, I arched a skeptical eyebrow. Nawaiyiwasfamous for its healing temple, but I had a difficult time believing its pious priestesses had taught Zairena—of all people—their arts.
Zairena entered through the sliding doors, making for the bronze kettles rattling over the stove. A small pouch dangled from her wrist, and she ground its contents in the stone mortar before brewing her special tea. No tea I knew of required the attention of five servants.
