She deliberated, the same way I did before deciding whether or not to lie. “Yes, with my snakes. Sometimes, but not often, poison is the cure for poison. It’s a medicine in disguise.”
“Can I see them? Oh, please. Hasho brings home toads and lizards all the time, but he can never find snakes. And I’ve never gone into your garden.”
“It’d be dangerous, Shiori,” Raikama said. “Some of my snakes are poisonous. They might bite a troublemaker like you.”
It was an affectionate joke, but her tone was strained. A more thoughtful child would have changed the topic. That child was not I.
“Don’t you ever worry that they’ll bite you?” I inquired.
“Poison has little effect on me. My snakes know better than to try.”
“Why doesn’t it have an effect on you?”
She laughed, teasing. “Your curiosity will be the doom of you one day, little one.”
“Why?” I pressed.
A pause. “Because I am one of them,” she said finally. She set her comb down, her eyes round and luminous. Then when she blinked, they became yellow—like a snake’s.
I woke, almost jumping out of my bed. The memory should have chilled me, but in some strange and incomprehensible way, it didn’t.
Because for the briefest of instants—I missed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Come the end of the week, I raised my rock one final time, holding it high and with great ceremony above the nettles. Down I struck, grinding into the last thorn until it broke off with a snap.
At last it was done. The worst was over. No more jagged leaves, no more fiery thorns. Demonfire still glinted through the starstroke, like aftershocks of lightning, but it no longer blinded me with each flash. Now every strand shone with effervescent luster, a kaleidoscope of lights and colors.
I could have stared at them all day. But my work was not done.
Back in my chambers, I tested the starstroke fibers in my fingers. They felt coarser than they looked, almost like straw. They were loose like straw, too. Without their casing of demonfire, the strands fell apart easily. They needed to be twisted together.
They needed to be spun.
At first I thought I could be clever and assemble my own spindle out of a writing brush. I wound the starstroke fibers around and around—trying to mimic Zairena with her spindle. But it was impossible. The thread came out lumpy and coarse, and it would take weeks, if not months, to finish my work this way.
I needed Zairena’s spinning wheel.
The problem was that ever since she’d caught me staring at it in Lady Bushian’s leisure chamber, she had kept it in her private quarters.
She’d love nothing more than to catch me spinning enchanted nettles,I muttered silently to Kiki.She already thinks I belong in the dungeon. Imagine how gleeful she’d be at the prospect of my head on a spear.
What alternatives do you have?Kiki asked.
Not many,I admitted, dressing for the kitchen.I’m going to start by making her some cakes.
Cakes?echoed my bird, wrinkling her beak.Really, Shiori?
Yes. Whenever I got Hasho into trouble, I always made it up to him with food. Food is the best peace offering.
Maybe for you,said Kiki, still skeptical.Someone like Zairena would prefer jewelry.
Well, I don’t have money for jewelry. I have access to the kitchen, and Zairena said she misses the desserts from her province.
So, cakes.
Not just any cakes. Monkeycakes.
