“You don’t have a dog,” Megari retorted. “And you used to eat them off the snow when you dropped them.”
Lady Bushian sent her daughter a warning look.
Megari sniffed. “Well, that only means more for everyone else. Thank you for making them, Lina.”
I mustered a smile for the little girl. But as I set my cake to my lips, I suddenly lost my appetite. Zairena had lied about the cakes, just like she had lied about the threads for Raikama.
Strange things to lie about, cakes and threads. When I chose to lie, it was to hide the truth. Zairena’s behavior almost made it seem as if she didn’t know the truth.
As if she were an impostor.
It was just a twinge in my gut, nothing more. It wouldn’t be wise to jump to conclusions, but then again, I had never been one for wisdom.
I told you already, not everyone is as affectionate about food as you are, Shiori,Kiki said, hopping onto my shoulder to keep up with me as I stalked down the hall toward Zairena’s room. She bit my hair, trying to pull me back before I acted rashly.Don’t you think you should at least wait until night?
Then she’ll be sleeping—in her room!
Not every night. Not since Hasege’s returned.
I stumbled in my step and blinked at my little bird. What a snoop she was!You’re certain of this?
More certain than you are that she’s an impostor.
You didn’t think to tell me?
I only just heard from the guards,said Kiki, buzzing close to my ear.I don’t spend all my days listening to human gossip.
Maybe you should,I thought back, changing course for my own chambers.It’s turning out to be useful.
Kiki cast me a look of displeasure, but her chest puffed up with pride.
That night, while Kiki led the guard on a merry chase about the fortress grounds, I slipped into Zairena’s room. It was twice the size of mine, but had only a partial view of Rabbit Mountain. One of her white robes was draped over a folding screen to dry, and her black sash was flung carelessly over a stool. Strong incense burned in front of a personal altar, with an offering of fruits and rice wine, and her parents’ names written on slabs of wood.
I fanned the air and planted myself in front of her chests. Inside were letters, most from Zairena’s mother to Lady Bushian, and scrolls from the Temple of Nawaiyi, commending Zairena for her diligent studies. And a painting of her.
Kiki flew in, and I cocked my head at her, seeking her opinion.Odd, isn’t it? Carrying around a painting of yourself.
Kiki scoffed.She loves herself. Are you surprised?
No, but I was still suspicious. I studied the picture. It certainly looked like Zairena. The same rounded chin and pointed nose, the single plait down her back, the mole on her right cheek.
It was unmistakably her.
I set it back, my spirits dampened. But I wasn’t finished with my search.
I moved to her drawers. There were jars of willow bark for helping Megari’s stomach ailments, talismans and charms to ward off demons and for safe travel, an incense pot, an array of cosmetics, and far too many scarves and fans.
And in her chests, only threads, threads, and more threads. The golden ones had already been sent off to Raikama—Zairena had made a show of wrapping the box and had talked about nothing else for days—but there was a bottle of the golden dye left.
I held it up. The colorwasluminous, but that didn’t change my mind about Raikama. My stepmother might spend her days at the embroidery frame, but she had about as much passion for sewing as I did for snakes.
Carefully, I twisted open the bottle’s stopper and sniffed. The smell was pungent, like concentrated ink with a strong dose of bitter tea. No trace of sweetness. I ripped a page from my writing book and smeared some on the paper.
If it’s poison, it will turn black soon enough,I told Kiki.But heating it can speed up the process—like cooking.
I raised the page to a candle and waited. The dye dried and glistened, becoming smooth and only more golden. Not black.
Not poison?Kiki asked.
