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“Revive yourselves,” I told the carrots.
They grew fatter, and their color—leached white by age—brightened into purple and orange. Silver-gold strings of magic wove my spell in place, and I turned next to the radishes and potatoes and cabbage to inspirit them too. By the time I finished, the water was boiling.
I’d made fish soup so many times I could do all the steps without thinking. I’d made it for my brothers when they were sick, for Takkan when he’d been injured, for the fishermen at Sparrow Inn when I’d been forced to work there. Not once had I made it for myself.
I was mindful of every carrot I peeled, every bean curd I sliced, every radish I boiled—and in my pot, I conjured a taste of happier times, when I was just a girl standing on her tiptoes to watch her mother cook. The smell brought a fierce ache to my heart, and for a moment, I was the old Shiori again. Running across the gardens with stolen kites, jumping into puddles, and arriving at my lessons late, charming and aggravating everyone I knew. I was a girl without secrets, without shadows invading her dreams. A girl who didn’t have to wonder whether home would ever feel like home again.
How I missed that girl.
I was so engrossed in my work that I didn’t hear the door groan open.
“You’re a hard one to track, Shiori. If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re avoiding me.”
My breath hitched.
As Takkan let himself into the kitchen, I let go of my ladle.
Had he seen me dart out of Qinnia’s apartments earlier? Or had my brothers sent him? Had they told him of my vision?
Unaware of the tempest he’d ignited in my thoughts, Takkan spoke: “The messengers said you didn’t read my invitations to lunch. Or tea—or dinner.”
Those snitches. They used to be on my side.
“I’ve been busy. I’ve hardly had a moment to myself until now.”
“Oh…” Takkan blinked away his confusion and raked a hand through his dark hair. “Should I leave?”
Yes, my mind said. “No,” my treacherous lips uttered instead. I wanted to smack my face with the ladle.
But Takkan’s eyes softened, and relief eased the deep crease of his brow. “I looked for you. I had a feeling I might find you in a kitchen.” He leaned over my pot and brightened at the smell. “Making fish soup again?”
I almost laughed at how hopeful he looked. “It’s not for drinking,” I said, fishing out my ladle. “See?”
With a breath, I broke my concentration and released the strings of magic I’d been holding. The carrots turned gray, the potatoes sprouted again, and the fish head floated to the top.
Takkan stared.
“I was practicing magic,” I explained, wrinkling my nose at the spoiled soup. “My skills are rusty. Making radishes fresh again isn’t much, but it’s a start….”
My voice trailed. I needed more than a start to go up against Bandur. The vision of Takkan bleeding to death bubbled to my memory, and my throat closed.
“I should go to my chambers,” I said, exaggerating a yawn. “Magic always makes me sleepy.”
“It’s only sundown. You’re not having dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” I lied, three words I had never said before in my life.
Takkan cocked his head with suspicion, and it didn’t help that my stomach gave an incriminating growl.
“What’s going on, Shiori? Will you look at me?”
“I need to get back,” I mumbled. “Wandei’s been in his workshop all day, and I should check on him—”
“Wandei’s the one who told me to find you,” Takkan replied. “He and Yotan said you might be like this.”
“Like…like what?” I stammered.
“Avoiding me. They wouldn’t say why.”
