Each time, I brought different snacks for us to share, but he always liked the rice cakes best, especially the ones with chunks of peach inside, which were my favorite, too.
Today he had presented me with a bouquet of wilted peonies in return.
“Are you trying to woo me or insult me?” I asked dryly, refusing to take them. “You know Kiatans are superstitious about death.”
“A senseless superstition,” he dismissed. “These are for your lesson. Few can bring paper birds to life. I suspect you have a talent for inspiritation.”
“Inspiritation?”
“You can imbue things with bits of your soul. It’s almost like resurrection, but not quite so powerful. You won’t be bringing corpses back to life. Or ghosts, for that matter. But you could probably get a wooden chair to dance on its legs, or revive a few wilted flowers—if you so desired.”
He pressed the peonies into my hand. “Go on, try.”
I can imbue things with bits of my soul, I repeated to myself. What was that even supposed to mean?
“Bloom,” I told the flowers. Nothing happened. The stems crumbled in my palms, dried petals drifting to the ground.
Seryu chewed on a stalk of grass. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Inspiritation, Shiori. Don’t talk to the flower as if you’re an undertaker. Think of something happy. Like chasing after whales or winning an argument against a tortoise.”
We clearly had different ideas of happiness. Feeling silly, I searched my memories, skimming over sugared animals and kites, paper birds and snow-dusted cranes, before landing on my favorite memory: cooking with my mother. I used to sit on her lap in the kitchen and listen to her sing, her throat humming against the back of my head as we peeled oranges together and mashed soft red beans into a paste for dessert.
“Find the light that makes your lantern shine,” she used to say. “Hold on to it, even when the dark surrounds you. Not even the strongest wind will blow out the flame.”
“Bloom,” I said again.
Slowly, before my eyes, the wilted peonies trembled with a raw, silvery-gold light. Then crisp new leaves sprouted from the stalk, plump and green. The flowers opened, their petals bright as coral.
My pulse thundered in my head, adrenaline pumping as if I’d just swum a race across the lake—and won.
“A bit of a cheat, using your voice, but they’ll train it out of you if you go to enchanter school.”
“I’m not going to enchanter school,” I said, the bitterness in my words surprising even me. How could I go? Wondering whether Father would actually exile me—or have me executed—if he found out about my abilities had kept me up more nights than I wished to admit.
“Then I’ll teach you,” Seryu said. “I may only be seventeen dragon years, but I know more than the oldest enchanters in Lor’yan.”
“Really.”
“I do!” He glared at my skepticism. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to study with an enchanter. They’re all fixated on taking the emotion out of magic. They think it corrupts. But you liked how it felt, seeing the flowers come to life, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Yes was an understatement. My heart was still pounding in my ears, so fast I could hardly hear myself breathe. “Should I not have?”
“That depends on what you’re trying to accomplish.” Seryu gazed at my peonies, his red eyes unusually pensive. “Magic has many threads. The same enchantment cast with joy will have an entirely different result when cast with sorrow, or anger—or fear. Something to be wary of, especially with powers like yours.”
“Powers like mine?” I laughed, making light of his seriousness. “Like making dead flowers bloom again, and bringing paper birds to life?”
“That’s only the beginning. Your magic is wild, Shiori. One day, it will be dangerous.”
“Dangerous,” I mused. “Why, Seryu, you almost sound as if you’re afraid of me.”
“Afraid of you?” He scoffed, and with a whoosh of his arm, he summoned a tidal wave so high it dwarfed the trees around us. Then the wave fell, slamming into the lake—and drenching my robes.
“Seryu!” I shrieked.
He didn’t apologize. “You’d do well to remember that I am a dragon, the grandson of a god,” he growled before leaping back into the lake. “I’m not afraid of anything, least of all you.”
I’m not afraid of anything. How often I had uttered the same words. But they were always a lie, and I had a feeling Seryu was lying, too.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Where have you been?” asked Raikama when I returned to work on my tapestry. “Late for the third day. Even for you, Shiori, this is unusual. I expect you to be more diligent about your work.”
“Yes, Stepmother,” I mumbled.
My tapestry was nearly complete, almost ready to be sent to Castle Bushian. I couldn’t wait to be finished with it and have my days free again.
Except when I sat at my embroidery frame, I discovered my progress from this week had been undone. I gasped. “What—”
“Your lines were crooked,” Raikama said, “and you missed a stroke on Bushi’an Takkan’s name. Best to redo it all rather than risk offending his family again.”
I gritted my teeth, anger boiling inside me.
Calm, I reminded myself, exhaling. Calm.
At this rate, I’d have to finish my tapestry at Castle Bushian. I let out a groan. If only I could enchant my needle to sew without me.
Well, why not?
“Awaken,” I whispered to my needle. “Help me sew.”
To my astonishment, the needle fumbled to life, awkwardly dipping in and out of the silk. Then, as I gained faith in its enchantment, it started to dance across the frame in a symphony of stitches. I added three more needles to speed up the pace while I sewed too, keeping my back to Raikama so she wouldn’t see.
All week we worked, until at last the tapestry—a scene of cranes and plum blossoms against the full moon—was finished. Once we were done, I gathered the needles in my palm.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Your work is complete.”
The needles fell lifeless, and a sudden lethargy stole over me. I fought it off, rising triumphantly from my embroidery frame to tell my stepmother I was finished.
For what felt a very long time, Raikama scanned my work, but she was unable to find fault with it. “It will do,” she allowed, though her eyebrows made a suspicious lift. “Once your father approves, I will ask the ministers to send it to Castle Bushian.”