Then the palsy touched her throat and lungs and stole her song as well.
If she hadn't had Tycho, she might have given up then. Veseene couldn't remember when he had stopped being her apprentice and become her friend. Tycho had brought her back to Spandeliyon when all else had failed. He earned enough for them to limp along. He had found Sephera and the tea that had brought some dignity back into her life.
Veseene clenched her fingers into gnarled fists. She didn't know what he or Li had done to rouse Brin's anger, but she wasn't about to let the mad halfling take him so easily!
The tea box burning in the fireplace popped and crackled suddenly. Veseene smiled grimly to herself. She didn't know if the burning had been a deliberate act or if the box had simply been a handy target, but she did know that there was little in dockside that didn't come to Brin's attention sooner or later. He most likely knew about Sephera and possibly about her special tea as well. Fortunately, he didn't know what box she kept it in. She shifted aside and dug between the blankets on the couch, past the knife Brin had rightly guessed was there, and pulled out a pouch. Still in the fine linen with which Sephera had wrapped it, her wasp venom tea made a comforting bulk within. The only thing Brin had burned was Tycho's very ordinary tea.
She set the pouch on the table and rose once more. This time she went to the shuttered windows. Rags and scraps had been stuffed into the cracks in the shutters in an attempt to keep out the winter wind. Veseene picked a bit of red wool out of a big knothole and put her eye to the hole. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the darkness outside, but she saw exactly what she had expected to see. There was a man, not one of the neighbors, lingering in a doorway across the street. If she tried to leave and warn Tycho before Brin found him, she would be seen.
There might be another way.
Veseene went to the cupboard, fetched herself a cup, and opened the linen package of tea. With shaking hands, she measured out one dose. Then another. And another. The blazing fire had the kettle already boiling. Veseene wrapped her hands in rags, swung the kettle off the fire, and heaved it off the hook. The effort left her gasping and she had to rest before she could pour the hot water into her cup. The acrid smell of the tea stung her eyes as it always did-and worse for being triple strength.
Sephera had given her careful instructions on the taking of the tea. A single spoonful of the crumbled mixture, steeped, in the morning, at midday, and in the evening. More than that was dangerous. A single dose would ease her palsy for a time; stronger doses might suppress it but at the cost of cutting the effectiveness of weaker brews later.
That seemed like a small enough price now.
Veseene waited only until the triple-strength tea had grown dark red-like water-thin blood-and bitter before snatching up the cup and sipping at it. The tea was hot. The touch of it scalded her tongue. She kept drinking as fast as she could, though, blowing across the surface of the liquid between sips. The scalded feeling spread across her tongue, but the warmth spread in her belly and throat as well. Before she had drained the cup to the granular mash at its bottom, the warmth had worked its way into her limbs and head, too. It settled there, like sharp fire. The cup didn't rattle against the tabletop when she set it down. Veseene held out a hand before her eyes.
It didn't move. Her ears were ringing. The light of the fire seemed especially bright, as if her pupils were wide after being too long in the dark. Veseene drew a deep breath and, for the first time in three years, sang. Truly sang.
The music was glorious, an explosion of joy from the core of her being-then magic swept over her as well, like an old lover come back. Veseene shivered at its touch and let the moment draw out. How long had it been? Too long. It couldn't last though.
The spell wasn't a powerful one. It needed guidance, a destination. She had told Brin she didn't know where Tycho was. That was the truth. She did, however, know her friend and one-time apprentice too well. If tonight was anything like most of Tycho's nights, she could guess where he would be. Eventually. The spell would wait for him. Veseene wove its magic into her song, shaping it and releasing it in a glorious burst. The shutters on the window knocked together as it passed through them like a gust of wind.
Her song faltered. Weakness surged over her and she grabbed at the table for support, swaying for a moment before easing herself around to her couch. The ringing in her ears was becoming a blinding headache. Sephera had never mentioned that the tea might do that! Veseene lay back, eyes squeezed tight against the glare of the fire and prayed to Mystra, goddess of magic, that her guess had been right and Tycho heard her warning.
CHAPTER 8
The sun shone bright in a clear, pale sky. In the small formal garden of the family compound, Kuang Yu Chien's beaming face was almost as bright.
"Yu Mao," he said.
Li watched his brother step forward, stiff and dignified, trying his best to imitate their elders. Heir to the workshops and fortune of Kuang, how could he do any less? Li tried his best to remain calm himself. It wasn't easy with a feeling like a hundred bees buzzing through his belly. In two years he would stand where Yu Mao did now. For the second son of Kuang, he knew, the ceremony would be less impressive, but what did that matter at a moment like this?
Yu Mao bowed low before their father, holding himself in the submissive posture for exactly the length of time that propriety demanded, no more, no less. Li could have counted the time, too-he had watched Yu Mao practicing for hours. There was so much that the future head of the family needed to know, so many small details of etiquette, so many little rituals. Some day Yu Mao would be one of the most important men of Keelung, negotiating with traders and Imperial officials for the fine fabric of the silk families. Inscrutable, unflappable. Li had stood behind Yu Mao and peered through a screen watching Yu Chien negotiate, and on those occasions, their father was like some kind of wondrous automaton, flawless in his self-control.
Not today. The only rain of the fine summer afternoon stood out on Yu Chien's cheeks. Even so, his voice was strong and easy. "Blessings upon you, my son."
"Blessings on you, honored father." Yu Mao's voice was already deep. The formal words of the ceremony rolled out of him like cartwheels. "May your years be as numerous as leaves on a tree. May each of them give you memories as sweet as a peach."
"Leaves fall in winter and new buds come forth each spring. Every peach must ripen. Every boy must grow into a man." Yu Chien's smile quivered slightly with emotion as, for the first time, he bowed to Yu Mao. It was really little more than a nod, Li knew, but it might just as well have been the humblest abasement. "Mayjyowryears be as numerous as leaves on a tree. May each of them give you memories as sweet as a peach." Yu Chien straightened. "Now, my son, take up the tools of a man."
He tapped his thumb and second finger together. To the left of his chair and standing beside Mother, Great-Aunt Ya made a more vigorous gesture and from behind a screen of bamboo stepped Cousin Mei, dressed all in red. Li caught his breath. She looked beautiful, more than a suitable match for the next patriarch of the Kuang. Yu Mao, however, seemed more interested in the red-stained case that she carried. Mei knelt before him and opened it. Resting on silk within was the most beautiful pair of butterfly swords Li had ever seen-easily as beautiful as Cousin Mei. They were adult weapons, heavier and much keener than a child's training blades. Yu Mao removed them carefully, inspected them, and bowed twice-once to his future wife and once, more deeply, to his father. "I will make the ancestors of Kuang proud," he promised. He bowed again and sunlight flashed on the butterfly swords…