by Resa Nelson
Maybe Madam has found Njall. Or has learned what became of him.
When TeaTree left eight months ago to travel throughout the Wulong Province, he had high hopes of either finding Njall or hearing word of his presence. TeaTree imagined trading in a small village, asking if anyone knew of a Northlander lost in the province, and then hearing tales from people who had seen such a man wandering from town to town or working the crops of a nearby village.
Nothing like that had ever happened.
If Njall ever left Zangcheen, he was kept under wraps. There’s no evidence that anyone outside of Zangcheen knows Njall exists.
TeaTree thought of all the pretty things he could say to the empress to convince her to grant permission for him to speak to Madam Po. He needed to let Madam Po know that his expedition to find Njall had failed in a most miserable way.
And, if the dragon gods grace us, maybe Madam Po has heard of Njall’s presence in Zangcheen. If she has heard word of him, I can search the city for Njall. Maybe there’s still a chance to find him.
At the same time, TeaTree knew that he would have to tell Madam Po what he had learned on the last leg of his journey. He’d chosen to travel through the province in a methodical way, crossing back and forth across the province so that he would visit the most populated areas first and leave the sparsely populated villages of the outermost regions for last. TeaTree correctly guessed that no one in the outermost regions had ever heard of Northlanders, much less seen one.
What he learned instead troubled him just as much as Njall’s disappearance.
The reports he’d heard from almost every village in the outermost region chilled him to the bone every time he thought of them.
Who would steal newborns? Why would anyone do such a thing?
Sometimes TeaTree wondered if living with a woman blessed by portents had somehow rubbed off on him. He’d never experienced a portent in his life. Madam Po’s portents came to her when she dreamed, and she’d told him that her dead husband first visited her and then revealed a portent to her. Frayka’s portents worked differently—the portent came to her in the day, swept her spirit away to a different realm where the portent was shown to her, and then Frayka returned to her body with that knowledge intact.
TeaTree never had prophetic dreams or daytime visions.
But he did get a peculiar feeling from time to time that often acted like a warning.
The peculiar feeling he’d had ever since learning about the missing newborns told him to keep that information to himself and share it only with Madam Po.
By late afternoon, he arrived in Zangcheen and headed for Madam Po’s house. Finding it empty, TeaTree quizzed neighbors who hadn’t seen Madam Po in months. Under normal circumstances, TeaTree would have opted for a good night’s sleep in his own room in the house where he lived with Madam Po. But a sense of unease nagged at him. That same peculiar feeling that told him to keep quiet about what he’d learned during his travels now urged him to continue into the royal complex.
Before boarding his cart again, TeaTree fed an apple to the donkey leading it and patted its neck. “Just a bit farther and then we can rest.”
When he drove his cart to the gates of the royal complex, the guards didn’t hesitate to let TeaTree enter. After guiding the cart through intricate alleys inside the complex, TeaTree parked it within a courtyard made of inlaid bricks inside the confines of the palace. Potted evergreen trees lined the courtyard, filling the air with their fresh scent. The red tiled roof of the palace extended to cover the walkway that hugged its exterior walls. A lush expanse of grass covered the ground between the courtyard and the walkway, also lined with potted trees.
By the time he’d selected the finest outfit from his cart, the empress Ti crossed the yard to meet him.
“TeaTree,” the empress said. “I’m surprised the guards of the royal complex let you in.”
Something in her tone made TeaTree’s spine prickle. The peculiar feeling he’d been experiencing nudged him, reminding him to stay silent. Noting it, he beamed at the empress. At the same time, he noticed her fresh and pleasant smell. He’d been gone from Zangcheen so long that he’d forgotten how much more often city people—and especially royalty—bathed. He hoped his own road-weary clothes didn’t smell too ripe.
“It’s been a long time since you banned me,” TeaTree said. “I don’t know what I did to offend you, but I combed the entire province on your behalf, my empress. I want to make amends, and my travels were fruitful. I’ve found some lovely treasures for you.”
Empress Ti stared at him for a long moment. “Then maybe I’ll forgive you. Show me what you found.”
TeaTree noticed that the empress met him alone, which he found odd. First, he displayed the outfit he’d pulled from the cart. “This is my favorite. Call it an antique. It’s a gown made in the Midlands many decades ago. Notice the striking blue color of the linen, as bold and rich as the day it was dyed. Perfect for everyday wear. It had been given as a gift to a member of a family living in the city of Yanlan, but no one ever wore it. They opted to keep it as an investment, and the time finally arrived when they needed to cash in on that investment.”
The empress took the gown from TeaTree and held its shoulders up against her own. The hem fell into folds at her feet. “It’s too long.”
“Easy enough to fix,” TeaTree said. He knelt and marked where the gown needed to be hemmed. Standing again, he took the gown, folded it gently, and placed it on the bench in the cart. While rummaging through the back of the cart for the next item, he said, “I’m surprised to see no royal guards with you.”
“Good,” the empress said. “You aren’t meant to see them.”
Puzzled, TeaTree displayed the next item. “I also recommend this for daily wear. Note that while the pants and shirt are the common style of Zangcheen, you will be the only one to wear this fashion in purple silk. While everyone in the city is dressed in black or white, you alone will wear this color.” He handed the outfit to the empress’s waiting hands.
Once more she held up the shoulders of the shirt to her own shoulders, satisfied with the way it hung below her waist. When she held the pants up to her waist, the length appeared perfect. “These will do nicely,” she said. The empress then shouted, “Jojen!”
Startled, TeaTree saw a royal guard step from behind a tree by the walkway outside the palace walls. The guard jogged to the side of the empress and bowed to her.
“I need men to take everything TeaTree brought for me. He’s putting aside clothes for alterations—they’ll go to my chambers. Have everything taken to my dressing room at once.”
“Yes, my empress,” Jojen said. He gave a brief whistle, and other guards emerged from behind the trees by the walkway.
For as long as TeaTree could remember, royal guards had an evident presence in the complex.
Since when did the guards start hiding? Especially within the confines of the palace?
Not wanting to offend, TeaTree gave careful thought to the question he felt compelled to ask. “My empress. Have there been troubles since I left?” With the intent of making his question appear casual, TeaTree turned his attention to the cloths and took his time selecting the next outfit.
“Women need greater protection than men,” the empress said. She pressed her lips together until they looked as thin as paper.
No one needed to remind TeaTree of that fact. Eight months ago, one of Madam Po’s neighbors had failed to mourn the death of her husband in the way deemed appropriate by the law. That neighbor had been boiled alive as punishment hours after her husband’s funeral march.
TeaTree’s thoughts turned to Frayka. He needed to find out if she’d returned to Zangcheen. For all he knew, Frayka might be in the royal complex right now, possibly holed up with Madam Po.
He needed to find out where everyone was before he could decide what to do next in order to help them.
“Of course, my empress,” TeaTree said. “In the Far East, women always n
eed more protection than men.” He selected another outfit from his cart and displayed it by holding it up against his own body.
The empress ignored it. “In the Far East? Do you mean there are other places where women don’t need more protection?”
Her words saddened TeaTree, because he knew the world outside the Far East was a mystery to the young woman. “Yes, my empress. For example, your distant cousin Frayka was born in the Northlands.”
“Yes, I know that,” the empress said. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
“The Northlands—and the Midlands and Southlands to a lesser extent—considered women as valuable as men. Frayka is revered in her homeland not only as a woman of portents but a fine warrior, as well.”
The empress nodded her approval of the new outfit, took it from TeaTree, and handed it to a guard standing at the head of a line of guards. She gestured for TeaTree to display more of the new clothing. “A warrior? Does that mean she knows how to fight men and not just dragons? Does she fight like Madam Po?”
“No. The Northlanders fight with weapons like daggers and swords. It’s a different way of fighting.” TeaTree picked outfit after outfit, all approved by the empress and then handed off to guards, who took them into the palace. TeaTree took the opportunity to slip in a suggestion that might give him an answer he needed. “I imagine Frayka would be more than happy to show you how she fights. If you need me to interpret, I’m always happy to do so.”
Focused on the clothing, the empress gave little thought to her words. “Frayka went to rescue a mountain girl from a serpent dragon.”
So that part of the rumor is true. If the empress knows about it, that means she must be the one who sent Frayka on that quest.
TeaTree thought carefully about how to proceed. “Did Frayka do well?”
The empress snapped her attention so quickly to TeaTree that he thought he heard her neck pop. The intensity in her eyes troubled him.
“Do well?” the empress said. “Why do you want to know that?”
“Frayka is the great-granddaughter of Madam Po. That makes Frayka my friend. My hope is that my friend still lives.”
The empress kept her intense stare focused on TeaTree as if he were prey. “No one knows. Frayka didn’t come back.”
The hair on the back of TeaTree’s neck prickled. He’d known Ti only in passing when she was the Imperial Daughter. Now that she’d become empress, her manner troubled him. Where she’d once been intent on spending time with her father, Ti now reminded TeaTree of a cornered animal, tense and ready to lash out. The empress’s behavior was subtler than that of an animal, but TeaTree sensed something in her every movement that put him on edge.
Something is wrong. I don’t know what it is, but something is definitely wrong.
More than ever, TeaTree proceeded with caution, suspecting that one misstep could put his safety at risk.
“It saddens me that Frayka failed to return,” TeaTree said. “Do you think she’s alright?”
The empress answered with a shrug.
TeaTree considered his next question carefully before asking it. “Since it’s impossible for me to see my friend Frayka, may I request permission to see my friend Madam Po instead?” He gestured to his cart, now empty of all the outfits he’d brought but still bearing several bolts of cloth. “These can be stored for a future date when we can discuss new clothing I can make especially for my empress.”
Instead of acknowledging his suggestion, the empress called, “Jojen!”
Returning from the palace where he supervised the guards who bore arms full of new clothing for the empress, Jojen ran to her side.
The empress pointed at the bolts of cloth on the cart. “Have your men store these in my fitting room.” She gestured to TeaTree. “And then escort the merchant to Madam Po’s room.”
Although Jojen gaped in surprise, he showed the good sense to close his jaw before ordering his men to clear the cart. He then escorted TeaTree into the palace.
While he followed Jojen through the maze of hallways, TeaTree studied the guard’s face and posture. TeaTree also knew Jojen from many years of providing clothing to the members of the royal family. In the past, Jojen’s manner had been appropriately formal, but the guard served his duty with ease and good humor. For the first time, Jojen’s face tensed and he kept his jaw clenched. Unlike his normal effortless stride, Jojen now walked with a stiff and unnatural gait.
Once certain no one could overhear him, TeaTree said, “Jojen, my friend. You look troubled. Is everything as it should be?”
When Jojen glanced at TeaTree, his eyes glazed with dread. Although the guard failed to answer, TeaTree detected Jojen give the slightest shake of his head.
Something has gone wrong. And the most trusted royal guard is too afraid to talk about it.
Moments later, Jojen unlocked the door to Madam Po’s room.
When TeaTree entered the room, he heard the click of that door, locking him inside.
CHAPTER 6
While Wendill chopped down the tree that had lost its bark after being destroyed by the storm, Frayka returned to her quarters with the handful of bark he’d given to her. Following his suggestion, she made tea from that bark and found that it settled her distress over the tree’s demise.
Sipping her tea, she thought about how she’d wept.
I saw myself in the tree. I feel as battered as last night’s storm left that tree. My portents were stripped away from me, and they won’t return. My husband, my GranGran, my ally in TeaTree—they’ve all been stripped away, too.
All I have is me.
And my unborn child.
Frayka reconsidered.
And a dragon god.
Frayka remembered that the slopes surrounding Wendill’s garden were full of fruit trees. Although most of them had been thrashed by the storm, all but one had survived. Most had a few broken limbs, but Wendill had tended to that damage.
Frayka took another sip of tea and let it warm her. The taste felt tangy at the back of her tongue and slightly sweet.
He tended to my damage, too.
Frayka thought back to the life she’d known in the Land of Ice. Without realizing it, Frayka had assumed she’d spend her entire life in the settlement of Blackstone. Even when the All-Father had ordered her to find the dragon gods of the Far East and resolve their differences with the Northlander gods, Frayka had given little thought to how long it might take or the cost to her.
For a moment it angered her.
How dare the Northlander gods make my life so difficult? Why did I have to be the one they saddled with such demands?
But Frayka already knew the answer. Frayka was the only Northlander who looked like a Far Easterner. And the Northlander gods blamed the Far East and its dragon gods for stealing away the people who used to worship the Northlander gods. Frayka happened to be the most obvious choice.
It troubled Frayka that her life spun so far out of control. If not for the Northlander gods, she’d be happy in her own home in Blackstone with Njall right now, happily awaiting the birth of their first child.
She took another sip of tea.
My life is in the hands of the gods—Northlander and dragon alike. I can’t control what they’re going to do with my life. But I can control what I do with it right now.
And right now, I want to go back to the garden and help Wendill.
Frayka picked up a small torch and lit it from the hearth fire. She ventured back into the burrows leading to the garden.
The long walk through the burrows had become a time that Frayka enjoyed. She liked the quiet of the burrows and the safe feeling she had inside them. Frayka liked the way she could hear her own breath. She liked the soft sound of her footsteps against the earthen floor. She liked the way the temperature always felt just right—neither too warm nor too cool.
At the edge of the light cast by her torch, Frayka noticed something move. Coming to an abrupt stop, she extended the torch in the direction
of the movement.
She squinted, thinking she saw a worm crawl out of the ground. But when Frayka looked closer, the movement appeared too stiff and rigid to be made by any animal. She walked toward it until realizing what she saw.
A twig crawled out of the ground, followed by others around it. Like insects, they poked through the dirt surface and wriggled out to stretch alongside each other.
Dread overwhelmed Frayka so much that she wanted to turn around and run back to the safety of Wendill’s house. But her curiosity became stronger than her fear.
Stick after stick emerged from the ground. They wove themselves together until all the wooden bits took the form of one woman standing in Frayka’s path. Although the woman made of twigs had no mouth, her soft voice filled the burrow. “You’ve lost your way.”
Startled, Frayka responded in her own defense. “I know these burrows as well as Wendill. I know where I am. I know where I’m going.” Confused and suspicious, she added, “What do you want?”
The twig woman swayed on her feet. “Any portents would only confuse you right now.”
Startled that the twig woman knew about the portents Frayka used to have, she remembered that she held a torch. If need be, it would be easy to protect herself by setting the twig woman on fire. Deciding to take charge, Frayka said, “What do you know about the portents?”
“Let them go,” the twig woman said. “Find your own way without them.”
An inexplicable wind gushed through the burrows and extinguished Frayka’s torch.
In a panic, Frayka pulled the flint from the pouch she wore on her belt and struck it until its spark re-lit the torch.
But by the time the fire burned bright again, it illuminated nothing more than dozens of small holes in the ground.
CHAPTER 7
“Madam Po!” TeaTree said when he saw his friend confined in a small room inside the palace. “Nu shi!” When he hurried toward her, the old woman held a quieting finger against her lips.
Using the little bit of Northlander she could speak, Madam Po said, “Walls hear.”
