The Girl King (The Girl King #1)(63)

Min blinked. He really was serving her tea.

But what kind? This time Min wasn’t sure whether the thought came from the shamaness, or from herself.

Brother poured the liquid from the gaiwan into a matching white cup, which he placed before her. Min stared down into its limpid, vaguely pink contents. He had been meticulous in straining the tea; no dregs had escaped into the cup.

“What is . . .” she searched for a more courteous way to phrase the question, but found none. “What is it?”

“My own blend of herbs. Some foreign. Nothing harmful, I assure you.”

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Of course not.”

“Of course not,” mimicked the shamaness.

I should tell him about her, Min thought. Did he know the shamaness was still in her? Was she truly there? How was anyone to know? She was the only one who could hear the voice. Perhaps she was losing her mind.

That thought frightened her more than she could say. Even if she did tell Brother, could he do anything about it? There was no telling what he might do: try to remove the thing or lock her away in a sickroom. In either case, she’d never reach Yunis, never grant Set his deepest wish—

“You don’t need to drink it,” he said. She started; she had forgotten about the tea. “You needn’t do anything that frightens you, Princess.”

She nodded, still staring down at the tea. And realized, too late, Not princess. Empress. But the moment to correct his mistake had already passed. Silence stretched between them.

A strand of hair slipped free into her face. Min made to push it back up, then jumped when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye—only to realize there was a mirror propped in the corner. What she had taken for a threat was just her own reflection.

Stupid. What was there even to fear? You’re safe here.

She looked at the mirror, at the girl on the other side of the glass. A pale creature, vague in aspect, shrunken in stature. Her robes were new and a bit too large, making her look even smaller, younger. She shifted under the scrutiny of her own reflected gaze. There was something repulsed, almost contemptuous in the way it looked back at her. Was that the shamaness she was seeing? Was she there in the hate in Min’s own eyes?

“Princess?” Brother broke the overlong silence.

Empress, Min thought again. Without answering him, she lifted the cup he’d set before her and drank the tea down.

It burned. Her eyes fluttered open in alarm—he’d poisoned her, after all! She coughed wildly . . .

Then—no. The tea was simply hot. She hadn’t given it long enough to cool.

With as much composure as she could muster, Min rested the cup back on the table.

“What—what is it meant to do?” she asked.

“It will relax your conscious mind, freeing your unconscious to act in its full power.”

Min nodded as though what he was saying made sense to her.

“It will take some time for it to take effect. In the meantime, let us start with what you’ve already accomplished,” Brother said, laying a ledger and ink out on the table before them. He dipped a brush into the ink. “Now, when did you first begin to sense your power, what did you first notice? Please be specific.”

“There was a dream,” Min began. Her throat felt tight. Was she breathing correctly? Her lungs felt sluggish, as though they’d forgotten their purpose.

“A dream?” he prompted when she didn’t continue.

“Yes. A red dream . . . and white . . .” Min squinted across the table at him. She ought to meet his eyes, she thought vaguely. It was hard to focus, though, in the dim light. The candle resting on the table between them flickered, and she felt the sensation against her skin like fingers.

There was movement on the ceiling, directly above her. She whipped her head up to track it. Just the mirror, stupid. Remember how you saw your reflection in the mirror—only the mirror was on the wall, of course. The ceiling looked ordinary: dark wood beams, unadorned. Low. The beams undulated in sympathy with the dancing candlelight—

“Princess?” Brother whispered, far away.

Empress, she thought as her eyes, so heavy, like stones, slipped closed.

Some instinct in her called out for familiarity—she wanted safety. She wanted her mother? Was that what she wanted?

Find her, she told herself. Find Set, another voice murmured. I’ve found them, the shamaness broke in, her voice a singsong. Your mother, your husband . . .

Min groped for them, like reaching out in the darkness.

They were walking side by side down a dank, narrow hallway, following an armed guard. It was dark; the walls were stone. She could feel cold radiating from them. They were underground, she could feel the pressure of packed earth all around them. Min squinted and saw bars. They were in the dungeons.

A new face swam into view. Pale and furious. For a moment, Min thought it was the shamaness, but her stomach clenched when she realized the truth.

Hyacinth.

The nuna’s hair was in disarray, her yellow robes dingy and streaked with dirt and—

Gods, Min thought. Was that blood?

“Are these Lu’s handmaidens?” Set asked, stopping short. “I’d like to question them myself. They may know Lu’s plans.”

Her mother shook her head. “They don’t know anything—”