She turned and went.
The scriptorium was a quiet room behind the main dispensary hall with access to the physician’s library. She’d spent many hours there, copying herbal formulas and transcribing physician notes into the master ledgers. If there were more books on purple limyerite to be found, itshouldbe here.
The scent of old paper, dried roots, and ink welcomed her. Her gaze swept the shelves. She moved quickly, fingers trailing over cracked spines and faded labels until she reached the spot where she thought she’d seen more books on the subject.
Not there.
She was still sifting through the tomes when footsteps sounded behind her. She turned. Wu Ma entered first, Feng followed. They looked just as she remembered, yet entirelydifferent—older, wearier, but somehow smaller too, as if the months without her had weighed heavily on them.
Wu Ma paused just inside the threshold. Her breath caught audibly. “Ah-Yi? Is that . . . you?”
Warmth gripped her chest. The name left her lips in a whisper. “Wu Ma.”
The older woman surged forward before decorum could catch her, gathering JingYi into a fierce embrace. Those hands, still gnarled and calloused with years of work, cupped her cheeks with a touch she’d known all her life.
“Why are you still too thin?” she muttered. “Didn’t they feed you in that foreign castle?”
Behind her, Feng hesitated only a moment longer before she rushed in, too, throwing her arms around them both. “You came back,” she breathed. “You really came back!”
JingYi couldn’t speak—throat tight, heart full. The three of them stood tangled in a knot of memory and longing. For a breathless moment, there were no titles between them, only the echo of shared years, steeped into these herb-steeped walls.
Suddenly remembering protocol, Wu Ma pulled back and tugged Feng with her. Together, they rushed to their knees and pressed their forehead to the floor.
“May a thousand years of peace grace High Princess Xûen JingYi,” they greeted.
JingYi rushed forward and grasped their arms, urging them to rise. “No, please. You never need to kneel to me. Not you two.”
Wu Ma looked up, torn between protocol and affection. “But . . . Your Highness?—”
“Please,” JingYi said, softer now. “It’sme.”
That broke whatever spell the court robes had cast. Wu Ma hesitated, then hurried to rise. Feng followed, eyes shining with unshed tears, hands trembling as she smoothed her skirt.
“I’m sorry,” the girl murmured. “It’s just . . . you’re so different now. And yet . . . stillyou.”
JingYi gave a wobbly smile. “Come. Let’s sit.”
She led them to the low table pushed against the far wall, its surface still cluttered with ink pots and rolled up scrolls.
“I’ve always dreamed,” Wu Ma said, clutching her hand, “of seeing you dressed like this. The way youshouldbe.” She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “If only your mother could see you now.”
JingYi’s smile held, though it felt stiff at the corners. She acknowledged the pain, then let it go.
“She wouldn’t have approved, not even now,” she said. “She would’ve said these clothes were too good for me. That I was being presumptuous. Unworthy.”
She looked from her clasped hands to their waiting faces, and her voice softened, turning from memory to the present. “But you are here.Yousee me. That is enough.”
Wu Ma’s hand lingered over JingYi’s wrist, her touch a bridge between the girl she’d raised and the woman she’d become. “Your mother . . . she was a bird with two broken wings. She forgot how to sing, and in her pain, she pecked at the only chick in the nest.”
Then, her voice softened, but JingYi heard the pure, undiluted protectiveness. “Your husband. Did he . . . treat you well?”
The question was simple, but she recognized the strain behind it. The way Wu Ma’s mouth pressed together, hands clenched, as though bracing for the answer.
“He treated me well,” she said. “But he bore the weight of a noble House. I was not what was best for him, and his people.”
Feng’s expression darkened. “Then he’s more fool than we thought,” she muttered, “to let go of the only good thing that ever came out of this palace.”
Wu Ma let out an indignant sniff. “I’ve never trusted wolves. Too proud. Too quick to posture. Still, I never thought he would let you go without a word.”