Li Xiu's hands trembled as she held the small scrap of parchment under the moonlight. The words—jagged and black—seemed to sear themselves into her mind: "Next time, you will not wake up." A chill coiled around her heart. For a long moment, she forgot to breathe. The kitchen's night air was cool on her skin, but sweat dampened her brow. Her vision blurred with a haze of fear and anger as she stared at the threat. Was it real? Of course it was real—too real. The ache in her skull and the scorch marks still staining her apron were proof enough that someone had tried to kill her tonight. Now this note confirmed it beyond any doubt. They meant to finish the job.
Li Xiu closed her eyes, drawing in a slow, silent breath. She willed her racing pulse to steady. Calm... remember your training. An old voice echoed in her memory—her mentor's gentle admonition to never let panic cloud her judgment. It took all her will to fold the note with careful, deliberate movements, as though it were an ordinary slip of paper and not a dagger aimed at her throat. Her fingers felt icy, but her blood burned with quiet rage beneath the fear. Whoever had done this thought her an easy target. They thought she would be too frightened to act. Perhaps they even hoped she would foolishly cry for help, exposing her vulnerability.
But Li Xiu would not give them the satisfaction. She decided then and there that no one else must know of this threat. Not yet. Until she understood who among the palace staff—or nobility—wanted her dead, she could not risk revealing that she was aware of the danger. If she spoke a word of it, the culprit might simply slither away into hiding, or strike again before she could uncover them. And worse, if the wrong person learned she had this note, it could even hasten another attempt on her life.
Her heartbeat gradually slowed to a hard, determined rhythm. Keeping her movements quiet, Li Xiu reached for the small oil lamp on the counter beside her. Its weak flame cast flickering light across the empty scullery. Shadows danced on the stone walls as she held the note's edge to the flame. The parchment caught fire with a sudden flare, curling black. She dropped it onto a brass tray before it could singe her fingers, and watched as the threat was consumed by fire. A thin wisp of smoke trailed up, carrying away the words you will not wake up into the rafters. Li Xiu's jaw tightened. "We shall see," she whispered under her breath, voice quavering only slightly. She would wake up tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after—until she found who wrote those words.
When the last ember on the note died, Li Xiu ground the ashes to dust beneath her thumb. There would be no evidence left for prying eyes. Satisfied that the threat was her secret alone, she extinguished the lamp and slipped out of the scullery pantry where she had secluded herself. It was past midnight and the grand kitchen of the royal palace lay in darkness, emptied after the evening's chaos. Only the faint glow of banked coals in the hearth gave any light. The scents of smoke and spilled stew still hung in the air, reminders of how close she had come to never opening her eyes again.
Li Xiu paused in the doorway, letting her eyes adjust. The silence of the night was heavy, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl beyond the kitchen windows. She replayed the events of earlier that evening over and over in her mind: the sudden flash of light as the hearth fire flared out of control, the violent whoosh of flames racing up the chimney, the acrid smell of something wrong—some impurity that should not have been in the soup she'd been tending. Then the world had tilted. She remembered coughing, a burning in her lungs, the clatter of a pot hitting the floor. And then… nothing, until she awoke dizzy and prone on the cool tiles, surrounded by anxious faces of the kitchen staff.
She had survived by a stroke of luck—if one could call it luck. Perhaps the saboteur had misjudged the dose or the timing. Perhaps a providence greater than court politics had intervened. Regardless, the result was the same: she was still alive, and someone wanted her otherwise.
As she crept deeper into the dark kitchen, Li Xiu's eyes narrowed with resolve. She moved with practiced silence past long wooden tables and hanging copper pots. If someone had tampered with her ingredients or equipment, they might have left traces behind. And in the stillness of midnight, without the clatter of daytime activity, she could search more thoroughly. The other servants were asleep in their quarters, and the guards rarely patrolled the kitchens at this hour. She was alone with the ghosts of the evening's incident—and perhaps, if her intuition proved true, with the ghost of whoever orchestrated it.
Her gaze swept over the flagstones until she found the spot where the mishap occurred. The stones there were stained with a dark slick—soup or stew that had boiled over, now congealing in a sticky mess. Next to it were faint white granules, scattered like tiny stars in the dim light. Li Xiu knelt and carefully rubbed a bit of the residue between her fingertips. The grains had a crystalline texture. She brought her fingers to her nose and inhaled cautiously. A bitter, chemical scent tickled her senses—saltpeter? And something else… an underlying sweetness that made her tongue tingle even without tasting it. Her heart skipped. She recognized this combination.
Foxflower and niter. The realization struck her like a physical blow. Foxflower was an innocuous-looking herb that, when distilled, could create a potent fume to knock a person unconscious—or worse, if concentrated. Niter (saltpeter) could cause a sudden flare-up when thrown onto flame. Mixed together and added to a boiling pot, they would create exactly what happened: an unexpected explosion of flame and a toxic smoke capable of stealing the consciousness of anyone nearby. It was an old alchemical trick, one she had only seen in the most clandestine of recipe books. Few in the palace would know of such a thing.
Li Xiu's mouth went dry. It was almost a relief to confirm her suspicions that this was sabotage, not mere accident—yet it brought a new dread in its wake. Who could have gotten Foxflower extract? she thought, mind racing. The herb was rare, kept under lock in the apothecary stores due to its dangerous properties. Only she and the Master of Herbs should have access to it. Li Xiu recalled that she last saw the Master of Herbs, old Yun Ping, in the infirmary wing earlier that day, preparing tonics for the Queen's headache. Could he—? She immediately shook her head. Yun Ping had been a loyal servant for decades, practically raising three generations of royals on his potions. It was hard to imagine the kindly old man harboring murderous intent toward her. Besides, his hands trembled with age; he could barely measure a teaspoon of honey without spilling, let alone plot such a precise attack.
If not Yun Ping, then someone close to him… or someone who found a way to steal from his stores. Li Xiu gently placed the crystalline residue into a scrap of paper and tucked it into her sleeve. It was evidence—small, but perhaps useful. Every instinct in her blood told her this was the work of a poisoner or alchemist as skilled as herself. The thought made her shudder. Did the Queen's enemies have their own poisoner working against her? If so, this foe understood exactly how Li Xiu might be guarding the Queen—and sought to eliminate her first. It was a chilling notion: that somewhere in the palace, hidden behind a servant's smile or a courtier's silk sleeve, lurked another master of poisons.
Li Xiu rose to her feet, her legs a touch unsteady. The night suddenly felt deeper and more dangerous. She remembered how, after she had awoken, the faces around her blurred in a flurry—concerned voices offering water, a hand (whose hand was it?) helping her sit up. In the confusion, someone must have slipped the threatening note into her apron. It could have been any of them… the head chef Lo Ban, who hovered nervously at her side; Mei the young scullery maid with tears in her eyes; sturdy Ah Sim who had fanned her face with a rag; or Jiao, the quiet pantry-boy who had been tasked to fetch help. Each had been close enough to plant the note, but which of those faces had worn false sympathy?
She recalled how Lo Ban wrung his hands, fretting over the "accident" and apologizing profusely as if it were his fault. In hindsight, had he been overly anxious, watching her a bit too intently to see if she believed it was just an accident? Mei, on the other hand, fled the moment Li Xiu stood up, as though unable to bear the sight of her awake—why? Fear? Guilt? The pantry-boy Jiao had disappeared promptly, supposedly to get the physician, but she never actually saw that physician… Jiao returned alone a quarter hour later saying the doctor was on his way. That gap of time suddenly seemed suspicious. Any one of them might have been involved, or none. Li Xiu forced herself to breathe evenly again. Don't jump to conclusions without proof. She would have to watch them all, and others as well, come morning.
A faint scuffling sound jolted her from her thoughts. Li Xiu froze, straining her ears. From the corridor beyond the kitchen doors, she caught the barest hint of footsteps on stone. They were light—far lighter than the boots of the palace guards. A servant, perhaps, moving at this late hour? Her heart thudded. Had someone followed her here?
Quickly, Li Xiu ducked behind a heavy oak cupboard, pressing her back flat against it. The kitchen was almost completely dark now that her lamp was out, but moonbeams slanted through the high windows, striping the floor with silver. She waited, breath caught in her throat. The footsteps grew nearer, then halted just at the doorway. For a long moment, she heard nothing. The quiet was so absolute that she could make out the rapid flutter of her own pulse in her ears. She silently cursed it—any louder and whoever is there will surely hear the betraying thunder of my heart.
Slowly, the door creaked open a hand's span. A figure slipped inside. In the half-light, Li Xiu saw only a silhouetted shape: small and lithe. A woman? The silhouette paused as if listening, then glided forward. Pale light from the embers touched the side of the figure's face—catching a glimpse of porcelain-white skin. Li Xiu's breath caught. The person was wearing a mask that covered the upper half of their face, a smooth white porcelain mask painted with the serene smile of a theatrical ghost. Below the mask, the lower face was wrapped in a dark cloth or veil, obscuring the mouth and chin entirely. Only a pair of eyes showed—dark, gleaming eyes that scanned the kitchen's shadows intently.
Li Xiu's blood went cold. A masked intruder, here in the dead of night. Friend or foe? She dared not move or confront them yet; she was unarmed save for a small paring knife tucked in her boot. Carefully, she inched her hand down and slipped the knife free, keeping it hidden in the folds of her skirt. If this person made one move to search or sabotage further, she would make them regret it.
The masked stranger stepped further into the kitchen, moving with uncanny silence. They passed so close to Li Xiu's hiding spot that she caught a whiff of their scent—a subtle mix of sandalwood and something floral. Not the sour sweat of a laborer sneaking around, but a gentle, refined fragrance. It reminded her of incense used in the palace shrine. This was no ordinary scullion roaming about. Perhaps a court lady in disguise? Or an assassin with a taste for perfume?
Li Xiu's grip tightened on her little knife. She willed herself to stay utterly still as the stranger paused just a few feet away. The masked person crouched low, examining the same dark stain of soup and chemical residue that Li Xiu had been studying moments ago. In the hush, Li Xiu heard a soft inhale—whoever it was, they were smelling the residue just as she had. A flicker of moonlight caught the stranger's eyes, and Li Xiu saw them narrow slightly behind the mask, as if in recognition. This person knew what the stain was.
Before she could process what to do, the intruder spoke, voice low and hushed: "Foxflower and saltpeter… a crude trick." The tone was soft, and definitely feminine. Li Xiu's heart gave a jolt. The words were spoken with a hint of disdain, almost academic. This was someone knowledgeable. Perhaps even the very poisoner she suspected? Li Xiu felt a surge of anger chase away her fear. She stepped out from behind the cupboard, leveling the knife forward.
"Who are you?" she demanded in a harsh whisper.
The masked woman spun up from her crouch, startled but impressively quiet. At the sight of Li Xiu's slim figure emerging from the darkness, she did not run. Instead, she tilted her head, the ghostly painted smile of the mask facing Li Xiu head-on. The eyes behind it regarded Li Xiu with an unnerving calm. In the stillness, Li Xiu could hear her own breath coming quick now, adrenaline screaming at her to be ready.
"You should not be wandering alone at night, Poison Master," the masked woman said softly. The honorific was spoken almost kindly, yet the echo of it in the empty kitchen felt eerie.
Li Xiu felt a prickle along her spine at hearing her title on this stranger's tongue. She tightened her grip on the knife. "And you should not be here at all," Li Xiu replied in a low voice. "Are you the one who did this?" She nodded toward the stained floor—toward the remnants of the attempt on her life. Despite the tremor in her fingers, Li Xiu kept the blade raised, poised between them.
A quiet laugh came from behind the porcelain mask—warm, almost pitying. "If I wanted you dead, Li Xiu, I would not be chatting with you now." The woman's eyes flickered to the knife, then back to Li Xiu's face. "Put that away. I didn't come to harm you."
Li Xiu's heart thumped painfully. The stranger knew her name. That voice… it tugged at Li Xiu's memory, but she couldn't place it. The palace had hundreds of women; any one of them might hide behind a mask and whisper like this. Still, the gentleness in the tone disarmed her more than any threat could. Was it possible this person was… an ally?
"How am I to believe that?" Li Xiu whispered. She did not lower the knife. "You're sneaking about the palace in a mask at midnight. You know about the poison used on me. For all I know, you placed that note in my apron." Her voice hardened at that, anger winning over fear for a moment. "Give me one reason I shouldn't raise the alarm this instant."
At the mention of the note, the masked woman tilted her head the other way, curious. "What note?" she asked. Li Xiu thought she heard genuine surprise in the question, but it could have been an act. When Li Xiu only glared in response, the stranger sighed. "I see. You've been threatened as well."
"As well…?" Li Xiu repeated in her mind, puzzled. Outwardly she kept her face a granite mask of distrust. What game is this?
"Listen to me carefully," the masked woman continued, taking one slow step back toward the doorway. It was a subtle movement, putting a bit more distance between them. Li Xiu matched it with a step forward, unwilling to let her slip away so easily. The two circled each other warily in the moonlit kitchen, shadows flickering like specters on the walls. "I cannot stay long, and I cannot show you my face. But know this: the one who tried to kill you tonight will try again. And next time, it will not be so gentle a slumber."
Li Xiu's blood ran colder at the echo of the note's message. She fought to keep her voice steady. "Tell me something I don't know," she hissed. "Who are they? Why are they doing this?"
The masked woman hesitated. Even behind the static painted smile of her disguise, Li Xiu sensed an inner conflict. Finally, the woman reached into a fold of her dark cloak. Li Xiu tensed, bracing, but the stranger merely withdrew a small object. In the faint light, Li Xiu saw it was a tiny vial, no longer than a finger, made of purple glass. She tossed it lightly. Li Xiu, on instinct, caught it in her free hand. The vial felt warm, as if it had been held close to the woman's body until now. Inside, a silver liquid shimmered faintly. Mercury? No—this substance was thinner, and glowed with a pearly luminescence.
"An antidote," said the woman quietly. "For the next dose of Foxflower they try to slip into your cup, or whatever other venom they might use."
Li Xiu's heart skipped as she stared at the vial resting in her palm. The only reason to give her this would be… if the stranger truly meant to help. Her mind whirled. "Who sent you?" she whispered, softer this time. Doubt and hope warred in her chest. "Does Her Majesty know about the attack—?"
"No," the masked figure said swiftly. "The Queen must not know, not yet. She has eyes watching her as well, eyes that would notice if she moved to protect you." The woman's voice dropped even lower, urgency creeping in. "There are agendas within agendas here, Li Xiu. You've stepped into a viper's nest. Not only your life hangs in the balance."
Li Xiu felt a flare of protective anger at that. The Queen. She was virtually certain that was the unspoken implication. "They mean to hurt Her Majesty?" she breathed, fists clenching.
But the masked woman took another step back, closer to the dark threshold of the door. "I've said enough. Keep your secrets, Poison Master, as I keep mine." Her tone grew gentle again, almost sad. "Trust no one. Not the smiling nobles who toast to your health, not the servants who bow at your feet. Even those who saved you tonight may not be what they seem."
Li Xiu's mind jumped to the faces she'd recalled earlier. Even those who saved you… Perhaps one of those who helped revive her had ill intent after all. A bitter taste filled her mouth. How deeply had the rot spread in this palace?
"Wait—" Li Xiu pleaded, taking another step forward. She had so many questions, but one tumbled out: "Will I see you again? How will I find you?"
The masked woman had reached the doorway. For a fraction of a second, a sliver of moonlight illuminated her eyes. Li Xiu thought she saw a flicker of emotion there—sympathy, perhaps. "If you're wise and lucky, you won't need to," came the soft reply. "If not… you'll know where to look."
Before Li Xiu could make sense of that riddle, a sudden clatter sounded from the corridor outside—the echo of a dropped pail, followed by a curse from some distant guard or servant. In that heartbeat of distraction, the masked woman slipped through the door. Li Xiu lunged after her, throwing the door open and peering into the hallway. Nothing—just emptiness and the tail end of a wavering shadow, melting into darkness around a far corner. The intruder had vanished as swiftly as she appeared, leaving Li Xiu alone with more questions than ever.
Li Xiu stood there in the doorway, chest heaving with frustration and lingering fear. She opened her hand; the little purple vial gleamed up at her in the darkness like a captive moonbeam. The weight of it was oddly comforting. Perhaps this gift meant she had an ally, even if a mysterious one. But could she trust that the liquid was truly an antidote and not another trick? Caution urged her not to use it blindly. She would have to test it later with a silver needle for any traces of common poisons. For now, she tucked the vial securely into her bodice.
A distant bell rang out from the western watchtower—three low chimes marking the late hour. It was time to return to her chambers before her absence was noted. Dawn was still some hours away, and with it would come the routine of palace life: the Queen's morning medicine, the tasting of the royal breakfast, the polite masks that all—Li Xiu included—would wear with practiced ease. She needed whatever rest she could snatch, though she doubted sleep would come easily after tonight's revelations.
She hurried back through the silent corridors, every sense alert for another possible tail. The old stone halls felt far more sinister in the dark. Twice she startled at nothing—a shifting candle's shadow, the creak of cooling beams. Paranoia made her skin crawl, but better cautious than dead. Finally, Li Xiu reached the narrow stair that led up to her small suite adjacent to the Queen's own chambers. Two guards stood at the far end of the hallway, spears in hand, eyes forward. They barely glanced at her as she slipped inside her door; she was, after all, allowed to come and go for her duties at odd hours. She forced herself to walk normally, not betray any of the wild turmoil inside.
The moment the heavy wooden door closed behind her, Li Xiu sagged back against it, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. In the safe cocoon of her rooms, the urge to cry finally pricked at her eyes. She pressed the heels of her palms against them, forcing the tears back. No. Not yet. She couldn't afford tears; she needed to think. She needed to plan. She needed…
Her hazel gaze drifted to the low table by the window where a single candle burned. On that table lay her wooden alchemist's kit—the lacquered case scuffed from years of use, containing her herbs, powders, and precious antidotes. Before doing anything else, Li Xiu crossed the room to it. If someone meant to poison her again, she had to be prepared. The masked woman's vial might be helpful, but Li Xiu trusted her own stock more. Inside that kit was a particular antidote she had brewed herself just last month, a universal purgative against most known toxins. She would feel safer keeping it on her person from tomorrow onward.
Kneeling, Li Xiu unlatched the case. The hinges gave a soft squeak as she lifted the lid. Neat rows of small corked bottles and paper packets lay within, glinting in the candlelight. She thumbed through them quickly, counting. Feverfew, ginger tonic, spiderlily essence… They all seemed in order. She let out a tiny sigh of relief. Perhaps she was being too suspicious—surely no one had had time to tamper with her supplies, especially since she had been in her room earlier after the accident, recovering. It's not as if an assassin could just stroll in here—
Her thought cut off abruptly. The slot where her universal antidote vial should have been was empty. Li Xiu's heart lurched. She shuffled the other bottles aside, thinking it might have been misplaced, but no—the small padded groove in the wood was bare. The vial was gone.
For an instant, Li Xiu simply stared, uncomprehending. She distinctly remembered putting the antidote—made from powdered moonroot and charcoal—into that very slot after brewing it. She never removed it since; there'd been no need. No one should have touched her kit. No one except… someone who intended to ensure she had no remedy when they struck next.
Her blood turned to ice water in her veins. Trembling, Li Xiu slowly closed the wooden case. The quiet click of the latch sounded impossibly loud in her ears. Her mind raced back over the evening: after she awoke, she had come up here to rest briefly at the Queen's insistence. Mei the maid had helped her to bed… Mei had been alone with her here for a few minutes while fetching cool towels. Could it have been then? Or had someone entered later, while Li Xiu crept out to the kitchens just now? Either possibility was terrifying.
She felt suddenly, desperately vulnerable. The enemy had been in her quarters. Whether it was earlier or mere minutes ago, they had been close enough to touch her belongings—to steal her antidote. Perhaps they had hoped to steal the threatening note as well, to erase evidence of their warning, only to find she had already destroyed it. Rage and fear warred within Li Xiu. She wanted to scream, to flip the table in fury—but she clamped down on the impulse. Instead, she forced herself to stand, backing away from the table as if it were a snake poised to strike. Her knees bumped into the edge of her bed and she sank down onto it, eyes never leaving the innocent-looking case that had been so callously violated.
In the silence, Li Xiu became aware of her own heartbeat again, thudding fast and hard. She clutched the front of her dress where the stranger's gifted vial lay hidden. Thank the heavens she had that, at least—for now. But even that could be a false hope. What if the intruder's antidote was just another layer of deception? Who could she trust? Right now it felt like no one. The masked woman's warning echoed in her memory: Trust no one... even those who saved you may not be what they seem.
A faint noise interrupted her thoughts—a scritch scratch, like a mouse in the wainscot. Li Xiu's head snapped up. The candle flame quivered as a draft slipped through the room. Was it from the window? She realized with a start that the window was open a crack. A chill night breeze wafted in, making the flame dance. Had she left it open? She didn't recall opening it…
Li Xiu stood once more, every muscle tense. She crept to the window and peered out into the darkness. Far below, the palace gardens were a patchwork of black and silver. No sign of anyone. Yet as she drew back, her eyes caught something at the corner of the windowsill—a single white petal, delicately curled and bloodless pale. A petal from a moonflower, a night-blooming vine that grew in the palace hedges. Someone had placed it there, purposefully.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. The petal was a message, she was certain of it. The moonflower's colloquial name was "ghost's kiss," for it was said to be used by assassins as a silent token to mark their presence. Li Xiu had read of it in one of her grim herbals: when a ghost's kiss is left behind, the specter of death has visited.
She snatched the petal and shut the window firmly. Somewhere in the dark beyond, someone had been watching her, perhaps even entered her room, and left this calling card. The audacity—and the ease with which they had come and gone—left her breathless with dread.
Clutching the petal, Li Xiu backed away from the window. Her legs hit the bed and she sank down once more. The tiny white petal lay in her palm like a drop of winter snow. For the first time since awakening on the kitchen floor, a tear escaped the corner of Li Xiu's eye. She brushed it angrily away. Crying would do nothing. Instead, she drew a shuddering breath and steeled herself. If the enemy thought they could terrorize her into ineptitude, they were wrong. Yes, she was afraid—the tendril of fear curled in her belly was ice-cold and very real—but she would turn that fear into fire. She would be vigilant.
Tonight had revealed two things: she was not alone in this silent war—someone out there might be trying to help her—and the conspiracy against her was even more pervasive than she'd imagined. They had eyes on her at all times. Perhaps even within the Queen's trusted circle. The realization settled heavily on her chest.
Li Xiu carefully tucked the moonflower petal into a small porcelain jar on her nightstand. A token of death's visit—she would keep it, a reminder of the price of failure. Dawn would come soon, and with it, she would have to don her own mask of normalcy. She would smile and bow to those who might be vipers in disguise. She would ensure the Queen's meals were safe while wondering if her own next cup of tea would be her last. And she would quietly, relentlessly hunt for clues to the identity of her adversary.
In the corner of her room, the single candle flame guttered, fighting against the dark. Li Xiu lay back on her bed, not bothering to change out of her soot-stained gown. Her body was exhausted, but her mind churned. Somewhere in the quiet, she thought she heard the faintest echo of a whisper—perhaps just her imagination, or the wind sneaking through a crack in the stone. It sounded like a susurration of her name: Li Xiu... She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the hidden vial in one hand and a thin dagger she pulled from under her pillow in the other.
Whatever came next—whatever danger tomorrow held—she would be ready. Or so she tried to convince herself as the whispering hush of the night draped over the palace.
Beyond the door of her chamber, down some distant corridor, a floorboard groaned softly. Footsteps? Li Xiu's eyes snapped open in the darkness. She held her breath, straining to listen. Faintly, under the muffled blanket of night, she heard it: a voice on the other side of her door, so soft it was almost inaudible.
"She knows too much. We strike at first light."
Li Xiu's blood turned to fire. She shot up from her bed, heart hammering. Had she heard that correctly? She hardly dared to breathe. The silence had returned, but the terror had not departed with that whisper. We strike at first light. The meaning was horribly clear: they were coming for her—and soon.
She slid off the bed without a sound, bare feet touching the cold floor. Shadows enveloped her as she moved toward the door, dagger in hand. She pressed her ear against the wood, but heard nothing further. Whoever had spoken was already gone, melted back into the labyrinth of the sleeping palace. But their words echoed through her mind, each syllable a death knell: strike at first light. Dawn was approaching fast.
Li Xiu realized she was shaking. The enemy was done with threats and warnings—they were going to try to kill her outright, in a matter of hours. A part of her quailed in fear. But another part, fierce and determined, rose within her like a cobra spreading its hood. If they were coming at first light, then she had only the dark of night to prepare.
Her eyes went to the closed wooden case on the table, and to the petal hidden in the jar. In her mind's eye she saw the faces of those who hovered over her in the kitchen, heard the masked woman's urgent whisper—trust no one—and recalled the cold menace of the note: Next time, you will not wake up.
Li Xiu's lips pressed into a thin line. Perhaps, she thought grimly, but not without a fight. She tightened her grip on her dagger and moved away from the door to gather whatever tools she had left. The darkness of the room seemed a little less oppressive now that resolve burned within her chest. Outside, somewhere beyond the safety of her door, death was waiting. But Li Xiu was the Queen's Poisoner—she had been living in the shadow of death for years, honing her craft in poisons and cures alike. If her enemies thought she would be an easy victim, they were about to learn their error at sunrise.
As the final minutes of night ticked by, Li Xiu set to work by the flickering light of her lone candle, a determined figure amidst the gloom. Somewhere in the stillness, a raven cawed once—a harsh, bleak sound that cut through the silence like a warning. Li Xiu glanced toward the shuttered window, heart pounding. The hour was late, and the battle for survival had already begun in secret.
She only hoped she would live to see the sun rise on another day.