In the Land of Tea and Ravens (10 page)

He sank to the ground next to the tree. Lyric followed him more slowly, her gaze searching his face.

Digging her fork into a heap of chicken and dumplings, she muttered, “You’re not here because of the ravens.”

Grayson’s brows rose. “You don’t think so? You tell a man all of your female relatives are birds because your family angered some magical person, and you don’t think it’d incite my curiosity?”

Her gaze captured his. “You’re here because you want me to drive you mad.”

Grayson froze, the food forgotten. “
What
?”

Lyric leaned toward him. “I’ve seen you standing at your window at night. I’ve heard your promises, but you’re not coming back because of me. You’re coming back because you can’t live with your guilt anymore. You want me to drive you mad because being insane is better than being ashamed.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grayson hissed. He set the plate down on the ground, leaving it to the ants.

Lyric dropped the fork next to it. “At least I got dumplings first,” she mumbled. Her skirt stirred the dirt and grass as she stood, her eyes peering down into Grayson’s. “You didn’t come here for pity.” She offered him her hand. “You were an idiot, and someone died because of it. I get that. I
understand
it.
Because I was angry once, and it killed my mother.
You’re chained by guilt. I’m not only chained to guilt, Grayson, I’m chained to this world by tea. You want me to drive you insane,
then
come with me. Your wish is my command.”

For a long moment, Grayson simply stared at her hand. He’d never admit it, but she was right. No one should wish for insanity, but he did. Even though, deep down, he was already
mad
from grief, shame, and guilt.

“And if I take your hand now?” he asked, his gaze sliding up to hers.

She
smiled,
the expression strangely sad. “I’ll take you to a mad tea party that never ends.”

He took her hand.

~13~

The Messenger King had chosen his betrothed. Standing on his balcony following his recovery, he announced his choice to the kingdom. “My bride,” he shouted, “shall be Mercy, the tea girl!” Instead of joyous cheers, his proclamation was met with gasps of surprise and slow, cautious applause. “The tea girl?” someone whispered. The king did not care. His eyes were only for his betrothed, his heart full and his spirit happy.
Caelin
, the king’s advisor, approved of the match. For the tea girl, despite her insignificant obscurity, was a wise, compassionate woman. She would make a good ruler. There
was
, however, her two sisters to consider. For there was jealousy brewing in the old merchant’s house by the sea …

~The Tea Girl~

Lead me,
Grayson thought to himself.

He was turning himself over to Lyric’s touch, to the feel of her hand in his as she tugged him forward. She had surprisingly small hands, calloused but young.

The house loomed ahead of them, the windows watching and the gaping door screaming.

To a mad tea party that never ends
, she’d said.

The darkness swallowed them whole, the ghost-like furniture and black and white photos calling out to them.

The ravens cawed, the sound scolding, but other than a quick glance upward, Lyric ignored them.

“You came for this,” Lyric said once they entered the kitchen, her hand releasing his to reach for the tea kettle sitting on the portable burner. She’d been drinking a lot of tea since he’d last seen her.

She bent, her fingers pulling apart her red backpack, her eyes sliding up to his. “My mother was much better at this. Honestly, I’m just passable. I never learned as much …”

Her voice trailed off, and Grayson leaned down next to her. “Learned?”

She pulled a Ziploc bag full of tea leaves free from her pack. “I never learned what she knew about making tea.” She opened the bag and sprinkled tea leaves into the pot. Adding a stick of cinnamon, she finished it off by pouring bottled water over the brew before placing it on the stove.

Lyric’s gaze found Grayson’s. “There’s no turning back from this,” she said. “There’s no pretending you didn’t take this journey. No going home and trying to convince yourself it was a dream.”

Grayson’s brow furrowed. “Show me,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “There’s guilt, and then there’s a lifetime of fear and regrets. Guilt hurts. Fear makes us too cautious. Regret tears us apart. Sometimes,” she leaned closer, “being broken can be beautiful. If we can’t see the beauty in the pain, then we truly do go insane.”

Grayson stared at her, at her wild hair and suddenly brown eyes. “You want me to be afraid,” he accused.

“No,” Lyric murmured. The tea kettle whistled, and she poured two cups before offering him her hand again. “I want you to trust me.”

He stared at her hand. The steaming cups sitting on the floor between them emptied steam into the small space, heating the already hot air and reddening their faces. One of the cups was small and
white,
the other was brown, ugly, and bigger than the first. It looked more like a coffee mug than a tea cup and was chipped on the top. He recognized the mug.

He nodded at it. “You were holding that cup the day I met you.”

Lyric didn’t respond, although her hand remained out, her palm up. “Trust me,” she repeated.

His gaze captured hers. “Has anyone ever told you that you speak like an old woman?”

She threw him a small smile. “Too much tea does that to a person.”

His grin answered hers. “You’re a mystery, Lyric.”

Her fingers spread, her palm widening. “Then solve it.”

He accepted her hand, his fingers damp against hers in the heat.

“This tea was made for communicating with my family,” Lyric explained. Using her free hand, she handed him the brown mug while keeping the white one for
herself
. “Don’t drop the cup. Whatever you do, Grayson, do not drop the cup.”

There was something unsettling about her words, the way her eyes searched his. In that moment, he wasn’t just holding a cup. He felt like he was holding her life in his hands, as if he could destroy her with a single flick of his wrist.

Then she said the three words that would destroy him. “I trust you,” she whispered. “I want the freedom of letting go.”

The mug found its way to Grayson’s lips, a woodsy cinnamon scent tickling his nose. He knew this smell, and his fingers tightened on the mug, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Lyric followed suit, her hand tightening on his.

Somewhere above them, a door slammed. The ravens went wild, their black wings fluttering, their screams deafening. A strong wind blew through the house and pictures fell in the living room, glass shattering.

“
What have you done
?” a female voice exclaimed. “
You’re going to destroy him
!”

Lyric gripped Grayson’s hand so tight, his fingers tingled.

“Aunt Ginger,” Lyric introduced, her head nodding at a raven perched along the kitchen’s old cupboard. The bird glared.

The room tilted and Grayson’s fingers loosened on the mug he held.

Lyric tugged on him. “Don’t!” she begged. “Don’t drop it!”

The ravens screamed. There was fear in the caws, terror in the way they cried out.

Grayson stared down at the mug. “What is this?” he asked.

Lyric inhaled. “You drop that cup and you kill us all.”

Grayson
froze,
his heart rate climbing. “It’s a cup,” he breathed.

Lyric
laughed,
the sound harsh. “It’s our lives,” she corrected, her hands sweeping the room. “
All
of our lives. Even women who aren’t here with us now are tied to that mug. If it breaks, we die.”

Grayson shook his head. “It’s a fucking cup.”

Laying her cup down, Lyric reached for Grayson’s chin, using her fingers to lift his face. “It’s our lives. A beautifully sad story really.”

The feeling of her fingers on his skin felt better than it should. “Tell me,” he whispered.

She took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, in a land quite similar to our own, there lived a poor merchant …”

~14~

Jealousy is a vicious beast with a voracious appetite. It ate the hearts of the merchant’s eldest daughters. They envied their sister. They not only envied the love they saw in the king’s eyes, they envied the power they knew their sister would have. She was going to be a queen. Jealousy bred hate. In jealousy, the sisters took the tea Mercy carried to her betrothed every morning, and they poisoned
it ...

~The Tea Girl~

Lyric’s voice was enthralling, the story of a young unnamed woman living by the sea unfurling off of her tongue as smoothly as honey. The sound lessened the bleakness of their surroundings and muted the banging doors and screaming birds. Her words almost drowned out the voices.

“
The tea girl
,” a female spat.

“
Greed
,” another murmured.

“
We’ve suffered enough
,” yet another groused.

The last strains of the story filtered through the room, Lyric’s voice trailing off.

Grayson cradled the cup in his hands. It was empty now other than the wet tea leaves scattered within. “And so you’re all trapped?” he asked.

Lyric watched him. “When I was a child, my mother used to sing me a song,” she said. “Sung to the women in my family for generations, it’s meant to remind us where we came from and why we ended up this way.”

Grayson stared at the cup. It was a strange feeling knowing he was holding the lives of generations of women in his hands. It was even stranger knowing that he could kill them all simply by breaking it. The feeling was powerful, heady, and disturbing.

“Why?” he asked, his gaze catching hers. “Why trust me?”

Her lips twitched.
“Because you understand loss.”

He set the cup carefully on the floor, and the raucous ravens suddenly
calmed,
their relief evident. “You don’t know me,” Grayson murmured. “I could have just as easily broken the cup.”

Lyric frowned. “You could have just as easily walked away. You could have not believed me. Yet you kept coming back. You kept making promises, and you haven’t scoffed at my story.” Her gaze held his. “You could have left me alone in the dark, but instead you keep coming here. You stand at your window at night, watching this house, and you keep me company. Why do you do it?”

Grayson shifted uneasily. “I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth. “I don’t know why I do it.”

Lyric smiled, shrugging. “It’s enough.”

For a long moment, they simply sat in silence, the ravens fluttering and the doors of the house creaking open before slamming closed. They shifted on the floor, their eyes skirting each other before scooting away. It wasn’t an uncomfortable
silence,
it was the healing kind, the type that introduced people to each other without words. It was the kind of silence that said, “I’m here and that’s enough.” It was the kind of silence that fed the soul.

“The song,” Grayson said abruptly, his hoarse voice breaking the solitude, “can you sing it to me?”

Lyric glanced at him, her lips parting. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, her eyes a deep green now, the color so dark they were almost brown. Her hair was a crazy halo around her head. Her entire body thrummed with life. It seemed wrong that it could all disappear simply by breaking a cup.

“Sing it to me,” Grayson repeated.

Lyric sang.

Sing to me, called the maid.

Smile for me, replied the raven.

But I cannot smile, the maid wept.

Then I cannot sing, the raven replied.

To the sky, to the mountain, to the sea.

The bird
flew
.

To the planes, to the future, to the past.

The maid withdrew

A cup, a cup, a cup.

A cup of tea, the raven called.

A cup of tea, my maiden dear.

A cup, a cup, a cup.

A cup of tea.
A cup of fear.

Sing to me, called the maid.

Smile for me, replied the raven.

But I cannot smile, the maid wept.

Then I cannot sing, the raven replied.

A cup, a cup, a cup,

A cup of tea, the raven called.

I have no tea,” the maiden bawled.

It’s been poisoned by greed.