In the Land of Tea and Ravens by R.K. Ryals Read Free Book Online Page A

twisting the top off of a sixteen ounce bottle of water. After pouring it into the tea pot, she turned the burner on and placed the kettle gently on the small stove.
    “Would it be?” she asked. The question startled him. “Death isn’t a release.” She settled across from him, her palms coming to rest on the floor, her legs out in front of her, and the skirt trapping her against the wood. “Death may stop things. It may freeze your time, but it doesn’t end anything. It just causes more pain, starts a whole new terrifying cycle of truth.”
    Grayson studied her, his brow furrowed. “What are you?”
    She gave him a half-smile. “A tea girl.”
    Her answer caused the ravens surrounding them to dance along their perches, throwing cawing accusations into the dark home. The light from outside was almost gone now, and Lyric reached for a kerosene lantern set off to the side of the door. Matches rested beside it. She struck one, and her face was lit by flame.
    “This lamp once belonged to my Aunt Hazel. She was half blind, as much from her love of books as from nearsightedness,” Lyric mused. The lamp lit, she blew out the match before dropping it into the empty water bottle she’d used to fill the kettle. “She also walked with a limp. She had one leg shorter than the other from a bout with polio as a child.”
    A sense of unease caused Grayson’s stomach to turn. “Which raven is she?” he asked.
    Surprised, Lyric’s head shot up, her gaze catching his and a flush spreading across her cheeks. “The one in the corner, alone,” she answered.
    “You’re really related to them,” he said. He didn’t question it, and that was the real reason for the discomfort in his gut, for the disquieting whispers in his head.
    “Terrifying truths,” Lyric mumbled. She glanced up at the birds.
    The kettle on the burner whistled, causing Grayson to jump, his gaze falling to the cup in his hands. Like the night before, he detected the scent of cinnamon, and it stirred the apprehension in his blood.
    Lyric lifted the kettle. “This won’t cause you to see or hear the dead,” she promised. “It’s nothing more than black tea with a hint of cinnamon.”
    He offered his mug, watching as the tea splashed into the blue tin, the dark liquid mesmerizing. “Simple tea, huh?”
    She laughed. “Tea is never simple.” Her cup came next, steam rising from her hands as she gripped the mug, her eyes watching the trail of smoke. “Tea is complicated. It is healing. It is destructive. It is restless and calm. It is warmth. It is icy grief. It is the past, the future, and the present. It is never simple.”
    For a moment, Grayson simply watched her, scrutinizing the way the steam curled her already frizzy hair; the way her jaw tensed and her eyes stared. It was the dead kind of look people got when they were distracted by something, the kind that took them out of the world and put them somewhere else. It was easy enough to misplace the head even when the body knew where it was supposed to be.
    Grayson lifted his mug. “To terrifying truths,” he toasted.
    Lyric’s gaze snapped to his. Inhaling, she whispered, “To terrifying truths.”
    Somewhere beyond the house, thunder rumbled, the noise followed by the torrential sound of rain. It was the kind of rain that came hard and fast, the kind that didn’t just beat the earth, but pulverized it. It was the kind of rain that blew in more than one direction, guided by the wind. There is poetry in rain. Unlike diverged paths, there is no uncertainty in rain. There is no moment of indecision where you stand at the end of a forked road deciding which one to take. There is no wrong path or right path. There is no path at all. There is simply rain. There is simply terrifying truth and no running away from it.
    They finished their tea to this steady deluge of rain.

 
     
    ~8~
     
    The merchant’s youngest daughter went before the king in a plain dress, her wild hair a veil around her face.