Serpentine by Cindy Pon Read Free Book Online

herbs—Lady Yuan was so near to giving birth to our Zhen Ni. For some reason, I was drawn to the forest, and taking my way through there.” Nanny Bai paused, lost in the past. “It was unusual, as I never walked through the forest. Not alone.”
    Skybright knew it was true. Her old nursemaid seemed to avoid it, often sending Skybright into the thickets to gather wild mushrooms and plants for her, never saying why she disliked entering its cool depths.
    “But that morning, something drew me.” She said again, nodding for emphasis. “And I followed the creek, not wanting to lose my way, but I heard something deep within the forest. A baby’s cry.” She closed her eyes. “I thought it was some sort of trickery—strange things can lurk among the trees—or that I had imagined it. But it didn’t cease. I tracked the sound, until I was lost in the thickets. And there you were.”
    Abandoned in the forest … left to die.
    “You weren’t a day old, child. And it was as if your mother had given birth to you in the wild and left you there, with your cord still attached. You weren’t covered or swaddled. It’s a wonder some wild animal didn’t come along—”
    Skybright’s tears finally came, held in since the previous night, when she had slithered her way back into the forest as a monstrosity—the same forest where she had been cast aside by a mother who didn’t care if she lived.
    “Dear.” Nanny Bai touched her arm. “I’m sorry to be so blunt. But I thought you should know. You understand now why I never before spoke the truth? I feared that Lady Yuan would not have wanted you if I did.” She smiled a gentle smile. “I took you home wrapped in the cloth I had intended for my herbs, and bathed you, then presented you swaddled in red satin in a pretty woven basket to the Lady.”
    Skybright rubbed her face, furious with herself for crying. What was the point of wasted tears?
    “You know how Lady Yuan always loves a gift well presented,” Nanny Bai said.
    She laughed, even though it sounded bitter to her ears. “Thank you, dear nanny. You saved my life.”
    “Look at the lovely, capable young woman you’ve grown into, Skybright.” She patted her arm again. “You would have made any mother proud. It’s a pity you can never wed, but Zhen Ni loves you as her own sister. Your lot in life could have been much worse.”
    The older woman rose, still agile despite her age. “You’re weak from exhaustion and overexcitement. I’ll bring something to help you sleep.”
    Skybright nodded. “Thank you again, Nanny Bai. And—and my mother left nothing behind at all? No memento for me?”
    Her old nursemaid shook her head in regret. “Nothing. It was clear you were a newborn babe. Although … ” Hesitant, Nanny Bai tugged at her tunic edge.
    “What?” Skybright’s hands tingled, as if in warning or anticipation.
    “When I washed you that first time, there were flakes stuck to you. Like scales from a fish. They were quite beautiful but … strange.”
    “Like scales from a fish,” Skybright repeated dumbly. “What color were they?”
    “Crimson,” Nanny Bai said. “They glittered like jewels in the light.”
     
     

     
     
    Skybright dozed through to the next morning after taking the bitter draught Nanny Bai offered her. Zhen Ni had refused to let her return to her own quarters. In the evening, Skybright was vaguely aware of her mistress slipping into the large bed beside her. She woke with a start before dawn, her forehead covered in sweat. Terrified, she kicked her legs beneath the thin sheet, feeling her toes and her knees. What would happen if she changed with her mistress beside her? Skybright’s throat closed at the thought. She heard Zhen Ni’s steady breathing, and slipped out of bed and into a courtyard dimly lit by starlight.
    When she had shifted, it was always at nighttime—she only wished she knew what triggered it, so she could anticipate it. Could she control it somehow? Will it