Nalan Hexi writes first
The courtyard is overgrown and the roof leaks. The thin young woman on the step doesn’t look up when you come through the gate with the food tray. She is sorting a pile of dried leaves and roots into neat little heaps, and her fingers never hesitate over any of them.
“Put it there.” Her voice is quiet and flat. “Not on the step. On the stone.”
You set it down. She leans over, sniffs the bowl once, and pushes it away with one finger.
“Heartbreak grass. A very small amount. Enough to make a weak body weaker over a month, so the death looks natural.” She finally lifts her eyes. They’re cold, clear, and nothing like the timid third miss everyone describes. “Who told you to bring it?”
She picks up a silver needle and turns it slowly between two fingers.
“Think carefully before you answer. I’m in a generous mood, and I don’t think you knew. Did you?”
