Feng came down, voice hushed, “Not this time. They say Tremore is looking for an Omega bride.”
The room fell silent. An Omega bride—a precious thing to be shipped to some Tremorian Alpha.
Wu Ma snorted. “An Omega bride paid for with crystals. His Majesty will be looking to fetch a dowry fat enough to keep the court in new silks for a decade, no doubt.”
The porridge turned to paste on JingYi’s tongue.
In the Nine Kingdoms, the script was always the same: Alphas ruled, their presence a force that flattened everything in its path. Betas, like the woman she sometimes pretended to be, were the grist of the realm—farmers, merchants, scribes, physicians, servants. The invisible hands.
And Omegas?
She allowed the truth to settle in her gut. Scarcer even than limyerite, they were the ultimate prize for Alphas, the reason for wars and treaties. But a prize was still a possession to be bargained, managed, and displayed.
It was rarely about love, or choice.
JingYi sensed Wu Ma’s eyes on her, but she kept her head bowed and lifted another spoonful.
“Who will marry into the Tremorian nobility is none of our concern,” she muttered. “Besides, everyone already knows the candidate.”
Wu Ma began wiping the table with a rag, her gaze drifting toward the open window where the autumn wind stirred the paper screens.
“Still . . . how could they forget the emperor has two Omega daughters?” The words were spoken softly, the way one sounded when hope was already lost.
“The court has its own ways of measuring worth,” JingYi said gently, a fact she offered to soften the old woman’s worry.
Wu Ma’s stare lingered on JingYi’s left cheek, the side others mostly ignored. It was the sorrow in that gaze that clogged her throat, the weight of another’s heartache on her behalf.
She set her spoon down and mustered a smile. “Do not fret for me, Wu Ma. This way, I won’t have to leave you. And”—she forced a light tone—“an Omega is little more than a womb to an Alpha. The world doesn’t see her as a wife or a woman, only the chance to produce a Sunborn Alpha or a Moonfire Omega. That is the true goal.”
Only Alpha-Omega unions could bear them: children believed to be god-touched, foretold to crown dynasties, end wars, or usher in new golden ages. Some called them miracles. Others, weapons. But either way, kingdoms would rise and fall for the promise of one.
“Still, if things had been different . . .” Wu Ma lamented. “Your mother would’ve wanted more for you.”
The mention was a needle piercing a carefully sealed scar. For a heartbeat, the dispensary vanished. First, the scent of her mother’s perfume—osmanthus and bitter smoke. Then, the silhouette of a hand against the lamplight, two fingers missing, crashing down on her cheek.
Any memory of the late Imperial Consort JingMei should be ash.
Still, it clung and choked.
“Who knows what she would’ve wanted?” JingYi spoke at last.
The next few seconds passed without words until Wu Ma nudged her with an elbow. “Eat. Best keep up your strength.”
She thought Wu Ma would sit beside her, but the old woman moved to the shelf and began pulling down jars—dried silver chrysanthemum, golden Xueji bark. She began measuringpinches into a stone mortar, the action so routine it was almost a meditation.
“Already?” JingYi asked. Her fingers went to her waist, touching the small pouch dangling from her belt, filled with Heat suppressant herbs. “We made this one just last week.”
Wu Ma didn’t turn. “It needs changing. I caught three Alpha soldiers leering at you this morning. Better be safe than sorry.”
A cold alarm tightened JingYi’s stomach. Had her true scent broken through? She set down her spoon and stood. Pain shot up her right leg to her hip. “The ratio must be off. Perhaps the batch of sage we got last month was weak?—”
“It’s not the sage,” Wu Ma interjected, grinding the mixture with a rhythmic, rolling move. “You’re exhausted. An Omega’s body betrays her when pushed too far.” She looked over her shoulder. “Feng, fetch the magnolia leaf powder.”
The girl bounded over with a blue earthen jar. “This is from the deliveries this morning,” she whispered, glancing at the door. “Quick, before Master Yu sees.”
JingYi shot her a grateful look. Together, they finished the blend. Wu Ma scooped the mixture into a small pouch of plain, dark cloth and handed it over.
“Tuck that into your belt. Sleep tonight, or no chemistry in the Nine Kingdoms can hide you.”
