Embroiled (The Dragon Captured #3)

Prologue Liz

I was ten years old when the best ice cream shop ever… closed.

My parents first discovered Chinatown thanks to my mom’s obsession with K-dramas. They found a place that sold Korean food, and right next door was a shop called Snowy Dessert Bar.

Had we gone that day with just my mom, we’d never have tried it. They didn’t have many vegan options, though the tiger-milk tea was made with oat milk at least. Since my dad was with us, we got our first taste of bingsu.

It was heavenly.

I became obsessed.

My parents liked it too, so we went at least once a week for almost two years. It helped my mom survive her pregnancy with Coral, and even little Jade liked sucking down tiny bites of the cold, sweet, shaved milk, especially when she was teething.

Until, without notice, one day Snowy closed.

It broke my heart—my parents’ too, but especially mine.

I refused to eat ice cream, any ice cream, for years.

My parents tried to win me over with a place called Nu Cafe, which had Taiwanese shaved milk.

Then they found a place called Sol Bingsu, which also had fun corndogs.

They were both fine, probably, but after being forced to eat a single bite, I ate no more.

Because nothing could replace Snowy.

I literally mourned it.

When the topic of ice cream came up, I always felt sad. When my parents talked about getting noodles in Chinatown, I sometimes snuck off to cry. Snowy Dessert Bar had just been so good that everything else was a big, fat disappointment.

I knew it then.

I know it now.

No other ice cream will ever compare.

By the time I turned sixteen, my mom was over my attitude. “I grabbed some ice cream for your cake.”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I don’t want it.”

“Well.” She slammed the Ben and Jerry’s non-dairy Phish Food carton, which had probably cost her twenty bucks, on the table and huffed. “It may be your birthday, but that doesn’t give you the right to be a brat.”

Her tone made little Sammy cry, and then I felt pretty guilty.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Everyone else will probably love it.” Or maybe not. No matter how hard they try, the vegan ice cream’s never quite as good as the real thing.

“Sit.” Mom arched one eyebrow, and she pointed at a chair. “It’s time for you to get a little history lesson.”

“Mom!” I was a pretty good kid, but I was also sixteen. “Seriously?”

“Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” She dropped one hand on her hip. “If you can tell me who said that, you can storm out and blast music in your room.”

I jutted out my lip. “Shakespeare.”

“Nice try.” She pointed at the chair again.

I dropped into it with a beleaguered sigh. “Fine. Just tell me whatever it is, and then I’ll be sure to pretend I like the ice cream.”

Mom was a pacifist, but I swear, I tried her patience. “Alfred Lord Tennyson.”

“His middle name is Lord? His parents really hated him.” I couldn’t help my snicker.

“No, his name was Alfred, and his title was Lord Tennyson.”

“So some rich guy says it’s better to have something and lose it. Lesson learned.” I stood up.

Mom’s lips pursed.

I sat back down. “Just spit out the rest, then.”

“Lord Tennyson had a best friend,” she says. “His name was Arthur Hallum, and he died when he was still quite young. Tennyson wrote this for him—one of the most epic lines of poetry ever written.”

“You’re quoting gay poetry to me so I’ll eat ice cream?” I wasn’t impressed. “I’m upset about bingsu, Mom. It’s very inclusive of you, though.”

Mom’s hands clenched into fists. “Elizabeth Chadwick.” She breathed in through her nose, and out through her mouth. “Alfred’s friend was engaged to his sister. The poet himself, Lord Tennyson, was married for forty-two years and had two children.”

“He could totally still be gay,” I said.

“Stop teenagering all over the place and listen.” Mom sat across from me.

“It’s better to love and lose than never to love at all.

” She tilted her head. “You had the best ice cream in the world.” Her half-smile was kind.

“I know how much you loved it, but don’t let losing it break you forever.

You knew perfection, but you can still appreciate stuff that’s pretty good. ”

“Mom.”

“And you should appreciate that you found it, but you should also move on and love again,” Mom said. “Even imperfectly. Because the alternative’s giving up—and that’s the same as never loving at all.”

I wasn’t at all convinced that was Tennyson’s point.

I did think about that quote sometimes, usually whenever someone tried to make me eat ice cream. I didn’t eat any that day, and I didn’t eat any for several more years. I still don’t love it.

I knew perfection.

Everything else tasted like disappointment.

But I was never quite sure Mom’s interpretation was right. I always sort of thought Tennyson was saying that he would rather have loved, even knowing it would be short-lived. I thought he must have lived on the memory of that love. I don’t think he ever tried to replace it with something less.

Maybe that’s why he married a woman. Who knows?

Or maybe he just never found another friend quite as amazing as that Arthur guy. But when I fly out of the lava, and Axel looks at me with blank, impassive eyes?

It’s pain like I’ve never felt before.

I decide then and there that Alfred, Lord Tennyson, is a complete and utter moron.