A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (101)

“Shu!” I call, but she does not seem to hear me. I follow her into the mist, running after her through the forest, like I’ve done so many times before. The trees are shadows, rustling beside us as I give chase.

She stops at the bottom of our favorite tree and turns back, beckoning me to come closer. She’s already climbing when I reach her, ascending quickly. We used to play this game as children, daring the other to climb higher. I can see her feet dangling above me.

Shu waves. “I’m up here!”

My hands touch the bark. It feels real against my palms. I start to climb, finding the next branch, pulling myself higher and higher. But still she remains one step ahead, just out of reach. I know, with an awareness of the goddess whispering to me, that if she breaks through the canopy, she will be lost to me forever. I climb faster.

I hear a whistle, like the winds of an approaching storm. That discordant, piercing note I heard when I saw myself reflected in the eyes of a general.

Above us, a dark shadow descends. As it comes closer, it draws itself together into a dark, undulating form. A serpent with a long, forked tongue and fangs curving from the corner of its mouth. The red points of its eyes bleed hunger.

Shu perches on a branch to my right, frozen in fear before this creature that has haunted her since I left.

I should have been here to protect her.

Branches and leaves fall around us like rain.

I feel the brush of the serpent’s hunger against my mind, like that of the three-headed snake I tore out of Ruyi. It looms overhead, red eyes appearing like polished orbs; I can see my reflection within them. It sees me and wonders what I am.

You…, it hisses in recognition. It does not speak aloud, but instead its voice rings through my head. I’ve seen you before. In the palace. Every word it utters is like a sharp pinprick of ice, driving itself into my skull.

But when it speaks, it gives me glimpses of what it is as well. It attached a piece of itself to the arrow that pierced Ruyi’s side, creating the three-headed monster that feasted on her essence.

I see the answers to the questions I’ve been asking all along—why the poison was undetectable even by the most experienced shénnóng-shī, why the royal physicians could not find the antidote.

It’s because this poison was created by something else entirely. Something ancient and waiting, biding its time.

Shénnóng…, it snarls, revealing its sharp fangs. It hates Shénnóng and all his followers. It despises the old gods and all humankind, everything they represent.

It lunges toward Shu, wanting to swallow her whole, to satisfy the hunger it feels after she eluded it time and time again.

I don’t hesitate. I throw myself in the serpent’s path. Its fangs sink into my skin, and I scream.

“Ning!” Shu cries out, and catches my hand. Our fingers reach each other, take hold, and she pulls me toward her. My arm is wrenched out of the grasp of the serpent, and we fall through the tree, the branches snapping under our weight, whipping and lashing at our exposed skin. I hang on to her tightly, protecting her with my own body.

The serpent slithers down the tree, following.

I close my eyes, both of us tensing, waiting for the inevitable impact … and return to my own body, my face wet with tears.

“Ning?” Shu struggles to sit up. Beside us, our father cries, too, sobbing like I’ve never seen him before.

I hurry to her bedside, holding the bowl up to her lips. She drinks it with eyes still on me, disbelieving.

“I dreamed…,” she says with awe. “I dreamed you came to find me.”

I smile through my tears. “I promised you I would come back, didn’t I?”

There’s a shadow enveloping Dàxī, and a princess waiting for me in a grove of pomelo trees. But in this moment, nothing else matters. My sister is alive.

Then Father is suddenly there, holding my arm up.

Two trails of blood mark where my skin was broken by the serpent’s fangs. Black tendrils slither across my skin like poisonous, choking vines.

The bowl slips out of my hand and lands on the floor with a clatter.

Shu’s face is the last thing I remember as the darkness sweeps me away.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



As I continue on my writing journey, there are many people I have to send my appreciation and thanks for helping me reach this point.

Thank you to my editor, Emily Settle. For your insightful edits and your help with finding the heart of my story. This book wouldn’t have become the story I wanted to tell without your guidance.

Thank you to my copyeditor, Valerie Shea, and production editors, Kathy Wielgosz and Avia Perez, for your attention to detail and for dealing with my waffling regarding tone marks.

Thank you to the rest of the Feiwel and Friends team for believing in this book and assisting with its publication.

Thank you to my cover designer, Rich Deas, and cover artist, Sija Hong, for bringing Ning to life so beautifully.

Thank you to my agent, Rachel Brooks, who never gave up on me and is endlessly patient with all of my random thoughts and emails. For always being available and enthusiastic about my work.

To the 2016 Pitch Wars mentee group, thanks for your continued support, especially my dear friends Suzanne Park, Rebecca Schaeffer, and Sasha Nanua. I’m excited for all of your books and your upcoming projects. Thank you to my mentors Axie Oh and Janella Angeles, who introduced me to the writing community and provided me with so much guidance in navigating the publishing world.