A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (20)
My heart stutters.
It’s Bo.
Behind him, the wind tugs at the robe of the princess as she is rushed up the stairs by her guards, the embroidered cranes fluttering in the air as if flying, sparkling in the light.
The chancellor sways, blood dripping down his shoulder. He shouts something in the commotion, but all I can see is his mouth moving.
Someone shoves me aside. I try to stay small, huddled, out of the way. There’s nowhere safe to go. As I cling to the table, I can’t help but notice two of my cups turned on their side, their contents spilled, reduced to smears on the wood.
Just like my hopes in the competition. Ruined.
CHAPTER NINE
I don’t know how I return to the residence. I remember figures casting shadows on the walls of the courtyard, blurs of bodies and faces, soldiers forming a wall around me and the other competitors. And then I’m stumbling through our gate.
Lian calls my name, her lips pinched, eyes anxious. “You’re bleeding,” she tells me.
I can see the cut on my hand, the thin trickle of blood, but I don’t feel it.
“Do you … do you think I failed?” I ask her.
“Don’t think about that right now,” she says, trying to sound comforting. “You’ll find out in the morning.”
* * *
I thought it would be impossible to sleep, but I wake up to the morning light streaming in from the opened shutters, and a servant setting down a basin of water in front of the dressing table.
“You have been called to the next gathering,” she informs me with a curtsy, before leaving me to make myself presentable. I can spare only a longing glance at the morning meal set out in the main room. A warm pot of bubbling congee, small plates of pickled cucumber dotted with chilis, shredded chicken glistening with sesame oil. My stomach growls in protest, but the hunger is chased away when I see soldiers through the opened front gate of our residence.
We are escorted to meet the other competitors, and there is a somber feeling in the air, in stark contrast to the celebratory atmosphere of the day before. As we are hurried down the long hallways, I notice the fine armor of the guards. In the dim light, the details were obscured, but now in the daylight I can see the finery, the design carved into the back plate. A tiger, the symbol of the Ministry of War.
I recall, uneasily, the nightmares that troubled my sleep last night. I was surrounded by a circle of jeering soldiers, kept at bay only by the long staff I held in my hand. As they approached, menacingly, I swung and my aim struck true, only to realize with horror there was nothing beneath the helmets. They had no heads.
I bump into Lian, not realizing we’ve stopped before a pavilion. She steadies me and gives me a worried look. I manage a smile back at her, holding up my bandaged hand and mouthing my thanks for her help last night. She gives me a nod in return.
I compose myself and look around to see another well-tended garden, consisting of a collection of miniature trees and stone sculptures. We do not wait too long before the herald announces the entrance of Minister Song, who appears in distinguished white robes. We kneel, the crushed stones of the path digging into our knees. He addresses us with a severe expression, hands clasped behind him.
“I know there has been much speculation about the events of last evening, but the competition must continue. We refuse to be intimidated by those who believe the great emperor will cower before their attempts at disruption and disharmony.” His nostrils flare as he continues his speech, as if unable to consider such a distasteful thought. “The Ministry of Justice will be investigating the identity of the assassins who dared to attack the princess, and for her safety, the competition will resume in a few days’ time. Until then, all competitors will remain in the palace. I expect your full cooperation with officials of the investigative bureau.”
It might be a trick of the light, but I can swear the minister’s eyes meet mine with disapproval for a moment.
“For the few of you who have yet to be judged, the princess has mercifully granted you passage to the next round of the competition due to the circumstances. Do not squander this opportunity.” There are a few grumbles from a handful of competitors, but they are quickly silenced with a pointed look from the minister.
We bow our heads and murmur our acknowledgment, seventeen voices joined together in one. After we rise, I shuffle alongside the other shénnóng-tú, pondering my good fortune at being able to move on to the next round even with my misstep, but then my arm is caught by one of the guards.
“Your presence is requested.” His voice is low, but it still draws the attention of a few of the other competitors, who scurry away as if the guard would start grabbing them, too, if they hesitated for too long. I despise the expression flitting across their faces, a mixture of pity and revulsion.
The hand of the guard is secure at my elbow as he guides me back to the pavilion. My empty stomach clenches in worry when I realize the grand chancellor has replaced Minister Song at the pavilion. I’m pushed up the stone steps to stand before him, uncertain of what I should say or what I should do with my hands.
Chancellor Zhou regards the water beyond the barrier, and I follow his gaze. The water lilies have yet to bloom, but their leaves are spreading on the water’s surface. Clusters of purple-red, vibrant green, a sign that nature continues to wake in the progression of the season.