A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (27)

“Wipe that look off your face, or we’ll both be killed,” the servant whispers into my ear.

“You there!” Shao’s voice calls out. “Stop!”

With disgust, the maidservant throws my arm down, leaving me to fend for myself.

I turn, slowly. I make myself as small as I possibly can, to play the part of the demure servant they expect. “Yes?”

“Don’t you have to thank Marquis Kuang?” His voice still exudes that lazy, indulgent confidence. “Do you not know your place?”

I look up and see the marquis with his eyes narrowed, as if he will recognize me in the next moment—name me as that girl with the rebel poetry that rolled off my tongue, calling out for the blood of nobles to be spilled. But there is no pointed finger, no accusation.

“M-my thanks, Honored One,” I stutter with a curtsy, and flee.



* * *



No one chases after me through the halls of the Residence of Autumnal Longing. The only sound is that of my own hurried footsteps and the harsh wheezing of my breath. Before we are permitted to leave the residence, Qing’er and I receive a tongue-lashing from the head of the marquis’s household.

“What happened in there?” Qing’er whispers to me when we are finally permitted to leave.

I cannot find the words to explain what I saw; I don’t trust myself to speak without screaming. At the injustice of it, at the way these people can disregard the rules without fear of punishment. I can only grab his arm and hurry as far away from that place as we are able. Away from those who already have the opportunities and connections of those who reside in Jia. They can seek an audience with the marquis, receive the personal counsel of the Esteemed Qian. I don’t know how I will ever get Shu the help she needs.

Returning to the competitors’ residence, I pull off the maidservant’s clothes, disgusted that I had thought of them as beautiful. The embroidered finery, the lovely flowing sleeves, all of it pretty and useless. Just another rope for them to bind us with. Looking down at my competitor’s robes, I remember how I felt when I pulled them on for the first time. The tentative hope, the brief break of sun through the clouds. The longer I reside in the palace, the more I realize that hope is an illusion. They have already selected who is to be the victor and who is to fail.

Lian bursts into the room when I make the final pull of my sash to ensure I appear presentable, even as my insides tremble.

“You’re safe,” she says with relief.

“You left me there.” My words come out sharper than I expected, and the corners of her mouth drag down into a frown.

“I … I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, looking contrite. “I know I should have said something, but I froze. It was like I was a child again, getting my hands hit with the rod for eating something meant for the banquet.”

A part of me wants to snarl at her and tell her I will not be part of her games any longer, like I have done to the village children around my age who made fun of my clothes and my mannerisms. But a part of me did enjoy the time we spent in the kitchens. It was a welcome distraction from the stress of the competition, and she had helped bandage my hand. It wasn’t her fault the steward picked me, and she doesn’t have to be kind. She could dismiss me easily, like the others already have.

“I understand,” I finally mutter. “It’s not your fault. I … I saw Marquis Kuang again.”

Lian sucks in a breath. “What happened? Did he recognize you?”

It all comes out in a rush. What I saw in the residence, the people I recognized, what the Esteemed Qian said. By the time I’m done speaking, Lian is furious, too, pacing back and forth in our small room.

“Those conniving creatures,” she growls. “Everything about Jia is political, as you will soon learn. And the shénnóng-tú … they are especially so.” She shakes her head with disdain.

“Many who are recognized with an affinity to Shénnóng’s art come from families who can afford to nurture that talent. These shénnóng-tú become shénnóng-shī, who use their abilities to help their own families, to gain money or influence. Some of the court cannot be seen at each other’s households, so they meet in the tea district instead. They partake in the ‘proper’ entertainment, but then also conduct meetings in the private rooms.”

“That is not what my mother taught me,” I say. “She says the magic is to be useful, not for your own personal gain.”

“To do otherwise would be a waste.” She nods solemnly. “When I first learned the tea spoke to me, I thought it meant I was special. But now I know that even with magic, some of us will always have the advantage.”

“In coin, in birth.” I sigh.

“This is why I wanted to befriend you that first day in the courtyard,” Lian says earnestly. “You know what it is like to be on the outside.”

Like recognizing like. In some ways, Lian also does not belong, even though she is the ambassador’s daughter. Because of the way she dresses, because her ways are not the ways common to those of the capital.

“I see you as my friend, Ning,” she says, squeezing my fingers and letting go. “I hope one day you will see me as the same.”

“I hope to.”

I’m not ready to acknowledge her as that. Not yet. I’ve learned how people can be different from what they first appear. One thing is for certain: My competitors will not hesitate to step over one another on their way to victory, and I had best figure out a way to catch up before I’m left behind for good.