A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (29)

“Why? What could you possibly want with me?” Anger is good. Anger is safe. I choke down my confusion, until it remains only as a tremor in my leg, tapping a frantic beat on the ground.

“To apologize.” He steps forward, and I move away.

“Why would the cousin to the princess, son of a prince, need to apologize to me?” I snap. “You made a fool of me, pretended you were just a resident of the capital. Pretended to be kind, when it was all a lie.”

“Yes, I suppose I did, but…” He gives me a wry smile. “So did you.”

“Only about a name.”

“I’ve learned a name can be everything.” The corner of his mouth lifts as he continues, a mocking lilt to his voice. “Kang, son of the Banished Prince, nephew to the emperor, carrier of the family legacy. Betrayer of the throne, capable of killing without a single thought, able to bend darkness to his will—”

“Not funny,” I growl. It grates at me that he doesn’t know what is at stake, that he has no idea what he disrupted.

He holds up a hand. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve been told I like to make light of things, especially when they bother me.” He gestures to the front steps of the residence. “Please, can we sit? Can we … talk?”

I keep an eye on him, wary of any sudden movements, as I perch myself on the edge of the step. He sits down beside me, more serious now, and clears his throat.

“I…” He interrupts himself with a sigh, before starting again. “You reminded me of my life before I left the capital.”

He stares down at the ground, fingers making meaningless patterns of swirls and loops on the stone. “I wanted to pretend I was a student in the city, not bound by my family history. I was just a boy who met a girl in the market one spring afternoon and wanted to spend time with her.”

For a moment, I warm to the sadness in his voice, and I can almost believe him. But then I remember the flash of his sword in the firelight.

“You swooped down from the rooftops.” I’m speaking to him but I’m also reminding myself. “You were captured by the guards. Interrogated and locked away. Now you’re in front of me again. How am I to believe you have no supernatural origins? Or no evil intent?”

He glances at me, amusement evident. “Nothing that exciting, I’m afraid. My father still has friends in the palace. The officials have long memories, and ten years is nothing to them. They’ve arranged for me to stay in the Residence of Winter’s Dreaming, under heavy guard. I slipped out during the shift change, but they will be looking for me soon.”

Soon. The word hangs between us like a sigh.

“Why don’t you leave the palace?” I blurt suddenly. “You can escape. Go back home to your father.”

He frowns. “It’s not that simple. I came here for a reason, a purpose I have to see fulfilled.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he remains quiet. We sit there in silence, each of us brooding over our own thoughts, until he speaks again.

“But I needed to find you.” My gaze flicks over to him; he’s watching me, his dark eyes catching the light. “To … I don’t know. Explain myself? Make amends? To ensure I do not leave you with a poor memory of me if I’m to be executed by the end of the week?”

I look at him with horror, and he reaches for me, as if to offer some reassurance, but looks crestfallen when I shrink back. “She has no plans to execute me that I know of. Although I’m sure a few of her advisers would love to pin some nefarious deed to my name.”

I stare at him, trying to see him fully this time. Even though he may still be lying at this very moment, I know what the Golden Key revealed. I know for a moment we glimpsed each other’s deepest, darkest truths. The brand over his heart. The tea that I poured for my mother. The things that irreparably changed us.

“In my cell, I kept on thinking of our afternoon together,” he says softly. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had even an hour like that. No expectations. Without worry. It meant a lot to me.” He meets my eyes, earnest again. Vulnerable.

Something still hums between us, a dangerous kind of connection.

“I’m not sure how to prove it to you,” he continues. “That I’m still the boy from the market. That everything I said was true. I grew up near the palace. My father is a soldier.”

“I wouldn’t call the General of K?iláng a common soldier.” I chuckle, despite myself. Discussions about the general had continued in the kitchens, even after Small Wu’s warnings. A reminder of the history of Dàxī. The general carving a bloody arc through the kingdom, consolidating the power of the emperor. The rumors that the general was not content with the tiger seal. He wanted more. More power, more soldiers, more wealth, until he coveted even the dragon throne.

“To everyone he was the general, but he is still my father. The one who took me into his household when I was a baby.” He shrugs, lips drawing into a thin line. “I don’t want to talk about my father.”

“I—” I open my mouth to speak, to ask more questions. About how he came to be the adopted son of the Banished Prince. But the voice of the crier pierces the night, announcing the hour.

He’s on his feet before I can blink, alert and ready. It reminds me again that he is more than he claims to be. A threat.