A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (3)
“Ning!” Shu’s whisper cuts through the night. I guess she wasn’t asleep after all. My heart aches at the sight of her face, pale as milk. She looks like a feral creature from one of Mother’s tales—eyes glimmering wild, hair a tangle around her head, a deer wearing human skin.
I kneel at her side while her hands find mine, holding out something small wrapped in cloth. The sharp end of a pin pricks my palm. Unwrapping the handkerchief, I raise the object to the moonlight and see a jeweled hairpin from one of Mother’s grateful patrons, a precious memory of the capital. This treasure she had intended for Shu, like the necklace Mother gave to me.
“Take this with you,” my sister says, “so you can feel beautiful in the palace. As beautiful as she was.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she quiets my protests with a shake of her head.
“You must leave tonight.” Her voice takes on a stern tone, sounding like she is the older sister, and me, the younger. “Don’t stuff yourself with too many chestnut tarts.”
I laugh too loud and swallow it down, gulping back tears in the same breath. What if I come back, and she’s gone?
“I believe in you,” she says, echoing last night’s ferocity, when she told me I had to go to the capital and leave her behind. “I’ll tell Father in the morning you are visiting our aunt. That will give you some time before he notices you are gone.”
I squeeze her hand tightly, not sure if I can speak. Not sure what I would even say.
“Don’t let the Banished Prince catch you in the dark,” she whispers.
A childhood tale, a bedtime story we’ve all grown up on. The Banished Prince and his isle of criminals and brigands. What she means is, Be safe.
I press my lips to my sister’s forehead and slip out the door.
CHAPTER TWO
With the courage tea still unfurling through my body, I move quicker than usual through the misty night. The moon is a pale disc that lights my way, leading me toward the main road.
Mother used to say there is a beautiful woman who lives on the moon, stolen away by her celestial husband, who coveted her beauty on earth. He built her a crystal palace and gave her a rabbit as a companion, with the hope that the solitude would make her crave his presence. But she was clever and stole the elixir of immortality he had brewed for himself. The gods offered her a place among them, but she chose to remain in her palace, having grown accustomed to the quiet.
They gave her the title of Moon Goddess and named her Ning, for tranquility. I can still remember Mother’s soft voice, telling me stories as she stroked my hair. The feeling of love that enveloped me when she told me the origin of my name.
With her voice guiding me, my feet lead me to a small grove of pomelo trees at the outer edge of our orchards. Here, I touch the waxy leaves. These trees were painstakingly raised by my mother from seed. She picked me and Shu up and spun us around when they finally blossomed and bore fruit, her joy encircling us and making us laugh. She’s buried here, among the trees. My breath catches when I notice a shimmer of white among the green buds. The first blossom of the season, barely opening in bloom.
Her favorite flower. A sign her soul still lingers here, watching over us.
A sudden wind picks up and rustles the trees. The leaves brush against my hair, as if they sense the sadness inside and wish to offer me comfort.
I run my thumb over the necklace I wear at the base of my throat—the bumps and crevices of the symbol signifying eternity, the cosmic balance. Three souls contained within each of us, separated from our bodies when we die. One returning to the earth, one to the air, and the final soul descending into the wheel of life. I press my lips against the hard, smooth bead at the knot’s center.
Grief has a taste, bitter and lingering, but so soft it sometimes disguises itself as sweetness.
Mother, it is here I miss you the most.
I whisper a promise to her, to return with a cure for Shu’s illness.
With my hands clasped over my heart, I bow, a promise to the dead and the living, and leave my childhood home behind.
* * *
I reach the main road, which leads me close to the slumbering village. I turn back only once, to glance at the night softening around our gardens. Even in the darkness, fog curls around the top of the tea trees, muting their color. A sea of swaying green and white.
That’s when I hear something—a curious rustling, birdlike. I pause. There’s movement across the tiled roof of a nearby building, down the sloped ridges. I recognize the shape of the rafters—it’s the tea warehouse at the edge of town. Holding my breath, I listen. That is no bird. It’s the whisper of shoes sliding across the rooftop.
A shadow appears in the dirt before me, cast from above—crouched and furtive. An intruder.
There is no good reason to skulk about the governor’s warehouse. Unless you want to be pulled into pieces by four horses, spurred in opposing directions. Or … if you have the power to defy him with the strength of three men, the ability to leap up to the rooftop in a single bound, and can cut your way out of a crowd of soldiers with the swiftness of your sword.
The Shadow.
People have spread warnings about the Shadow—the strange figure said to be behind the rash of tea poisonings throughout the land. It is known that bandits lurk near the borders of Dàxī, robbing caravans and hurting anyone who gets in their way. But there is a certain outlaw who does not associate with the list of gangs known to the Ministry of Justice. One outlaw who is able to find hidden treasures and expose secrets, leaving a trail of bodies behind them.