A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (33)

It’s the worry that is undoing her. The anxiety eating away a hollow in her belly, the thoughts keeping her up late at night.

With a gasp, my eyes snap open.

“Qing’er!” I call out, and the boy is quick to appear at my side. “Go to the storeroom and fetch a few pieces of dāngguī, and five handfuls of dried huáng qí. Try to pick the thinnest strands you can find.”

He nods and runs through the door.

Steward Yang sets down her cup. “Why? What did you see?”

Without the rest she needs, her body will only grow weaker. Dryness in the mouth, affecting the way things taste, loss of strength in her limbs, difficulty catching her breath … and eventually far graver effects.

“I think there is something you are terribly worried about…” I try to untangle the symptoms from the cause, the phantom ache in my head still ringing. “No, not something … someone. Someone close to you, as close to you as a part of your body. It’s keeping you up at night.”

“Like carving out my organs,” she whispers.

Mother used to call us her dear ones, her xīn gān b?o bèi. Her heart and her organs, an irreplaceable part of her. Shu and I would laugh at her exaggerated affection, but we loved her attention.

It finally dawns on me. I should have seen it sooner. “Your daughter.”

She nods. “Chunhua was picked to be the emperor’s handmaiden. I was so proud … she’s clever. Even the emperor himself praised her once. She was happy with her position, until the illness came last winter. All the servants of the emperor’s personal residences have been shut into the inner court. No one in, no one out. I have not seen her for two seasons!” She trembles, and Lian places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“We’ve all heard about the emperor’s illness,” Lian says. “The news has already reached the border towns.”

“Yes, you would know, wouldn’t you? The ambassador’s daughter.” Steward Yang sniffles, but her tone is now resigned. “There have been … rumors as well. Rumors that the emperor himself has been poisoned by the Shadow, that he is permanently bedridden, which is why he has not shown his face in months.”

The thought is troubling, but it would explain the lack of his presence.

“The emperor must need to eat,” I say. “Can’t you get a message to your daughter somehow through the kitchen deliveries?”

The steward shakes her head. “The inner palace has its own kitchen. When we deliver our goods, we leave them in the courtyard. The staff pick up what they need, then we return to collect the rest. I’ve tried before to supervise the delivery, but they speak through the gate and ask us to leave. The physicians say it is for our own protection, but … I fear the worst.”

Qing’er runs in with the requested ingredients in hand, disrupting the somber atmosphere. I pour the ingredients into an earthen pot that can withstand the heat of coals, just like the pot that held our breakfast earlier. I pour the hot water over the dried herbs and allow the water to settle. The medicinal musk wafts into the air, tingling my nose.

I always thought it was my father who wanted to help everyone in the village, even if it put the family at risk and attracted the attention of the governor. I never understood why. I resented our threadbare clothes, how some days Mother had to stretch a handful of rice into congee. I wondered why Mother always helped him without question. But now I can see why. If you can feel someone else’s suffering, how can you look away?

I convince myself it’s only the steam making my eyes water.

The steward suddenly grabs my hands, insistent. “I heard the shénnóng-shī can send messages across distances. That you can whisper a word into the night and it will find the target. Can you do that for me? Can you send a message to my daughter?”

I shake my head. “I wish I could. I don’t know how to send messages through walls or speak to someone in dreams. It may be something a truly powerful shénnóng-shī is able to do, but I have never learned it.”

Steward Yang pulls back, folding her arms over her chest. “Sometimes I wish I were the Shadow. Able to step through walls and hide in the darkness. I always thought the palace was a refuge from the harsh reality of life, but now I know it is a prison.”

I stir the tonic in the pot with a wooden spoon, ensuring that it remains at a simmer and not a boil. The thought of the emperor shut in his grand palace leaves me feeling unsettled, and I remember what the Esteemed Qian hinted at: Change is coming.

When the tonic is done, I strain it using one of the resting pots, then pour it into a bowl. The color of the liquid has darkened considerably, into an unappealing brown. I bring it over to the steward, setting it in front of her.

“You have to sleep,” I tell her. “Without sleep, you cannot be ready if she needs you. How can you take care of your heart if your mind is slow?”

She grumbles at the lecture but places her hands around the bowl. “Look at me, listening to a mere child. I’m getting muddled in my old age.”

“Grandmother.” Qing’er hugs her from behind, sweet as malt sugar. “You are still young.”

Steward Yang smiles at that and lowers her head to blow on the surface of the tonic.

“Wait!” I jump up and return to my room to fetch a small bundle from my dressing table. “This will make it easier to drink, if you like.”