A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (36)

“You’ve deserved it every time,” I retort.

“That’s fair.” His smile stretches even wider, not bothered by my sharpness. “Will you finally tell me your name?”

My name doesn’t carry as much weight as his. My family is not renowned, infamous like his. Why does he care so much about my name and about who I am?

I must have stared at him for too long—I can feel the chasm between us widen again, and his face grows serious. He turns and sits down on the steps with a sigh. After a pause, I follow, careful to keep an arm’s length between us.

“I thought you wanted me to come back.” He sounds disappointed.

“I did!” The moment the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back. I hurry to explain, “I still find it difficult to trust you, however. Knowing what I know.”

“Why? Who do you believe I am?” he demands. “You still think I’m an assassin?”

It’s easier to deal with him when he is prickly and defensive, rather than soft and vulnerable.

“Tell me!” I press. “Are you the Shadow? Are you the one who poisoned the tea bricks?”

I look for any hint of deception—a flicker in the eyes, a certain nervous twitch—to confirm my suspicions. But he looks stunned that I would even believe that of him, sputtering for a moment before regaining his ability to speak. “Why would I poison the tea? What do I possibly have to gain?”

“To create unrest in the empire.” I’m repeating back what I’ve heard in the village, the kitchens, and among the other shénnóng-tú. “To regain the throne for your father. I have seen what people will do for power.” I know the extent of the governor’s terrible influence within Sù. The taxes that grow higher each year for our protection, while the people suspect the bandits we are “protected” from are his own hired thugs.

I expect Kang to react angrily to my accusations, that I would goad him into leaving and never speaking to me again, but he appears thoughtful instead.

“We feel the burden in all corners of the empire,” he says. “That’s why I’m here in the capital. I’m here to petition the emperor to help my people. If he will not see me, then a regent must continue to rule if he is ill. While the court continues their political games, the people will slowly starve.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

“How can I convince you I’m telling the truth?” His hand tightens into a fist at his side. “If I cannot even win over a stranger in the market, how could I possibly sway the court?”

My mouth drops open as it all becomes clear. “Is that why you care so much about what I think of you? I’m the practice target for your oratory skills? That if you can convince an uneducated commoner to join your cause, you would be able to convince the scholars and the nobles?”

“That is not—” He scowls. “That is not what I meant. You’re twisting things. Purposely misunderstanding me.”

Even with my pride hurt, I remember what Lian said: If the shénnóng-tú from the capital are using all the tools at their disposal to win, so too must we rally our strengths. The Silver Needle can tell the truth from a lie, and what better person to test it on than Kang?

“Prove it to me,” I say, standing. It’s my turn to look down at him. “Prove to me you are not lying.”

He looks up at me, already wary. “What would you have me do?”

“The next round of the competition is a test of honesty,” I tell him. “Of untangling truth from lies. I need someone to practice on. If you are telling me the truth, then you have nothing to fear.” Perhaps he can even reveal something about the court that can help me advance in the competition.

He accepts without hesitation, which surprises me. Is he so confident in his ability to deceive a mere shénnóng-tú, or does he believe in the truthfulness of every word he utters?

I mull over these possibilities while restoking the fire inside the residence, using the moment to myself to gather my thoughts. I’ve never been taught this sort of magic, and the doubt continues to worry at me. You cannot pull the truth from the unwilling, and you cannot tear something out of a mind that is closed off. A give and a take.

Will he be willing to tell me the truth? Can I handle whatever secrets he’s hiding?

I set the tea ware on the stone table in the courtyard, stifling a yawn when he is not looking. The weariness is starting to fray my nerves, since I already exerted myself with the use of my magic earlier on Steward Yang.

My portion of the Silver Needle is only enough for a single cup. I pour the water over the delicate strands. What I’ve gleaned from my afternoon reviewing books with Lian is this: Silver Needle is a tribute tea, each leaf plucked individually from the tree by hand. The weight is so featherlight, even the slightest movement of the water sends each strand swirling in a vortex, down to a point. That is where it is said to be able to pierce the veil, to draw out the fine thread of truth from the mind.

I take the first sip, then place the cup in front of him. A challenge.

“Do I just drink it?” he asks, picking it up gingerly. I’m reminded of the way he fled after the last time we shared a drink. I nod.

Meeting my eyes, he drinks, draining the cup. The magic flares inside me immediately, remembering him. The light in the courtyard shifts, encircling us once again, until everything appears lit with a silver tinge. I can hear the strumming of the pipa, the sweet sound of the singer’s voice drifting over the Jade River …