A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (37)

Time for me to ask, and time for him to answer.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


“Are you the Shadow?” The magic works itself into my voice, making it low and breathy, like someone else is speaking through me. As if I am truly calling down the gods.

“No,” he whispers in turn. His features waver, obscured by a sudden mist, and the scent of camellia blossoms settles around us once again.

We regard each other, as if on either side of a waterfall. I lift my hand, and his own arm rises, too, parting the mist until we touch. I think of the figure in the darkness I sparred with, face obscured by a black mask.

The Shadow … The Silver Needle spins in the bottom of the cup, looking for an answer. But it doesn’t match. It’s not him.

“Do you wish the princess harm?” I ask. “Why are you here, Kang?” His fingers flutter under my hand at the sound of his name. The mist parts, changes. The palace disappears around me, and the mist shows me a vision.

An ornamental bridge. Two children stand above the water, scattering blueberries and wild rice to the koi below. One is Kang and the other is the princess. They laugh, joined in companionship and a warm familiarity.

The mist sweeps in again, obscuring the memory, replacing it with another.

The princess steps forward, her face scrubbed of makeup, her hair devoid of ornamentation. Younger than the regal beauty who presided over the ceremonies.

They’re in a garden. Her garden. He remembers. The branches rustle overhead, spring buds only just beginning to emerge. He notices the soldiers standing guard. He is reminded: Someone is always watching.

“Why are you here, Kang?” Her voice is sharp, accusatory.

“I had hoped we would meet again under better circumstances,” he says.

“Share a drink with me then, so I can thank the person who saved my life.” The corner of her lips quirks up, and he knows she is mocking him. Before her, a tray holds a pot and cups.

“It was simply my duty, Princess.”

“Are you refusing an order?” her bodyguard asks brusquely, stepping out from her place under the tree, hand on the hilt of her sword. Her white outfit contrasts with the warmth of her tanned skin, bringing out the golden hue. Even in this private garden, she wears an armored chest plate, ready to defend the princess against any threat.

“No…” He sighs. “Hello, Ruyi.”

The handmaiden inclines her head in acknowledgment, but her hand still remains on her sword.

“I am simply not worthy.” He bows and sits down in front of the princess.

“My guards say it was like you flew down from the skies to protect me from the assassins’ arrows.” With one hand drawing her sleeve back, the princess places a scoop of tea leaves into a pot. The hot water swells and spills over onto the marble tray. “They were ready to cut you down if you were a threat,” she says lightly, as if she was speaking of someone else.

“My loyalty is to the emperor!” he protests. “I owe him my life, cousin.”

My stomach constricts for him. She wants him to break.

With a tilt of the wrist, she pours the water. The light catches the stream in a beautiful arc, filling two cups. She nudges one of the cups in his direction.

He does not move.

“You will not drink?” she asks, an edge to her voice. A deadly question.

“I will not drink before you, Highness.” He inclines his head, keeping his voice cool.

I am impressed by his restraint, by the way he allows nothing to show, even though I can feel the turmoil inside him. Something I am incapable of hiding myself.

The surface of the cup shimmers before him. No magic, but a different sort of weapon.

“You speak of loyalty to my father.” She smiles, but it’s more like a baring of teeth. “Do you think I would give you poison?”

“Before I drink, I ask that you hear my own request.” He bows his head. “And then, my life will be in your hands.”

“How dare you—” Ruyi steps forward, outraged, but the princess waves her back.

“You use words like ‘duty’ and ‘loyalty,’” the princess says, each word intended to wound. “And yet you forget where you come from.”

“I remember my place,” he concedes. “I only wish to speak with my uncle.”

“Anything you wish to say to my father, you can say to me. Cousin.” The last word uttered as a distasteful reminder of his family’s lineage.

“I only wish to ask him to reconsider our exile.” He keeps speaking, undeterred by her warning. “And to reassure him of our loyalty. These are dangerous times. With the unrest at the borders, the bandits, the threat of the northern clans … He can rely on us, for we are family—”

“Family.” The princess runs her finger over the edge of her cup. “My own family will not drink something poured by my hand.”

With one swift movement, he lifts the cup to his lips and drains it, then salutes her. He sets it down on the stone with a forceful clatter, betraying his impatience.

“Is that enough?” he asks. “Now will you allow me to speak with him?”

She leaps across the table, a flash of steel in her hand. The point of a dagger presses against his throat, but he does not flinch. He sits with his hands resting on the table. Waiting.