A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (38)

“I will remind you that you were banished, told never to return to Jia under threat of death.” The knifepoint trails downward, to rest over his heart, where the red seal sits, branding him as traitor.

“It is a matter of life and death, Princess,” he says, sitting utterly still.

“Whose life?” the princess asks. “And whose death?”

Kang’s hand jerks away from mine, the vision dissipating into nothing. The magic releases us from its grasp, loosening the connection between my mind and his. I did not merely listen to their conversation—I’d felt every motion, as if I were inside his body.

He does not mean her any harm. It is his own life that is in danger.

We are back in the twilight of the courtyard, on either side of the stone table. There is anguish in his expression, and I can still feel the pull of his desperation, his need to achieve the task he set out to accomplish. He fights for his people—his mother’s people, the woman who took him in as her own.

“Do you believe me now?” he asks.

I nod. I don’t trust my voice.

“Lǜzhou is not a place where shénnóng-shī care to visit,” he goes on to say. “But perhaps one day you will join me there, and you can teach us about your art. It’s a beautiful place, even with its reputation.”

His offer startles me; I remember the revulsion that caused him to pull away when he found out what I was capable of in Azalea House.

“It’s not…” He blinks. “It’s not for the reason you believe…”

He does not finish his thought, for the simple act of remembering draws it back again. The ghostly strains of a flute, floating in the air. The remnants of the Golden Key, shimmering once again into being, forces our connection back together, sharply, until we both gasp at the force of it.

He tries to fall back, to sever the memory, but it’s too late.

We return to the garden.

The dagger pointed at his heart. His words that follow: “I wonder what the people of Jia will think of a regent who is hiding the death of an emperor. I wonder if they will accept a princess who sits on a throne of lies.”

The princess sinks back in her seat, face devoid of color.

The emperor is dead. I gasp at the revelation.

The mist quickly parts as he closes the distance between us. His hands grab my shoulders.

“Listen, this is important,” he hisses. I can feel his whole body trembling. “Did you put something in the tea? Did you put in more Golden Key?”

I start to shake my head. “No…” And then I stop, because that would be a lie, and he would be able to sense it. The Silver Needle points both ways. “I don’t know. It wasn’t the Silver Needle. I think it was from … before. Something the Golden Key left behind.”

“It’s dangerous,” he says. “You have to forget what you heard. I didn’t understand, I underestimated your power—”

The wind picks up, whistling around us. We are caught in the dizzying space between memory and present.

“They will kill you.” He’s so close. His expression wild. Afraid. “I do not believe the shénnóng-shī are capable of resurrection.”

“You believe it to be true?” I whisper, not wanting to believe the palace able to contain such a large secret.

His hands drop away from me. The connection quivers between us, like the plucked string of a zither. “I have been in the capital for a few weeks,” he says, turning away so I can only see the side of his face. “Watching to see what comes in and out of the palace. The last reports said the emperor appeared gravely ill, but now … I’m not sure what Zhen is doing. Waiting to see who will reveal themselves as a potential threat? Who will offer an alliance?”

Kang paces in front of me, all composure lost. “They will kill you, do you understand? They will not hesitate.”

I hear the sound of thunder in the distance, even though the sky was clear before we entered this dreamscape. The intensity of his emotions having conjured the wind, whipping our hair across our faces. Lifting, spinning us up until our feet are dangling above the ghostly forms of our bodies. My stomach revolts at the sudden movement. I have to hold us both together, before our souls are severed and we are unable to find our way back to our physical forms.

“Kang!” I call out, fighting against the wind to maintain my grip on his shoulder. Reaching up, I dig my fingers into his neck, at the pressure point there. His eyes burn into mine. “My name, you wanted to know my name, right? It’s Ning. Zhang Ning.”

“Zhang Ning,” he repeats softly.

With a rush, we return into our bodies, a dizzying fall. I sag against the stone table for support, uncertain if my legs can hold me up any longer. Across from me, Kang pants as if he’s run a great distance.

“I’m just a girl from Sù,” I say to him. “Who will believe me, even if I try to tell them?”

A peculiar expression crosses his face. “Ning,” he sighs, and a shiver runs through me. “You … you have power. More than you know. More power than those foolish nobles in their grand residences, protected from the hardships of the world. You know what it’s like out there, living each day wondering if you will survive the next. You have hungered.”

He says this with an edge to his voice, reminding me he could have been a prince, if his father had succeeded in taking over the throne. He would be the one residing in the inner palace instead, dressed in silk. In Mother’s stories, princes never had a happy ending. They were exchanged for skinned cats, stolen away in the dark of night. They were killed in their beds while another power ascended.