A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (39)

It is dangerous, to be a prince.

“When she comes into power, her advisers will suggest she rid herself of her opponents. I left without my father’s knowledge, hoping she could at least spare the lives of my mother’s people.” He looks into the distance. “I hoped I could offer myself as … a hostage? An assurance? That the people of Lǜzhou will swear fealty as long as she does not do us harm. Lǜzhou has suffered enough because of my family.”

“What will you do then, if she does not agree?” I ask.

His jaw clenches. “We hope she will be different, or else we will fight to defend what is ours. She—”

“Don’t,” I warn. “The effects of Silver Needle are still active. Don’t say anything you don’t want to tell me.”

Kang hesitates, then nods. “I hope she will walk a peaceful path.”

He is a well-trained swordsman, and if the people of the Emerald Isles are the same … He speaks of rebellion.

An empire on the precipice of change. Alliances shifting at the whims of those in power. Just like the Ascended Emperor cut a swath through the provinces to secure the throne, just like his sons fought for control. One rules, one is banished.

Anything is possible now that the emperor is dead.

We all have people we care about, those we would give our lives for. It puts us in danger, or makes us dangerous. In a way, I resent the village I come from. I resent the ties that bind me there, because the people there remember my mother returning to the village, unwed and pregnant. They know my awkward ways, my ineptitude for social niceties, my many mistakes. But they are also a part of me. The dirt under my nails, the blood in my veins. I belong with those tea trees, the rice fields, the clay of the riverbanks, the fire in the kilns.

I am selfish, and I know now that I will no longer apologize for it. Let the world burn, if Shu can live.

The gong sounds. The Hour of the Thief.

“I have to go,” Kang says, yet he makes no effort to move.

“You should,” I say, yearning for him to stay.

“I’ll see you again.” It sounds like a promise. He bows, a courtly gesture wasted on someone like me. Yet I can feel the phantom pull of the thread still humming between us.

I can feel it long after he disappears into the night. Long after it feels like he was never there at all.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


We gather to meet the judges at midday, the sun beating high above our heads as we cross the grand courtyard. Without the crowds, without the soldiers, I feel like a tiny ant crawling across the large space. Minister Song greets us at the top of the marble steps, Marquis Kuang standing beside him. I take care to keep myself at the back of the group, to hide my face so he does not suddenly recall that I am the maid responsible for the commotion in his residence two days before.

The roof of the covered balcony shields us from the sun, and we can look over the Courtyard of Promising Future to the rooftops of the palace and then the city beyond. The view is spectacular, too much to take in all at once. A black pagoda stands in the distance, the watchful tower looking over the city’s red-tiled rooftops.

“You stand before the Hall of Eternal Light.” Minister Song’s voice brings us back to the challenge at hand. “This is where the next round will be held. The competition will no longer be open to the public.”

This is not a surprise, but the competitors still murmur at each other before the minister holds up one hand to silence us.

“Still, it is a great honor to be received in this hall. It was built for the Ascended Emperor, to both honor and humble him. From this vantage point, he will remember his purpose: to protect the people of Dàxī, and to remember that even the sun can be shot down from the sky.”

I remember the legend of the archer who once rose to the greatest heights. He shot down nine of the arrogant sons of the Sky Emperor when the earth was on fire beneath them.

Just like the archers who attempted to kill the princess. But no one dares say that aloud.

Minister Song gestures to the man beside him. “Marquis Kuang?”

The nobleman steps forward, spreading his arms with a jovial grin. “I present to you a simple enough task.” A servant comes forward and bows, holding a tray on which five cups are balanced. “You will have five cups to choose from. One cup is safe. The other four cups contain poison.” He waves and the servant backs away.

“Poison!” he declares again, delighted at this challenge. But I know the truth: This competition is rigged in his favor, ensuring that his preferred competitors will have his assistance and the guidance of the Esteemed Qian. Two old men playing at courtly games, confident they will still be in power when a new dawn rises over Dàxī.

Does he know the emperor is dead? Do they all know?

“What sort of poison will you face?” he continues theatrically. “Will it be one that will rack your body with unspeakable pain? Make you bleed from every orifice? Cause you to fall asleep … forever?”

The other shénnóng-tú fret at this, but no one seems particularly afraid. It’s the most basic training of a shénnóng-tú, the discernment of common poisons. They’re expected to be able to identify them by scent, taste, and appearance. But I know that today’s challenge will involve the use of the Silver Needle; it cannot merely be a simple test of skill.