A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (61)

My heart hammers in my chest. Someone dared to poison the emperor, and now … I have a new purpose. I have to find the antidote.

“You will grant me access to your storerooms then,” I say quickly. “Access to the antidote, when it is discovered.”

“Yes, done,” she says without hesitation. “Now help her. Please.”

“Where are your kitchens?”



* * *



I know from speaking with Steward Yang that there is a smaller kitchen for the inner palace. At this time of night, the ovens are quiet and the stoves dark, but I am still cautious.

I draw on both my mother’s art and my father’s practice as I rummage through the pots and drawers. Slices of licorice root and round, dried pieces of bitter buckwheat. Long strands of ginseng, like an old man’s beard. I gather everything I need and hurry back to the princess.

The room is almost unbearably warm due to the instructions I left behind. The braziers have now been moved closer to the bed. The princess has torn garments into strips for bandaging and stoked the fire until it is hot enough to disinfect the blade.

“If this was a regular arrowhead, I would leave it, allow it to plug the wound,” I explain to the princess, so she does not strike me down for cutting into her handmaiden. “But because of the poison, I have to pull it out. It will be bloody.”

She nods.

After wiping Kang’s blade clean on my tunic, I pass it through the fire a few times to cleanse the metal, before preparing myself for the task of extricating the arrow from the wound.

“Hold her,” I command, and once I am sure she has a good grip, I place my hand on the broken shaft. Using the dagger, I make an incision to help loosen the head and slide the arrow out. Blood spurts, splattering the front of my tunic. Ruyi’s body arcs and then she crumples again. The princess narrows her eyes, but her hands hold firm as she grits her teeth, bracing herself with one leg off the bed.

Even though I know it is due to the pain, I test Ruyi’s pulse to be sure. Weak, fluttering, but still there. I have to work fast, against her body, which is slowing down. All blood will run to the heart, carrying the poison with it. I’m running out of time.

“I can draw the poison out, but I don’t think she will survive without something to strengthen her body,” I tell the princess when I scrutinize the extent of the wound. “I need help.”

“What do you mean, help?” she asks.

“I need another shénnóng-shī, or at the very least, a shénnóng-tú,” I say to her.

She shakes her head. “I can’t … I can’t involve anyone else. It’s too dangerous. The poison…” She hesitates for a moment before continuing. “It leads to someone in the Ministry of Rites, perhaps even the council itself.”

I could almost shake her, force it out of her, but the terror in her expression is real. The way she clutches Ruyi, smoothing the hair away from her face. I decide to go with the truth.

“You have to choose: your plan, or her life?”

She looks down at Ruyi, the conflict clear, but then her expression smooths, as impenetrable as the wooden mask the Shadow dons.

“Who would you suggest?” she says. Only the barest quiver of her cheek betrays her true emotions.

“Lian. The daughter of the Kallah ambassador.”

The princess nods. “Only her. No one else.”



* * *



I bring Lian back to the inner palace through the hidden tunnels as directed, making a brief stop at the kitchens along the way for more ingredients. Lian keeps glancing over at me during our trek through the tunnels, muttering to herself. It was easy to convince her of the urgency of the matter, with my disheveled hair and the blood on my tunic.

The only thing she says to me when we approach the princess’s residence is: “All that time spent at the library, huh?”

“I promise you”—I usher her through the door—“I will explain everything after.”

The princess looks up when we enter and greets Lian with a nod.

“I require your skills.” I gesture toward the figure on the bed. “You say your mentor specialized in strength. Do you think you would be able to fortify her body and keep her alive while I draw out the poison?”

Lian chews on her lip, considering this. “Poison?”

“Yes. An arrow dipped in crow’s head.”

“Ah.” She recognizes the name. “I’ve seen it done, but I haven’t tried it myself.”

“Y? lí cè h?i,” I mutter to myself. Our task is like trying to measure the sea with a single gourd. Nearly impossible with the limitations of my age, my lack of knowledge.

Lian snorts. “No wonder you need my help. All we can do is try.”

At least one of us is optimistic about our chances of success.

Lian gets to work on her tonic, using the tray of ingredients we collected at the kitchens.

“I wouldn’t call myself a healer,” she says as she pinches this and pulls out slivers of that and places them into a pot. “But my teacher knows how to push the physical limits of the human body. Perhaps this will help hold her together.”

I glance at her ingredients to make sure my choices will not counteract the effects of her tonic. Lian has chosen mugwort to improve circulation, crimson mushroom to strengthen the heart.