A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (64)
“It sounds like your mother made her choices for her family, but what about you? What do you want?”
I don’t want to talk about my mother. I don’t want to talk about my future, imaginary or not. “All I know is I need to focus on finding the antidote. If the poison that affected Ruyi is the same as the one that killed my mother … That snake creature … have you seen it before?”
Lian shudders. “Those faces were an abomination. Nothing like that should exist.”
“I think the goddess tried to warn me before,” I tell her. “When I first encountered the poisoned tea, I saw a snake, too. The two of them must be connected somehow.”
Lian crosses her arms, considering this. “Someone tried to kill the closest person to the princess. Not to mention the multiple attempts on her own life.”
“And someone has already killed her father, the most powerful and protected person in the empire.” If I value my life, this is knowledge I should keep to myself. But I need someone with knowledge of the intricacies of the court. Lian would be able to tell me who I can speak with, and who I should avoid.
My friend does not appear surprised by this, only troubled. “You know this for certain?”
“The princess did not deny it.”
“It’s just as my father said.” She shakes her head. “The Prince of Dài will return to reclaim what he believes to be his.”
“After all this time…?” Ten years is a long time. For an empire to change, for loyalties to shift.
“I was in the palace when the Prince of Dài attempted to overthrow the emperor.” Her voice is soft, but the fear in her eyes betrays her. “I was young, but I still remember. How scared I was when Father sent me through the back gate. I watched the palace burn. The court splintered. Many were executed when the rebellion failed.”
She pauses in her pacing to regard me with a severity that makes her appear older than her years. “But many innocents who played no part died, too. I don’t want you to get hurt. Be careful, Ning.”
I am reminded of the night I tiptoed out of the house in the dark, when a girl younger than me in age, but wiser in all other things, gave me a similar warning.
“I would like to think we are friends,” I say, my way of apologizing for hiding things from her.
“We are.” She gives me a smile, and the way ahead seems less daunting, if only for a moment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
That evening we don our competitor’s robes, our new outfits devoid of color or ornamentation. Only the royal family can be clothed in mourning white, but the rest of the palace residents show our respect by wearing black. White banners hang from the rafters and before every doorway to remind us of Dàxī’s loss.
We do not resume the competition in the Hall of Reflection, but instead, as befitting the virtue of wisdom, we meet in the top room of the library pavilion. From here, the latticed windows are cut into the shape of flowers and reveal the lights of the palace grounds and the city beyond. Outside, a warm spring rain drizzles over the rooftops, casting everything in a misty hue.
This room appears to be one for meditation and practicing calligraphy, as there is only one scroll hanging from the wall, with three characters written in a flourish:
人之初
The eternal question and conflict posed by the philosophers: Is it human nature to be good, or evil?
How many emperors and empresses have stood here in this very room and looked up, pondering how they will answer that question in order to guide the people of Dàxī? Has Princess Zhen ever stood in the very place where I am standing now, thinking about the same question? What is her answer?
The birds are again present in their gold cages, their permanent residence not the Hall of Reflection like I initially believed. This time I take note of their feathers—a rich, deep purple, fading to green tips. Their eyes are dark spots with a bright sheen, the curve of their scarlet beaks ending in a sharp point.
“We return to the third round of the competition.” Elder Guo looks particularly foreboding in black robes, like a fortune-teller about to pronounce a dire omen. She is the only judge present at this time, having already passed along her regards from the others this evening. They are preoccupied with the future of the empire for the moment.
“It is imperative that we continue with our efforts,” she continues. “We will not allow dissidents to disrupt the course of the competition. For Dàxī is a mighty river, and they are only broken branches, to be carried away by the current.”
Her words are meant to provide reassurance, but I’ve learned to see through the platitudes of court officials, how their actions sometimes conflict with their grandiose pronouncements. After all, with enough dissidents, one could build a dam that could divert the most powerful of rivers.
“Behind me are the Piya, the embodiment of the phrase ‘attack poison with poison.’ We train the birds from birth. They are continually fed a diet of poisonous creatures, until they are both immune to poison and are poisonous themselves.” She smiles at our shared confusion and unfamiliarity with such creations.
“I thought they were birds of legend,” Guoming says. “They aren’t real.”
“I assure you,” Elder Guo says, “they are very real. You may recognize them by another name: the poisonfeather bird. Their bite, their claws, their tears, their excrement … all contain poison. They are also excellent poison detectors, for they will not ingest what they cannot endure. Now, for your next task…”