A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (66)

My time spent in the palace, all the things I’ve learned, have begun to change my understanding of my childhood. How I used to view everything through a warped mirror, and how I am still searching for clarity.

“She does not know who to trust,” I tell her. “How can she?”

Lian offers the bird a peanut, and it squawks, annoyed. “She may be right in one aspect. If she is able to determine the source of the poison and figure out an antidote, she can at least appease some of the people.”

“Many of them are just tired and afraid.” Lost, like me.

“My father has been preparing for this day. The stars have already foretold it. The empire will split, and change will come.” She says it with confidence, as certain as the sun rising from the east, and I envy her staunch belief in the words of the astronomers.

“What do they see? Is her rule foretold?” I ask, curious. “Why can they not reassure the people who will be a good ruler and who will be a bad one?”

“Everyone is able to see the stars; it’s the interpretation that is the dangerous part.” Lian frowns. “The stars are not a straight road but a split stream, each breaking into smaller ones, infinite possibilities outlined across the sky. And it’s a risky profession. You may say something that will anger a powerful person, and then…” She makes a slicing motion across her throat.

“Not everyone wants the future to be seen,” I remark, and she acknowledges this with a nod.

Lian picks up the cage with the bird, ready to bring it into our sleeping area.

“You don’t mean for us to sleep with the Piya?” I ask, skin already crawling with the thought of those eyes watching me while I’m dreaming.

“You heard the warning Elder Guo gave us. If the bird dies, we’ll be removed from the competition, and worse.”

I puzzle over this, not understanding, until the realization comes. Kill the bird, strike us from the competition. With the bird in our care, we’re vulnerable to sabotage.

“Games within games,” I mutter, sick of the intrigue. It reminds me again of my own ignorance.

“I told you before, Shao’s family is deeply connected in the court,” Lian says. “In both the department of the royal physicians and the Court of Officials, but he is the first of his family to have demonstrated an affinity with Shénnóng. Liu Guoming is a distant relative of the marquis, and his family has been in the tea business for generations. Their families know intimately how the tea and entertainment districts function with the officials. It is advantageous to them to have an ear in the court or influence in Hánxiá.

“The games will continue in the palace tonight. It is best we stay vigilant. Get some rest, Ning. We’ll both need it.”





CHAPTER THIRTY


I wake to the sound of screaming, a high-pitched keening that yanks me from the depths of dreaming and throws me roughly into the dark room. The noise seems to come from everywhere at once.

I throw off the covers, immediately looking for Lian to make sure she is not the one in anguish. Her eyes are two bright dots across the room as she clutches the blankets to her chest. She lifts her arm and shakily points to the corner. A breeze swirls around my legs as I notice light streaming from an opened window.

Above our heads, a shadow sweeps. We duck, and I realize that the source of the terrifying wail is the bird, heading for the window between our beds.

“Lian!” I yell. “Close the window!”

She leaps up and slams the window shut before the bird can find an escape. The Piya shrieks again, aggravated, then settles on top of one of the cabinets, preening itself with fervor.

I fumble for the matches and light the candles, and the room finally comes into view.

There is an overturned stool in the corner. Two legs are visible behind the screen, clad in black pants and black boots. I grab Kang’s dagger and pull it from its sheath, holding it ahead of me with a shaking hand. As I approach, I smell a stench like emptied bowels, like sickness.

“What … what is it?” Lian asks.

Using my foot, I nudge the leg and it flops to the side. Dagger at the ready, I pull the screen aside to reveal the face of the man lying on the floor.

Lian’s shriek is muffled, but I can still hear the terror contained behind her sleeve. The man had fallen to his side, one arm underneath him, the other hand clutching his throat. His tongue is swollen, purple, flopping out the side of his mouth like a slug. There is blood seeping out of every orifice. Trickling out his nose and ears and streaming out the corner of his eyes like tears.

It looks like he died painfully, brutally, with no peace in his final moments.

“I’m … I’m fairly certain he is dead,” I say to Lian, trying to reassure her, but the quaver of my own voice betrays me.

With a loud crash, someone bursts through the doors of our residence, footsteps rapidly approaching. I quickly thrust the dagger up my sleeve and out of sight. We are suddenly surrounded by guards in our small room. They avert their eyes, raising their swords to their foreheads in a salute. One of them steps forward and bows to us.

“Apologies for our intrusion,” he says. “We have been tasked to watch over your residence tonight, but it seems we have arrived too late to be of any assistance. I have sent for the chancellor—he requested to be informed if there was a disturbance in your residence.”