A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (70)
He lied to me, a quiet voice protests within, stinging from the betrayal.
I know better now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Chancellor Zhou has us moved out of our residence, as it is now sealed off for further investigation. Due to the influx of ministers and officials called to the palace for the upcoming funeral rites and the remaining rounds of the competition, the servant residences are full. Lian and I now reside with the scholars in the upper levels of the library, on the fifth floor. It is a circular room with simple furnishings. I prefer the sparseness to our previous accommodations; I’ve grown tired of being surrounded by fragile, breakable things.
I fall asleep quickly, the fatigue of the past few days washing over me like a wave. When my eyes open again, the room is already filled with sunlight. The Piya is singing, looking for attention, the light filtering through the fabric over its cage. I pull the covering off and it greets me with more warbles, jumping off the stand. It pecks at the bottom of its cage, looking for food.
“I’m sorry,” I tell it. “I have nothing to give you right now.” It cocks its head, watching me again with its inquisitive eyes. I shudder. One bite from this bird and I will die a quick, painful death. I decide to stay as far away from it as possible.
Qing’er is the one who delivers our morning meal, exclaiming at the view from our window. I only feel safe speaking of what transpired last night after he is gone, not wanting to involve anyone else in these increasingly dangerous endeavors. The stranger slipped easily through our window, without the chancellor’s guards noticing. Instead of trying to take the bird, he could have killed us in our beds.
We slurp fat noodles in light broth, layered with pieces of sweet green gourd and slivers of pork. Qing’er said this was a northern tradition, noodles for summer, especially as the solstice approaches, and dumplings are meant for winter. Although because of how much the emperor loved dumplings, they are usually eaten all year round in the palace. I can’t help but wonder how the tastes of the kitchen will change when another ascends the throne.
Lian offers the bird a bite of the gourd, but it refuses the green flesh with a distasteful expression.
Once our bowls are empty, I finally tell Lian the details of my encounters with Kang. How I shared a cup of Golden Key with him, then the Silver Needle, to test his true intentions—and how I failed. But to my surprise, Lian does not chastise me. Instead she seems impressed.
“To be able to gain mastery of the Shift is a great gift,” Lian says with awe in her voice. “You are talented, Ning.”
The thought pleases me, but it reminds me of how much more I have to learn. The great tree in the darkness, where the goddess spoke …
“Is that what it’s called, that in-between place? The Shift?”
“Yesterday I felt it, I think, for the first time.” Her eyes gleam. “That feeling of stepping outside your body that you experienced. It was different from imbuing already strong men with strength, more than just adding wood to the fire. When I helped Ruyi … I held her connection to the world. I protected her. I spoke with her when you grappled with the dark creature, kept her from slipping into the beyond. In our legends, we refer to death as a cliff, an eternal fall. When I was there, I pulled Ruyi away from the edge, but I heard something else call my name.”
She shudders, and I feel for her, this kind girl I dragged into my quest to save my sister. I reach out and take her hand.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “For assisting me without hesitation when I needed you. Thank you for being a true friend.”
All I can offer are my words. I have no riches, no rare ingredients, nothing to bargain or barter with except my friendship. And she accepts it, as regal as any princess in the history of Dàxī.
* * *
We descend the stairs to the main levels of the library in order to review the available texts regarding the mystery of the Piya. When one of the scholars notices the bird and asks for our names, he takes us down another set of stone steps into a small chamber below.
“What is this place?” I ask, noticing the cracked bamboo scrolls and the books wrapped in protective cloth.
The scholar bows. “This is the restricted section of the library. The chancellor has indicated that you are welcome to access any of the books here.” Chancellor Zhou must have agreed to provide us with aid at the princess’s behest.
Lian examines the shelves, selecting A Treatise on Northern Poisons and Herbology by a famous ānhé physician, Qibo. I select Língshu, a text penned by one of the great shénnóng-shī who visited the court of the Ascended Emperor, and a slim volume of poison interactions and toxin neutralization from Hánxiá. Even though I gaze longingly at works such as Discussion of Tea Cultivars of the Yún Region and On the Selection of Tea Ware for the Enhancement of the Drinking Experience, I select Recipes for Fifty Ailments, and on a whim, place Wondrous Tales from the Celestial Palace on top of it. I see Lian’s eyes linger on the title, but she does not criticize my choice of such a fanciful text, one that even the most superstitious citizen of Dàxī would dismiss as mythology.
Back in our room, we debate over the old texts, recording notes from the treatises written by the masters of the art, who seem to be in conflict as well. I am desperate to retrieve all the knowledge from these volumes at my fingertips, hopeful that an obscure ingredient in here is an antidote to the poison I am seeking. We learn of the rhinoceros’s horn, supposedly a counter to all poisons, but it is a rarity in itself, the beast found only in a distant kingdom. There is a mention of the black pearl of Lǜzhou, reminding me of Kang, but it seems to be an enhancer of the properties of certain ingredients rather than being a poison counter itself.