A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (74)

I empty my stomach into a pot in the pavilion corner, understanding intimately now what Mother meant about Shénnóng’s price. The magic turns on the wielder tenfold if using it for harm. But I’ve never gone against her teachings before, and it feels like a slight against her memory.

A fleeting thought occurs to me while I am sick: How powerful the shénnóng-shī who is responsible for the tea bricks must be, to be able to direct the poison at so many, with seemingly no effect against themselves.

“Here.” I look up to see Wenyi offering me a handkerchief, averting his eyes. I accept it with a mumbled thanks, aware of my disheveled appearance. I use it to wipe the spittle from my lips and face, making myself presentable again. He acknowledges me with a nod, before returning to his spot beside Chengzhi.

By the time I return to stand beside Lian, the servants have already cleaned the enclosure. She gives me a small nod, indicating she has completed her task successfully, and we face the judges, ready to hear if we have passed their test.

Elder Guo stands with drawn brows, appearing conflicted. The marquis regards me with a scowl while Minister Song shakes his head slowly. The chancellor whispers something to the princess, who nods in response.

“The judges have deliberated and have determined you acted in accordance with the rules of the competition,” the elder announces. “While we do not condone this type of … influence upon such helpless creatures, we recognize that you did bid the Piya to drink the contaminated water, and purged the poison from it. You will continue on to the final round of the competition.”

It was not the pretty resolution they had hoped for, not the sort of demonstration they can magnanimously present to dignitaries and officials, but we have solved the riddle. I know now their preferences for the type of pretty magic common in the capital, and it makes me seethe. This much is clear: They know nothing of life outside these beautiful walls. I ball the handkerchief tight into the palm of my hand, reminded yet again how I do not fit into their expectations of courtly behavior.

Lian places her hand on my shoulder, as if she can sense my dark thoughts. I know the ugliness of the emotions I had to draw on in order to hurt that bird, and I am ashamed of them.

“We did it,” she whispers. I wish I felt elation at our accomplishment, and not a sense of approaching dread.

There is a short break as the servants approach to hang lanterns from the roof of the pavilion, providing illumination for the final pair. Crickets sound in the distance. Somewhere in the dark, a frog croaks.

Wenyi and Chengzhi approach the platform and bow to the judges. Chengzhi is the one who releases the bird, while it is Wenyi who takes charge of the poison. He shields the lower part of his face with a covering and grinds the jīncán into powder—the traditional approach, as it is odorless and tasteless, perfect for slipping into any waiting food or drink.

Chengzhi brings over a large pot and sets it on the ground before Wenyi, who pours in the powder. We all watch expectantly as the pot begins to shake, the sound of something moving within. With held breath, we hear the noise grow louder as something thrashes within. And then … stillness. Whatever is inside has succumbed to the jīncán’s poison.

Using two long sticks, Chengzhi pulls out a dripping snake from the pot. I recognize the slender form of a water snake, brown body with black speckled patterns. It hangs limply as Chengzhi maneuvers it to the enclosure, shutting it within the same space as their Piya. The bird retreats to the back of the cage, regarding the intruder with caution.

Lian and I look at each other, not understanding how the Piya is to ingest the poison if it is already contained within the snake. Wenyi draws out a piece of something black and crumbling from a pouch on his tray and places it under his tongue.

A strange, cool wind sweeps through the pavilion, stirring our hair and our sleeves. The lanterns sway above our heads, their shadows jumping across the stone floor. The scent of frost, with a hint of pine, hangs in the air. Like stepping into the forest in winter, when we ascend the narrow paths into the mountains to harvest wild mushrooms. When I tip my face up to the sky, I am almost certain snow is beginning to fall—

“It’s moving!” someone gasps.

Returning my attention to the enclosure, I see the body of the snake twitch. It moves in an odd manner, as if it is constructed from segments like a wooden toy. It pulls itself together in an approximation of life, yet it should be dead. The snake rises and its head bobs jerkily, tongue darting out, tasting the air.

There is something wrong with its eyes, covered with a pale film.

It turns, still bobbing in that unnatural way, bumping its head against the mesh. Swaying, it veers and then—it meets my eyes. For a moment, the two of us regard each other in stillness, until its head swivels away, and it returns to its search.

I only imagined it, I’m sure.

The snake notices the bird then and raises itself up in a challenge. Its shadow lengthens on the stone floor. The Piya extends its wings, seeking an escape route, screeching a warning, but there is nowhere for it to go. The snake hisses, baring its fangs. The snake is the first to attack, darting forward. With a furious squawk, the bird takes hold of it in its talons, even as the snake fights to break free. The bird bites the snake again and again, sending bloody splatters against the floor of the enclosure. Until at last, the snake seemingly succumbs to its wounds and lies still. The bird, also bloodied, begins to tremble and then shake, the poison taking hold.