A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (77)

“Wait!” one of the soldiers calls out to me. “A letter came for you.” He bows and passes me a bamboo scroll, secured with twine.

I sit on the redwood stool in my receiving room and examine the scroll, expecting it to be a letter of farewell from Lian. Except when I open it, I realize it does not unfurl. Instead it is a tube meant for transport, something sealed within—a rolled-up sheet of paper and a soft scrap of embroidered fabric.

A peony, the empress of flowers, blooms from the center of the fabric, a vibrant red. Each petal is lined with gold thread, stitched with painstaking detail. But it is growing in a bed of rippling grasses of a peculiar color, deep red to dark purple. In the background are spotted branches like trees, in various shades of pink. The moon glows in the sky like a watchful eye.

In the corner are characters in red thread, depicting a phrase from one of my mother’s favorite poems, one she made us recite frequently, learn by heart. It is the poem that tells me this is Shu’s handiwork.

海底有明月

圓於天上輪

A bright moon mirrored in the sea.

As round as the wheel in the sky.



With shaking hands, I unfurl the sheet of paper, dreading the message in black ink, written by my father’s hand.

Ning-er,

I hope this letter reaches you in time.

I know you have left us in search of a different life, and I do not begrudge you of that. I admit I thought you would fail, entertain this foolishness for a few days and return to the safety of home. It isn’t until these weeks have gone by that I recognize I have chosen my pride rather than my daughters.

I should not have devoted all my time to the villagers, believing you capable of looking after yourself. I did not imagine you would take on such a burden on behalf of your sister. That should have been my role.

But now I have uncovered more ways in which I have failed you both. Shu has been experimenting with tea bricks, testing an antidote on herself. I should have seen the hubris of her youth and tried to stop her. She has tried to prevent me from reaching out to you, but now she is too weak to protest. She only asked that I include her embroidery to let you know she is thinking of you. She believes you will return successful.

I do not think she has much time left.

Please, I ask you, come back and say goodbye to your sister.

—Father

A teardrop splatters on the page, smearing the ink. I retreat to my bedchamber before anyone can see me weeping. My fingers grope for the prayer bead necklace, hidden in my sleeve. But the comfort I seek eludes me.

My sister has never forsaken me, even when she was beloved by all and could have easily left me behind. She was the one who remembered my dreams, pushed me and said, Go. I thought I wanted to bring home all the riches a palanquin could carry, show them that the pregnant girl they scorned has a daughter who is adviser to a princess, prove to my mother’s family that we are worthy of their recognition. But in the end, it is always the thought of Shu, the certainty she is waiting for me at the end that propels me.

I read my father’s words again and again.

As I am here in the palace working toward an antidote, Shu has been doing the same even from her sickbed. Why would she do something so reckless? I want to return to Sù and demand an answer. But another part of me laughs, knowing only she would have the sheer stubbornness to come up with such a gamble. She has been risking her life to find a cure, even as she entrusted me to fight for her in the trials. And now, what do I have to show for my escape to the capital?

A meager clue from the chancellor. A kiss from a boy I shouldn’t have kissed on a beach beside a hidden lake.

I know I should keep my promise to myself, for him to remain a beautiful memory, a foolish tryst. But I am too far tangled with him. I have to pull that loose thread, even knowing everything will unravel.

Mingwen arrives at my residence to deliver the midday meal, disrupting me from my dark thoughts. Cold noodles, continuing the summer tradition, tossed with peanut oil and sesame sauce, releasing a mouthwatering scent. Other small dishes accompany the noodles: thin sliced stewed pig’s ear and shredded cucumber mixed with chunks of garlic. But when she sets the dishes on the table, her presence reminds me that servants can travel freely around the palace.

I will have my answer. It may be the only way I can find the cure before my time—Shu’s time—runs out.

I will rip it out of him if I have to.

I stand up and close the door, gesturing at Mingwen.

“I need to borrow your uniform for an hour,” I tell her as she is setting the utensils down on the table. She turns to me, a frown already forming, ready to deny my request. But then I’m clutching at her arm, begging her.

“Just an hour,” I plead, piecing together a plan with what little I have. “All you have to do is stay in my residence, tell them you are resting and require privacy for quiet reflection if they come to find you.”

Her frown deepens. “Where are you going? You will be disobeying a direct order from the chancellor. They will never allow you to continue if you are caught.”

I race to my bedroom and fumble among my belongings to find my mother’s hairpin.

“Please.” I hold it out to Mingwen, the jewels sparkling in the light. Many of the beautiful things my mother had had from the capital she sold for coin, but she had kept this one. Cherry blossoms dotted with pearls on gold branches, a reminder of her life in the palace. A representation of all the happy memories she fed me, and much more she never shared.