A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (78)

Mingwen takes the pin and examines it, appearing conflicted. “You are willing to part with this?” she asks.

“Lend me your clothes and keep my secret, and it is yours,” I tell her.

She looks down at the pin again, before closing her hand over it and nodding. “One hour.”



* * *



Adjusting the basket on my arm, I nod at the guards at the door. The hair Mingwen piled up on my head and secured with her own pin feels heavy, lopsided. I keep my breath held as I walk away from the residence, expecting one of them to call out my name, expose my ruse, but no one stops me.

I recognize the marquis’s residence, with its red pillars and brown walls, in the distance. Walking down the other path, I keep my gaze to my feet when passing the other servants, hoping to appear inconspicuous. I stop at the gate to the Residence of Winter’s Dreaming, which I confirmed with Mingwen is where the son of the Banished Prince resides. High white walls hold up a black roof, stone wolves guard the door. Is it an honor, or is it a prison?

The guards at the door let me pass, seeing me as a faceless kitchen servant. I note the red helmets and armor, indicating they’re members of the elite palace guard. Aware of Kang’s skills, they have assigned highly trained men to guard him.

This courtyard is small, much smaller than the other residences, but still elegantly maintained. White and black stones form curved patterns, encircling small bonsai trees on raised platforms. The door up ahead is open, revealing a small receiving room with a pair of carved wood chairs and a table between them. A scroll hangs on the back wall, a brush painting depicting the rooftops of a city.

Hesitant, I make my way up the steps and over the threshold. To my right and left there are arched doorways, marked by carved filigree. A wooden screen of birds hides the room to the right from view. The left doorway opens to a larger room, from which drifts the calming scent of benzoin.

Benzoin is meant to ease stress and soothe a restless mind. I wonder what thoughts Kang is trying to chase away.

I take another step closer. The room before me appears to be a study, but the shelves are mostly empty. There are only a few scrolls, some unrolled, and others haphazardly stacked on top of one another. A discarded robe hangs on the back of a vase.

Kang stands at a round table, leaning on the surface with his arms outstretched, hair tied neatly, and collar smoothed. He is dressed in light blue befitting the younger members of the court, not the mourning white meant for the emperor’s family or the black of bereavement donned by the ministers. Lian would question whether the princess thought it an insult, a mark of his preferred distance from the royal family. But all I can think about is how the blue suits him.

“You can set the tray over by the door,” he says, not looking up from what he is studying intently.

“I…” I try to find my voice, my rehearsed speech. I want to hurl my verbal barbs at him. I want to hurt him as much as he’s hurt me, but I can’t seem to form the words.

He turns to look at me, and it takes a moment, but he straightens when he recognizes me. A stack of scrolls falls to the floor with a clatter, knocked over by the startled sweep of his arm.

“Ning,” he breathes, and my heart falls to my feet to join the scrolls.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


We kneel at the same time. I place my basket to the side in order to help him. He gathers the scrolls into his arms, while I pick up two that had rolled to my feet, all the while taking him in. Gone is the reckless son of a wealthy merchant, hair down to his shoulders, leading me through the streets of Jia. He looks like a scholar waiting for the exams instead, reputable. He sets the scrolls onto the table, while I place the ones I have on a shelf.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he starts hesitantly. “Or else I would have…”

I interrupt him by turning and fumbling for what I hid in the basket instead, thrusting the wooden box in his direction when I face him again. Trying to prevent my emotions from showing up on my face, trying to prevent him from saying something we will both regret. The Golden Key hums, recognizing him, trying to pull us closer.

Confusion spreads across his face as he slides the lid off. The beautiful dagger is there, cleaned of Ruyi’s blood. I liked the feel of it in my hands when my senses were heightened by magic, but I don’t want any memory of him to remain with me when I leave this place.

“It was a gift,” he says, not understanding.

I envision sealing myself in a fortress, surrounded by ferocious beasts, in order to say what I must. To sever the ties between us so irreparably that there is nothing left to mend. The truth is what I wield, as sharp as any dagger.

“I spoke with Zhen,” I say to him. “She told me your father was behind the poisoned tea bricks, that the main ingredient was yellow kūnbù, a seaweed grown only in the Emerald Isles.”

Surprise flickers across his face, then his mouth draws into a thin line. “If I swear to you right now, on the old gods, that I didn’t know about this, would you believe me?”

I remind myself that he is an adept performer, able to wear his expression as smoothly as any mask.

“Does it matter?” I ask, and he flinches like I’ve struck him. “From the first moment I met you, you have lied to me. Every time you’ve offered a glimpse of yourself, with the Golden Key, the Silver Needle, but still continue to twist the words so you can hide your true intentions.”