A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (79)
“And those are?” His words prickle, sharp as nettles.
“To get close to the princess,” I say to him. “To earn her trust, promise her no harm, draw on her sympathies using your friendship as children. Once you are safely established, then you will find a way to assist your father onto the throne.”
As I continue to speak, his outrage changes to sadness, then finally eases into resignation.
“Everyone knows about my father’s ambitions, his desire for vengeance, and they would not be wrong if they see him as a threat,” he says, voice flat.
“You’re going to tell me you are not like your father? Because you are his adopted son?” I retort. But when the words leave my mouth, they spin in the air like leaves in the wind, taking on new intentions. Mocking. Meant to hurt.
“There are many things I thought you could be,” he tells me, clenching his jaw. “But I didn’t think you would be so purposely cruel.” He turns away so I cannot see his face.
I realize then how much I hurt him with a single comment, knowing what I know about his past. About how he felt like an outsider twice over, first in the general’s household, then when they were banished to the Emerald Isles.
Even though I want desperately for him to look at me again like he used to, when he held me close, I need to make sure this knife goes in as deep as possible—to protect myself and everything I could lose if I fail.
“You don’t know anything about me, either,” I say quietly. “I lied when I begged you to take me out of the palace, I lied about my loneliness. I had to get close to you, at the bidding of the princess, and that was the only way I could think of.”
His shoulders hunch and I can see color flooding into his face. I know he is thinking of all our shared words and intimacies, wondering what was real and what was a lie. Now I feel a nasty twinge of vindication. Let him be as uncertain as me.
He turns back to me again, voice cracking. “And did you find what you were looking for?”
“Not enough. I would have done things differently.”
He blinks, looking at me hesitantly, waiting to hear something kinder, and I shatter that hope. “I should have pretended to care about your cause, encouraged you to get the antidote from your father.”
“So everything out of your mouth was a lie?” he says, shaking. “Just two liars, telling each other words we thought the other wanted to hear?”
I say nothing, but he suddenly laughs. He bends forward, hands on his knees, laughing until he sounds like he will be sick.
“Are you quite finished?” I ask him when he pauses to wheeze a little, drawing in a hurried breath.
“I…” He makes a sound between a chuckle and a choke, rubbing his arms as if they pain him. “I meant everything I said. Every word. If I had the antidote for your sister, I would have given it to you.”
“You can stop trying to convince me of your lies,” I say, even though I hate that some part of me still trembles, wanting to believe him.
Kang reaches out and touches my cheek. Even though I should slap him away, scream and call him traitor, a part of me still longs to lean into that touch. Into the insistent tug between us that I do not know if I can blame on the Golden Key any longer. We are two people who are trying to find a place to belong, to live a life without pretending, without the complicated histories of our families. But the distance between us is too far, as vast as the divide between brothers who fought for a throne, or gods who tore apart a continent.
“My people have a blessing,” he whispers, eyes as deep as sacred pools and mountain lakes. “May the sea be willing. May it bring you what you are looking for. I will never begrudge you that.”
His hand falls back to his side, and it takes all my effort, all my strength, not to grab it, not to pull him close and kiss him senseless until all the words fall away, until none of it matters anymore.
But I don’t.
* * *
Mingwen opens her mouth when I step through the door, but I shake my head and she does not ask any questions.
I read Father’s letter again. This time, I’m able to decipher the worry behind the lines of careful restraint, the effort it must have taken for him to admit he was wrong.
I do not think she has much time left.
I resist the urge to rip the letter to pieces, and instead I throw the book of Wondrous Tales against the wall, where it hits with a satisfying crack.
Foolish stories for foolish children, Father once called them.
He was right.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Everything has led to this point. All my careful deceptions, all the things I never thought I was capable of. I am dressed and powdered, hair brushed and pinned to appear presentable. I miss Lian’s bad jokes about banquets and wish again she was still here with me.
Third in line in the procession, I trail behind Shao and Wenyi. I pat my sash again, for the tenth time, to make sure the medicine ball is still there. We enter the Courtyard of Promising Future, where we once performed in front of the citizens of Jia. It is empty now, except for a scattering of soldiers along the walls.
We ascend the grand stairwell, for the first time permitted to walk the path many honored guests have walked before us, an acknowledgment that one of us will soon become the next shénnóng-shī to serve the court.
I grit my teeth. The choices I made have gotten me here, and I will see it through.