A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (8)
“We’ll see if that’s true” is the only thing the official says as he picks up one of the teacups and examines it with a critical eye. “We have already sent a few impostors to the city dungeons for impersonating a shénnóng-tú. A serious crime.”
I wring my hands, waiting for my ruse to be discovered.
He opens one of the jars and peers at the substance, pinching the petals within and smelling the residue on his fingertips. “Tell me what this is.”
“Honeysuckle,” I reply.
So begins a careful examination of each item in the box. I answer the best I know how, naming each ingredient as a flower or an herb. Sù is an agricultural province, with fertile land suitable for growing rice, but our climate is not ideal for the more valuable types of tea that thrive in the highlands. Instead, my mother sourced different types of flowers to accent the tea and provide flavor, and used their medicinal natures to treat seasonal illnesses.
The official furrows his brow when he pulls out something green, rolling it between his fingers. A fresh bloom. White buds in clusters. I almost gasp, and bite my tongue in order to keep still.
“And this?” He holds it up to his eye, analyzing the blossoms.
“That’s a pomelo flower.” I hope he doesn’t hear the quiver in my voice. “Known for its pungent scent.”
Just the few buds in his fingers fill the small space with an almost overwhelming floral perfume. I don’t know how the bloom I left undisturbed in Sù followed me all the way to the capital, but somehow I think it must be my mother watching over me still.
The official eyes me, then drops the flower back into the box. “I believe you are who you say you are.” I let out a sigh of relief as he stamps my invitation with a royal seal.
“Second Guard Chen?” The young man immediately stands to attention. “Mark this case with her name and take it to the competitors’ storeroom.”
“Yes, sir.” He bows and tries to tug the box away from my hands.
I protest again, my fingers unwilling to let go. I would rather wear rags to the competition than have to give the box to a stranger.
“We will keep your items safe,” the official says with disinterest. “There is too high of a risk of poison for everyone to bring their possessions into the palace.”
“But … my teacups…,” I say feebly, and let go of the box.
“Follow him before I change my mind,” the official warns with a shake of his head. “I have too many people to question today.”
I bow and scurry after the guard, my belly seizing.
“Don’t worry,” the guard carrying my box whispers to me when the tent flap falls closed behind us. “I’ll make sure it’s kept safe.”
And then the gates open before me, and I am ushered through.
* * *
The palace is a vision, an incredible sight to behold. I blink several times to make sure it is real. It is even grander than the great houses I glimpsed from the ferry when we approached the capital. Lacquered pillars too large for me to put my arms around hold up sweeping rooftops of purple tile. I can hardly distinguish the feelings of fear, excitement, and awe churning within me as we shuffle behind the guards. They grumble at us if we linger too long in one spot, but there is so much to marvel at.
A rock garden, arranged in perfect symmetry.
A glimmering koi pond, flickers of orange, white, and gold beneath the rippling surface.
Dainty, dark-branched cherry trees covered in shimmering pink and white flowers.
The heady scents of blossoms and incense swirl through the air of the outdoor pavilions we are guided through. We follow the guards through dizzying turns on wooden bridges and stone platforms until we reach our residences. The young women, only eleven of us, are all to be housed in the same place. The majority of the competitors are men, and many of them are older, on the cusp of being able to attend the shénnóng-shī trials at Hánxiá Academy at the age of twenty-six. I’m happy to see that Lian has also been admitted to the palace, and we both quickly choose to room together.
The stern-faced guard instructs us to remain in this wing of the palace for the duration of the competition. No wandering about the halls and getting in the way of palace servants, no cavorting with court officials to gain insight into the preferences of the judges, no sneaking out the back gate to illicitly obtain expensive ingredients.
Within the residence, each wall is lined with art of wondrous detail. Scrolls of calligraphy hang alongside elaborate paintings of serene bamboo forests or ladies posing gracefully beside orchids. Decorative walls of shelves, housing fragile vases or wood carvings. Even the incense burners are works of art—statues of monkeys in various poses.
I touch a woodprint gingerly, marveling at the detail captured in the tiny eye of a hummingbird. Lian shakes out her blankets beside me, and the embroidered flowers that trail from one edge of the silk coverlet to the other catch my eye with their vivid colors. A lump rises in my throat when I am reminded of Shu. She loves to embroider, spending hours carefully tucking each stitch in place to form petals like these. She should be in the bed next to me, talking about everything we’ve seen and everything we’ve yet to experience.
We’re not given much time to settle before we are called to the hallway in front of our pavilion. When the mid-hour gong strikes, two servant girls lead us to the first part of the competition. After passing through another maze of hallways and courtyards, we arrive at a splendid building with black stone pillars carved with an aquatic motif. Fish leap from underwater palaces and crabs scuttle around and around in patterns dazzling to the eye. The doors are the height of two men, and they open into a large chamber. The walls are covered in wood panels, which must be expensive to maintain in the humidity of the capital.