A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (80)

We enter the Hall of Eternal Light. The windows are opened again, and the view of Jia’s vastness is awe-inspiring, meant for visiting dignitaries and foreign powers to witness the glories of the Emperor of Dàxī.

The room is filled with members of the Court of Officials, the nobility and the scholars. Two sides of the court: Influence and Knowledge. All of them have donned the black mourning sash.

My eyes sweep over the officials, most involved in casual conversation before the formal gathering is to proceed. Who among them betrayed the emperor? Which of them has pledged fealty to the Banished Prince? And who distributed the poison through Dàxī?

The gong announces the start of the proceedings. The officials settle with a rustle of robes, while the ministers stand on the dais to receive the princess. The competitors are also given cushions near the back of the hall, and we kneel. The empty throne presides over us all.

The herald announces her arrival, and we bow.

Princess Zhen strides across the room, a vision in her robes. Peonies cascade from her shoulders, dark purple blooms outlined with gold, striking against the white background. She wears a small formal headdress, jeweled birds glinting in the light when she turns her head. But instead of Ruyi, there is another familiar figure following her, dressed in deep purple robes, matching the color of the peonies, a black sash around his waist.

Kang, son of the Banished Prince. Clad in a color permitted only to royalty.

The officials buzz, uncertain, while I wish I could fade into the wooden screen behind me and become one with the wall, remembering the harsh words we uttered to one another in his residence. But he does not glance in my direction. My contrary heart should be thankful for this, yet a part of me still aches at this disregard.

Zhen sits at the seat to the right of the empty throne, as befitting the regent and soon-to-be ruler of Dàxī, while Kang stands behind her.

The herald steps forward again, and with a nod from the princess, he unfurls his scroll. “Rise to hear the royal proclamation, people of Dàxī!”

The court murmurs, the officials getting to their feet. Their expressions contain only bewilderment, as if this is not a common occurrence, but I do not have Lian beside me to interpret.

“By decree of Princess Ying-Zhen, regent of the gloriously Ascended Emperor, recognized from this point forth as the Emperor of Benevolence. Acting on behalf of the consulted ancestors, with respect to the period of mourning and her duty to foster peace across the whole of the kingdom. To remember and recognize how the dowager empress was once known as the Princess of Peace. In honor of Empress Wuyang’s betrothal to the Ascended Emperor, uniting two kingdoms and bringing an end to war…”

The herald pauses and clears his throat. The princess stares above all the heads of the officials, expression distant, eyes unseeing.

“The princess of Dàxī will be betrothed to Xu Kang, formally recognized as the adopted son of the Prince of Dài—”

The room erupts like a hornets’ nest. But all I hear are three words repeated endlessly in my mind: Princess. Betrothed. Kang.

Kang, who jumped from the rooftop into my courtyard to wish me luck in the second round of the competition. Who gave me a beautiful gift from his homeland, showed me the secret parts of his childhood, told me of his dreams for his people. Who I was sent to spy on, who I hurt and betrayed.

My face burns as we drop, foreheads to the floor, receiving the proclamation. I close my eyes, recognizing how the chancellor was right: I am naive, thinking myself capable, but I am only a pawn sliding alongside the cannon on the board.

The two of them played me against each other, and I had wanted so desperately to believe them both.

The officials begin to shout, trying to speak over one another. Their words all run together in an incomprehensible rush.

“Quiet.” The princess silences them with a single word.

I open my eyes to see her with her hand raised. The two figures on the dais blur into smudges, as distant as the stars.

“Your Highness,” a voice thunders across the room. I pinch myself, letting the pain return me to focus. The man who strides into view is clad in ceremonial armor, gleaming red. “The Ministry of War has felt the effects of the coup, years later, even after the initial rebellion was quelled. Is it wise to resume those ties?”

A river of assent flows throughout the room, heads bobbing in agreement.

“The loss of the Prince of Dài has always been a blight on our history.” Minister Song steps forward, a book open in his hand. “Consulting the Book of Rites, I believe Xu Kang is an appropriate bridge between the two. He was the adopted son of the prince, but his birth father had obtained the rank of commander in the army, fought in the War of Two Rivers. His name was inscribed into the family texts by the dowager empress herself. He would be granted the rank of the Prince of Dài, mending our history.”

Other officials now speak in support, dividing the room.

Another steps forward, introducing himself as the official for the management of Lǜzhou. “We have kept a close eye on him all these years. He has never been involved with the rumored uprising. He grew up working on the salt farms and trained in another battalion, even though he could have easily joined the general’s former troops. It is well-known that he began his first post as a scout and worked his way up to captain.”

Minister Song flips to a new page in his book. “Before the emperor ascended, he expressed his desire for his daughter to find a suitable match. At this point of transition, when the throne remains empty, we should all aim to spread a hopeful message. To quell the voices of the dissenters. This union may well turn the tide.”