A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (83)

He places the dān under his tongue, then he hands the bowl to Kang, who accepts it with a nod and tips the tea into his mouth. As he swallows, he grimaces at the taste. It must have been strong. He enters the arena with the Black Tiger, and with the strike of a match, the next round begins.

The Tiger moves her feet in sweeping motions, circling back and forth without a clear sense of direction. Kang pulls back, observing her movements, trying to determine where she will place her foot next. There is only the slightest bend in her knees, then she jumps, easily clearing the space between them. Using her fists, quick as lightning, she beats him back, putting him on the defense. Kang blocks and uses his sheathed sword to sweep her back, but doesn’t yet draw it. She regains her balance, then rocks back on her heels, eyes glimmering in the light.

A raucous yell erupts from her throat as she leaps again, this time drawing the swords from her back in twin silver arcs. I already noted the unique hilts, which have a guard for the hand that finishes in a sharp point, but the blades are also like nothing I’ve seen before. The steel is a thin curve, with wicked-looking hooks at the end. Kang uses his scabbard to block the attack, shoving her back with force, then draws his sword in one smooth motion, metal ringing against metal.

The attack is on. The Tiger crosses her swords and then advances with whirling movements, the swords appearing as if they are spinning in circles. At times her right hand turns in one direction as her left dips instead of rises, attempting to break his guard. He blocks them all, but her speed puts her at an advantage. His feet slip and falter as he tries to withstand the force of her strikes, but she continues to push him closer and closer to the edge of the circle.

It takes me too long to notice there is something wrong with Kang’s movements. The tip of his sword seems to move too slowly, and each time he tries to adjust his movements to match the intensity of her attacks, he stumbles slightly. He does not exhibit the strength with which he responded to the Tortoise. In fact, he looks to be barely defending himself against the onslaught of the dual blades.

With the crescent sweeps of her blades forming two circles, the hooks catch his sword and she pulls. His sword is flung into the crowd of officials, and they scatter like fish in a pond.

The point of the sword sinks into the ground, the hilt quivering in the air.

There is silence in the hall. Kang clutches his shoulder, blood seeping from between his fingers, dripping onto the mat below his feet.

He bows to the Tiger, acknowledging his defeat.





CHAPTER FORTY


“It appears you have failed the challenge,” Chancellor Zhou says to Wenyi, though his voice is not unkind.

But Wenyi does not address him. Instead he looks up to the princess and salutes her with his closed fist tucked into an open palm. A salute of deference, accompanied by a deep bow.

“Although I am not worthy, I ask to address you, Your Highness.” There is a roughness to his tone, and from my perspective, I can see his legs trembling. I have never seen him lose his composure in the time we’ve spent together in the palace. I should have paid more attention to what he was doing, rather than being entranced by Kang’s fight against the Black Tiger.

Zhen gestures. “Speak.”

“I have sullied the competition, Princess,” Wenyi says, but without contrition, without apology. Instead of lowering his head in deference, he looks up at her directly instead, as if in challenge.

“What have you done?” The chancellor’s words slice through the air.

Wenyi drops to one knee in a swift motion, his robe flying behind him. “I prepared for your champion a concoction of tea that saps away his strength and disrupts his inner balance. I had hoped the Tiger would cut him in half. I could not bring myself to assist this … traitor to the empire.”

It takes all my effort not to look in Kang’s direction.

“Are you saying you put something in his drink?” The princess leans forward, frowning, the worry for her betrothed evident. Their connection must be stronger than I initially believed, forged from childhood.

“I do not stoop to poison.” Wenyi’s mouth curls with disdain, and he points a shaking finger at Kang. “That is the weapon of his family.”

His accusation hangs in the air, a storm cloud waiting to devastate the land below. Hatred twists his handsome features into a scowl.

Princess Zhen settles back in her seat. “The matter of who the poisoners are has not been resolved by the Ministry of Justice,” she drawls, then turns to the officials, who are still watching this scene unfold with uncertainty. “Unless, Minister Hu … there is something else you have not reported to me?”

One of the ministers hurries forward and bows low, his hat dipping to one side in his rush to stand before her.

“Has the Ministry of Justice determined it is my uncle who is behind the poisonings? Is there something I should be aware of?” Zhen’s voice grows silky, dangerous. It is evident that her temper is rising, whether at the insolence of Wenyi’s behavior or at the continued display of dissension in the court.

Nothing remains of her uncertainty—this is an empress in the making.

Minister Hu drops to his knees, touching his forehead to the ground. “No, no, Your Highness. We have not yet determined who is responsible for the poisoned tea.”

“My family is from a town close to Lǜzhou.” Wenyi raises his voice, not willing to bend. “There has been a rash of disappearances from our town. People forcibly conscripted to the army, torn from their families. Those who refuse end up poisoned instead. Please, I beg you look into this, Highness—”