A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (89)
“No matter.” Governor Wang drinks in my suffering with obvious delight and gestures for the guards behind him to approach. “Make sure to gather the rest of the rats from the kitchens.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
My arms are wrenched behind me and tied with rope, then I’m yanked to my feet by one of the armored men. The governor’s personal guard are few, clad in similar cloaks, the same jade pendant swinging from their sword hilts. They flank him as he strides ahead of us, leading our procession. The others who carry out his orders are dressed in the black of the city guard, different from the striking red armor of the palace guards I have grown accustomed to.
We march back through the kitchens, joined by other soldiers who have caught more kitchen staff, who struggle in their grasp. I am forced to walk quickly to keep up, and it isn’t long after we leave the servants’ wing when I am separated from the others, pushed to follow behind the governor while the others are led elsewhere.
“Where are you taking her?” I hear Small Wu’s and Steward Yang’s voices calling out in protest. My throat tightens at the thought: They cared about me, even at the risk of endangering themselves. I can spare only a quick glance at the commotion behind me, three men struggling to pull Small Wu back, before I’m shoved forward. We move west toward the center of the palace.
Hot tears threaten to spill over, but I blink them away and swallow them down. Mingwen may have given me up, but even in my bitterness I cannot fault her. Knowing she has small children, knowing what I know now about all of them. They’re all people with families, in and out of the palace—now implicated in this wicked scheme that I’m not sure I can possibly dig myself out of.
Think, Ning! I tell myself, drawing on the lessons of both my mother and father. One who taught me to clear my head and use my mind, the other who showed me how to observe and remember.
How much time passed after the final dishes for the banquet were sent out? The bakery was in charge of desserts, so that would have signaled the last course. The banquet did not commence until later into the evening, as I had already passed the criers calling out the second hour when I left the residence with Mingwen. I spent at least an hour in the kitchen, if not longer, and now, with the sliver of moon hanging high and slightly off center, we must be into the Hour of the Ghost.
The governor leads us through corridors I do not recognize, and I notice the change in our ranks. We appear to be growing in number—joined by more city guards, dressed in black … which is peculiar. When they greet the palace guards at the gates, I notice yet another peculiarity: Instead of Shao’s particular way of biting off phrases, typical of the capital, these guards sound like Wenyi, with his northern lilt. Details I would never have recognized before, living in Sù.
We stop before another gate, one that is grander and more imposing, our entrance blocked by guards. The gate is brightly lit by torches on either side.
“Kneel,” one of the guards demands. Before I am even able to respond, he pushes me to my knees. The ropes that contorted my arms behind my back are cut, and I bite back a cry of pain at the blood rushing back into my fingers. They force my hands in front of me instead, securing my wrists and ankles with chains.
“Where do you think I’m going to run to?” I comment humorlessly.
“Quiet!” the guard watching barks at me, brandishing his sword.
It’s here in the light of the torches that the glint in the hilt catches my attention. I stare at the silver sheen inset into the wood—just like the shimmer of the rock carvings on the walls of the temple. Just like the design etched into the dagger Kang gifted me.
The black pearl that has fallen out of fashion, declared worthless by a jealous emperor.
The one still revered and cherished, defiantly, by the inhabitants of Lǜzhou.
I bite my lip to remain silent, to hide the shock of what I’ve noticed. We continue to wait for admittance into the courtyard, and with furtive glances, I pay attention to the soldiers around me, and I realize … I see it everywhere. There’s a flash off a pendant, a glint catching the edge of a brooch.
I’m surrounded by soldiers adorned with black pearls, and they are all dressed in the armor of the city guard, following the orders of the governor of Sù.
My heart is suddenly too loud inside my chest, beating a steady warning. Something is horribly wrong.
“Enter!” an official calls out from beyond the gate, and I am ushered through.
The small courtyard is surrounded by high walls. In the middle sits a raised platform, braziers lit with dancing flames at each corner. The path to the platform is lined with guards, and I’m oddly reminded of the first round—I was ignorant and hopeful, instead of anxious and afraid.
Chancellor Zhou waits for me behind the table in black robes, wearing the winged hat of a judge. A jade brooch in the center stares at me like a reproachful eye, representing the always watchful heavens. Behind him is the flag of Dàxī, representing the reach of the emperor. Two other officials in full court regalia are present as well, witnesses to my judgment.
I’m pushed forward by rough hands to ascend the platform by myself, the wood creaking under my feet.
“Zhang Ning.” The chancellor’s face in shadow reminds me of the statue in the temple to the God of Hell, presiding over the denizens of the underworld and their punishments. He is far more imposing than our county magistrate, a simpering man who always cowered under Governor Wang’s instructions, who was more interested in saving himself than ensuring that justice was achieved.