A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (91)

Returning to my trial, he continues with each piece of evidence, walling me in brick by brick. “Smuggling stolen treasures out of the palace. Books on poison. Have you no shame?”

I remember how Wenyi kept talking, even though no one listened as he was dragged away from the Hall of Eternal Light. He wanted to save Dàxī, to save Jia. I remember what Lian said about how the capital burned. The darkness within me rages—Let them burn.

But still, I continue to fight. For Shu.

I have to get myself out of this place and get back to her.

“If you’ve already questioned Steward Yang,” I tell him, “then you’ll know she wanted me to leave the capital immediately after I failed the final round. Someone told Fang Mingwen to keep me in the palace.”

Chancellor Zhou looks incredulous that I am still speaking. “You—”

I raise my voice to speak over him. “The soldiers of Lǜzhou are in the palace. They stand with the governor of Sù.”

“You’re mad!” he calls out, but he glances over his shoulder and assesses the worried expressions of the other officials. His gaze darts to the soldiers behind me, and even as he attempts to pull together the cracks in his mask, I realize too late what I should have seen all along.

He already knows.

I have not been paraded in front of the citizens of Jia and given the humiliation of a public trial. I thought it was because he wanted to make a quick example of me, but now I see his true goal: A corpse can no longer speak.

I yell, as loud as I am able, “Call for help! Traitors are in the palace! Traitors loyal to the Prince of Dài!”

“Silence her,” the chancellor hisses.

“I want to speak to—”

A gloved hand covers my mouth, and I am jerked upward.

“Throw her into the dungeons,” Chancellor Zhou proclaims. “She is sentenced to death by three hundred lashes, to be carried out at first light. The astronomers have consulted the stars and have seen that her blood will appease the gods. I hope the gods will be kind to her soul.”

Spears are thrust in the air and the chorus of voices calls out, “Long live the memory of the emperor!”

As I’m dragged down the steps, I can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of my throat.

An auspicious time for an execution. An auspicious time for murder.

Tomorrow I will die.





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR


The palace dungeons are underground, down a series of steps, enclosed by stone walls. The air is musty and damp, as if this place has not been in use for quite some time. Fleetingly, I remember the comment of the official who initially deemed me worthy of entering the palace, that those who were found to be impersonating shénnóng-tú were sent away. I had thought my worst fate was to be turned away from the palace, but now I know there are far worse things that await me.

The brazier on one side of the room is relit with the guard’s sputtering torch. The cells are in the back—there are fewer of them than I expected. It’s obvious that a few of the cells are being used for storage, and contain only cobwebs and broken pieces of furniture.

The chains are released from my arms and legs with a clatter, then I’m shoved into an empty cell. The door shuts behind me as I’m left rubbing the red lines on my skin, surveying my surroundings. There’s a woven straw mat and a few questionable cushions in the corner, along with a pot for relieving myself. The guards return to their space around the corner, and I retreat to the far side of the cell, glad to be left alone.

After that first surge of hysterical laughter, my mind is now eerily calm.

My final night on this earth, leaving behind empty promises and too many mistakes.

I hear men’s voices and the clinking of dice hitting a bowl. To the guards, I’m just someone who is passing through their lives for one brief moment, gone the next. I lean my head back against the wall and sigh.

“Ning?” I hear the rasp of a voice.

One I recognize.

“Wenyi!” I leap over to the bars that separate our cells. His body, which I had mistaken for a bundle of rags, lies crumpled in the corner.

He rouses himself to a half sitting position and I gasp, unable to contain my horror. He’s been severely beaten to the point that his features are almost unrecognizable—except for his shorn head, a rarity in the capital. Half his face is purple and swollen. He tries to drag himself toward me but only manages to move forward a little before lying down again, wheezing. The blanket slides off his legs, and they are misshapen, broken so badly he will never walk properly again.

“What happened to you?” I whisper.

“They…” He swallows. “They threw me down here. Accused me of staging what I did in the final round as a protest, a slight against the empire’s authority.” Every few words are accompanied by a wheeze. I fear his lung may be punctured. He needs the swift attention of a physician, and instead they discarded him like trash.

“They tried … tried to see if I would turn against those who sent me. And then, when that failed, they beat me to find out who I was working for.” He smiles, showing bloody, broken teeth. “I disappointed them.”

“Who tortured you?” I ask.

“Men working for the chancellor,” he says, closing his eyes.

I lean my forehead against the iron bars, letting the coldness sink into my skin, a painful point of focus. Of course it was the chancellor; he must be the one behind the scenes, feigning loyalty to the princess, while working against her alongside the Banished Prince.