A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (94)

It’s disconcerting to see a fearless woman appear so uncertain, and with a pang in my chest, I think about Lian somewhere in the distance, anchoring the magic. I hope she’s safe.

“What’s wrong with her?” the princess demands.

“Lian’s ability,” I explain quickly, continuing to set up the ritual. “It always has a cost. It’s dependent on the ability of the shénnóng-shī who casts it, as well as distance and duration. If the receiver pushes the limits too far, the magic turns on them, too.”

“She ran a horse to death getting from Kallah to the palace after she regained enough strength to move…” Zhen smooths the hair around Ruyi’s face. “She showed up right before the banquet. She wanted me to leave, but when I found out about the order for your execution, I asked her to get you.”

I tell her of my discoveries while waiting for the tea to steep. About the governor and his companions from Lǜzhou. The infiltration of the city guards. But Zhen’s reaction is not as I expected. She looks resigned.

“It’s sooner than I expected, but I knew they were coming. I knew the chancellor was involved when Ruyi was attacked while performing an investigation on my behalf, struck by the poisoned arrow. He was the only other person who was aware of her mission. I sent her away in order for him to think I was unprotected, easier to manipulate. Now is their time to strike, to finish what my uncle started.”

I pour the tea, brewed strong, the fragrance wafting from the cup. Osmanthus flowers and tangerine peels, stiff with sugar, begin to soften in the water. When it is done, I tip it into Ruyi’s mouth, and this time she takes it without hesitation. They trust me, even with all those accusations against me, and I am thankful for it.

The Shift happens easily now, strengthened by my previous contact and Ruyi’s willingness. An echo of Lian’s magic, contained within her, answers my own. As if trimming an unruly shrub, I take some of the magic into myself—transferring a fraction of that potent power into me, the speed and the strength, easing the burden on Ruyi’s body.

Her eyes grow unfocused, but she breathes easier.

“Can you stand?” I ask her. She nods and gets to her feet unsteadily. “You’re going to feel weak until you get a full night’s rest. You cannot exert yourself again, not even to defend her life from an assassin.” I tilt my head toward the princess, and Ruyi manages a small smile.

“The magic could burrow even deeper, somewhere I may not be able to reach,” I add, but I doubt she will heed my warnings if Zhen’s life is at stake.

“I’ll help her.” Zhen ducks under Ruyi’s arm and holds up the taller girl, and I hook my elbow against her other arm to steady her on the opposite side.

The princess sweeps aside a silk hanging on the wall and presses the hidden panels until the mechanisms groan behind the wall. She lights a torch using the brazier and passes it to me to hold. We support Ruyi through the tunnels, making slow but steady progress. We make turn after turn, until Zhen holds up her hand, bringing us to a stop. On the other side of the wall, we hear movement—boots against the ground, metal brushing against metal as they march. I suspect they may be able to hear my heart beating so violently in my chest. But in time, their steps soon pass without cries of alarm, and we continue until we reach a doorway that leads to a grove of bamboo. The servants’ quarters. I discard the torch into a rain barrel, not wanting the light to attract attention out in the open.

A cart waits for us at the gate, filled with large pots, a sleepy-looking donkey tied to it. Zhen heaves Ruyi onto the cart, and I pull myself up next to her. Sniffing the air, I smell wine.

A head pops out from under the blanket. I barely manage to stifle a surprised shriek, and even Zhen pulls a dagger and points it at the figure in the dark.

“It’s me, it’s me!” Qing’er whispers, waving his arm above his head.

I pull him to me in a crushing hug, refusing to acknowledge his protests. “How did the guards not find you?” I grab hold of him by the shoulders, surveying him from head to toe, to make sure he’s not hurt in any way.

“Small Wu made me hide in the chicken coop and made a big ruckus to lead the guards away,” Qing’er says, sniffling. “There was only enough room to hide me, no one else. I stayed very quiet and then … I ran into Guard Hu.

“Grandmother always says I can trust Guard Hu,” he states with the confidence of young children. “He told me to hide here, and the princess would come and find me. And now here you are.” He tries to smile at Zhen but doesn’t quite succeed.

I give the princess a look over his head, and she nods, confirming that Guard Hu is the one who made the arrangements for leaving the palace.

“You did very well,” I tell him.

His lower lip quivers, and I can see he is trying his very best to hold himself together.

“Will Grandmother be safe?” he whispers.

Zhen steps closer and kneels until she is at his eye level. “We have to leave the palace right now. Your safety depends on it. But I promise I will make every effort to make sure your grandmother is safe as well.”

“Thank you.” Qing’er gulps, wiping away tears, trying to look as dignified as possible.

I squeeze him again, just to be sure he knows he is not alone.



* * *



We set off for the teahouse district, with only the clopping of the donkey’s hooves to accompany us. The cart carries us past shuttered businesses and quiet residences. But even now, somewhere around the Hour of the Thief, the teahouses are still ablaze with light. Pulling into an alley, we tie the donkey up to a post behind Peony House and ascend the back stairwell. I know the four of us are a conspicuous group, and I cannot help but continually check over my shoulder.