A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (98)

“Follow. My. Lead,” I tell her through clenched teeth, praying she will obey.

The general stands in front of us. I stare down at my hands.

“Friends.” He nods, pouring something from a flask into our bowls. A sprinkling of unfamiliar fine powder. I do not know what it is, if it will interfere with my magic, but there is no other choice.

We drink.

I taste the powder first, gliding against my tongue. There’s a nuttiness to it, quickly washed away by the flavor of the tea. The magic flares to life, pulsing strongly inside me, more powerful than I have ever experienced. I think about animals, crouched behind leaves. I think about mist, obscuring our features. We look familiar, but no one you can name.

“You…” The general’s eyes narrow; his attention is drawn to Zhen’s face. “I recognize you.”

“We are honored to meet you,” I say, the magic changing my voice, lowering the tone. I sound ten years older. Pressing my arm against Zhen’s body, I can feel the magic humming through us. Changing our features, forming the ones he wants to see.

The General of K?iláng meets my eyes, and I can see myself reflected in them. A girl. A woman. Terrified. Calm. The liquid in my bowl begins to move, although the general does not notice. It winds itself into the figure of a three-headed snake, rippling on the surface. Ghostly whispers join the hideous omen. I struggle to compose my face, to hold my head still and not look for the source of the noise.

“May the sea be willing.” I manage to force out the words of Kang’s blessing, even as the whispers grow louder, and my unease deepens. Something whistles in the distance. A long, malevolent note.

The general blinks. My reflection disappears from his eyes, and he smiles. “May the sea be willing,” he echoes, and turns away.

I almost collapse onto my stool as the drunken revelry around us resumes. A man stumbles into me, a vial of the same powder the general had given us rolling out of his pocket. It comes to a stop near my foot. I pick it up, noticing the gray tinge. This must be the pearl powder Kang spoke of, revered among his people.

“Wine? More wine?” someone else calls out.

“We’ll get more.” Zhen stands, the magic still changing her voice so that she sounds like a hardened soldier. Her features waver, the illusion melding to her face. I pray that it holds long enough for us to leave, and I shove the vial into the pouch with my other things.

We pass through the heat of the kitchens, and I gulp in the cold night air when we exit the back door; I know how narrowly we’ve just escaped death.

“We have to get to the ferry,” Zhen says, maintaining her composure much better than me. “There’s no more time. Our transport will leave at the Hour of the Rooster.”

“Help me sit her up.” While Zhen pulls Ruyi to a seated position, I pop the seal from one of the wine jugs and splash the wine over her still body. Before the princess can protest, I reassure her: “We’ll pretend to be drunkards.”

Taking hold of her, we stagger toward the port, moving as quickly as we dare. Emerging from the market district, we pass a procession of palace guards on horseback. At the center, a young man sits astride his horse, posture tall and clad in armor that is a striking pattern of black and gold. When we walk by, I cannot help but lift my head to look at him, only to see him watching me in return.

No … It couldn’t be …

I quickly drop my head. I recognize those eyes, that mouth. The son of the Banished Prince, soon to be reunited with his father. We are so close, and Kang could easily rouse the attention of his guards, send them chasing after us.

I can feel his gaze, burning through the back of my head. But no hoofbeats follow us to the pier, and no one else stops three soldiers, stinking of wine, slurring nonsense.

We arrive at the boat just as the criers call out the Hour of the Rooster, and after flashing Official Qiu’s seal, the captain allows us to board.

“We’ll set off at once,” Zhen instructs. “Move south along the Jade River, until given other directions.”

The captain nods, and soon after we set sail away from the port. Away from Jia.

Away from Kang.





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


We’re shown to our quarters on the lower level of the ship, and we heave Ruyi onto the narrow bed. Zhen sinks to the bench, all the strength gone from her.

“Where do we go?” she whispers. “What do I do?”

She looks less like a princess and more like a scared girl. Not much older than me. I’d forgotten she’s only nineteen.

Sitting down as well, I try to find encouraging words to speak to her, but find none. All I have to offer is more bad news, more warnings. In our haste to leave the city, I had one remaining piece of information I realize now I have yet to pass on to her, and I hope at least it will help her retain her focus.

“I spoke with Wenyi in the dungeons,” I inform her, pulling out the pouch from my sash. “He said Yěli? is still loyal to the emperor, but Hánxiá may have gone to the rebellion.”

I place the items on the small table between us. The vial. Shu’s embroidery. Father’s letter. Mother’s knot. A few petals of osmanthus and strands of tea leaves. I pick up the two squares of paper from Wenyi and unfold one of them. Quickly reading the words, I confirm that this is the letter with reference to the disappearances Wenyi spoke of, and pass it to her.