Lian bursts into the room when I make the final pull of my sash to ensure I appear presentable, even as my insides tremble.
“You’re safe,” she says with relief.
“You left me there.” My words come out sharper than I expected, and the corners of her mouth drag down into a frown.
“I … I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, looking contrite. “I know I should have said something, but I froze. It was like I was a child again, getting my hands hit with the rod for eating something meant for the banquet.”
A part of me wants to snarl at her and tell her I will not be part of her games any longer, like I have done to the village children around my age who made fun of my clothes and my mannerisms. But a part of me did enjoy the time we spent in the kitchens. It was a welcome distraction from the stress of the competition, and she had helped bandage my hand. It wasn’t her fault the steward picked me, and she doesn’t have to be kind. She could dismiss me easily, like the others already have.
“I understand,” I finally mutter. “It’s not your fault. I … I saw Marquis Kuang again.”
Lian sucks in a breath. “What happened? Did he recognize you?”
It all comes out in a rush. What I saw in the residence, the people I recognized, what the Esteemed Qian said. By the time I’m done speaking, Lian is furious, too, pacing back and forth in our small room.
“Those conniving creatures,” she growls. “Everything about Jia is political, as you will soon learn. And the shénnóng-tú … they are especially so.” She shakes her head with disdain.
“Many who are recognized with an affinity to Shénnóng’s art come from families who can afford to nurture that talent. These shénnóng-tú become shénnóng-shī, who use their abilities to help their own families, to gain money or influence. Some of the court cannot be seen at each other’s households, so they meet in the tea district instead. They partake in the ‘proper’ entertainment, but then also conduct meetings in the private rooms.”
“That is not what my mother taught me,” I say. “She says the magic is to be useful, not for your own personal gain.”
“To do otherwise would be a waste.” She nods solemnly. “When I first learned the tea spoke to me, I thought it meant I was special. But now I know that even with magic, some of us will always have the advantage.”
“In coin, in birth.” I sigh.
“This is why I wanted to befriend you that first day in the courtyard,” Lian says earnestly. “You know what it is like to be on the outside.”
Like recognizing like. In some ways, Lian also does not belong, even though she is the ambassador’s daughter. Because of the way she dresses, because her ways are not the ways common to those of the capital.
“I see you as my friend, Ning,” she says, squeezing my fingers and letting go. “I hope one day you will see me as the same.”
“I hope to.”
I’m not ready to acknowledge her as that. Not yet. I’ve learned how people can be different from what they first appear. One thing is for certain: My competitors will not hesitate to step over one another on their way to victory, and I had best figure out a way to catch up before I’m left behind for good.
* * *
The palace room I share with Lian grows increasingly stifling as I find myself turning in bed, my body as restless as my mind. Back home, when I was not able to sleep at night, I would leave our house and the sound of Father’s snores. I would make my way to the orchard beyond the tea garden and find solace in climbing the trees. I liked the feel of the bark in my hands, finding the footholds and handholds, sending me higher and higher. The soothing rustle of the wind through the trees and the sound of the cicadas were music that I understood. I leave the residence in an attempt to find that solace, careful not to disturb the others.
The courtyard is lined with ornamental stones and low trees along the walls. My hands find nooks and crannies, and I easily pull myself up to the roof to sit on the tiles. The moon watches over the palace tonight, a crescent glimmering through the wisps of clouds.
In the night, the palace is finally quiet. Quiet, but not silent. I can hear the sound of the nightly patrols moving in the distance, even though I cannot see them. Voices speak through an open window, one high, one low. The sound of a flute trills nearby. From my vantage point, I can see the rooftops of the other residences, but I am alone up here, with not even a bird for company.