When she returns to her seat, the rest of the officials mumble among themselves but also find their own chairs, appeased for the moment.
“Are you well enough to proceed?” Chancellor Zhou asks Kang, who gives a stiff nod.
Then the chancellor turns to me. “And you?”
Even though I want to hide instead of speak, I have to ensure that I have not been placed at a disadvantage. “Chancellor, will you permit me to read the pulse of the champion? To know if the negative effects of the tea from Wen—I mean, Competitor Lin—will affect his performance?”
Chancellor Zhou looks toward Princess Zhen, and she inclines her head in agreement. She exhibits no sign of recognition, no acknowledgment of familiarity. As if I have not held her hand while she wept over her handmaiden, or argued passionately with her over the divisions within the empire. The chancellor nods, permitting me to approach.
Kang regards me warily, with lowered lashes, looking somewhere at my shoulder instead of meeting my eyes directly. A royal physician has already bandaged his arm, and he does not sway when he stands. But I have to be sure.
“How do you—” “Can you—” We attempt to speak over one another, then return to awkward silence. I fumble to pull my sleeves back, while he clears his throat and still averts his gaze.
I gesture for him to sit on one of the stools behind him, and he obeys, the picture of discomfort. I ask him to place his elbow on the table, and extend his arm for me to reach.
Closing my eyes, I allow the murmurs of the court officials to fade into the background, focusing only on the feeling of his skin below my fingers, pretending he is just another faceless patron. I must navigate by feel alone. My father’s voice continues to chastise me across the empire. Use all your senses. Focus, Ning!
I listen to Kang’s sluggish pulse, still affected by whatever Wenyi gave him. But he feels warm to the touch. A stinging scent emanates from him, almost like pepper. Finally, I look up to meet his eyes, taking in his flushed face, his decidedly unhappy expression, and note the expansion of his pupils. All signs point toward too much heat emanating from his body.
Wenyi used his ingredients to overly invigorate Kang’s blood, making him dizzy and unsteady, impulsive and easy to anger. I drop his hand, and he pulls away immediately, standing up as if he can’t bear to be in my presence a moment longer.
I retreat to stand beside the chest of ingredients, waiting for instructions.
“Are you ready, Competitor Zhang?” Chancellor Zhou asks. “Because you had to counter the sabotage of the previous competitor, you are permitted to exchange one ingredient you have selected. Choose wisely.”
When I have completed my exchange, I say, “I’m ready.”
The match is struck, the incense lit, and I proceed to my final trial.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I know time is against me, so I move quickly. Using the mellow Hidden Autumn tea, I steep it with my replaced ingredient—water-lily buds, a nod to the humble flower that spoke to me and gave up the dān at its heart. I ask it to grant me its cleansing properties, to counter Wenyi’s brew and strengthen the lingering effects of Shao’s invigorating tea.
I place the cup in Kang’s hands. Meeting my eyes, he raises the cup with both hands. His eyes are dark pools, beckoning me closer, and I must resist their pull.
Trust me, he asked of me once. Now it is his turn to believe in me.
I place the dān in my mouth. As the sweet and bitter flavors soak into my tongue, the magic unravels within me in response. It leaps easily from me to him, remembering him with an almost audible sigh. Once again, we are wrapped in the scent of camellia, like we stand surrounded by my beloved tea trees.
We return to that hidden place revealed only by the Shift. I see him, with the golden outline around his body, the brand burning above his heart. But I can also see myself in his eyes, a girl with black hair and wheat-colored skin, dark eyes regarding him with sadness. The magic ripples between us, strands like malt candy, drawing the heat generated from him and spilling it into me, until I can feel the weight of it on my body like a heavy cloak.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I force myself to turn and sit in the competitor’s chair. He watches me turn away, and I feel the regret emanating from him in waves. It’s only a moment, a mere breath in reality, but in this place of magic and dreaming, the connection is prolonged agony. A reminder of all we shared and the little that remains.
Go, I tell him, even as he hesitates, and he finally turns to join the champion in the circle. His steps are lighter, his thoughts flowing with greater clarity. I feel the dampness of sweat already forming under my arms, the heaviness taking hold of my limbs.