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“His Highness should find another suitor that the princess would like more. Someone closer to home,” I suggest.
“Marriage has always been a tool for the royals. Prince Zixin must think of what is best for his kingdom.”
“Yet His Highness can marry who he chooses.” I speak lightly to blunt my words.
“Because he will be king. Even then, he will also marry to strengthen our kingdom.” Her eyes flick to me, curious and questioning. “There was a lot of gossip after you left.”
“Why?” I feign surprise. “What did they say?”
She picks up a wedge of mandarin and chews it slowly. “Some believe your leaving was a ploy to make His Highness desire you more. Others imagine it was to elevate your own position, to secure one from His Highness.”
It rankles how no one conceived the truth, that I didn’t want to marry the prince. But the gossip is useful for me to weave my lies into.
As Daiyu bites into a candied apricot, more sugar scatters on the table. I sweep it aside with my hands from habit—but then a sudden whimper slips from her throat. She sways where she sits, her face dotted with sweat, her radiance faded like sun-worn silk.
“What’s the matter? Are you sick?” I ask urgently.
“So cold,” she rasps, clawing her throat like it’s an effort to speak.
Panic grips me as I call for the guards. “Summon a physician! Miss Daiyu is ill!”
My fingers are stinging as I frantically untie the pouch that hangs from my sash, the one from Dian. I pull out the herb for stomach discomfort and slip it between Daiyu’s lips. But she retches, hoarse racking sounds, her arms clutching her body. Foam beads on her lips, her skin ice cold.
I pull Daiyu’s arm over my shoulder to help her to my bed. “The physician will be here soon,” I assure her, trying to calm myself.
Her legs buckle as she collapses to the ground, dragging me with her. Violet welts creep over her hands, her neck, across her face. As her lips tremble, I lower my head to her ear.
“Poison.” Her voice is so faint I can barely make out the word.
My fingers are burning, thin welts forming—like those on Daiyu’s—streaked through the flecks of sugar. I rush to the table, emptying a cup of warm tea over my hand. The discomfort subsides, though marks remain like the outline of a bruise. Daiyu is right; someone poisoned the fruit.
She is shivering, tears spilling from her eyes. “It hurts. Don’t let me die.”
“I won’t,” I promise rashly. The poison was meant for me; someone noticed me eating the sweets yesterday and sent this dish to my room. Fear writhes in my gut. Who would do such a vicious thing? That’s the peril of being in the palace, surrounded by strangers; you forget how dangerous they can be.
I rummage through the herbs again—strangled gasps breaking from Daiyu. She thrashes on the floor, her skin a sickly ash, a tattered shadow of her former self. She is dying… if only I could help her, if only I knew how.
A thought darts through my mind, something my sister told me: A kiss from a flower spirit can cure any poison. I stare at Daiyu, doubt rising, but as her eyes close and her body goes limp—I don’t think anymore. I bend to shift her face to mine, then press my lips to hers. They are cold and soft, coated with a cloying sweetness like the juice of overripe fruit. She doesn’t struggle, her eyes fluttering—
Footsteps thud outside, a rush of them. At once, I straighten, moving away. Prince Zixin stalks into the room, his eyes sliding from me to Daiyu, then taking in the chaos of the chamber. Attendants rush in after him, followed by an older man in a brown robe clutching a small bag—the royal physician. He kneels by Daiyu’s side, taking her hand to feel her pulse, then checks the whites of her eyes.
“What happened?” Prince Zixin demands.
“Daiyu ate some sugared fruit and became sick. I think… she was poisoned.” I sound breathless, yet he doesn’t seem to notice. ”The dish was brought to my room.”
“Who would dare?” His voice is guttural with wrath.
The royal physician gestures for the dish to be brought to him. He sets Daiyu’s hand down and sniffs the fruit, inspecting it carefully. “Serpentroot,” he says gravely. “There is no known cure. The best we can do is to make her last moments comfortable.”
“Send guards to the kitchen. Search for any trace of foul play,” Prince Zixin commands. “Once we find the culprit, they will be punished.”
“Your Highness, what about Daiyu?” I ask.
“If the royal physician can’t cure her, no one can.”
Daiyu turns on her side, retching violently. Yet some color stains her face now, no longer that sickly ash. Hope surges as the physician takes her hand, listening to her pulse again, his head bent. Finally, he pulls out a medicinal ball the size of my thumbnail and pushes it into her mouth, giving her a drink of water to wash it down. Her throat convulses as she swallows, her breathing gradually calming.
The physician points at the dish of fruit. “Are you sure she ate this?”
