The Tea of Toulois
The raised voice drew every eye in the banquet hall.
Caught all at once beneath those cold stares, the maid stammered in confusion.
"N-no. I only brought what I was given..."
"Don't lie to me! How could inferior rubbish like this ever become the tea that represents the imperial house!"
When the Empress Dowager bore down on her even more loudly, the maid went deathly pale. She could not get a word out, and only stood there shaking.
Meanwhile the nobles who had been speaking with the Empress Dowager raised their voices so that everyone nearby would hear.
"Truly absurd, isn't it—claiming that Her Majesty the Empress herself chose goods of this grade."
"She brought the wrong thing and is making excuses, isn't she?"
"Even so, how did tea like this end up at the banquet in the first place..."
Their murmuring at last drew another guest closer, curiosity winning out.
"What is it? What's wrong with the tea?"
At that the women, as if they had been waiting, held out the cups from the cart.
"Drink it. Then you'll know. You there—pour, and be quick about it."
"Y-yes!"
The maid scrambled to fill the remaining cups. People thrust out their hands, each insisting on being served first, and those who received a cup took a single swallow before their faces turned uneasy.
Nobles were schooled in tea from childhood. To savor its flavor and fragrance was a basic accomplishment expected of their station, and most of them therefore possessed more than a passing knowledge. The tea they tasted now was unmistakably, drastically different from what they had drunk in the days when the Empress Dowager still held sway.
She had shouted that it was inferior, and yet, in honesty, it was not quite so poor as that. The trouble was that it fell short of anything the imperial house might officially select—the sort of tea, perhaps, that the lower officials of the Imperial Palace might find adequate to enjoy.
The other maids who had wheeled in the carts, hounded by nobles demanding a taste at once, hastily steeped more and poured it out. Before long the same bewilderment clouded the eyes of the other guests as well. Tea portioned out in haste for a banquet was bound to fall short of a proper tasting, but even allowing for that, this was insufficient to represent the imperial house.
As the guests murmured in confusion, the women beside the Empress Dowager exchanged glances and spoke again.
"Come to think of it, Her Majesty the Empress has scarcely ever attended a tea gathering."
Strictly speaking, she had not declined to attend so much as been unable to—but that was hardly the point now. All that mattered was making it known that the new Empress had no discernment in tea.
"Even so, how could she choose something like this..."
By now those who supported Hyperion ought to have stepped in, lest the Empress be disparaged too far. But even to their palates, the tea was plainly of lesser quality.
And there was more.
"Truly lamentable. How can tea like this possibly become the tea of His Majesty the new Emperor?"
There were those who made an even greater fuss than the Empress Dowager's people, as if the very notion were outrageous. They were the masters of the tea estates passed over in this selection. Every one of them took fierce pride in the gardens of their own lands, and they had naturally expected their tea to be chosen—only to be rejected in spectacular fashion. They had come to today's banquet privately resolved to see, at last, which estate's tea had been selected.
And having tasted it, was this not a tea that anyone could see was poorer than their own?
It isn't a bad tea. But the cultivation was a disaster.
In truth the tea plants themselves were of a superior variety. But the leaves were meager, as if they had never been properly fertilized, and so the flavor was weak as well.
Was it chosen through connections? Even then, to select this... What in the world was the Empress thinking?
Discontent with the Empress stirred, and with it a quiet hope began once more to take root: if the uproar over refusing to accept this tea grew loud enough, she might have no choice but to select another.
The voices of the estate masters, and of those bent on belittling Laniakea's judgment, were swelling when a new voice cut through them.
"Quite a commotion. What is the matter?"
Laniakea had come up to them alone, without a single maid in attendance. For a moment her gaze tangled with the Empress Dowager's, and the guests fell silent, wary of the mood between them.
Then those close to the Empress Dowager lowered their heads and spoke.
"Your Majesty, we were speaking of the newly selected tea."
"I see. Anyone who tasted it would find the quality poorer than before, and wonder why this was the one chosen."
Contrary to what they had expected, Laniakea acknowledged of her own accord that it was inferior, and eyes went round. They had all assumed she would feign ignorance, or grow angry and demand to know why there was such a fuss when nothing was wrong. Among nobles, to be poorly versed in tea was little different from being called ignorant—and yet she had admitted it at once.
"Then why did you select this tea?"
The question came from a noble who had gone about assuring everyone that this time, without question, his own estate would be chosen. Instead of answering, she looked at him and asked a question of her own.
"Do you know which estate's tea this is?"
"That is..."
The man who had asked hesitated, then lifted his cup again. Those beside him did the same. Only now did it occur to them—whose tea was this?
Had it been chosen as the new tea of the imperial house, its masters would have boasted until the whole Empire rang with the news. Every house selected until now had done exactly that. But this year, there was no one anywhere strutting about with such a claim.
Set a riddle by the Empress, the guests tasted in earnest, straining for the answer. When they still could not find it, their eyes turned to the estate masters who had first raised their voices. Among the nobility, these were the ones who made a particular show of tea—who claimed their palates were exquisitely delicate and keen, and that the tea of their own estates was the finest of all. They had gone about boasting that they could name a tea's origin from taste alone.
Suddenly the focus of every gaze, the estate masters drank again in flustered concentration. Focusing harder, they sensed, faintly, a flavor that lived somewhere in memory. Still, not one of them could say which estate it came from.
"Bellasca Territory... is it?"
The most confident among them ventured it, but the Empress gave a bitter little smile and shook her head. In the end they all set their cups down, glancing at one another, and at the sight Laniakea let out a small sigh.
It was a simple motion, yet it felt like a rebuke: all that fuss, and they could not even name this one thing. Those who had been loud were already edging backward into the crowd.
Now every face was turned toward Laniakea, every look asking her at last for the answer. She nodded, and spoke.
"This is the tea of Toulois Territory."
Toulois.
At the name, eyes widened. At the same time someone gasped, as if the flavor still circling the tongue had finally found its answer.
Having given it, Laniakea's gaze passed through the crowd and settled on a corner of the hall. There a white-haired woman stood with her back held perfectly straight.
Countess Toulois.
The formal dress she wore was fitting for a coronation, yet unlike the others it was exceedingly plain and modest. It observed only what propriety required, and bore no ornament beyond that. It was neat, but one could tell at a glance that it had been made long ago. Dressed so, Countess Toulois stood out all the more among people who had adorned themselves with every effort they possessed.
The guests murmured as they looked at her.
"Her territory still doesn't seem to be doing well."
"It can't be helped. They suffered such terrible damage, and never received proper aid."
"Even so, she's a countess. What sort of attire is that?"
"And yet, even with the territory in that state, it seems they were still growing tea."
Amid the whispering, Countess Toulois remained perfectly calm, as if neither their words nor their stares concerned her in the least.
"So this was Toulois tea."
Meanwhile the estate masters who had stepped forward earlier spoke as if they understood at last.
Once, Toulois had been among the Empire's foremost regions for tea: a mild climate the year round, rainfall in just the right measure, strong sunlight, and terrain perfect for cultivation besides. Those who visited Toulois Territory had looked upon the tea trees ranked along the ridges as neatly as lines drawn by hand, and every one of them had marveled that it was a sublime sight. But all of that had become a tale of long ago.
About three years past, Toulois was struck by southern pirates. The territory lay some distance from the sea, and no one had ever imagined pirates would raid it. Yet in a rare incursion they pushed deep inland, plundered the land, and left more than half of Toulois Territory in flames—a devastating loss.
The trouble came afterward. Ordinarily, when such a thing occurred, the lord petitioned the imperial house for aid. Toulois, too, contacted the palace at once, pleading that the territory be looked after. But the imperial house ignored the request, because in asking for help Countess Toulois had offered the Empress not a single bribe.
Still watching the countess, composed as ever, Laniakea addressed the gathering.
"Even in the most difficult of circumstances, Toulois never forgot its duty to send tea to the imperial house each year."
A territory that had been ignored, and yet had kept its obligation to the very end. And so Laniakea had remembered it.