But how unlike the shansen’s daughter.
A soldier parted the carriage’s curtains, and Lady Sarnai tottered forward to join the emperor and her father. An embroidered veil of ruby silk covered her face, and the train of her gown dragged behind her, crimson in the fragile moonlight. It did not even shimmer, as any of the dresses I’d made for her would have: woven with the laughter of the sun, embroidered with the tears of the moon, and painted with the blood of stars. Strange, that Khanujin would not have insisted she wear one of Amana’s dresses to show off to the shansen.
I frowned as she continued to wail, a shrill sound that pierced the tense silence.
She bowed before her father, then before the emperor, falling to her knees.
Slowly, ceremoniously, Emperor Khanujin began to lift her veil. The drumming began again, growing louder, faster, until it was so deafening my ears buzzed and the world began to spin.
Then—as the drums reached their thunderous climax—someone let out a scream.
My eyes snapped open. The shansen had shoved Khanujin aside and seized his daughter by the neck. Now he held her, shrieking and kicking, above the Hall of Harmony’s eighty-eight steps—and he ripped off her veil.
The bride was not Lady Sarnai.
CHAPTER TWO
The false princess’s legs thrashed wildly beneath her skirts, the long satin train of her wedding robes rippling beneath her.
“Where is my daughter?” the shansen roared.
Already, everyone around me was placing bets on the poor girl’s fate. Would the shansen slit her throat—or would the emperor beat him to it? No, they’d let her live until she talked. Then they’d kill her.
“I—I—I—I d-don’t know,” she blubbered, her wailing intensifying before she repeated, “I don’t know.”
She let out a scream as the shansen dropped her onto the stone steps.
“Find my daughter!” he barked at the emperor. “Find Sarnai, or there will be no wedding—only war.”
The warning hushed everyone in the square.
Where was Lady Sarnai? Didn’t she care that thousands would die if this marriage did not proceed?
“The war would never end,” Keton had told me. My youngest brother so rarely spoke of his time fighting for Khanujin, I could not forget his words: “Not unless the emperor and the shansen came to a truce. At dawn of the New Year, they met to make peace. The shansen agreed to withdraw his men from the South and reaffirm his loyalty to the emperor. In return, Emperor Khanujin would take the shansen’s daughter to be his empress and tie their bloodlines together.
“But the shansen’s daughter refused. She had fought alongside her father’s army. I’d seen her myself—fierce as any warrior. She must have killed at least fifty men that day.” Keton had paused. “It was said she threatened to kill herself rather than marry the emperor.”
When Keton had shared this story, I doubted its truth. What girl wouldn’t want to marry a man as magnificent as Emperor Khanujin?
But now that I had met Lady Sarnai—and the emperor—I knew better.
Gods, I hoped she hadn’t done anything rash.
I stood on my toes to get a better look at what was happening, but a shooting pain stabbed the back of my eyes and they began to burn. Urgently, I rubbed them. Tears came, trying to wash out the heat. But my pupils only burned more fiercely, and I saw a blood-red sheen reflect onto the track of tears smeared on my palm.
No, no, no—not now. I covered my face, hiding the mark of Bandur’s curse, the terrible price I had paid to make Lady Sarnai’s dresses and secure peace for A’landi.
My heart began to pound in my chest, my stomach fluttering wildly. A rush of heat boiled through my body, and I crumpled to the ground.
Then, suddenly the burning in my eyes vanished.
My vision cleared. I no longer saw the people around me clamoring in commotion. I heard them chattering and fidgeting, but they were far, far away. My eyes and ears were somewhere else, outside of my body.
I was there, on the steps of the Hall of Harmony. The air reeked of sulfur and saltpeter from the fireworks; the sky was scarred with stripes of white smoke.
I saw the girl, her rose-painted lips and tear-streaked cheeks, and I recognized her—she was one of Lady Sarnai’s maids. Imperial guards pulled her up the steps as the emperor approached.
He struggled to contain his ire—his fingers twitching at his sides, inches from his dagger, whose golden hilt was artfully hidden under layers of silk robes and a thick sash with dangling jade amulets.
He knelt beside her, taking her hands into his and untying the cords that bound her wrists. Once, he’d crouched beside me the same way, when I’d been a prisoner. How marvelous I’d thought him then, unaware that I was under a powerful spell the emperor’s Lord Enchanter had cast over him.
Without Edan’s magic, sweat glistened down the nape of Khanujin’s neck, and his back strained under the heavy weight of his imperial robes.
I wondered if the shansen noticed.
The emperor tilted the maid’s chin up to him, his fingers pressed so hard against her jaw they would leave bruises. Cold fury raked his black eyes.
“Speak,” he commanded.
“Her Highness…didn’t say. She…she asked us to drink some tea with her to celebrate her betrothal to you, and we couldn’t refuse.” The maid buried her face into the hem of Khanujin’s robes.
“So, she poisoned you.”
Fear punctuated her sharp, gulping breaths. “When I woke, I was dressed in her clothes, and she said that if I did not pretend to be her, she would kill me.”
Khanujin let go of her. He raised an arm, likely to order that she be taken away and executed somewhere quietly, when—
“Lord Xina is gone!” one of the shansen’s men cried.
Like whiplash, my sight broke. Whatever had stolen me from my body hurled me back again, until I was among the emperor’s servants as before, ears ringing with the uproar over Lord Xina’s disappearance.
“Find them!” Khanujin shouted. “Ten thousand jens to whoever finds the shansen’s daughter and brings her to me. And death by nine degrees to anyone caught aiding her escape.”
Death by nine degrees. That meant not only the execution of the guilty party, but also their parents, children, grandparents, aunts, uncles—the entire bloodline.
Numbly, I watched the crowd scatter, eunuchs and craftsmen and soldiers and servants all searching for Lady Sarnai. I needed to move too, before someone noticed me—or in case someone had seen my eyes glowing red.
But I couldn’t move, not while the drums boomed so violently the clouds themselves seemed to shake. They rattled me, each thud resonating deeply into my bones and reminding me of what I was becoming.
“Did you know they used to play drums to scare off demons?” I could still hear Bandur taunting me. “Soon the drums will only remind you of the heart you once had. Every beat you miss, every chill that touches you, is a sign of the darkness folding over you. One day, it will take you away from all that you know and cherish: your memories, your face, your name. Not even your enchanter will love you when you wake as a demon.”
“No,” I whispered, pressing my hand over my heart, feeling its unsteady rhythm.
Still there.
I wasn’t a demon. Yet.
Once the emperor married Lady Sarnai and peace for A’landi was secured—once Baba, Keton, and all A’landans were safe—I would spend every waking moment trying to break my curse. Until then—
Someone seized my elbow, pulling me out of my thoughts—and out of the square.
“Ammi!”
“Get moving, Master Tamarin,” she said brusquely. She tossed a braid over her shoulder. “You’ll get yourself sent to the dungeon standing around like that, especially now that everyone knows your leg isn’t really broken.�
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Then she turned abruptly and disappeared into a throng of serving girls.
I was stunned. My hands fell to my sides, my feet forgetting where they’d meant to go.
Why had Ammi spoken to me so curtly, as if I’d offended her?
Master Tamarin.
A lump rose in my throat. The way she’d said my name, I suddenly understood why she was angry with me.
She’d known me as the tailor Keton Tamarin, not as Maia. The morning I’d returned to the palace, the emperor had divulged to all my true identity. How betrayed she must have felt to learn of my lie from him, not from me, after all her kindness to me during the competition to become the imperial tailor.
“Ammi!” I called, running after her. “Please, let me explain.”
“Explain?” Her round eyes narrowed at me, trying to be cold but not entirely succeeding. “I don’t have time for you. There’s ten thousand jens at stake. Might not be much to you anymore, but it’s a fortune to the rest of us.”
“I can help you.”
“I don’t need your—”
“I can find her.”
My friend’s words died on her lips, and she drew in a sharp breath. “What do you know?”
To be honest, I didn’t know anything. The old Maia, being a terrible liar, would have confessed that right away. But in this small, seemingly insignificant way, I had already changed.
“I’ll show you.”
I started off before Ammi could refuse, and when I heard her reluctant footsteps following me out of the square, I headed for Lady Sarnai’s residence. I should have been glad that she’d come, and I should have tried apologizing to her again, but I didn’t want her asking more questions about Lady Sarnai’s whereabouts. Besides, something else weighed me down. A leaden heaviness in my chest that took me a moment to recognize.
I envied Lady Sarnai. Envied her the chance to be together with the man she loved.
The chance I couldn’t have with Edan.
Come with me, I could still hear him plead.
How I’d wanted to, more than anything. The warmth of his hand on my cheek, the press of his lips on mine—they were enough to melt me.
But even if I could relive that moment, I would still have told that painful lie to make him leave. It was better to endure whatever suffering that would befall me alone—Edan would be free from the bonds that had held him captive for so long.
“Where are we going?” Ammi said, sounding irritated. “Everyone else is looking outside the gates.”
“This way,” I said, cutting into the garden. My voice came out strangled, but I hoped Ammi wouldn’t notice. “I know a shortcut to her apartments.”
“Why would she still be there?”
I didn’t reply. Just started running.
I pushed Lady Sarnai’s doors open. Incense burned, a thick haze pervading the room. I grabbed a lantern, waving it around for any signs of a struggle.
A shadow fluttered from within the bedchamber.
Ammi shivered. “Maybe we should g—”
I put my finger to my lips and beckoned to her with my other hand.
Quietly, we followed the movement into Lady Sarnai’s resting chambers. The bed’s silk curtains were swaying, but the air was still; there was no wind tonight.
Setting down the lantern, I flung open the curtains.
Lady Sarnai’s attendants lay on her bed, gagged, their wrists and ankles tied together with the bedsheets. Unconscious, but beginning to stir.
I spun away from the bed. A pile of clothes had been strewn across the floor, a torn yellow sleeve peeking out from under a table. I crouched and picked up the scrap, examining it.
Lady Sarnai despised yellow, and neither she nor her maids would ever have worn material so coarse.
It was from an imperial guard’s uniform. The rip looked recent, the edges of the sleeve wrinkled as though someone had clutched the fabric tightly.
I scanned the rest of the bedchamber. A sword, too thick and unwieldy to be Lady Sarnai’s, leaned against one of the large trunks by her changing screen.
In a burning flash I could not control, I saw Lady Sarnai and Lord Xina just outside the palace. They were dressed as imperial guards, blending in with the search parties sent to look for them. My eyes flickered back to normal.
“She’s not in the palace,” I murmured. “She’s disguised as a guard.”
“How do you know that?”
Instead of replying, I grabbed the sword off the trunk. “Don’t look,” I ordered Ammi.
She paled, but she obediently backed out of the room. Holding the sword high, I smashed open the lock and lifted the lid. From the stench that rushed out, I knew what I’d find inside.
An imperial guard, his eyes cloudy with death.
Dried blood, nearly black, clotted above his lips. His nose had been broken, his throat, neatly sliced—by someone with a steady hand who knew where to deliver the quickest, quietest death. His uniform, stolen.
Outside the bedchamber, Ammi screamed. I guessed she’d found the other dead guards.
* * *
• • •
“Well done,” Emperor Khanujin said when we reported what we’d found.
Bowing low at my side, Ammi beamed. The whole walk over to the emperor’s royal apartments, her emotions had wavered between horror at finding the dead bodies and eagerness to be in the emperor’s presence.
Now the horror was forgotten, but I couldn’t fault her. Even a glimpse of the emperor’s receiving chamber was more than a maid of her station might ever hope to see.
I wished I shared her excitement, but I felt only the sharp sting of regret.
“She’ll be dressed as a guard,” I said quietly. “Lord Xina, too. They left with the search parties so they wouldn’t draw attention. They can’t have gotten too far.”
From behind a tall wooden screen that obscured our view of him, the emperor spoke again.
“The two of you discovered this? No one else?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“If what you say is true, then you will be rewarded. You are dismissed.”
I started to lift myself, but the emperor’s headdress tinkled. “Master Tamarin.” Dread washed over me before he even uttered his next words. “A moment.”
Ammi flicked me a curious glance, and I mustered a smile to assure her everything would be all right. But, in truth, I had a bad feeling about this.
He waited until the doors shut with a snap and we were alone. “You were not in the palace this afternoon.”
“His Majesty had graciously given me the day off from my duties as imperial tailor.”
The emperor’s tone became harsh. Deadly. “Where were you?”
No more games. He knew I was aware of the enchantment Edan had cast over him, and why he hid himself behind that wooden screen.
“I went to the shrine to pray,” I lied, “for good fortune, in anticipation of His Majesty’s wedding.”
The emperor’s shadow leaned back, and he sniffed, sounding unconvinced. “I’m sure you are aware the Lord Enchanter is missing.”
So, he hadn’t found Edan.
“I was not,” I lied again.
Irritation pricked Khanujin’s voice. “I find that difficult to believe, Master Tamarin, given I am told he was last seen with you.”
My pulse quickened. “Your Majesty, I have not seen the Lord Enchanter since I presented the dresses to Lady Sarnai.”
“You dare to tell me more lies?” Angrily, Emperor Khanujin rose and stepped into the light. I bent into a bow, not daring to look up.
The cold tip of a dagger lifted my chin, hooking me like a fish from the water.
The glow of the emperor’s glorious former self had faded, but it wasn’t all gone yet. His height was still imposing,
his shoulders still square and proud, his voice still smooth enough to charm a tiger into its cage.
But his face had begun to change. Cosmetics disguised the sallowness of his skin. His mouth pursed with cruelty, his teeth were larger and more crooked, and his eyes, which I’d once thought radiated the warmth of midsummer, were cold as a snake’s.
The emperor flinched, noticing me stare. “I’ll not ask you again. Where has the Lord Enchanter gone?”
His dagger bit into my skin, and I glanced at my reflection on its smooth blade. I hardly recognized the girl I saw, or the calm voice that uttered, “I would not dare lie to His Majesty. Truly, I do not know.”
Emperor Khanujin stared at me, his gaze narrow and calculating.
I waited, my pulse pounding, until he finally set down his blade.
“He did something when you put on that dress,” he hissed. “There was a flash of light—that was magic, I know it. You two planned it together.”
“If I planned to leave with the Lord Enchanter, why am I still here?”
“My guards found this in your chambers.”
The emperor held up a single black feather. A hawk’s.
Edan’s.
My pulse roared in my ears, but curiously, I held my calm. It was unlike me: yesterday, I would have stared at the ground, stammering a barely coherent response—begging for the emperor not to hurt Edan. Today, I simply clasped my hands and bowed my head. “The Lord Enchanter is known for taking the form of a hawk to facilitate his service to Your Majesty. If he visited my chambers, it was no doubt to ensure that I was working on my tasks for Lady Sarnai.”
“You’ve developed a courtier’s tongue while you were away, Tamarin,” said Emperor Khanujin. The praise rang hollow in my ears, as it was meant to. “You traveled with him for months. Why did he leave?”
That, I knew the answer to. Edan had left because I’d begged him to. Because I’d lied to him and told him I’d be fine without him. Because I had broken his oath to the emperor, and if he didn’t leave…gods knew what Khanujin would do to him.
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