“Their next lives?”
“In Nelronat, we believed that this life is only the beginning. That our souls are reborn into the next life and the next, and that those we love are tethered to us so we may find each other.”
“We have something similar in A’landi.” I propped myself up on one elbow and fished around in my pouch for the spool of dull red thread Ammi had given me back at the inn.
“My mother believed in fate.” I unwound the thread, wrapping it around his wrist. “She told me there was an invisible thread tying me to someone else.” I looked up to meet his eyes. “Someone I was destined to meet and would be bound to all my life.”
I pressed my palms against his, studying his hands—the palms once stained with the blood of stars. They weren’t a noble’s hands. Rough along the sides with calluses like mine, but his fingers were long and graceful.
Slowly, I tied the thread around his wrist, knotted it.
“You said that I am your oath now,” I whispered, “so I bind you to me. No matter what happens, come back on the ninth day of the ninth month. Every year, I will wait for you—by the sea where I grew up, back home in Port Kamalan.”
Edan drew me close, wrapping his arms so tightly around me that his heart pounded against my ear. He kissed me, the warmth of his breath melting me. “I won’t let him have you.”
“It isn’t up to you. It’s up to me.” I held out my wrist for Edan to tie a thread around.
As he knotted it, he said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear, “I’ve been thinking about what Master Tsring said. If we destroyed Lapzur.”
“I’ve been thinking about it too,” I admitted. “Bandur would be no more…but my pledge to him would still stand.”
“Yes, but you would not be bound to the isles.”
I could see a plan unspooling in Edan’s mind, hope springing from despair. Did I dare to hope as well?
“It can’t be easy to destroy Lapzur,” I reasoned. “If it were, someone else would have done it long ago.”
“Bandur is a formidable guardian,” Edan agreed, “and his army of ghosts is strong. But I’m willing to take the risk.”
I looked at him, then at the matching red threads on our wrists. A protest died on my lips.
Edan spoke again: “Master Tsring says I will never recover all the magic I had while under oath, but some will come back to me.” Edan raised his hand, and the threads around our wrists grew warm, the ends stretching for each other. “The magic I had when I was a boy.”
His forehead was moist with perspiration, a thin watery line gliding down his temples. “I fear it won’t be enough to save you from Bandur. Or A’landi from the shansen’s greed and Khanujin’s pride.”
“You’ve done enough to protect A’landi for a hundred lifetimes,” I said. “The battle against Bandur isn’t yours to fight. It’s mine.”
I held his cheek so our eyes were level. “You told me once that Amana’s dresses were not meant for this world. Their power is in me now. If that isn’t enough to defeat Bandur and save A’landi, then I don’t know what is.”
“You sound like you don’t need me at all,” he teased gently.
“You’re wrong,” I whispered. I needed him more than ever. It wasn’t the dresses that compelled me to cling to who I was, but Edan—and my family. “Without you, I’d be lost.”
I rested my head on his arm again. “Sing for me,” I said softly. “I want to hear that little tune you always played on the flute when we were traveling.”
“This one?” Edan started to hum, his throat vibrating that simple song I’d grown to love so much.
“What’s it called?”
“It doesn’t have a name,” he replied. “My mother used to sing it to me when I was a boy. I sang it to remember home when I was in the monastery, then to calm the horses when I was taken to war. It’s been with me a long, long time.”
Together we hummed the melody, its lilting energy so wistful and simple I thought of Port Kamalan, of my brothers and of Mama. As the tune approached its end, an ache for home swelled in my throat, and I could barely hum the last note. That ache sat with me a long time, even when the rhythm of my breath finally steadied, matching Edan’s.
But still I could not sleep.
I waited an hour before I dared to move. Edan had fallen asleep again, so, careful not to disturb him, I rose and sat at his desk to pen a letter home.
Dear Baba and Keton,
I’m sorry I left so suddenly.
The emperor called me back—
I pray that you are safe and far from the field of battle, and do not need the comfort of this letter. I do not know when I’ll be able to write again, but I write now to tell you I am well and being looked after. Please do not worry about me.
Keton, please be careful. Baba, too.
If I do not see you again, know that my heart is with you.
My brush sagged, and I clutched my head in my hand. How could I tell them I’d come into the possession of unspeakable power and that both Emperor Khanujin and the shansen were combing the country for me? How could I write that their lives were in danger—because of me—and that I couldn’t protect even them…because I was the last person I trusted.
Because I was turning into a demon.
What I’d written would have to be enough. There was nothing I could add that wouldn’t bring Baba and Keton pain.
I picked up my brush again and reached for a fresh page. My fingers trembled, as if I could not remember how to set my brush to ink, as if my hands did not know how to form characters on paper. I squeezed the handle tight, the dripping ink smearing under the side of my palm.
This time, I wrote to Edan.
A long time ago, a foolish girl was asked to weave the sun, embroider the moon, and paint the stars, three impossible tasks she did not believe she could accomplish. But that foolish girl was lucky, even more so because those three impossible tasks freed the boy she loved.
I am lucky, Edan. I know that for every dawn, dusk must unravel its darkness. I know I have to pay a price for what I’ve done, yet I would not change anything about the choices I have made.
Still, I will not lie. Shadows cling to me, and darkness folds over me. Some days, I do not even remember how to set my needle to cloth. I would rather leave you now while I still remember your face, your voice, your name.
I swallowed, loosening my grip on the brush.
And should you ever feel alone, when I am gone, go to my father and brother. They will know who you are, and they will love you. Look after them and protect them, the way you would protect me.
I beg you, Edan, let me be strong. Let me go.
I blew once on the letter to dry the ink, then I slipped it into one of his cloak pockets, tucking it inside his flute so he wouldn’t find it right away. If we were successful in defeating Bandur and in lifting his terrible curse from me, I would take it back and burn it. If not, then I would leave him. And when I did, at least he’d have a piece of me—of the real me, no matter what came.
Only one task left.
Reaching for my tailor’s tools, I touched my amulet to summon the dress of the blood of stars. It was the most fickle of my dresses, and the one most connected to me. I’d held off on repairing it for so long, not wanting to remind myself of what I had sacrificed to make it.
Streams of silk curled out of the amulet, and the star-painted dress materialized in my arms. Though the bodice was ripped and the skirts torn, seeing it still filled me with wonder. As I set it over my lap, its fabric came alive at my touch, unleashing a trove of colors—most of all a vibrant, shimmering violet, like stars beaming from across the universe. And power enough, I hoped, to slay a demon.
I set to work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A stroke of sunlight caressed my face, easing
my eyelids open.
I blinked, not remembering that I’d fallen asleep. But I was back in bed, a thin muslin blanket folded over me, and Edan was gone.
On my pillow I found a fresh plum blossom, and a note written in Edan’s small, elegant hand.
I’m going to look for Master Tsring. There are fried buns and peanut cakes for breakfast. You’ll like the cakes. Will save you some before they’re all gone.
Tucking the note into my pocket, I smiled. Trust Edan to remember my sweet tooth. I sniffed, inhaling the aroma of fresh peanuts on the griddle. The old me would have swooped downstairs to wolf down the cakes, but now they did not tempt me at all.
I dressed and hurried to find Edan, but Master Tsring himself intercepted me in the stairwell.
“Come,” he said before I could stutter a morning greeting.
He motioned for me to follow him, down the winding wooden stairs into a cavernous corridor built within the mountain. The corridor grew narrower, and we exited into an outdoor alcove behind a waterfall. Despite the rush of the cascading falls, the air here was calm. Water-stained statues of Nandun, carved of stone and jade, stood along the edge of the rock.
“We call this sanctuary the Cascading Peace,” Master Tsring said, sitting on the wet ground. I followed his example. The water pounded behind me, cool spray misting the back of my neck. “I tell my students to come here when the responsibilities of magic trouble them.”
He gave me a moment to absorb his words. “Few enchanters walk this earth, Maia. Rare is the gift of magic, rarer still the ability to wield it. Gen was one of our most powerful, but even he failed to understand that serving a thousand years beside men and women of great destinies is as much a burden as it is a gift.”
“He knows now,” I said quietly. “He’s known for a long time.”
“He has learned to live with regret,” Tsring agreed. “Still, had he not met you, it is likely he would have completed his oath.”
“I—”
“Better he break it now than later,” the master said over me. “My disciples here will never take the oath. Never will they taste the power that Gen possessed, and never will they endure the suffering that has befallen you.”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“Ill times await A’landi,” said Master Tsring carefully. “There is much good Gen can still do, even though he will never be as powerful as he once was. I ask you to go to Lapzur alone, so that he may stay here and complete his training.”
“Y-you want me to leave him?” I spluttered.
“It would be for the best. I thought I could help you, Maia. Truly.” The old man paused, his attention settling on a stream of water trickling down the rocks. “But now I see you should have let Gen become the guardian. Armed with the goddess’s legacy, you make a far more dangerous demon than he would have been.”
His words made my chest tighten. A wave of irritation rippled through me, and I bit my lip, trying to subdue my rising temper. I would not be angry. I would not.
The master bowed his head, aware of my struggle. He took on a gentler tone. “My disciples complain that I am harsh. I do not mince my words because I have seen what withholding the truth can do. Perhaps if I had been harsher with Bandur, he would not have broken his oath. Perhaps he would not have taken it in the first place.”
Master Tsring’s lips thinned, crinkles forming along the corners. “If you fail to defeat him at Lapzur, I will be ready for him when he is freed.”
“You’re wrong about me,” I told him, standing. “I won’t turn.”
“It matters not either way.”
I spun sharply to face him. His statement was firm, his eyes clear. This was not what he had told us at lunch yesterday.
“I had the gift of prescience,” he explained. “Its power has faded since I completed my oath, but every now and then, the sight returns to me. No matter how many times I look into the flames, no matter how many times I cast the stones or read the leaves, it is the same result. For you, Maia Tamarin? I see naught but ashes.” He rose to stand at my side. “You know it, too.”
Mist from the cascading falls blurred my vision, and I lowered my lashes, trying to blink my eyes dry. “Is that why you wanted to speak with me this morning? Simply to tell me that I will die even if I defeat Bandur?”
“Whether or not you defeat him at Lapzur, you are still your own greatest enemy. You cannot survive the battle against yourself.”
Tsring exhaled, lifting his arms. “Even still, all is not as bleak as it sounds. There is a rip in the heavens, created by magic. The Weaver, your ancestor, was the first to mend it, but he was careless and left a trace of his magic among his mortal descendants.” He eyed the scissors hanging from my belt. “Thanks to the folly of enchanters and demons, the rip in the heavens has returned. It falls to you to mend it once more.
“Maia, two powers clash inside you now. I am certain you have felt it. The dresses urge you to heal the heavens, but the demon inside urges you to tear them apart. Whichever voice you choose to heed will determine the legacy you leave behind.”
I swallowed hard. “What about Edan? Did you see his fate?”
“Gen’s fate is more fluid. Whether or not he lives rests heavily on the choices you make.”
“That’s why you think he should stay,” I whispered.
“Whatever he chooses, I will honor,” replied Master Tsring. Then he hesitated. “I asked him to stay before he went looking for you. I told him that he was meant for magic. Do you know what he replied?”
The answer rang familiar, as if coming from a dream.
“ ‘I was meant for magic, once, but because of Maia, I am no longer the enchanter I was before. I am meant for her now. Her above all else.’ ”
A small smile tugged at the old man’s lips. “There, that is what I wished to tell you. Go now. Choose well.”
I started to turn away from Master Tsring, then paused. “Thank you,” I said softly, before hurrying back to the temple.
I raced down the corridor, ignoring the looks from his disciples when I burst into the eating hall, eyes blazing red. I didn’t care about their stares, or about the propriety of the temple. I ran into Edan’s arms, nearly toppling him over as I hugged him close and buried my face into his robes.
“Maia,” he breathed.
I looked up at him, taking in the earnest lines that furrowed his brow, the concern shining in his eyes. I knew there was no need to ask the question lingering on my tongue. “Are there any more peanut cakes left?” I asked instead.
The lines on his brow eased, and he chuckled. “I stashed a few for you.” A pause—he knew me too well. “What happened?”
“I ran into Master Tsring,” I confessed, the words rushing out of my mouth. “He thinks it’d be dangerous for you to go with me. He’s seen—”
“That I might die?” Edan finished for me.
I bit my lip and stared at the floor. For a moment, I was my old self again.
He tilted my chin up, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “I won’t let you have your carpet back if you leave me behind.”
“It doesn’t fly any—”
“It does now. I got a few of the disciples to fix it this morning.” He twined his fingers through mine. “I’m coming with you, Maia. You’ll not be rid of me so easily.”
It was difficult not to melt, even for an almost-demon like me. “Everyone’s watching.”
“I don’t care.” He grinned, and kissed my cheek. “Come, eat before breakfast is over.”
I barely glanced at the generous spread of food. My encounter with Master Tsring had erased any appetite I might have had. “Let’s go now. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
* * *
• • •
It should have taken us a week to reach Lake Paduan, but we arrived before nig
htfall on the third day. It was as if Bandur—the isles themselves—knew I was coming, and sent winds to bring me back.
The lake’s icy fingers clutched my legs as I slid off the carpet and stepped ashore. Each breath tasted bitter, stinging my throat. With each step, I sank deeper, heavier, into the sand, knowing Lapzur had been waiting for me to return. Now that I was back, it would never let me leave.
I traced the crack in my amulet, summoning the dress of the blood of stars under my breath.
Inky, dark liquid bubbled out of the jet-black shell. Silk danced in ribbons of smoke and mist, flowing between my fingers and winding over my shoulders. Sleeves threaded over my arms, light as the kiss of the wind, and a skirt cinched itself around my waist before draping me, full as a bell, with a hem that flickered like candlelight.
Here, where the blood of stars fell once a year, my dress was at home.
“You should take this back,” I said, passing Edan his dagger.
I’d wrapped a scarf around the weapon. Even though I hadn’t uttered “Jinn” to trigger its magic, I could feel an uncomfortable heat emanating through the fibers of the cloth.
Wordlessly, Edan took it from me. We’d gone over our plan one last time before arriving at the isles, but I hadn’t fully anticipated the tremendous power of this place. Already, it threatened to overwhelm me.
“Should the worst befall me,” I said, “please take care of my father and my brother.”
Edan stiffened. He strained to keep his tone even. “You won’t—”
“And take care of yourself,” I spoke over him. I grasped the folds of my dress, the dark fabric shimmering at my touch. “I’m ready.”
Unlike the last time, the ghosts did not tempt me. They did not hide in the shadows, did not bother to mimic my mother or brothers. I did not hear Mama’s voice, or Finlei’s, or Sendo’s.
Instead, they welcomed me as one of their own. Which was far worse.
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