Unravel the Dusk

by Elizabeth Lim

  Why so selfish, Maia? You don’t need birds to win the war. You have enough power to overthrow the shansen. If you sacrifice yourself, you would save thousands from death. Is that not honorable?

  I bit my lip so hard it began to bleed.

  “Are you all right?” Edan asked, looking worried.

  “If I could save A’landi by giving in”—I faltered, staring at my hands; at what used to be my hands—“by completely turning into a demon, shouldn’t I? No one would have to fight. I could save the lives of countless men and women.”

  “If you give in, Maia, you won’t be yourself anymore.” He pried the needle from my shaking fingers. “Hold on for just a little longer. For A’landi. For me.”

  “I fear it’ll drive me mad,” I confessed. “There’s so much anger in me. I can’t control it.” I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could drive away all the horrible memories of what I’d done since Bandur had cursed me. Those memories were much sharper than anything from my previous life.

  “What if I forget you again?” I whispered. “What if I—”

  “Attack me?” Edan took in a tight breath. “You might. Enchanters and demons are natural enemies.”

  Seeing my horrified reaction, he kissed me softly. “If you forget me, I’ll find a way to make you remember again. And if you attack me”—he flattened my hand against his chest—“I’ll hold you until you stop.”

  I wasn’t convinced, but Edan wasn’t finished.

  “I believe what I said to Master Tsring, about you being good.” His fingers brushed my hair, sweeping it away from my eyes and to the side of my face. “Every day you’re changing. You look more and more like a demon, and I know the voice inside you is growing stronger. But your heart is yours, Maia. That will not change as long as you hold on to it.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I know I am.” His gaze fell to my growing pile of cloth birds. “Would you believe me if I told you I knew her? The Kiatan princess who folded a thousand cranes?”

  “You’re not as old as that!”

  He made a face at me. “The story isn’t as old as that. I met Shiori only once, and briefly, but she wasn’t so different from you. Even when a terrible curse befell her, she stayed strong. Her paper birds brought her hope.”

  He pressed my hand against his heart. “You are not alone, Maia. Not now, not ever.”

  His pulse beat steadily against my palm. I nodded, and I gathered the first batch of my cloth birds onto my tunic. The red threads sewn into their wings glimmered in the moonlight.

  I leaned on Edan as I climbed onto the windowsill, crouching before the vast view of the forests and ocean below the Winter Palace. Still holding his arm, I turned to face him.

  “For luck,” he said, his breath tickling my nose before he kissed me.

  I leapt into the sky, a rush of air propelling me higher and higher. There, among the clouds, I suspended myself as long as I could—as if I were treading water.

  “I am not alone,” I repeated. “And not all is lost.”

  Hugging the birds close, I forced a small smile. Hardly a consolation, without the laughter of the sun, my body could not feel the cold of the night icing over my skin, and without the tears of the moon, my heart did not quail at anything. Especially not at the inevitable future, at the cost for saving A’landi—that I would die.

  Sensing I was about to fall, I raised my amulet and pressed my lips to the glass crack, releasing the tiniest drop of the blood of stars, just enough to bathe my birds in its light.

  Then, against the white sickle moon, I flung up my arms, sending the birds off to find anyone who might fight for the future of A’landi.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Amid the ruins of the shrine in the Winter Palace, Emperor Khanujin was sent to the heavens. No priests or monks were present to preside over the ceremony—only Lady Sarnai’s soldiers and the few ministers who had survived the shansen’s attack. They built a modest pyre of rust-colored bricks and knelt before the emperor once they’d laid him upon it.

  Edan would not attend the funeral. When I asked why, he replied, “These rites are some of A’landi’s oldest traditions, meant to honor Khanujin and to wish him safe passage to his place among the gods. Enchanters and religion have never been in harmony with one another. It would be an insult to him and to your people if I attended.”

  I bowed with Keton and Baba to pay my respects, then lingered a few moments, watching the wind lift the emperor’s ashes away from the pyre. My fingers were sore from sewing all night.

  After making hundreds of birds with Edan, I’d attended to the task of fashioning Emperor Khanujin’s burial robes. I’d used his banner, along with whatever scraps I could find in the palace—old curtains and tablecloths, even the rice sacks used to cover Baba and Keton’s faces—to sew my birds, and without my scissors, I couldn’t spin coarse linen blankets into silk.

  Only what was left over went into Khanujin’s robes. So, the emperor was buried plain as a villager. No embroidery, no jewels studded into the humble cloth, no inlaid gold or brocade. Not so much as a patch of silk.

  No one said a word about it.

  “Where are you going?” Keton asked me. When I turned, he flinched. “Your eyes, Maia. They’ve been red since yesterday. You—”

  “They’re just bloodshot,” I lied quickly, waving away his concern with a gloved hand. A veil of unease fell over me. My brother used to tell me I was a terrible liar, and I had been. But things had changed. I had changed.

  I hurried ahead to avoid his questions. But as my brother followed, I couldn’t help but listen to the quiet landings of his footfalls, the graceful skid of his cane from one step to the next. The last time I’d seen him, he had only just begun to try and walk again.

  My chest tightened. Not long ago, all I had wished for was to see Baba and Keton so I could embrace them. But now that we were together, all I did was keep my distance. I didn’t know what to say to them that wouldn’t be a lie.

  And how that pained me.

  I slowed my steps and walked beside my brother. My hands sunk into my pockets, the piecemeal gloves I’d made barely concealing my claws.

  “I haven’t been sleeping well,” I said at last, a meager attempt at an explanation.

  “Me neither.” Keton tilted his head, listening to the flames still crackling from the funeral pyre. “I heard Lady Sarnai held a war council yesterday. Do you think the rumors of a march to Jappor are true?”

  That was the reason I wanted to see her. “I don’t know.”

  “There are men willing to fight,” said Keton. “I will fight.”

  I bit my lip, trying to ignore the surge of alarm rising to my throat. “No, you should stay here. With the wounded.”

  Keton frowned at me, and I wished I could take back my words. “My legs are getting stronger, Maia. I may not be as fast as the others, but I can figh—”

  “You’ve already fought. You’ve already seen too much of war.”

  “Says my younger sister,” he chided. “I didn’t know what I was fighting for back then. Now I do. The other soldiers feel the same.”

  “What are you fighting for?”

  “The emperor is dead, and the shansen is halfway to the capital. You’ve seen his demon.” Keton swallowed. “If we don’t defend A’landi against him now, then heavens help us. We are doomed.”

  How could I dissuade him without cheating him of the same opportunity I’d wanted for myself—to help save our country?

  I wanted Lady Sarnai to march to battle. I wanted her to defeat her father, to slay Gyiu’rak and send her reeling into the underworld.

  Ten thousand lives! How could any man crave power so much he would bargain the lives of his people in such a trade?

  I unclenched my jaw, reining in my wrath. When I looked at my brother and saw
the fire in his eyes, I recognized the same determination that burned inside me.

  “I’m going to find Lady Sarnai” was all I could manage, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of Baba.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Neither Lady Sarnai nor Lord Xina had attended the funeral, but I knew where to find her. She’d slept outside by the kitchens, giving up for the wounded her claim to one of the palace’s limited rooms.

  I heard her before I saw her, sparring with Lord Xina. They were so engrossed in their match they barely noticed me, and I slipped behind a pillar to watch.

  Sarnai still hadn’t taken off her armor. It must have been a third her weight, yet she carried it proudly, with her shoulders squared and sweat glistening on her brow. Lord Xina was at least twice her size, but she moved with deadly grace, her fighting stick dancing to the beat of battle the way my fingers used to dance with a needle. Spying an opening in Lord Xina’s side, she jabbed him in the knee and whipped her pole to hook his ankles and bring him down to his back.

  “You’ve grown slow, Xina,” she said before helping him up. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep lumbering around like a bear.”

  “And you’ve grown weak, Sarnai. So if I lumber like a bear, at least I don’t swing my sword like an ax. What happened to your training?”

  Instead of taking her hand to get up, Lord Xina pulled her down, and for the first time, I heard Lady Sarnai laugh. He’d never been handsome, but after his time in Khanujin’s dungeon his face had become a patchwork of nightmares: his front teeth cracked, his nose smashed, and his upper lip torn. Yet the way they looked at each other made my heart heavy, and I turned away from the scene, giving them a moment of privacy.

  When I finally looked again, they sat together beside a fire burning in a brick pit, once used to roast meat. They weren’t alone.

  Edan had beaten me there.

  “If you have come to beg for the tailor’s life, you are too late,” said Sarnai, barely acknowledging him as she wiped the sweat from her temples. “My mind is made up. She cannot be allowed to live.”

  “Then you are not the warrior I knew during the Five Winters’ War, Your Highness.”

  “And you are not the enchanter I knew,” Sarnai retorted. “Perhaps I should have you executed as well. After all, what can you offer now?”

  Edan raised his walnut staff, and the campfire shot up, taking on the shape of a hawk. Only if I looked closely could I see the sweat glistening on the nape of Edan’s neck. Such a display would have been as easy as breathing for him before, but now it took much effort.

  “You will not defeat your father without Maia Tamarin—”

  “She will stay in the Winter Palace,” Lady Sarnai said over him, surprising even me with the sudden reversal. “That is more mercy than she deserves.”

  Edan began to speak, but I stepped forward and interrupted, “Take me with you to Jappor. I would give my life to save A’landi. To save my family.”

  All three looked up, surprised that I had managed to creep up on them. Had I been that much clumsier before, as Maia, or did becoming a demon give me the gift of catching everyone unawares?

  Lady Sarnai’s gaze pierced mine. “Your enchanter already pleaded the case for you. I’ve come to believe that along with the loss of his powers comes the loss of his reason. The only reason you still stand free, tailor, is because of what you did for me and Xina in the Autumn Palace.” She paused deliberately, so I’d understand even that generosity was more than I deserved. “But you will not be leaving the Winter Palace.”

  “You cannot keep me here,” I said, the edge in my tone sharp as a knife.

  At that, Lady Sarnai stiffened. Lord Xina reached for his sword, but she stopped him.

  “Can’t I?” she said, rising. Her long black hair, freed from its warrior plaits, flew behind her back. “Edan says that your heart is still good, but I’ve known demons all my life. The seed of all magic is rooted in greed.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  She scoffed at me. “That is what my father used to say. You know, he was still a young man when the old emperor, Tainujin, united A’landi. Every shansen must make a mark for himself through war, and my father worried that with a united country, there would be little chance for him to bring honor upon his name.

  “My father craved war. It was not his intent to divide A’landi in two. Far from it. But he was angry that so many of my grandfather’s victories for Tainujin were attributed to the Lord Enchanter, and he vowed the same would not happen to him.

  “Gyiu’rak came to him, offering to help him defeat Tainujin’s enchanter and usurp the throne—for a price.”

  “Ten thousand lives.”

  “Yes,” Lady Sarnai said grimly. “I was there that night—it was the first time I ever saw a demon.” She stared into the fire. “My father refused to pay, but she’d planted a terrible desire in him, one that couldn’t be quenched even after he’d assassinated Tainujin and his heir. He grew greedy; he wanted Edan’s amulet so he would control the enchanter himself. But Khanujin discovered their plans and took it first, and my father was forced to retreat to the North.

  “Gyiu’rak lurked in the forests there, and preyed on him when he returned. She extracted a blood oath in exchange for her dark magic to defeat Khanujin and his enchanter and take the throne.”

  Sarnai lifted her gaze from the fire, her hard eyes meeting mine. “My father was never the same after that day. During the Five Winters’ War, I hardly noticed the change, but slowly…he was overtaken by bloodlust.” Her voice became thick, her features twisting from the memory of something terrible. “I tried to show him what was happening to him; I begged him to stop. But he would not listen.”

  I swallowed, understanding in my own way how good the anger felt. I could still taste its sweetness.

  “You have no choice but to bring me,” I said evenly. “None of you is a match for Gyiu’rak.”

  Lady Sarnai’s nostrils flared. “Didn’t you hear anything I said? I don’t trust you.”

  She was wise not to. Little did she know it, but I could have easily slipped into her mind, the way Bandur had with Ammi, and compelled her to do as I wished. The possibility floated in me now, muddying my own restraint with its appeal. But I held back.

  “If you’re worried I will betray you,” I said, “Edan has a dagger that can be used against demons.”

  “Maia,” Edan whispered. “Maia, that’s enough.”

  I pretended not to hear him. “He has it now.”

  Lord Xina raised his arm, beckoning Edan to hand over the weapon. Reluctantly, he passed it to the warlord, who, in turn, gave it to Lady Sarnai.

  “An ordinary-looking thing,” she commented.

  As she surveyed the dagger, taking in the intricate lines carved onto the scabbard, I continued, “Should I begin to turn against A’landi’s cause, hold the hilt and utter the word ‘Jinn.’ That will unsheathe the blade. And then you must pierce my heart—” I held up my amulet, for it was my true heart now, more and more with each day.

  There was a crack in my voice, but I wasn’t finished. “I will be wearing the last dress of Amana when I fight for you. The dress of the blood of stars.” My throat closed up. “It is the source of my strength. If you wish to kill me, you must destroy it as well as my amulet, and I will die.”

  It was obvious from the grimace on Edan’s face that I was telling the truth.

  “You must not blame Edan for withholding this from you. He believes there is still good in me. But I know better.”

  For the first time, I knelt before Lady Sarnai. “Now you know how I may be slain.” I thought of my last dress, the one that protected my soul from the demon’s grasp. “Let me help you with Gyiu’rak.”

  To my surprise, she rose from beside the hearth and gave the dagg
er back to Edan. Without explanation, she said, “We will march for Jappor, and you will join us.” She lingered on the words, adding, “Do not disappoint me, Maia Tamarin. If you do, I swear upon the Nine Heavens that you will not live to regret it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  We followed the coastline of the Cuiyan Ocean upward, and gradually the terrain eased into steppes and grasslands, lightly laced with snow. Violent winds tore across the grass, the bitter chill whistling into my lungs. In the far distance, I could make out the famous northern forests—where demons were said to lurk.

  During our march to Jappor, I scanned the sky for my birds. Only one returned, alone, which made my heart sink. But then I saw more, soaring above a convoy of ships along the northern coast of the Cuiyan Ocean. Fishermen’s boats with ragged sails, merchant ships, and, praise the gods, a fleet of dragon battleships flying Emperor Khanujin’s banner.

  Soldiers came on foot, on horseback, in wagons, and in carriages. Some brought their wives and sisters, who in turn brought food, blankets, tools for making bows and spears, for sharpening daggers and swords. Most found us thanks to my birds, but others were men Lord Xina had summoned. Reinforcements arrived by the hour. By the end of the day, hundreds had joined Lady Sarnai’s forces.

  I’d seen what fighting in the Five Winters’ War had done to Keton, how it had dimmed the light in his eyes. These soldiers’ faces were the same as my brother’s, hardened by war. Now I viewed them with respect rather than pity.

  But still, how cruel I felt asking them to fight again.

  “Their coming here isn’t magic, is it?” I asked Edan worriedly. “I didn’t force them to come, or summon them the way the shansen tried to summon me?”

  “No,” he assured me. “The people know a united country is something to hope for, and fight for, with or without an emperor.”

  Among the crowd of new arrivals, I spotted a familiar pair of pigtails. A girl’s face came into view: full cheeks, bright round eyes, and a small, round mouth.