“Maia!” Sendo called. My brother’s spirit appeared behind me, his hands weightlessly gripping my shoulders to relax them. “Let go. That isn’t the way.”
I spun, startled to hear him. “What is, then?”
“Try again, with the dress.”
I had tried, I wanted to tell him, but Sendo lowered his hands to take mine. I met his gaze, taking in his freckles that only we two in the family shared, taking in the eyes that had once been earthy brown mirrors of my own.
This last dress is my heart. Was that why I could not bring forth its magic, because I was afraid of losing the only thing that kept me Maia Tamarin?
“Your heart is strong, sister,” said my brother, hearing my thoughts. “It always has been.”
Let go, he had said. Slowly, I did. I released the fear I had locked around my heart, and in its place love rushed forth—love for my family, love for my country, love for Edan.
With a burst, my dress sprang to life, the blood of stars rippling in surges across the lustrous silk. Beams of light flickered across my long sleeves, darting out like needles of silver. Power wreathed me, its glow coursing through my sleeves so they fanned like wings. No longer was I a humble seamstress from Port Kamalan: I was the tailor of the gods.
The ghosts shrieked, vanquished by waves of light. I attacked without mercy, aided by Sendo and Finlei’s army of spirits. Until Lady Sarnai’s soldiers finally outnumbered the ghosts.
I saw Keton, aiming his bow and relentlessly shooting arrows alongside Edan. Sweat beaded his brow, his face ruddy from the exhaustion of fighting an enemy he couldn’t beat. Ghosts clamored around him, screaming. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel them; he could hear them.
Sendo and Finlei’s spirits dove past my brother and my enchanter, their swords ripping through the ghosts around them. How I wished Keton could see them.
How I wished we could all be together.
My dress was a furious storm of silk and light. I raised my arms, the sleeves swirling around me in endless ribbons, tearing at the ghosts and clearing a path toward my true target: the shansen.
He moved with a demon’s speed and a tiger’s power. Each swing of his sword ended a life, and whenever someone dared run, he shifted into the tiger form he shared with Gyiu’rak and pounded after them.
I flew across the bridge and landed before the shansen. My sleeves shot out, wrapping around his muscular throat, to choke him.
His fur singed under the brilliance of my dress, his black eyes becoming glassy. With a growl, he ripped through one of my sleeves with his claws, but the fabric mended itself and clung to him stronger than ever.
“Yield,” I commanded.
“If you think this war is won, you’re sadly mistaken,” the shansen rasped. “Half your men are dead, while I’ve not sent a single soldier into battle.”
The realization was a punch to my gut. The shansen was right; we’d only fought an army of ghosts. Thousands of his men awaited on the Jappor side of the bridge.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said through my teeth. “Without you to lead them, the battle is won.”
“Then you should have killed me.”
Before I could stop him, the warlord reached for his amulet. In a rush of pearlescent smoke, he dissipated into the mist.
“No!” I slammed my fists on the bridge’s stone railing.
The ghosts were gone. My brothers’ army of spirits was gone too. Our surviving soldiers were awakening from the enchantment the ghosts had cast over them.
Lady Sarnai had climbed back onto the bridge and was bent beside Lord Xina’s fallen form. Everyone was waiting for her to decide whether we’d retreat back to camp or push forward into Jappor.
“Maia,” a hoarse voice called to me.
“Your brothers,” Edan said, pointing at the two spirits floating above us.
Waiting for me.
I sprang into the air. “Don’t go. The fight isn’t over.”
“Ours is,” said Finlei gently. “Amana let us heed your call this once, but we cannot help you again, sister.”
“Please. Once you leave, I’ll—”
“Forget us?” Sendo shook his head. “You won’t.”
“How could you forget two brothers as memorable as we?” Finlei teased. Then his face grew somber. “Punch Keton for me—extra hard—for following us into war even though we told him not to…and tell Baba we miss him very much.”
When I heard the crack in his voice, my heart wanted to burst. Stay, I wanted to beg them once more, but I knew they couldn’t. My throat swelled. It hurt to speak. “I will.”
“Always seize the wind, sister.”
“I will,” I whispered.
Finlei turned to go, but Sendo hesitated, his forehead wrinkling with concern. He placed a hand on my arm. I couldn’t feel his touch, but the gesture warmed me, like a gentle caress of sunlight on my skin.
“I’ve missed you, Maia.” He offered me a sad smile. “You remember that last day Finlei and I were at home?”
“I was painting,” I said softly. “I spilled Baba’s most expensive indigo on my skirt. I was so foolish then…so, so foolish.”
“No, not foolish.” He touched my nose, and I blinked even though I couldn’t feel it. “How far you’ve come from that little girl with the paint on her nose and fingers. The one who’d cling to my stories when we sat on the pier—you’ve become so strong.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry we never made it home.”
I blinked back my tears. There was so much I wanted to tell him—I had five years’ worth of news and worries, of joys and realizations—and stories I’d dreamed of sharing with him, but now that he was here, no words would come.
“I have to go,” he said, pressing a phantom kiss onto my cheek.
“Wait—” I started.
“This isn’t farewell, sister. Our paths will cross again. Perhaps not in this life, but Mama, Finlei, and I will be watching you. Until then, take care.”
Sendo nodded at Edan, acknowledging him before he returned to Finlei’s side.
Then my brothers were gone.
My lips parted, and I sucked in an unsteady, ragged breath.
“We retreat to the camp!” I heard Lady Sarnai shout. Lord Xina’s body was folded over her horse, and she led the way across the bridge. “Carry anyone you can. We will bury them tonight.”
My skirts fanning behind me, I lowered myself back onto the bridge. Edan wove his arm under mine, finding my hand.
The instant my feet touched the cool stone deck, everything exploded.
* * *
• • •
The world slanted, and my stomach plummeted as the bridge folded in on itself.
I couldn’t see. Dust clouded my vision. Everything was a blur of stippled gray, human screams, and cataclysmic roars from the river.
Bodies tumbled into the water like marbles, and I dove after them, saving as many as I could from the Jingan’s icy clutches.
I frantically searched for Edan, my brother, and Ammi. Keton was downstream swimming toward Jappor, Ammi already clambering to shore not far from him. Edan was safe too, standing on the Jappor side of the bridge—the only piece that had not collapsed—using his magic to delay its destruction.
Relief washed over me. Then I glimpsed Lady Sarnai in the river. Her horse couldn’t navigate the debris and tumbling rocks, not while it carried Lord Xina’s body.
I leapt after her, fighting the hungry river.
Lord Xina’s body slid off Lady Sarnai’s horse into the river, and she started to dive after him, but the waters were fierce. They swallowed Lord Xina, and Lady Sarnai thrashed against me as I grabbed her by the arms, leaping into the air to reach land.
There, on the banks of Jappor, her father and his demon were waiting. Hundreds of his soldiers surrounded us, and thous
ands more awaited beyond the city walls.
We were trapped. The bridge was gone; we couldn’t retreat to our camp. We were at the shansen’s mercy.
“Welcome to Jappor, Sarnai,” greeted the shansen. “Half your army is lost. You’ve no food or shelter. Don’t you think it’s time to surrender?”
Lady Sarnai rose to her feet, anger and hatred twisting her features. She lunged at her father with a dagger, but in her grief, she was unfocused, reckless. The shansen fought her off easily, and threw her to the ground.
He spat at her in disgust. “Pathetic,” he rumbled. I started, certain he was about to kill her, but the shansen withdrew. Without Gyiu’rak at his side, his eyes still flashed black and cruel, but there was something about them…the slightest, most infinitesimal glitter of humanity.
“I give you tonight to mourn your losses. You have until dawn to surrender.”
The shansen and his men receded through the gates of Jappor, leaving us by the river in the bitter, bleak cold.
* * *
• • •
By nightfall, the river had gone still, a thin layer of ice subduing its currents. Snow fell, blanketing everything in white. As we made a meager camp along the banks outside Jappor, torches danced above the city walls, a brutal reminder that warmth and comfort were so close and yet so inaccessible. The soldiers huddled together to stave off the cold, but there was little to be done for food; some grew so hungry they began to eat the snow.
The mere thought of having to fight again in the morning broke some of our soldiers. It didn’t help that Lady Sarnai, their commander, was nowhere to be seen.
After dusk, I sought her out and found her kneeling by the river, holding Lord Xina’s helmet.
“Go away, tailor.”
I crouched beside her. What I’d come to tell her was that the men needed her. She needed to rouse them. But seeing her so forlorn, I said instead, “Come back to camp. You’ll freeze out here alone.”
Her teeth were clenched, and she shoved me away. “What does it matter?” she growled, straining between the words. “I will not surrender. We will all die in the morning”—she spat—“and without honor.”
I understood her pain. The shansen had thrown Lord Xina’s corpse into the river. Lady Sarnai couldn’t bury him, couldn’t mourn him properly.
“Lord Xina wouldn’t want you to believe that.”
“In the North, there are demons….” Her voice broke bitterly. “If the dead are not honored, their spirits will become ghosts.”
I regarded her. During the trial, she’d seemed older than I. Now I felt older. Like I’d lived eighty years instead of eighteen.
“We will not allow that to happen to Lord Xina,” I replied. “If we defeat Gyiu’rak, his spirit will be free of her.” I hesitated. “He was a great warrior. One of the greatest of his generation. Let his death not be in vain, Your Highness.”
For a long time, she gave no indication she’d heard me. Then she reached into her quiver for an arrow and set its feather aflame. She placed it atop Lord Xina’s helmet, watching it burn.
Together we watched the ashes rise, curling up into the clouds.
When there was nothing but embers left, she finally stood. Her eyes were dark, as if smoke clung to them.
“Tomorrow,” she said through her teeth, “I will kill my father.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The shansen did not come at dawn.
He had the cruelty to make us wait until dusk, when our toes had frozen in our boots, and frost rusted our weapons as well as our spirits.
The air smelled of gunpowder and snow. Of despair.
Finally, as the sun disappeared into the river, a pearl sinking back into the watery depths of its home, we heard a rumble of thunder: the shansen’s army was coming. Their footsteps made the city walls shudder, and soon they surrounded us like a snake that had coiled around its prey.
The shansen arrived last, with Gyiu’rak at his side. A familiar emerald cloak rippled from her shoulders.
Lord Xina’s, I recognized after a tense beat. How wrong it looked on Gyiu’rak’s broad tiger frame, the crisply dyed wool like a trophy over her white fur. The demon had also claimed his gauntlets and shield, with his family’s crest emblazoned in scarlet lacquer. She flaunted them for all to see.
I darted a quick glance at Lady Sarnai. Her jaw was tight, knuckles whitening as they gripped her reins. What could be going through her mind, seeing her lover’s armor on the demon who brought about his death?
She let out a cry, and her horse charged for the shansen. As her soldiers followed, I stayed.
I had my own plan.
Edan’s arm brushed against mine, the red thread I’d tied around his wrist peeking out of his sleeve.
“Watch over my brother,” I said, “and Lady Sarnai. She cannot defeat the shansen alone.”
“Maia…” Edan reached for my hand. The red thread on his wrist glowed, as did mine. Careful not to hurt him, I curled my clawed fingers against his, sliding each one into place between his. Wishing this moment could last forever.
Wrapping his arms around my waist, I kissed him to silence his protests. In the middle of battle, it was a foolish thing to do, but I didn’t care.
“I love you,” I said, tilting my head close to his.
Then I let him go—and burst into the sky, the dress of the blood of stars folding over me in layers of twilight and stardust.
My amulet thrummed in my ears, a silent song only I could hear. My scissors used to hum to me this way, beckoning me to use them. It hadn’t occurred to me until now that maybe the scissors had been sent to prepare me for this very moment. To show me how to trust the magic singing inside me, to turn my burgeoning darkness into light.
With a spark, my amulet flared to life.
The two powers within me—my demon darkness and the light of Amana—clashed, their battle visible in the bursts of light dazzling from my dress as it clung to my skin, the silk stitching itself into my flesh to protect me from darkness. To save me.
My skirts swelled as full as the moon above, lifting me high above the ground and gliding toward the clouds.
What I saw from above confirmed my worst fear. We were losing badly. Already, our dead were piled high. We would never take the Spring Palace.
At the center of the battle, Lady Sarnai struggled against her father. She was no match for his demon’s strength.
Seize his amulet, I urged her, sending the message in a plume of smoke that took the shape of a bird and flittered off toward the shansen’s daughter.
Meanwhile, Gyiu’rak was prowling the battlefield.
If I could disrupt the link that was channeling her power to the shansen, Lady Sarnai might stand a chance.
Drawing a sharp lungful of air, I threw myself at Gyiu’rak and knocked her down. My skirts swept against her powerful legs, burning her with their touch. Smoke curled from her wounds, blistering against the backdrop of falling snow.
“I don’t have time for you,” she snarled, but I launched myself at her again. Gyiu’rak fended me off easily, grabbing my wrists. I thought she might crack my bones, but what she did was far worse. She sank her nails into my amulet.
The sharpest pain pierced my chest. My heart was being squeezed, crushed. I couldn’t breathe. My mind went gray, and I choked, my lungs hacking. I pummeled Gyiu’rak, trying to fight her off.
She only smiled, and dug her nails deeper into my amulet. Thick black blood oozed from my lips, filling my mouth with the taste of charcoal.
As I screamed, she yanked on the amulet’s chain. I’d learned from Bandur not to let her have it. If she possessed my amulet, she could control me.
Let yourself go! the demon growing inside me commanded.
I didn’t understand. My dress was flickering and careening in a panicked tempest. I coul
dn’t control it. The pain was too much. All of me was on fire.
What happened next was a blur of blinding heat and whirling darkness. The demon Maia overwhelmed me, brutally shutting off my senses. For a numbingly long moment, I was nothing. I saw, I heard, I felt—nothing.
When the world came rushing back at me, Gyiu’rak no longer held my amulet. Her white fur was scorched, and she growled, hoisted me high, and hurled me into the river.
The world flashed deliriously behind me as I flew backward. My body was too light, like a leaf caught in the wind. Yet my head was heavy. It pounded; I could feel my demon grappling for control over my mind. She knew I was weakened, that I wouldn’t be able to resist her for much longer.
I don’t need much time, I told her. Just give me a few more minutes, then you can have me.
I sailed across the battlefield, thrashing against the wind until my dress overpowered the demon in me. Its skirts flared, and I caught myself in midair. Once I regained my balance, I searched for Gyiu’rak.
There she was—a blur of white fur, pounding across the frosted battlefield toward a tall figure on horseback.
Terror stung me back to life, and I tore after Gyiu’rak.
Edan! I shouted, smoke leaking from my lips as I tried to communicate with him.
He did not hear me. His walnut staff was raised, summoning a storm of birds that soared above him before diving into the battle to attack the shansen’s soldiers.
“To the walls!” Edan yelled at our men, waving them to push toward the city as more of the shansen’s men fell. Then he powered his way toward the warlord.
Watch out! I sent a desperate warning hurtling toward Edan. Gyiu’rak is coming for you.
Edan turned as if he heard me. Alarm registered on his face when he saw the demon closing on him, but he didn’t change course. He urged his horse forward, racing against the tiger and charging at the shansen.
Gyiu’rak sprang for Edan, but he made a sharp turn left, ramming his horse into the shansen. The warlord tumbled off his mount, and Edan advanced, swinging his staff. The shansen feinted with ease, punching Edan on the side and unseating him from his horse.
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