Before the shansen could finish him off, Lady Sarnai furiously struck at her father’s neck, his torso, his knees. But no matter how she attacked, her sword could not breach his armor.
Gyiu’rak’s fur began to blur, and in a haze of white, she swooped toward the shansen’s amulet. If she returned inside, she would endow him with her full demon strength, including the ability to shape-shift.
“The dagger!” Sarnai yelled at the enchanter. “Give me the dagger.”
Edan pitched the weapon to her, the meteorite-and-iron blade dancing in an arc that curved blue in the air. The hilt landed neatly in Lady Sarnai’s grasp, and she spun the blade to slice her father’s amulet off his neck. Enraged, he slashed at her.
She ducked, and his sword sliced her horse’s neck instead. Her steed screamed and reared, then collapsed on its knees, letting out a last, terrible groan. Lady Sarnai leapt from the saddle, and ran.
Gyiu’rak launched after her, but Edan tackled the demon. I could either save him—or take the amulet from Lady Sarnai. Snow stung my eyes, and I bit my lip until it bled. Only one choice would end the war.
Making a sharp turn to intercept the shansen’s daughter, I leapt so she would see me. “Give me the amulet!” I shouted. “I’ll destroy it!”
She didn’t hesitate. The shansen’s horse was hard at her heels, and she flung the amulet at me.
I dove for it, my nails piercing its glossy black surface as I clasped it tight in my fist.
The amulet sizzled in my palm, smoke simmering from the carved tiger on its surface. I could feel Gyiu’rak’s wrath as she threw Edan to the side and pounced on me. The shansen’s entire army turned on me.
The clash of swords, the swoop of arrows. At the warlord’s command, hundreds of arrows assaulted me. Sharp edges pierced my skin, grazing my calves and elbows, puncturing my back. I didn’t feel any of it.
My time as Maia had ended.
This was the moment I’d dreaded, the moment I became a demon. But now that it was here, I wasn’t afraid. I could hear my demon voice trying to calm me.
It won’t hurt, she soothed. See how powerful you will be? Even more powerful than Gyiu’rak.
But her words had nothing to do with my state of calm. She had no idea what was coming.
My chest heaved. I felt no pain, only a rush of heat melting away the cold I’d endured these last few months.
I surrendered to the fire. Gyiu’rak’s amulet still burned in my grasp, the tiger head on its obsidian face melting until it was no more than a pile of sand, sifting through my fingers.
Two screams pierced the air. First Gyiu’rak’s, then the shansen’s, as his sword slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground.
Caught in mid-leap, Gyiu’rak began to smolder, ribbons of smoke bleeding from her flesh until only her ruby eyes were left. Then they too dulled, until finally the wind swept them away in ashes.
The shansen’s mighty strength was gone in an instant, leaving him a shriveled old man far more aged than his years. He fell into a position of defeat: his knees sank to the ground, his back folded forward in a crouch, his fists curled at his sides. For what seemed an age, he did not move. Then the shansen lifted his helmet. His hair had gone white.
“Daughter,” he rasped.
A storm raged in Lady Sarnai’s dark eyes as she held her father’s gaze. I could tell she was trying to decide whether to finish him or show mercy. She lifted her sword so it kissed the side of his neck, the weight of her blade too heavy for his frail shoulders to bear. “Yield.”
The shansen lifted his chin and dragged one foot forward so he knelt on only one knee. I took it as a sign of acquiescence—until a dagger flashed from his calf.
He knifed at his daughter’s ribs.
Lady Sarnai’s blade fell from her hand as she danced back, rolling to the side. The shansen lunged again, but Sarnai was ready this time. She reached into the quiver on her back and jabbed a scarlet arrow into his chest. Fulfilling the promise she’d made last night.
I did not see the shansen fall. My body would wait no longer.
The change began. Fiery wings burst out of my spine. My skin was no longer skin, but feathers of the palest blue-gold fire. My eyes rounded and sharpened into a bird’s. I folded my arms over my chest. Not even the finest weavers could have imagined the brilliance of my wings, layers upon layers of individual flames interlaced with threads of rippling sapphire and violet.
Air rushed out of my lungs. My heart slowed nearly to a stop.
I had to act now, before the demon inside me won, before she became the legend Baba would hear one day. That couldn’t happen, not when I’d given so much to spin a new dawn, to bring the sun and the moon and the stars to A’landi. Not while my heart still beat, not while I still breathed.
I turned to Edan. He was shouting my name, but I couldn’t hear him any longer. I held up my wrist, touching the red thread.
The end of the thread is you, Edan, I wanted to tell him. It’s always been you.
His eyes, blue and beseeching, were the last thing I saw before I released the blood of stars. The dress wrapped around me, scintillating waves of starlight smothering the demon inside. Soon we would all be gone.
Up I shot into the sky, high into the stars. Until A’landi was covered in clouds, and Edan and I were separated by the firmament of the heavens.
And there at last, with the blood of stars seeping from my wings, I erupted into flames.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
My dress unfurled into the night, a blanket of stars unfolding across the sky as far as I could see. The clouds grazed my ankles, soft as blossoms of snow.
When I looked down, I could not see the earth. Could not see Edan or Lady Sarnai or Keton, or the aftermath of the battle, or whether A’landi was saved.
But somehow, I knew we had won. Somehow, through a tickle in my heart that was little more than a flutter of joy—I knew that the demon inside me and the shadows that had darkened my soul hadn’t followed me here. I was finally free.
All was still. Quiet but for the unsteady beating of my heart, the warmth of my blood rushing to my head as I flew on, losing myself in this endless fabric of starlight.
Then, I heard a gentle laugh. It tinkled like the soft strokes of a dulcimer. A sound I never thought I would hear again.
I strained to see the familiar silhouette against the glowing full moon. “Mama,” I breathed.
My wings melted into hands and arms, my feathers softening into skin with the burnished glow of the fire in me. I flew to embrace my mother.
“I’ve waited for you a long time, Maia,” she said, stroking my cheek. “It’s as I predicted: you are the greatest tailor in A’landi. A tailor worthy of the gods.”
“That is more than I ever wanted,” I replied. She drew me close, her hand sweeping over my forehead, stroking the crease lines away.
I closed my eyes, feeling like a little girl again. The girl who’d spend all her days in the corner of Baba’s shop, hemming pants and embroidering scarves. The girl who used to dream about becoming the emperor’s tailor.
“How foolish I used to be,” I whispered, lifting myself out of Mama’s embrace. “If I could do it all over again, I’d never wish to leave home.”
“You don’t mean that,” replied my mother. “If you hadn’t left home, you wouldn’t have found the other end of your thread.” She gestured at the red thread on my wrist. It tickled my skin, so light I’d nearly forgotten about it.
I licked my lips. They tasted sweet, not like the ash I had tasted in my nightmares, but of the cookies Ammi had given me to eat before going to battle. Before I had died.
The corners of my vision blurred, and I looked away so Mama wouldn’t see the tears misting my eyes.
I felt different. Weightless and free—which made sense, since I was probably a spirit like
Mama. Below my feet was sky instead of earth, but my body did not panic. Instead, I marveled. I marveled at the evenness of my heartbeat and my breath, and at the serenity of this place.
I marveled that I could feel. The cold that had seeped into my soul over the last few months was gone, and so was the burning heat, replaced by a gentle warmth that sang within me. It’d been so long since I’d been warm. And when I stopped to listen to my thoughts, there were no voices but my own.
All around, stars glittered, each as vibrant as the most precious jewels on earth. The sky was a dazzling blend of colors, a mix of dawn and dusk, not unlike the dress of the blood of stars.
Mama held out her hand to me, and something glimmered on the face of her palm.
“My scissors!”
“Amana asked me to return them to you,” she replied. “They’ve been in our family a long, long time.”
“So it’s true,” I murmured, taking my scissors from Mama’s hand. They were brighter than before, and the sun and moon engraved on the shanks sparkled from every angle. “I’m a descendant of Amana’s tailor?”
Mama nodded. “Much of the story has been lost over generations, but yes, the first to make the dresses was your ancestor.”
I passed the scissors back. “Then they belong to him, not to me.”
Mama touched my arm hesitantly. I sensed whatever she was about to say next wasn’t easy for her. “I don’t know whether it pains me to see you here, Maia, or whether it fills my heart with joy. I’ve missed you….” She paused. “It is Amana’s wish for you to join her in heaven, but…but I know it isn’t your time yet, my daughter.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your brothers and I pleaded your case, and Amana listened. She offers you a choice.” Mama took a deep breath, and my heart hammered through the silence.
A choice.
“To stay here with us, as a tailor to the gods.” Mama’s voice was hoarse. “Or go back, to be with Baba and Keton, and with your enchanter.”
Heat burned into my nose, shooting up to my eyes. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “What I would wish is for you and Finlei and Sendo to be home again.”
“Maia, you know that cannot be.”
Even though I’d anticipated her answer, hearing it still drew a choked sob out of me.
“Baba needs you,” said Mama. “So does Keton. And your enchanter.” With her thumb, she wiped away the tears shimmering on my cheeks. “I already feel lucky to see the woman you’ve become—beautiful and strong and brave.”
She reached for my wrist, touching the red thread I’d tied there. “See? Even life and death cannot break the bonds of fate. Edan is waiting for you.”
I nodded, but before I turned to go, Mama pushed the scissors into my hands.
Holding them again made me falter. I brushed my fingers over the sun and moon on the shanks, and the blades thrummed under my touch. Even here, I could hear them humming with power.
My fingers clasped the bows, eager to be reunited with the scissors, before I shook my head. “I haven’t changed my mind about them.”
“They are the source of your magic.”
“I was happy before without magic, and I will be happy again without it. The scissors served me well, but I don’t need them anymore. Keep them for me, Mama.”
My answer seemed to please my mother, for she threw her arms around me in an embrace. But she did not take the scissors.
“Before you go, you must use them one last time.”
She gestured at the blanket of stars beneath us. There was a tear in the middle, a trace of glittering sunlight seeping through the seams.
The rip in the heavens.
I was to mend it, the way the first Weaver had in what was now legend.
“Together, Mama,” I said.
She placed her hand over my arm, guiding me as I set my scissors against the sky, letting loose its magic to stitch together the heavens. Then, when at last it was done, my mother eased the scissors from my grasp and clasped my hand, drawing me close.
She kissed my forehead. “Farewell for now, my Maia.”
When she let go, the entire world blazed, the sky ripening into a sea of flames. I watched Mama fade into the stars, the silhouettes of my brothers appearing to escort her back to heaven. Then the sea engulfed me, and I burst into flames.
And I suddenly realized what form I’d taken: a phoenix, meant to rise again.
* * *
• • •
The sound of water rippled in my ears, a misty spray tickling my face.
My first breath was full of the ocean, and I drank in its freshness. Then I started to wake.
Blood rushed to my arms and legs…and my toes dug into warm, moist sand.
Someone held me, a heartbeat other than my own softly thumping in sync with mine. I opened my eyes, lashes clinging stubbornly to my skin.
A hazy face hovered above me, features sharpening against the glimmer of the sun. A nose, slightly crooked at the bridge, a square chin, finely chiseled along its edges, more bristly than I remembered it. Hair, black as cinder, with tousled curls that desperately needed trimming, and thin, uneven lips—parted now in a quiet gasp.
“Edan.”
Relief spread across his face, and he dropped to his knees beside me.
“I thought you’d want to see the ocean one last time,” he started. “We thought you were dead.”
“I’m here.” I pressed my finger to his lips, shushing him. His eyes were moist and swollen, his cheeks stained by tears. I blotted them with my sleeve, then took his face in my hands.
I kissed his cheeks, his nose, his eyes. His lips. I lingered there, inhaling the familiar warmth of his breath. Letting it seep into my own and stay there, as it had when I first loved him.
The warmth of the rising sun touched my face. “It’s morning,” I said. “Where’s Baba? And Keton—”
“They’re safe. They’re on their way from the capital.”
Now I bolted up. “The capital? Does that mean—”
“The war is over.” Edan nodded. “Gyiu’rak is no more. The shansen is no more. And Lady Sarnai is empress.”
“Empress?” I repeated.
“Yes, the people want her. The ministers had a fit at first, over a woman ruling A’landi, but she is the rightful ruler.”
“Empress Sarnai,” I murmured again, letting the words ring. “A’landi is whole again.”
“She’ll be here soon,” Edan said. “We were going to…to bury you here, by the water. It was what your brother said you would have wanted.”
No sooner did he speak than Sarnai approached us, accompanied by an entourage of men and women, their faces worn from the strain of battle. It was easy to see her as empress now, though she still wore her battle armor. Yet in spite of the losses still haunting her eyes, there was something about her—the grace with which she commanded those around her—that made me think she’d always been destined to lead A’landi.
Surprise flickered across her face when she saw me.
“She’s alive.” Sarnai pointed at me. “Why did no one tell me she’s alive?”
“I only just returned,” I replied, scrambling to my feet and bowing, “by the goddess Amana’s grace.”
Lady Sarnai sniffed, quickly regaining her poise. “Stand straight, Tamarin. Enough with the bowing.” She looked me up and down.
As I rose, she lowered her head slightly, clasping her hands at her chest. It wasn’t a bow, but from her, I took it as a sign of great respect. I supposed it was an even greater sign of respect that she had come all the way from the battlefield to the beach to ensure that the body of a mere tailor would be properly sent to heaven.
She’d make a fair ruler, I was sure of it. Perhaps not one who was beloved by all, but she inspired loyalty and respect. Tha
t was already more than most could do.
With a flick of her wrist, she dismissed the priests. “We have no more need of your service.”
Then she turned to Edan and me—looking so stern I thought she was about to deliver a rebuke.
“The late emperor’s tailor and the former Lord Enchanter are invited to attend the coronation,” she said instead. Then she paused, as if she’d given her next words much thought but still needed to consider them. “Provided Maia Tamarin is no longer touched by enchantment, she is invited to stay on in my court as adviser and chief imperial tailor. And—” She searched for Edan’s proper title.
“Edan,” he replied. “Just Edan. I’m a Lord Enchanter no longer.”
“Edan is welcome to stay on in my court as enchanter and adviser.”
“Thank you for this chance to serve you, Your Majesty,” I began. “It is a great honor, and Edan and I will always come when you need us. But I believe I speak for us both when I say we wish to return home.”
Her brows furrowed. “Return home?”
“Yes, to Port Kamalan. My family needs my help with our shop, Your Majesty,” I explained.
Lady Sarnai crossed her arms. She looked weary. “You shall not return home empty-handed. What do you wish for, in return for your service to me?”
“Noth—”
Edan nudged me with his elbow and threw me a sidelong glance that read: The empress is offering you anything. Don’t refuse it.
What would I ask for? I had no need for jewels or fine dresses, or a large manor with a hundred servants.
“I’d like a shop,” I said. “One in Port Kamalan, not too far from the sea. I’d like one big enough for my father and brother to live with me, but not so big that I will become indulgent with success.” I paused. “And, I’d like one of A’landi’s finest steeds for Edan.”
Sarnai glowered. “You wish a simple life, when I am offering you a seat on my council?”
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