On days when there was no business and our supplies of wheat and rice were running dangerously low, I took out my rattan basket and filled it with a few spools of thread, a bolt of muslin, and a needle. I roamed the streets, going from door to door, asking if anyone had mending to be done.
But few ships docked at the port. Dust and shadows wreathed the empty streets.
The lack of work didn’t bother me as much as the awkward encounters I’d begun to endure on my way home. I used to love going into the bakery across from our shop, but that changed during the war. For now when I returned to Yanamer Street, Calu the baker’s son would be there waiting for me.
I didn’t like Calu. It wasn’t because he didn’t serve in the army—he hadn’t passed the imperial health examination, so he couldn’t. It was because as soon as I turned sixteen, he got it into his head that I was going to be his wife.
“I hate seeing you beg for work like this,” Calu told me one day. He waved me inside his father’s bakery. The fragrance from the breads and cakes wafted out the door, and my mouth watered at the smell of yeast, fermented rice flour, and roasted peanuts and sesame seeds.
“It’s better than starving.”
He wiped red-bean paste off his palm. Sweat from his temples dripped into the bowl of dough on his table. Normally it would have made me wrinkle my nose—if Calu’s father saw how sloppy he was, he’d have a scolding—but I was too hungry to care.
“If you married me, you’d never starve.”
His forwardness made me uncomfortable, and I thought with dread of Calu touching me, of bearing his children, of my embroidery frames collecting dust and my clothes growing sticky with sugar. I stifled a shudder.
“You would always have plenty to eat—your baba, too,” Calu tried again, licking his lips. He smiled, his teeth yellow as butter. “I know how much you love my father’s puff pastries, his steamed buns with lotus paste, his coconut buns.”
My stomach grumbled, but I would not let my hunger overpower my heart. “Please stop asking. My answer isn’t going to change.”
That made Calu angry. “Too good for me, are you?”
“I have to run my father’s shop,” I said, trying to be gentle. “He needs me.”
“A girl doesn’t run a shop,” he said, opening the steam basket to take out the latest batch of buns. Usually he would give Baba and me a few, but I knew he wouldn’t today. “You might be a fine seamstress—the finest in the village—but with your brothers away fighting for the emperor, isn’t it time to be sensible and settle down?” He reached for my hand. His fingers were powdery and damp. “Think of your father’s health, Maia. You’re being selfish. You could give him a better life.”
I jerked away, stung. “My father would never give up his shop.”
Calu huffed. “He’ll have to, since you can’t keep it running by yourself. You’ve gotten thin, Maia. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He sneered, my rejection making him cruel. “Give me a kiss, and I’ll throw you a bun.”
I raised my chin. “I’m not a dog.”
“Oh, now you’re too proud to beg, eh? You’ll let your father starve because you’re so high-and-mighty—”
I was done listening. I fled the bakery and stormed across the street. My stomach growled again as I slammed Baba’s shop door behind me. The hardest part was that I knew I was being selfish. I should marry Calu. But I wanted to save my family myself—like Mama said I would.
I crumpled against the door of our shophouse. What if I couldn’t?
Baba found me there, sobbing quietly.
“What’s the matter, Maia?”
I wiped my tears and stood. “Nothing, Baba.”
“Did Calu ask you to marry him again?”
“There’s no work,” I said, evading the question. “We—”
“Calu is a good boy,” he said, “but he is just that—a boy. And he is not worthy of you.” He hovered over my embroidery frame, studying the dragon I’d been stitching. It was difficult working on cotton, rather than silk, but I’d striven to get every detail: its carplike scales, sharp talons, and demon eyes. I could tell Baba was impressed. “You are meant for more, Maia.”
I turned away. “How can I be? I’m not a man.”
“If you were, you would have been sent to war. The gods are protecting you.”
I didn’t believe him, but for his sake, I nodded and dried my tears.
A few weeks before my eighteenth birthday, good news came: the emperor announced a truce with the shansen. The Five Winters’ War was over, at least for now.
But our joy at the news quickly turned to sorrow, for another notice arrived. One with a blood-red seal.
Sendo had died fighting in the mountains, only two days before the truce.
The news shattered Baba anew. He knelt before his altar for an entire night, cradling the shoes Mama had made for Finlei and Sendo when they were young. I didn’t pray with him. I was too angry. If only the gods could have watched over Sendo for two more days!
Two more days.
“At least the war didn’t take all my sons,” Baba said heavily, patting my shoulder. “We must stay strong for Keton.”
Yes, there was still Keton. My youngest brother returned home a month after the truce. He arrived in a wagon, legs stretched out as the wheels creaked over the dirt road. His hair had been cropped, and he’d lost so much weight I barely recognized him. But what startled me most were the ghosts in his eyes, the same eyes that had once sparkled with jokes and mischief.
“Keton!” I shouted.
I ran to him with open arms, tears of happiness streaming down my cheeks. Until I realized why he lay there, propped up against sacks of rice and flour.
Grief swelled in my throat. My brother couldn’t walk.
I climbed onto the wagon and threw my arms around him. He embraced me, but the emptiness in his eyes was clear to see.
The war had taken much from us. Too much. I’d thought I’d hardened my heart enough after Finlei’s death, then after Sendo’s—to be strong for Baba’s sake. But a part of me cracked that day Keton returned.
I fled to my room and curled up against the wall. I sewed until my fingers bled, until the pain swallowed the sobs wracking me. But by the next morning, I had patched myself together. I needed to take care of Baba. And now Keton, too.
Five winters, and I had grown up without knowing it. I was as tall as Keton now, my hair straight and black like my mother’s. Other families with girls my age hired matchmakers to find them husbands. Mine would have too, had Mama been alive and Baba still a successful tailor. But those days were long past.
When spring came, the emperor announced that he was to take the shansen’s daughter, Lady Sarnai, as his wife. A’landi’s bloodiest war would end with a wedding between Emperor Khanujin and his enemy’s daughter. Baba and I didn’t have the heart to celebrate.
Still, it was good news. Peace depended on harmony between the emperor and the shansen. I hoped a royal wedding would heal their rift—and bring more visitors traveling along the Great Spice Road.
That day, I placed the largest order of silk we could afford. It was a risky purchase, but I hoped—we needed business to get better before winter came.
My dream of becoming a tailor for the emperor had faded to a distant memory. Our only source of income now was my skill with the needle. I accepted that I was going to stay in Port Kamalan forever, resigned to my corner in Baba’s shop.
I was wrong.
CHAPTER TWO
A patchwork of thick, gray clouds drifted across the sky, the seams so tight I could barely see the light behind them. It was a gloomy day, odd for the beginning of summer, but no rain fell, so I continued my morning routine.
I carried a ladder under my arm, climbing it to check on each of the mulberry trees growing in our small yard. Spindly whi
te silkworms fed on the leaves, but there were no cocoons to collect today. My little silkworms didn’t produce much during the summer, so I wasn’t too concerned that my basket remained empty.
During the war, silk had been too expensive to buy, and our shop didn’t produce enough to sell, so most of our business had been in linen and hemp. Working with the rough fabrics had kept my fingers nimble and my art alive. But now that the war was over, we’d have to work more in silk again. I hoped my order would arrive soon.
“Baba,” I called, “I’m going out to the market. Do you want anything?”
No answer. He was probably still asleep. He’d been staying up late, praying at the family altar, since Keton’s return.
Our small market was busier than ever, and the peddlers wouldn’t haggle down their prices. I took my time, hoping that would help me avoid a certain someone on the way home. But as I feared, Calu was there.
“Let me help you with that,” he said, reaching for my basket.
“I don’t need help.”
Calu grabbed the handle and pulled. “Would you stop being so stubborn, Maia?”
“Careful! You’ll spill everything.”
As soon as Calu loosened his grip, I yanked the basket from him and rushed into our shop. I closed the door and started unloading the goods I’d purchased: bundles of linen and muslin, small books of paper for sketching, a handful of oranges, a bag of pink-yellow peaches given to me by our neighbors, salmon eyes (Baba’s favorite), tuna eggs, and a short sack of rice.
I had been so busy fending off Calu I only now saw the carriage parked across the street—and the man waiting in our shop.
He was portly and cast a wide shadow. My eyes roamed over his attire, picking out the brass button missing among its brothers on his bright blue silk coat. I tended to take note of people’s clothing more than their faces.
My shoulders straightened. “Good day, sir,” I said, but the man was in no hurry to greet me. He was too busy eyeing the shop with disdain. Shame made my cheeks prickle with heat.
There was fabric strewn over the floors behind the counter, and a swath of cotton to be hand-painted hung askew in the dyeing rack. We had dismissed all outside help years ago, and there was no money to hire cleaning servants. I had stopped noticing the cobwebs in the corners and the peach blossoms that the wind had swept through the door scattered about the shop.
The man’s gaze finally circled back to me. I pushed my hair from my eyes and tossed my braid behind my shoulder in an effort to make myself more presentable. Then I bowed, as if my good manners might make up for the shop’s shortcomings. I tried again. “Good day, sir. How can I help you?”
Finally, the man stepped toward my counter. A large jade pendant, in the shape of a fan, swayed from his sash. It had a giant red tassel made of knotted silken cords.
An imperial official. Yet he wasn’t wearing the typical gray-and-navy tunic that most imperial servants wore. No, he was a eunuch.
What was one of His Majesty’s eunuchs doing here?
I looked up, taking in his bulging eyes and the finely trimmed beard that did nothing to hide the scornful twist of his lips.
He raised his chin. “You are the daughter of Kalsang Tamarin.”
I nodded. My temples were sweaty from being outside in the marketplace, and the scent of the oranges I’d bought tickled my stomach, which growled. Loudly.
The eunuch wrinkled his nose and said, “His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Khanujin, requests your father’s presence in the Summer Palace.”
Surprised, I dropped my basket on the floor. “My…my father is honored. What does His Imperial Majesty wish of him?”
The emperor’s official cleared his throat. “Your family has served for many generations as court tailors. We have need of your father’s services. Lord Tainak recommended him highly.”
My heart pounded as my mind raced to recall the dress I’d made for Lady Tainak. Oh, yes, a jacket and skirt of the finest silk, with hand-painted cranes and magnolias. The order had been a boon during the winter, and I’d painstakingly rationed the payment so that it would feed us for weeks.
I didn’t need to know any details to feel sure this job would save my family. My dream to sew for the emperor, lost for so long, bubbled in me again.
“Ah, Lady Tainak’s gown,” I said, biting my tongue before I divulged that I’d made it, not Baba. I couldn’t contain my excitement—and curiosity. “What might His Majesty require of my father’s services?”
The eunuch frowned at my boldness. “Where is he?”
“Sir, my father is indisposed, but I’d be happy to relay His Majesty’s instructions—”
“Then I will speak with your brother.”
I chose to ignore his insult. “My brother recently returned from fighting the Five Winters’ War. He is resting.”
The eunuch put his hands on his hips. “Tell your father to come, girl, before I lose my patience and report that he has insolently neglected a summons from the emperor.”
I pursed my lips and bowed quickly. Then I rushed to find Baba.
As usual, he was kneeling at the small shrine by our kitchen stove, holding thin sticks of incense. He bowed three times, once to each of the three different wooden carvings of Amana, the mother goddess.
Mama had painted the Amana statues when I was a child. I’d helped her design the goddess’s divine gowns: one of the sun, one of the moon, and one of the stars. Those statues were among the few things we had that had belonged to Mama, and Baba prayed to them every day and long into the night. He never spoke of Mama, but I knew he missed her terribly.
I didn’t wish to interrupt his worship, but I had no choice. “Baba,” I said, shaking his frail shoulders. “There’s an imperial official here to see you.”
I walked my father to the front of the shop. He was so weak he leaned against my arm. He refused to use a cane, saying it wasn’t his legs that were broken.
“Master Tamarin,” the eunuch said stiffly. Baba’s appearance did not impress him, and he showed it. “His Majesty is in need of a tailor. I have been ordered to bring you with me to the Summer Palace.”
Trying not to chew on my lip, I stared at the floor. There was no way Baba could make the journey to the Summer Palace, not in his condition. I fidgeted, already knowing what Baba was going to say before he said it—
“Much as your presence honors me, I cannot go.”
I watched the eunuch’s nose turn up at Baba, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disdain. I bit my lip, knowing I shouldn’t interfere, but my agitation grew. We needed this chance.
“I can,” I blurted, just as the emperor’s official was about to speak. “I know my father’s trade. It was I who made Lady Tainak’s gown.”
Baba turned to me. “Maia!”
“I can sew,” I insisted. “Better than anyone.” I took a step toward the dyeing rack. Above it were richly embroidered scrolls that I had labored over for weeks and months. “Simply look at my work—”
Baba shook his head, warning me to stop.
“His Imperial Majesty’s instructions were clear,” the eunuch said with a sniff. “To bring the master tailor of the Tamarin family to the Summer Palace. A girl cannot become a master.”
At my side, Baba curled his hands into fists. He said, in the strongest voice I’d heard from him in months, “And who are you to tell me who is a master of my craft?”
The eunuch puffed up his chest. “I am Minister Lorsa of His Imperial Majesty’s Ministry of Culture.”
“Since when do ministers play messenger?”
“You think too much of yourself, Master Tamarin,” Lorsa replied coldly. “I’ve only come to you because Master Dingmar in Gangsun is ill. Your work might have been held in great esteem at one time, but your years lost to ale and wine have soured your family’s good name. If not for
Lord Tainak’s recommendation, I would not be here at all.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “You have no right to speak to him that way.”
“Maia, Maia.” Baba rested a hand on my shoulder. “There’s mending in the back to be done.”
It was his way of dismissing me. I gritted my teeth and turned, but I glared at the emperor’s messenger and walked as slowly as I could.
“My carriage will be waiting outside on Yanamer Street,” Lorsa was saying. “If you or your son is not there by tomorrow morning, I will be forced to give this generous offer to someone else. I have my doubts that your humble shop will survive the shame of failing our emperor.”
Then he turned on his heel and left.
“Baba,” I said, rushing to him as soon as the shop door closed. “You cannot go.”
“The emperor’s command cannot be ignored.”
“It’s an invitation,” I said. “Not a command.”
“That’s how it is worded. But I know what will happen if we ignore it.” Baba sighed. “Word will spread that we did not heed the emperor’s calling. No one will come to the shop anymore, and we will lose everything.”
He was right. It wasn’t just about the money or the honor—it was a mandatory invitation. Like being drafted to fight in the Five Winters’ War.
“Now that the war is over,” Baba said, “the emperor needs to show the rest of the world that A’landi is great. He will do so by hiring the best of everyone: musicians, tailors, and painters. No expense will be spared. It is an honor to be invited. One I cannot refuse.”
I said nothing. Baba was in no shape to travel to the palace, let alone become the emperor’s new tailor. And Keton…Keton couldn’t sew the most basic of stitches, let alone garments worthy of the imperial court.
But me? I knew I could do it. I wanted to be the imperial tailor.
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