I went to my room and scrubbed my sleeve over the smudges on my mirror so I could see myself clearly. Honestly.
Baba always said I took after Mama, not him. I’d never believed him. I looked at my straight nose, large round eyes, and full lips—yes, those were from Mama. But Mama had been the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, while I…I’d grown up in a house full of men and didn’t even know how to act like a girl.
Finlei used to tease that, from behind, I looked exactly like Keton—reedy as a boy. The freckles on my face and arms didn’t help either. Girls were supposed to be delicate and pale. But maybe, maybe all this could work in my favor.
I couldn’t sing or recite poetry. I couldn’t dance. I didn’t have grace, or charm or wiles. But I could sew. Heavens, I could sew.
It had to be me.
When Baba returned to his prayers, I rubbed my finger on the coal from the fireplace and smeared it across my eyebrows. By my worktable was a pair of shears. I grasped them but hesitated. My hands never trembled when they cut cloth—I could cut a straight line in my sleep—so why did they tremble now?
I touched the ends of my hair, which reached past my waist even when braided. I undid the ribbons and unwove the braids. The waves rolled down across my back, tickling my spine.
I lowered my hand, bringing the scissors down with it. What I wanted to do was crazy. I needed to be rational, needed to consider the consequences. But all I could hear was Minister Lorsa telling me I couldn’t go. And Baba telling me I couldn’t go.
My whole life, I’d been told what I couldn’t do because I was a girl. Well, this was my chance to find out. The only thing I could do was take it.
I relaxed my grip on the scissors’ bows and pressed the blades against the back of my neck. With one swift motion, I cut my hair at my shoulders. The strands whisked down my back, landing at my feet in a pool of black satin, which the breeze from an open window swept apart as easily as feathers.
My hands stopped trembling, and I tied my hair back the way Keton and all the boys his age did. A strange calm fell over me, as if I had cut away my fears along with my hair. I knew that wasn’t true, but it was too late to panic. Now I needed proper clothes.
I brought a tray of plain winter melon soup and steamed fish to Keton’s bed. He used to share his room with Finlei and Sendo. Our house had felt small then. Now it felt too big. Half my room was storage for fabrics and beads and dyes…and now Keton had this whole room to himself.
My brother was asleep. His lips were twisted into a grimace as he snored. He’d told us he felt no pain even though his legs were broken.
“How can I feel pain if I can’t feel my legs?” he’d tried to joke.
I set down his dinner and pulled up his blanket so it covered his shoulders. Then I reached into his drawer and pulled out a pair of his trousers. I folded them over my arm and began tiptoeing out.
“Maia.” Keton stirred.
I whirled around. “I thought you were asleep.”
“You thought wrong.” Keton’s head settled back onto the pillow.
I sat beside him on the edge of his bed. “Are you hungry? I brought dinner.”
“You’re stealing my clothes,” he observed, nodding at the pile on my arm. “What’s this all about?”
I leaned into a shadow so he wouldn’t see my hair, and pursed my lips. “There was an official in the shop earlier. He wants Baba to go to the Summer Palace to make clothes for Emperor Khanujin.”
Keton closed his eyes. War had driven out the rebelliousness in my youngest brother, and he looked decades older than his nineteen years. “Baba hasn’t sewn in years. He can’t go.”
“He won’t,” I confirmed. “I’m going.”
Keton pushed himself up with his palms. “Demon’s breath, Maia! Are you crazy? You can’t—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You can’t go,” my brother finished, raising his voice over mine. “You’re a girl.”
“Not anymore.” I touched my hair; then I gritted my teeth. “I’m tired of being told I’m not worthy.”
“It’s not just a matter of being worthy,” Keton said, coughing into his sleeve. “It’s a matter of tradition. Besides, they wouldn’t want a girl taking the emperor’s measurements.”
I blushed in spite of myself. “I’ll go as you, Keton Tamarin.”
“Baba would never agree to this.”
“Baba doesn’t have to know.”
Keton shook his head. “And here I always thought you were the obedient one.” He leaned back with a resigned sigh. “It’s dangerous.”
“Keton, please. I need to do this. For us. For—”
“This is exactly why you shouldn’t go,” my brother interrupted. “Stop trying to convince me. If you’re going to act like a boy, you can’t think like a girl. Don’t stare at the floor so much. Look a man in the eyes when you speak, and never hesitate.”
I quickly lifted my gaze. “I’m not trying to convince you! And I don’t always hesitate.” Then I looked down again.
Keton groaned.
“Sorry! I can’t help it. It’s habit.”
“You’re never going to pass as a boy,” he said. “You bite your lips and stare at the floor. And when you’re not staring at the floor, you’re staring at the sky.”
I looked up, indignant. “I am not!”
“More of that,” Keton encouraged. “More shouting. Boys are angry and arrogant. They like to be the best at everything.”
“I think that’s just you, Keton.”
“If only I had time to train you.”
“I grew up with the three of you. I know what boys are like.”
“Do you?” Keton frowned. “You’re a village girl, Maia. You’re inexperienced in the ways of the world. You’ve spent your life sewing in the corner of our shop.”
“And now I’ll be spending my days sewing in the back of the palace.”
He made a face, as if that proved his point. “Just try not to talk too much. Don’t draw attention to yourself.” He leaned back, his arms behind his head. “People will see what they want to see.”
The sad wisdom in his voice reminded me of Baba. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that,” he said. “You sew better than anyone in this world. Focus on that, not on whether you’re a girl or boy.” He propped himself up with his elbows, studying me. “Finlei was right. From the back you really do look like a boy. And with all your freckles, you’re not pale like most girls….Baba lets you spend too much time out in the sun—”
“Someone has to collect the silkworms,” I said irritably.
“You don’t have that many curves, either.” He squinted at me. “And your voice isn’t very melodious. You’ve never been good at music.”
I almost threw his clothes at him for the insult. “I’m not trying to become a concubine.”
Keton clucked his tongue. “Don’t wrinkle your nose so much, and try not to smile.”
“Like this?” I asked. I imitated the grimace he made when he was sleeping.
“Better.” He leaned back, a small smile on his lips. But it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Are you sure you want to do this? If the emperor finds out…if anyone finds out…”
“I’ll be killed,” I finished for him. “I know.”
But this was the best way to take care of my family. My chance to become a real tailor, the best tailor in all of A’landi.
“It’ll be good money,” I said firmly. “I’ll send all of it home. Besides…” I managed a smile. “I already cut my hair.”
Keton sighed. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but be careful.”
“I will.”
“I’ll expect plenty of stories about the girls at court when you get back,” my brother said lightly. “And about Emperor
Khanujin.” He tensed. “Maybe you’ll even see the shansen.”
“I promise,” I said softly. “I’ll come back full of stories.”
I glanced at the cane I had bought Keton when he first came home a month ago. He’d never touched it. How could he use it, when he could barely move his legs?
“Take it,” he said, watching me.
The wood was rough, and it bit into my palm. Good—some pain would remind me to stay on my guard.
“Promise me you’ll try to walk?” I said to him. “A little every day.”
“I’ll take a step for every day that you’re gone.”
That was enough to solidify my decision. I kissed my brother on the forehead. “Then I’ll hope to be gone a long time.”
* * *
• • •
While Baba slept, Keton drilled me on how to act like a boy. How to laugh deeply from my stomach, how to grunt with satisfaction after a good meal, how to grimace after drinking a strong cup of wine. He taught me not to apologize for burping, not to hide when I was passing wind, and to spit whenever someone dared insult my honor.
Then finally, when he was too exhausted to continue the lesson, I went to my room and paced back and forth, going over all the things that could go wrong.
If I’m caught, I’ll be killed.
But Keton and Baba need me to do this.
Secretly, I knew I needed it too. If I stayed here, I would become Calu’s wife—a baker’s wife—and my fingers would forget how to sew.
So with no more hesitation, I packed all that I might need. An extra change of Keton’s clothes; my best threads, flosses, awls, and needles; my embroidery ribbons and pincushion; chalk, paintbrushes, paint pots, sketchbooks, and pens.
The sun was in a hurry to rise, or so it felt. Light washed out the blanket of stars above me. I watched the morning crawl over the sea, until it touched my street and my house.
I was ready, my belongings carefully packed into a bundle that I slung over my shoulder. As I headed for the door, I walked confidently—as Keton once did—with a limp to complete the impression, my body bowing over my cane for support.
“Wait,” Baba rasped from behind. “Wait.”
Guilt swelled in my chest. “I’m sorry, Baba.”
Baba shook his head. “I expected it. You were always the strong one.”
“No,” I said quietly, “Finlei and Sendo were the strong ones.”
“Finlei was brave. Sendo, too, in his own way. But you, Maia, you are strong. Like your mother. You hold us together.”
My knees gave. “Baba…”
He clutched the side of the door, his other hand outstretched with what looked like a bundle of cloth. “Take this.”
The bundle was made of silk so fine I thought it might melt at my touch. I undid the golden cord. Inside was—
A pair of scissors.
I looked at my father in confusion.
“They were your grandmother’s,” Baba said, wrapping the scissors again as if the sight of them pained him. “They never spoke to me. They were waiting for you.”
“What do they—”
Baba silenced my questions. “You’ll know when you need them.”
I opened my mouth, about to tell him to take care of Keton, and to take care of himself. But Finlei and Sendo had left with such words on their lips, and they’d never returned. So I said nothing and simply nodded.
“Maia,” Baba said, his hand on my shoulder. There was a light in his eyes I hadn’t seen in years. “Be careful. The palace…it will be dangerous.”
“I will be careful, Baba. I promise.”
“Go, then. Show them what you can do.”
I leaned on my cane, dragging my right leg behind me as I limped toward the carriage.
The sun was already bright, but I didn’t have any hands free to shield my face. My features crumpled, and Lorsa grunted when he saw me.
“Keton Tamarin?” he said, looking me up and down. “You and your sister share a strong resemblance.”
My whole body knotted up like a badly coiled rope. I forced a manly laugh, which turned more into a cough. “I hope that’s all we share. After all, she can’t sew and I can.”
The eunuch harrumphed in agreement; then he tossed Baba a sack of jens.
“Get in,” he said to me.
Keton was right. People only saw what they wanted to see.
One last glance at Baba, and at Keton’s window. Then into the carriage I went, with no idea what awaited me. Only that I must succeed—at all costs.
CHAPTER THREE
It was a five days’ carriage ride from Port Kamalan to the Summer Palace. I was disappointed that there was no need to sail there, for, despite having grown up in a port town, I’d never been on a ship. I’d never ridden in a carriage, either—at least, not on such a long journey. My legs and back grew sore from sitting for so long, but I didn’t dare complain. I was too excited. And anxious.
Would I be good enough to sew for the imperial court? And would I see Emperor Khanujin in the Summer Palace? I had to, if I was to become his tailor. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
I did not know much about my sovereign. He was born in the dragon year, like Finlei, which meant he was twenty-three years of age. Stories said he’d been a fierce warrior during the Five Winters’ War, that he could win a man’s loyalty with just a nod, that he was so handsome even the sun paled in comparison. That everyone who saw him loved him.
But I wondered if these were all stories.
If the emperor were truly so wonderful, he wouldn’t have led A’landi to war—even to save the country from breaking in two. Even to save his throne from the treacherous shansen.
A good emperor wouldn’t have taken my brothers away from me.
I squeezed my fingers over my lap, the pressure making me wince. The pain kept me from falling apart, as I always wanted to when I remembered what the war had cost my family.
Boys don’t cry, I scolded myself. I turned toward the window and wiped my nose with the back of my hand.
I tried to focus on other things. Having idle hands always made me anxious, so I busied myself with knitting a sweater. I was fast, and when I finished, I unraveled the yarn and knit another one, and then I practiced my embroidery on a scrap of cotton.
Minister Lorsa never answered the few questions I ventured to ask, and he made no conversation. He slept as much as a bear, and he smelled twice as bad. Everything he ate, he burped out, so I spent most of the trip with my head out the carriage window, savoring the changing smells of A’landi’s terrain as I knit.
On the fifth day, I spotted the Summer Palace in the distance. It was the size of my thumbnail from where the carriage was, and lay cradled in a large valley along the Jingan River, between the Singing Mountains. I had heard tales of its grandeur—its sloping golden roofs, vermillion pillars, and ivory walls—and I trembled with excitement, staring as it gradually became larger and more real to me.
Above us, a hawk soared, black but for the tips of its wings, which looked brushed with snow. Something gold glinted on its talons—like a ring or a bracelet.
“What an odd bird,” I mused. “Is it the emperor’s? It must be…with that cuff. What is it doing so far from the woodlands?”
My voice stirred the sleeping Lorsa, and he scowled at me for waking him.
“Look,” I said, pointing out the window. “A hawk.”
“An annoyance,” he muttered as the hawk let out a cry. “Cursed bird.”
The hawk dipped, spreading its great wings as it swooped beside the carriage. It was so close I could see its eyes. They glowed yellow and were sharply intelligent—they caught my gaze and held it, as if the bird were studying my features and marking me.
I stared back. The hawk’s expression was—almost human.
Mesmerized, I reached my fingers out to stroke its throat. With a sudden jerk, the hawk darted away. It soared back into the sky, disappearing behind a tree on the palace grounds.
The carriage dropped us off at the base of a hill. Wisteria vines swayed in the gentle breeze, scenting the air around the eighty-eight steps to the servants’ entrance. The ascent, I later learned, was a way of keeping us in our place and reminding us we were far below Emperor Khanujin, the Son of Heaven.
I stretched my legs and let out a small groan, feeling the stiffness in my calves from sitting for so long.
“There’s no one to carry you up the steps,” Lorsa said with a smirk.
I didn’t understand what he meant until I remembered I was holding Keton’s cane. “Oh. Don’t worry about me.”
Lorsa certainly didn’t. He swept up the steps, leaving me behind.
I hurried after him. Even though my shoulders ached from carrying my belongings, and my legs twisted and turned—confused by how to use Keton’s cane—I didn’t stop to rest.
This was where it would begin. Where I would restore honor to my family’s name. Where I would prove that a girl could be the best tailor in A’landi.
* * *
• • •
The Summer Palace was a maze of golden-roofed pavilions, winding cobblestone paths, and brilliantly designed gardens. Blossoms in every shade of pink and purple bloomed, and butterflies flitted about.
Everywhere I looked were men in gray-and-navy tunics with long, thin black beards. Servants and minor officials, they walked slightly stooped, as if ready to bow at any moment. In contrast, the eunuchs in bright blue moved with their backs straight as needles, holding closed fans at their sides. A few welcomed me with kind smiles before Lorsa glared at them, but it was enough to make me breathe easier. Maybe not everyone in the palace was as unpleasant as Lorsa.
A maid passed, carrying a platter of almond cookies and steaming chestnut cakes, and my stomach grumbled as I followed Lorsa along the narrow path. The buildings became more tightly spaced, the trees and bushes slightly less manicured. We’d arrived at the servants’ quarters.
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