Spin the Dawn

by Elizabeth Lim

  “What happened to that leg of yours?” another tailor chimed in.

  The ink on my page smeared. I flipped it and restarted my sketch. People will see what they want to see, I reminded myself. Better a girlish boy than a boyish girl.

  “Are you deaf, pretty boy?”

  “Or are you only crippled?”

  Now I stopped sketching. “I fought in the war. And a broken leg doesn’t mean I can’t use my hands,” I snapped defiantly. “I’d wager I can sew faster than any of you.”

  Master Yindi laughed. “We’ll see about that. When I was your age, I was still washing shirts for my master. He wouldn’t let me anywhere close to a loom.” He snorted. “Let me see those hands of yours, pretty boy. I can tell a tailor from a washboy.”

  I spread my fingers wide to show my calluses. My brothers used to tease that I’d never find a husband because my fingers were rough as a man’s.

  “So?” I said. “A tailor or a washboy?”

  Yindi harrumphed and, pinching his beard in one hand, returned to his stool.

  Longhai came to my station, resting a hand on top of my screen. “Don’t worry about Yindi,” he said. “He’s all bark.”

  “Master Longhai speaks wisely,” Norbu interrupted, to my surprise. He had been quiet, and I hadn’t seen him approach my table. “We won’t get any work done if we waste our time picking on the boy.” He gestured at the statues of the Three Sages. “The gods are listening to us, masters. Do you want to invoke their wrath?”

  One by one, the tailors shook their heads. Even Yindi, whose desk dangled with charms to ward off demons and bad luck, frowned.

  “Then get back to work.”

  Norbu had influence because he owned a shop in the capital, Jappor, with over a hundred tailors under his command. He was the wealthiest of us all, and the most powerful. His daughter had married an important official. He was practically nobility.

  “I trust they’ll leave you alone now,” Norbu said once the chatter faded. He smiled at me, and I got the distinct sense I now owed him something.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He toyed with the threads I’d set on my table. Norbu reminded me of an overstuffed lizard—his body was long and thin, but his stomach was round, his eyes half open and half shut so they looked deceptively sleepy. He wasn’t mean like Yindi, but I still wished he would leave my things alone.

  “We heard that you’re taking your father’s place here in the trial,” he said. “How noble of you. My own baba died before I was born, but Master Huan—the emperor’s last tailor—was like a father to me.”

  I folded my hands, which were itching to work, to be polite. “I didn’t realize he was your master.”

  “Long ago,” Norbu replied, sniffling. “But it still pained me when they found his body in the Jingan River last month.”

  I swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “He worked in this very hall, you know, with dozens of his apprentices. Even I came sometimes to assist him.” Norbu paused. “The maids swear his ghost haunts the palace some nights.”

  A shiver tingled across my arm. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Neither do I.” Norbu tilted his head, his marblelike eyes studying me. “Worry not about the others, young Tamarin. I’ll keep my eye on you.”

  I was relieved when he finally left me alone, and I draped the silk shawl over my arm. Silk was naturally light on the skin. That was what made it so sought after, so expensive.

  I was good at painting, like Master Longhai, but embroidery was my strength, like Master Yindi and Master Taraha. I decided to paint a garden and embroider its flowers. Peonies, lilies, and chrysanthemums, with a lady holding a dragonfly on her finger. It was a scene I’d practiced dozens of times, and the paint would dry quickly. With only one day to complete the shawl, now was not the time to take an unnecessary risk.

  The hours passed. Painting kept my hands and mind busy, but the endless prattle of the other tailors was a constant hum.

  “This is servants’ work,” one grumbled. “I haven’t had to knot tassels since I was a boy.”

  “Dyeing is worse.”

  “All to be tailor to the traitor’s daughter. What glory is there in that?”

  “The privilege of serving His Majesty is honor enough,” Longhai cut in. “Any more honor, and we’d have to become priests at the High Temple.”

  On and on they talked, until it had to be past midnight. My eyelids drooped. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since leaving Port Kamalan.

  No, I need to stay alert. I’ll never finish if I go to sleep now.

  I stretched my fingers and rubbed a sore muscle in my neck. My whole body was tense. Bending over my work for hours and hours was second nature to me, but not while surrounded by eleven other tailors. The temptation to peek at my neighbors’ progress was great, and everyone’s chatter made it difficult for me to focus.

  I rolled my shoulders back and picked up my needle to embroider the edges of the shawl, taking care not to smudge the painted scene.

  “I made a cloak for the Lady of Bandeiya embroidered with a thousand peonies,” Master Taraha was saying, “and she loved it so much she paid me with the finest jade necklace. My daughter is lucky to have me as a father. I gave it to her as part of her dowry.”

  “I’ve personally met Lady Sarnai. I know what she prefers.”

  “I can’t imagine the barbarian’s daughter in such fine silk. What a waste.”

  I knotted my thread and yanked it free from its spool. If only they would stop chattering!

  “And what about you, Keton Tamarin?” Yindi called out from the other side of the room. “You’re a quiet one. Why do you want to win His Majesty’s little contest?”

  I froze. What could I say? I was here for the glory, but more to help my family.

  Don’t be humble, Keton had warned me. A man is proud of his craft. To be less than so is to seem ashamed of it.

  I said, with as much arrogance as I could muster, “Because I’m the best tailor in A’landi.”

  I heard several of the men scoff. “You’re barely a man.”

  “Youth itself is a talent,” Norbu said, calming them. “I trust His Majesty’s judgment.”

  Yindi was relentless. “And how are you the best tailor, young Tamarin?”

  I swallowed but spoke boldly. “I can spin and weave and knot. I’ve studied all four schools of embroidery. I can do a hundred different stitches in my sleep, and I’m fast.”

  Someone sniffed. “A brilliant design isn’t only about speed or intricate stitches.”

  “I know.” I went on, “It’s also about composition. And color—”

  “You think you know more about color than I do?” Yindi scoffed. “Well, pretty boy, we’ll see what you come up with. My bet is that you won’t last through the morning.”

  “I suppose he can taper and hem a pair of trousers with his eyes closed,” Boyen muttered, just loudly enough for me to hear. “So why did he come dressed like a peasant?”

  My ego faltered, but I caught Longhai’s encouraging smile. “You’ll see” was all I could muster.

  Don’t draw any more attention, I warned myself. They already think there’s something odd about you.

  My hands trembled. For the first time I could remember, I had trouble easing my thread into the needle’s eye.

  “Having difficulty, Tamarin?” Boyen mocked. “Maybe you should try licking the thread.” He made a smacking sound. “It’s what they teach the children to do.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my cane and started for the door.

  “You can’t be tired yet, young Tamarin?” Norbu said when I passed his station. “Why don’t you get some tea?”

  It was a good idea, and I nodded to thank him for it. The tea reserves were kept in an an
teroom in the hall, and I filled a cup, taking a long sip.

  When I returned to my table to pick up my shawl, I cried out. Someone had spilled tea over my fabric! The paints were smeared all over the silk. The lady I had painstakingly drawn to resemble Lady Sarnai was no more than a blob.

  Who had done this? I looked at all the tailors, but they ignored me.

  I bit my lip and bunched up the ruined silk. Tears welled in my eyes, but I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they had hurt me.

  “Had enough, pretty boy?” Yindi shouted at me.

  Norbu clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Young Tamarin, if you need extra silk, you are welcome to take my scraps. I’m going to sleep.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “But I’ll manage.”

  “Norbu,” the others cried, “you’re going to bed already?”

  “I work best alone,” he said, stifling a yawn. “And in the morning.”

  I shoved my damaged silk into my satchel and followed Norbu out, my face hot from trying to suffocate my tears.

  The corridors were open to the balmy night air, poorly lit by moonlight and hanging lanterns. I counted the doors, all gray with bronze latches, until I reached my room.

  I collapsed on my cot. This had been my one chance to become more than a seamstress who hemmed pants and sewed buttons in Port Kamalan. This had been my chance to become an imperial tailor, the best in all of A’landi, to have my designs worn by royalty and admired throughout the land.

  And now?

  I drew in a tight breath. Finlei wouldn’t want me to give up like this. Neither would Sendo. And Keton…I have to win this position to take care of Baba and Keton. So they won’t starve and I won’t have to marry Calu. So I won’t be a failure.

  I dried my eyes on the edges of my sleeves, then got up and lit a candle to survey the damage to my shawl. The flowers I had spent the afternoon painting had smeared. Even if I blotted them out, my design was ruined. The only way to hide the damage was to start afresh, maybe embroider over the tea stain and smeared paint. A difficult task, given I only had the rest of the night to work.

  Sitting cross-legged, I exhaled, took out a sheet of parchment from my satchel, and wearily started to sketch.

  Stay awake!

  I leaned my head against the wall, promising myself I would only take a short break. When next I blinked, my candle was out, a pool of wax at the bottom.

  “Demon’s breath!” I cursed. I must have fallen asleep.

  I lit another candle and stared out at the moon to see how much time I had lost.

  My temples throbbed and a low hum filled my head.

  I reached for my bag, fumbling for needles and thread, but my finger caught the bow of Baba’s scissors instead. Strange. I thought I had put them under my cot.

  I slipped them into my satchel with the rest of my tools. But what good were scissors now that my shawl was ruined?

  Calm down, I told myself. What do you do whenever you’re in a situation like this? You don’t panic and make more mistakes. You calm down. You take a walk.

  Holding a lantern in one hand, I went back to the Hall of Supreme Diligence. It was empty now, and I walked by each of the other tailors’ creations. Master Boyen’s drapery was masterful, Master Garad’s beading exquisite. Longhai had crafted a swan, embroidered trees around it—beautiful enough to hang as a work of art. And Yindi, impressively, had embroidered nearly the entire shawl.

  The pages of my sketchbook rustled, far too tremulously to have been touched by the wind. Unnerved, I set it down and went to the closest window.

  No ghost, I told myself. Just a bird.

  With a sigh, I placed my lantern on my table and began to embroider.

  The humming in my head was louder now. I looked down, feeling a strange trembling at my side. At first I thought it came from my scissors, but that was impossible, so I ignored it.

  Then they started glowing.

  I grasped them to snip a loose thread and found that I was unable to put them down. Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I could see the shawl, completed—just as I had sketched it. But there was no way I could accomplish it in the hours remaining.

  But you can, a voice assured me. My voice, but more confident somehow.

  The scissors glided over the shawl, possessed in a way that my hands could only follow. Invisible threads repaired the cloth’s damage, giving it life anew, and colors from my paint pots soaked into the silk, while the smeared paints dissolved and scattered until my design was back in place.

  Impossible as it appeared, the scissors not only cut but embroidered. The thin silver blades split and gathered my threads and flosses to dance through the silk, embroidering intricate flowers and birds, trees, and mountains with precision and elegance.

  With magic.

  Magic I couldn’t stop. My hand wouldn’t let go of the scissors, no matter how I tried to pry them away, no matter how much I wanted to put them down. I was under a spell, drunk with their power.

  If not for the soreness that swelled between my fingers, I would have thought I was dreaming.

  With a final snip, the scissors became dull again, their glow vanished.

  Completely spent, I collapsed onto my table and slept.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Something sharp poked my side.

  My eyelids flinched, but I didn’t open them. Gods, if that was Keton jabbing me awake with a knitting needle…

  A snicker. “You awake, pretty boy?”

  Wait, that didn’t sound like Keton. Of course not. I was in the palace, not back home with Baba and my brother.

  Drowsily, I stirred. Drool had dried on the corner of my mouth, and as I wiped it clean with my sleeve, Master Boyen’s round face loomed over me.

  He smacked his lips. “Aw, did I wake you from your beauty sleep, Master Tamarin?”

  My eyes flew open. Why did he emphasize master like that? Did he know I was a girl?

  No, I thought as my mind sharpened. Word must have gotten around that I was no master. It didn’t take much sleuthing to know that none of my father’s sons had earned the title yet.

  Boyen smirked at me. “You ought to pack up your things. You’ll be going home, since your shawl’s stained.”

  I jumped to my feet. My shawl! Where was it?

  I vaguely remembered my scissors flashing and cutting…as if they’d been possessed by a spirit. No, no. That wasn’t possible, I must have imagined it.

  Heavens, I must have fallen asleep without finishing!

  Frantically, I rummaged through my station for the shawl. Then I remembered: right before I’d put away my father’s scissors, I’d tucked them into a basket with my threads from home.

  I crouched, fishing the shawl out of its hiding place. It wasn’t hard to find—its pale daffodil color peeked out from under my spools.

  I unfolded it and gasped.

  It wasn’t a dream.

  Stitches so perfect and embroidery so delicate it should have taken me a month. The couching was flawless, and my twelve colors were blended in graduated tones, making the scene of lilies and peonies look real. Even the lady had been repaired; she wore a vibrant violet robe amid the pink and red flowers, though when I looked closely, she resembled me more than Lady Sarnai.

  But stupid, stupid me! My shawl was wrinkled. Why hadn’t I folded it better?

  Anxiously, I smoothed out the wrinkles. A servant brought me a pan with charcoal, and I pressed it over the shawl now, careful not to burn the fabric.

  I was so busy ironing my shawl I didn’t have time to eat the steaming bowl of porridge the servants had brought me. It wasn’t like me to ignore a free meal—Baba always said my stomach ruled my heart—but much as the fragrant smell of breakfast tortured me, I knew I had to finish my shawl.

  In the hall, the other
tailors were buzzing.

  “Did you hear about the banquet last night?” Master Garad asked. “Lady Sarnai refused to drink to the emperor’s health.”

  “Well, he refused to drink to hers as well.”

  “A match made in heaven. The Tiger’s daughter and the Dragon’s son.”

  “She’s the traitor’s daughter. The emperor had better be careful or she’ll claw his eyes out on their wedding night.”

  “You’d do well not to speak ill of the shansen’s daughter,” Yindi warned them.

  “Afraid his demons are listening, Yindi?” Garad snickered. “We know you think the shansen’s possessed, you superstitious old fool.”

  Yindi shrugged. “Just you wait and see.”

  They laughed, but I didn’t join in, even though I was glad Yindi was the target, not me. He got up abruptly to iron his shawl, or so I thought until he stopped at my station.

  Ignoring him, I lifted my shawl. The silk shimmered like pale gold. It was magnificent, but I didn’t know whether to be proud or worried. Was this my work, or the work of magic?

  “You made that in one night?” Norbu said. “Impressive. Very impressive. I’d say yours is the best of the lot. The best by far.”

  I couldn’t help beaming. “Thank you, Master Norbu.”

  “Impressive indeed,” Yindi allowed. Based on the dark look that flitted across his face, he knew he had underestimated me. My beam brightened, until he said—

  “But Lady Sarnai hates yellow.”

  Then Master Yindi walked on.

  The gibe stung, and my confidence wavered.

  “He’s just jealous,” Norbu soothed. “It’s stunning. Sure to win, I’d say.”

  I warmed to him a little. “I hope so.” I tumbled onto my stool, thoroughly exhausted. I barely had a minute’s rest before a gong sounded and Lorsa’s voice rang out.

  “Her Highness, Lady Sarnai!”

  I scrambled to my feet, chanting with the other tailors, “Good morning, Lady Sarnai!”

  The shansen’s daughter entered the hall, followed by an entourage of attendants and guards. I hardly recognized her. The girl I’d spied last night was a warrior who despised the Summer Palace’s decadence—its thousands of servants, gilded gates, and rules and etiquette.