I would take up Ammi’s invitation to visit the kitchen, I decided. One of the maids had to know something about Lady Sarnai.
On my way to the kitchen I passed a courtyard, where magnolia and peach trees grew around a pond filled with carp and catfish and little frogs that leapt onto the lily pads.
How Baba and my brothers would have loved this pond. We’d had a small one in our garden in Gangsun—Sendo and I would feed the fish every morning, and Finlei and Keton would compete over who could catch more carp with his hands, tossing them back into the water before Baba saw.
The memory made me smile. I knelt by the pond and dipped my fingers into the water. A whiskered catfish swam to nip at my nails, and the tickle in my fingertips made me laugh. What was Baba doing now? And Keton?
How I missed my home by the sea.
I sighed and stood, wiping my wet fingers on my tunic. Across the pond, I spotted the tall, thin man—the Lord Enchanter—watching me. Our eyes met, and to my relief, he turned away.
Up ahead, I saw the glittering gold path that only Emperor Khanujin could walk. It was littered with rosy plum blossoms, meaning he had recently passed this way.
I skirted it carefully, continuing toward the kitchens. But as I looked up—there, behind a magnolia tree, was the emperor!
I nearly dropped to my knees when I saw him, as I’d been taught as a child to do. But since he couldn’t see me, I crouched behind a leafy bush to steal a glimpse of my sovereign.
He was tall and regal, easily the handsomest man I’d ever seen. His hair, tucked under a gold headdress fringed with rubies and pearls, shone like the finest black lacquer, and his eyes radiated with the warmth of midsummer. Yet while he bore the grace and dignity of a king, the strong slope of his shoulders bespoke a fearsome warrior.
All the stories were true, and I felt a bittersweet foolishness now for asking my brothers to draw me a portrait of him all those years ago. No drawing could have done the emperor justice. Even the sun seemed to fall differently upon him, so that he glowed like a god from the heavens.
Pulse quickening, I ventured a step closer. Something strange and beautiful drew me to the emperor—my body resonated with a heat and pleasure that did not feel entirely natural. So entranced was I that I forgot to pay attention to what he was wearing, nor did I see the dark shadow looming behind me—
“It’s a capital crime to stare at the emperor.”
I froze, recognizing the voice. My cheeks burned as I pulled my gaze away from Emperor Khanujin and turned to face the Lord Enchanter.
He’d followed me from the pond, his sleeves neatly folded up to showcase his long, elegant fingers. Unlike the emperor with his soft grace, he was all angles and shadow, the edges of his robe clinging to his thin frame. At least the light wasn’t caught in his eyes this time, so I could see they burned blue, pale as the heart of a flame. Normally, blue was my favorite color—but not on him.
“Close the jaw, xitara,” he said, smirking. “You look as if you’re about to be slaughtered.”
Xitara? Instantly, I snapped up and stepped back onto the path. I wasn’t sure what etiquette the Lord Enchanter deserved, but I wasn’t about to bow after being called a little lamb.
“You’re the one with that girl on the shawl.” He twisted to face me, his lean face widening to fit a grin. “You’re very lucky you won.”
I didn’t like the way he was looking at me—as though he knew my secret.
Then act like you have no secret, I reminded myself.
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” I said dismissively. “My shawl was extraordinary—Lady Sarnai said so herself.”
“So she did,” the Lord Enchanter agreed. His hands moved when he talked—a habit my mother had always told me was rude. “But it was too extraordinary…at least for the first challenge. Lady Sarnai doesn’t want a trial with an obvious winner. She wants to prolong the process. A tip for you, for next time.
“And now everyone knows to be wary of you. Why else do you think she pointed you and Yindi out as the tailors to defeat? Lady Sarnai is cleverer than you think. She’s creating enemies for you.”
The muscles in my jaw stiffened. “Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugged. “Life in the palace is boring now that the war is over. I need something to do, and you intrigued me enough for me to lend a hand.”
“I don’t need your help,” I said, anger simmering inside me now. “A war is fun and games to you, isn’t it? If not for you and the war, my brothers— I would be able to walk without this cane!”
I stormed off, stumbling in my haste to get away.
Forgetting my plan to visit the kitchen, I went back to my room and dumped my satchel out onto my bed, thinking I would mend my pants and shirts so I’d no longer look like a peasant. My magical scissors fell onto the pillow.
There was no humming, no glow this time.
They probably could have cut me an ensemble fit for a prince, but I shrugged off the temptation to use them.
I slid the scissors under my mattress and began to hem my pants the regular way.
As evening fell, I caught sight of a black hawk soaring across the clouds, a gold ring glinting above its talon. Its yellow eyes, bright as the moon, seemed to watch me.
I shut the curtains.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was a good thing I’d refused to go out with Norbu and the others. After their bath, they’d gone to the local drinking house, where Master Taraha and Master Garad drank themselves into a stupor. Now they were spending the day retching. Even from my table, I could smell it.
“Too much mead and garlic shrimps,” Norbu said, slapping Master Garad on the back. The tailor looked like he was going to vomit again.
Norbu grinned at me. “You missed a fun afternoon, young Tamarin. We had a contest to see who could eat and drink the most. Taraha and Garad, the gluttons, won. Or lost, judging by how sick they are now.”
I forced a smile, but I couldn’t help wondering if someone had planned the contest so Garad and Taraha would be too sick to work.
Stop being so suspicious, Maia.
Well, I had reason to be. I didn’t want anyone getting too close. I couldn’t afford to have someone find out I was Maia and not Keton.
The other tailors had nothing to lose from the trial.
I had everything.
* * *
• • •
“For the next challenge,” Minister Lorsa announced, “His Majesty has requested a pair of embroidered slippers for Lady Sarnai. On each of your tables, you’ll find a basket with leather, cloth, lint, and satin.
“To prove your skill, all colored embroidery threads have been removed from the work cabinet and replaced with white threads. If you desire any colors, you’ll have to make them yourself. You have three days to complete the task.”
I was already at a disadvantage. I’d never crafted a pair of slippers, so I swiftly calculated what I would need to do. Dyeing threads would take at least a day, and I had hardly brought enough colors to embroider slippers worthy of the future empress.
You memorized the differences between seventy stitches when you were twelve years old, I told myself. You can figure out how to make a proper slipper.
And, I added, you can do it without having to use those scissors.
If I were completely honest with myself, I was itching to try them again. It hadn’t been easy sleeping with them under my bed, expecting them to start humming and glowing.
And I kept wondering—could I win without them?
At least I had one advantage: my foot was closer in size to Lady Sarnai’s than any of the other tailors. I could use my own feet as models.
I traced my chalk over the leather sheet, outlining the sole of each of my feet, then arch-shaped pieces that would cover the toes and heel. Once I had my pattern pieces, I copi
ed them to my bolt of satin twice: one for a lining, and the other for embroidering my designs.
Yindi’s shrill voice had disappeared, and I hadn’t heard Longhai’s laughter in at least an hour. I stood, looking out the hall’s latticed windows. The other tailors were already in the garden gathering supplies to begin dyeing threads. I’d have to do the same.
And I knew just where to go.
I grabbed my cane and hurried out. The clouds were gray, and the sky dark despite its being late morning. I hobbled out into the courtyard, following my nose to the kitchens.
Inside it was hot, with at least a dozen fires blazing at once and a hundred cooks and servants clamoring and rushing about. Sweat dribbled from my temples as different smells assaulted my nose—ducks and chickens hanging on strings from the ceiling, salted fish left on racks to dry.
“I’m looking for Ammi,” I said to a cook who was frying dough and seasoning it with cumin. The smell made my mouth water, and oil crackled and popped, spitting onto my sleeves.
When he ignored me, I wandered past the cooks, deeper into the kitchen. Serving girls bustled about with their arms full of trays and plates, but no sign of Ammi.
After ten minutes of wandering, I noticed a storeroom full of tea. There Ammi was, steeping tea leaves in hot water with dried orange peel.
“Master Tamarin!” she exclaimed.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I began. “I was wondering whether you could help me with something.”
She blew her hair out of her face. “I’ll try. What do you need?”
“Spices. For my dyes.”
“Spices?” Ammi wiped her hands on her apron. “Spices are expensive.”
“Berries would also work. Roots, bark, mushrooms. Anything you could spare.”
“Well, seeing as you’re making slippers for Lady Sarnai—”
“How do you know that?”
She smiled. “Word gets around, especially in the kitchen.”
“What can you tell me about Lady Sarnai?” I asked.
“Not much. The lady is impossible to please. Her maids complain that she enjoys tormenting them.”
I’d feared as much. At least Lady Sarnai was consistent in tormenting everyone.
Ammi led me to where the spices were stored. “I’ll distract the spice master,” she said. “Be quick.”
When she gave the signal, I slipped into the storeroom. There rested a fortune of spices. Cinnamon, black pepper, ginger, nutmeg, cassia, and an assortment of flavors I had never heard of. Safflower, saffron, cardamom. The colors were vibrant, but they weren’t what I was looking for.
Outside, Ammi giggled, and there was a thump on the door. I needed to hurry.
I reached for a random jar on the shelf, praying it wouldn’t be more pepper. No, it was chili. The next, turmeric. Then ginseng, licorice, fennel. I was running out of time!
I reached for another jar in the far corner. As soon as I opened it, I thanked the gods of luck.
Dried pea flowers. The cooks used them in sticky rice desserts to color the rice a rich shade of blue.
I poured a good handful of the dried flowers into my pocket and, ripping sheets from my sketchbook, wrapped up a few pinches of saffron, fennel seeds, and sorrel—all yellow dyes. Even if Lady Sarnai didn’t like yellow, I did. I liked how it stained my fingertips with sunshine and brightened the other colors surrounding it.
Ammi had somehow orchestrated it so that a trio of servant girls giggled around me as I slid out the door.
“Ammi’s so lucky she gets to serve the tailors.”
“Will you come back and show us your winning shawl?”
“Ammi told us you’re going to win the trial.”
“I hope so.” I laughed with them until I reached the exit.
Ammi winked at me, and I smiled my first real smile in days, mouthed a “Thank you,” and made my way back to the Hall of Supreme Diligence.
* * *
• • •
“Where have you been?” Yindi demanded when I returned from the kitchen.
I was suddenly glad the spices were tucked in my pocket. “I went for a walk.”
Yindi sniffed, his pudgy nose wrinkling. “I smell spices.”
I shrugged. “One of the maids passed me a snack.”
Yindi blocked me from returning to my worktable. He curled his beard around his fingers. “You surprised me, young Tamarin. Perhaps you do have some talent in you.”
“Thank you,” I muttered. I tried to move past him, but he continued to block me.
“However, a lad like you has to pay his dues before becoming His Majesty’s imperial tailor,” Yindi went on. “I don’t know where you learned to sew like that, but you won’t be taking the post away from me. I’m the best tailor in A’landi, and everyone knows it. I’m warning you not to get in my way. If you do, you’ll regret it.”
By now, I was convinced it was Yindi who had sabotaged my shawl. “I’m here to serve the emperor. Not to play your games.”
“So be it,” he said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As he stomped away, he blew out my candles, leaving my station in the dark.
“Make sure you don’t set your work on fire,” Yindi called after me with a laugh.
I relit the candles. I’d brought vermillion and emerald dyes with me, so I prepared those colored threads first. Then I steeped the flowers and spices from the kitchen in my paint pots; they would need several hours before they were ready to use.
I ironed out my satin, envisioning my design on its blank canvas. A mountain landscape to remind Lady Sarnai of home—it needed to astonish, so I would keep my stitches small to showcase my attention to detail and my mastery of elaborate needlework.
My fingers got to work. I began with the flowers: I always started with a simple cross, then filled in the petals and stem, drawing out the leaves. It took only a few minutes for each, but there were dozens to make. Next I would stitch the mountains, couching the thread down in long, jagged lines to outline their shape.
My needle swam in and out of the satin. Three stitches per pulse. In and out.
I worked through the night. The incense from Master Yindi’s miniature shrine was strong, and my eyelids grew heavy. I tugged at my cheeks, pinching them to stay awake.
Close to dawn, I stretched my arms and my back, which was beginning to hurt from so many hours hunched over my work. As I stood, I saw the basic shape of a shoe on Norbu’s table, but he hadn’t begun to construct it. Perhaps he had experience making slippers, but I still thought it bold of him to waste this work session.
When at last the gong in the front of the hall sounded, my fingers were raw from sewing.
“Attention!” Lorsa shouted. “Stop your work at once.”
Was it morning already? Light filtered in from the open windows, but I had barely noticed. I rubbed my eyes and turned to Minister Lorsa.
To my surprise, Lady Sarnai accompanied him, her expression cold and unreadable.
Why is she here? I wondered as the tailors and I murmured our greetings to the shansen’s daughter.
“I’ve decided this challenge is too simple,” Lady Sarnai announced. “I am flattered His Imperial Majesty has bidden you to embroider slippers for me, but I have plenty. So I have decided to ask for something more—unique.
“As empress, I will welcome visitors from all over the world. A’landan slippers are revered for their beauty and adherence to tradition. But in Samaran, the queens wear slippers made of iron, and in Agoria, the princesses wear shoes wrought of gold. I would like a pair that embodies such strength and power, yet is pleasing to the eye.”
A servant entered and set down a stack of blue porcelain plates. Then another brought glass bowls, glass vases, and fluted wine vessels. Soon the front table was piled with objects from paper to st
raw to bronze, even flowers.
Master Taraha asked what everyone was wondering: “Your Highness, a tailor does not usually work with porcelain or glass or—”
Lady Sarnai cut him off. “The imperial tailor is a master chosen by the gods. I expect him to be able to work with any material, whether it be glass or silk. Or even the air, should I ask it. If that is a problem, you are welcome to go home.”
That ended the questions.
Lady Sarnai turned on her heel, and Minister Lorsa hurried after her.
As soon as they were gone, the tailors dashed for the table. I lurched forward, hobbling as fast as I could with my cane, but someone kicked it from my hand and I fell hard.
Longhai pulled me up with a strong hand. “Hurry, Tamarin, before everything’s taken.”
Master Garad had already snatched the straw, and the others went for the bronze and iron and paper. By the time I reached the table, only the glass and porcelain items were left. Norbu took the porcelain plates at the last minute, leaving me with glass.
Master Boyen peeked over my screen. He held a handful of orchids and was already weaving the leaves and stems into the shape of a slipper. “Ohhh, glass.” He tsked with false sympathy. “That’s going to be difficult.”
“I’ll manage,” I said through my teeth.
“I’m looking forward to seeing what you do this time,” Boyen said. “We were all so impressed by your shawl, even Yindi is jealous. Best not to rile the old man too much. Glass breaks so easily, and we don’t know who spilled tea on your shawl, do we?”
I glared at him until he left.
Then, with a sigh, I set my materials on my table. What did I have to work with? A pair of glass bowls and a tall, slender vase. Scoring and staining the glass would be easy enough. But making slippers with it?
I gripped the edge of my stool, envisioning slippers made out of glass. Each idea ended with them shattering.
Unless…they were already shattered.
My mind raced furiously to come up with a plan. I took a wide brush and painted the inside of the vase with my pea-flower-blue dye. As it dried, I ran to the kitchen and came back with a sticky rice mortar that I’d use for glue.
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