I was sweating by the time I reached it. Lady Sarnai’s head maid cast me a disapproving look. “You’re late,” she said. “Her Highness hates it when her visitors are late.”
Late? I had come as soon as Lorsa told me.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
The head maid thrust a handkerchief in front of my face, and I dabbed my sweat with it. Then the doors, tended by a guard on each side, slid open.
Lady Sarnai’s chambers were the grandest I’d seen yet. A rosewood table accompanied every silk-cushioned chair, and a square table in the front overflowed with ivory gambling tiles and hand-painted cards. In the corner were trunks that I imagined must be filled with gifts from His Majesty: the finest silks, jade combs, pearl hairpins, bronze cosmetic boxes, and sashes in every color.
Lady Sarnai was waiting for me by the largest window, seated before an embroidery frame. I couldn’t see her work from where I stood, but she seemed skilled with the needle—more skilled than I’d expected from a lady of her rank.
“Come closer,” she said. “You cannot take my measurements standing at the door.”
I also couldn’t take her measurements when she was fully clothed, but I said nothing about this. Lady Sarnai stood so a maid could remove her outer robe, and I unrolled my marked string. As Edan had noticed, Lady Sarnai’s proportions were not so different from my own.
Knowing the maids watched me closely, I took her measurements, noting her girth and height but averting my eyes from her bare neck and arms. One misconstrued glance was all it would take to send me into the dungeons. How terrible it would be if I, a girl, were jailed for staring lewdly at Lady Sarnai!
But not looking made my task difficult, and when my fingers brushed against the lady’s arm as I measured for sleeve length, she spoke: “You’ve a gentle touch for a man, Master Tamarin.”
I immediately panicked and bowed, as if the comment were a death sentence. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Relax. For one so timid, you’re curiously on edge.”
I bit my lip. “This trial means much to my family, Your Highness.”
“Ah,” she said. “You have considerable skill for your age, Master Tamarin. I would say the gods must smile on you, but I noticed no shrine or amulets for luck on your table. Are you not superstitious?”
“I believe in hard work, Your Highness. Hard work and honesty.”
She laughed at that. “I see they’ve forgotten demon lore in the South, but one does not grow up in the North without being wary. All the beasts in the northern forests and jungles are said to be part demon.” She smiled tightly. “I would know. My own father sought to unleash their powers on Emperor Khanujin, but…one does not bargain with demons without paying a steep price.”
I bowed my head, hoping it would hide my stricken face. Why was she telling me this?
I stared at my feet and prayed for dismissal, but Lady Sarnai let the silence linger before noticing the stiffness in my fingers. “What is wrong with your hand?”
“I…I was hurt in the fire.”
“Pity. I hope it won’t interfere with your sewing.”
“It won’t.” I stepped to the side and stole a glance at Lady Sarnai’s embroidery. It was only half finished, but I recognized the shape of a tiger—the shansen’s emblem. I flipped my gaze back to the lady before she noticed.
She fluttered her fan at her neck. “I don’t know much about you, Master Tamarin. I was given reports on all the tailors, but the one on you—and your father—was lacking.” She closed the fan. “You are obviously talented. Why have you not tried to make more of a name for yourself?”
“A’landi was at war, Your Highness,” I said tightly. “I was called to battle.”
“In the Five Winters’ War?”
I finished my measurements, rolled up my string. “Yes.”
“Your two older brothers were killed in battle. Minister Lorsa mentioned this to me.”
I said nothing. I had no idea why she wanted to keep me here, asking me questions she already knew the answers to.
“You must hate my father for taking them away,” Lady Sarnai said. “And Emperor Khanujin for sending you to war at such a young age.”
“It was my duty to serve in the war. I hold no anger toward the shansen—or Emperor Khanujin.”
“Then you are a good man. Far better than most.” Lady Sarnai closed her fan and waved for her maids to leave. “I’ve found that most men say one thing but mean another.” She peered at me. “But you don’t lie, Master Tamarin. You hide instead. You have a secret, I sense.”
I was beginning to feel more and more ill at ease. “Your Highness, if there’s nothing else—”
“Keep it,” Lady Sarnai interjected. “I’m not interested in your secrets. The Lord Enchanter’s, however…they interest me very much. And it interests me that he’s noticed you.”
“Only out of boredom,” I said curtly. It was the truth—Edan had told me as much. “I doubt he takes a real interest in anyone.”
“He is a disagreeable man,” Lady Sarnai conceded. “I wonder if you’ll do something for me….” She waited for me to nod. “I noticed you staring at my needlework when you entered.”
“Your work is very fine,” I said honestly. “The Northern style is the one I’m least familiar with. I could not help but be curious.”
“You should take a closer look,” said Lady Sarnai, gesturing at her work. “Tell me what your keen eyes see.”
I walked over to her frame, dreading that I’d find some secret message embroidered into the scene and be blackmailed for knowing she was betraying Emperor Khanujin. But her work was simply a scene of three animals. The elegance and boldness of her patterns surprised me. The Northern style had never been considered one of A’landi’s great schools of embroidery, which were all inclined toward more intricate and layered designs, yet the elegance…
“Describe it for me.”
“A tiger,” I said aloud. “That is your father. And a dragon—Emperor Khanujin.”
There were also the beginnings of a bird; it flew over them, its talons clutching a pearl that both the tiger and the dragon were reaching for.
“You look confused,” said Lady Sarnai. “The pearl represents A’landi, and the bird is causing a rift between the tiger and dragon, you see. Just as magic creates a rift between the North and South.” She leaned forward. “You Southerners and I may have our differences, but we are pious people. The presence of magic in A’landi is unnatural. It brings strife between the emperor and my father.”
I remembered Yindi’s warning about the shansen. “But not all magic is the work of demons, is it, Your Highness? Not all of it is bad?”
A dark look passed over Lady Sarnai’s face, and I wondered what she had seen with her father. “Magic is the root of all that is wicked in this world. And enchanters are at the center of it. After all, what are demons but enchanters who have fallen from grace?” She scoffed. “I wouldn’t expect a country boy such as you to understand.”
I lowered my head. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“My father never trusted Emperor Khanujin,” she said, “but he never told me why. Never told me why he started the war in the first place.” She pursed her lips, and I thought I read sadness in her dark eyes. It was hard to think of her—a highborn lady—as a prisoner.
“I remember meeting Khanujin once, when we were children. He was a sickly boy, especially when compared to his older brother—the heir. His skin was yellow as sand, and he could barely mount a horse. But look at him now. So…”
She didn’t choose a word, and I didn’t dare offer the one I was thinking: magnificent.
Lady Sarnai paused, as if waiting for my reaction. But for the life of me, I could not fathom what point she was trying to make.
What must it have been like for her
, to go from a princess of A’landi to the daughter of a traitor? For centuries, a shansen was chosen from her family to serve as A’landi’s military leader and protect the country from its hostile Northern neighbors. But when Khanujin’s father and brother died, the current shansen refused to pledge allegiance to Khanujin. And so the Five Winters’ War began.
It hurt to remember a time when my country was whole, and my family was whole. Even now, with the truce, no one knew why the shansen would not serve Khanujin. But Lady Sarnai suggested it had something to do with magic.
“I’d like you to get to know Edan better,” Lady Sarnai finally went on. “Find out his weaknesses, his strengths. Find out what binds him to Emperor Khanujin. What is the source of his loyalty?”
I took a step back. “I…I doubt he would tell me.”
“He is a fickle creature,” Lady Sarnai agreed, “but I have a feeling he would open up to you. You’re not a bad-looking boy, and the Lord Enchanter must be lonely.”
I must have looked horrified, for Lady Sarnai laughed. She pressed her fingers together. “You have done well in the trial, Master Tamarin, but Master Norbu has done better. Prove to me that you can be useful, and I may be persuaded to look more favorably upon you.”
“Your Highness,” I said, “I was under the impression that the trial was a matter of skill.”
“It is a matter of skill,” Lady Sarnai said, opening her fan.
It was the most beautiful one I had seen yet. The flowers were painted with such tiny details that it must have taken the artist months to complete.
“But craftsmanship is a luxury of peace,” Lady Sarnai said, tipping the fan toward a candle’s flame. “Artisans such as you are soldiers in times of war. Do not forget that.”
“How could I?” I whispered, my heart aching as I watched the hungry flames lick at Lady Sarnai’s fan. “I grew up learning the hardships of war.”
“Quite so.” She tossed the burning fan into a bronze incense pot.
I had to grip my legs to keep from reaching out to save the fan. I watched its long wooden handle crackle in the flames, and the silk painting blister and burn, melting until it was no more than an ember.
“War comes at a great cost,” Lady Sarnai said, “and from that sacrifice comes peace. Sometimes we must let go of what we value for the future of our country. Be it a beautiful fan, or our honor, or our lives. In the end, we all belong to the gods anyway.”
Her tone darkened, and I pondered what had crossed her mind—if she was regretting her promise to marry Emperor Khanujin.
“I need a tailor who can be a soldier for me when I need one, as well as a craftsman,” she said. “Can you do this for me? Can you prove that you will be useful in times of war and peace?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” I said rigidly. “I can.”
“Good. I look forward to seeing what you create for me, Master Tamarin.”
I bowed and, without turning my back on Lady Sarnai, shuffled out of the room. Once I was outside, I wondered whether my meeting with her had been a test of sorts. And whether I had passed—
Or failed miserably.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
While the Hall of Supreme Diligence was being rebuilt, Norbu and I were assigned new workrooms not far from Lady Sarnai’s apartments. But I couldn’t go there now. I needed to disappear from her watchful eye.
So I planted myself in the courtyard near my quarters, taking comfort in a letter from Baba. It was short, and he didn’t mention Keton, but his words at the end were enough to make my heart burst.
The emperor’s trial will be hard on you, but know that no matter whether you are chosen to stay or must come home, you are already the best tailor in A’landi to me. You’ve seized the wind, as I always knew you would.
I held the letter to my heart. “Seize the wind,” I whispered. “Don’t become the kite that never flies.” Those were Finlei’s words. How often he used to say them to me.
I regretted not being as close to him as Sendo. Finlei had always been the most protective of my brothers, yet also the one who’d urge me to leave Baba’s shop. “You can’t be the best tailor in the world if all you do is sew,” he’d say. “Come, let’s go on an adventure to free that imagination of yours.”
I could count on one hand how many times I’d taken him up on the offer. What a stubborn girl I’d been back then. I wouldn’t hesitate now.
“I’m not in Baba’s shop anymore, brother,” I whispered. I hoped, wherever Finlei was, he’d be proud of me for that.
Carefully, I folded up Baba’s letter. Reading it had fired my determination anew, and I reached for my sketchbook to begin a new design for the final challenge.
I couldn’t be sent home, not when Emperor Khanujin had given me another chance. I was so close. This final garment needed to be amazing—worthy of the gods.
But it was impossible to concentrate when my conscience pricked me every other minute about Lady Sarnai’s order. I didn’t want to spy on Edan!
But you should, if you really want to win.
Disgusted with myself, I scratched out my design and crumpled the page. Then crumpled another, and another. And another.
I let out a grunt of frustration.
“I heard Khanujin’s given you a second chance.”
I whirled around to face the intruder. For once, I wasn’t surprised to see him. In fact, I was almost relieved. “Where have you been?”
“Asleep,” Edan said. “Healing twenty-odd crushed bones is hard work, even for me.”
He took my hand, and I instantly stiffened.
“Relax,” he said, bringing my hand closer to his face for inspection. “It’s healing nicely, but it’s only been a few days. You need to rest more.”
I pulled my hand back. “How can I rest when I have another challenge? I almost lost.”
Edan cleared his throat. “The emperor did a fine job of extending the trial. Very noble of him, though I wouldn’t have expected anything less.” I caught the slightest tinge of sarcasm in Edan’s voice. “He said you remind him a little of himself.”
I turned back to my work, but curiosity bade me ask, “How so?”
“A young man trying hard to succeed. No one ever expected Khanujin to become king, you know. He had to learn much in a short time. Just like you…He didn’t want to dismiss you just yet.” When I didn’t respond, Edan shielded his face from the sun and said, “Do you always work outside?”
“Only to sketch. I find it inspiring.”
He looked over my shoulder at my drawing. “A water-themed dress?”
“It’s inspired by home.” I sighed. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Norbu is going to win.”
“Oh?” Edan feigned ignorance. “Because his designs are best?”
A needle of envy pricked me. “Yes. He’s a master tailor. The greatest in A’landi.”
“He is a master tailor,” Edan allowed, “but so are you. Given a month on each of these challenges, I’m sure you both could work miracles. But not in a week. Not without help, anyway.” He exhaled. “Don’t you remember what I told you?”
“You said Norbu is using magic. But how?”
“Norbu has paint that creates illusions,” Edan revealed. “Very elementary stuff. It only lasts a few hours. A day or two at most. Until now, he’s been careful to survive each challenge, not to win.”
It made sense now. That was why Norbu never had anything to show until the day of the challenge. Why he was always so secretive about his work. Why he’d wanted his jacket burned.
“Magic is a wild, untamed energy that exists all around us,” Edan explained, “and certain people are more sensitive to it than others. We enchanters wear talismans that allow us to channel it, and on rare occasions, we enchant everyday objects, such as your scissors, to help us with our work, or to enable others temporary acces
s to magic.”
My brows knitted in confusion. Edan wore no rings or amulets, as Emperor Khanujin did. “I don’t see a talisman on you.”
“The answer to that would give you too much power over me,” Edan said with a smile. “Now, don’t scrunch up your face like that. You’ll get wrinkles.”
He waited until I let go of my frown. “I would need no magic paint to create an illusion, whereas an ordinary person such as Norbu would. He’d have to give something up, say a thimble or two of blood, every time he wants to use it. Must have cost him a fortune to obtain.”
“How come no one else can tell that his designs are illusions?”
“Oh, he’s a fine tailor on his own, so he uses magic sparingly. But I can see it well enough, and borrowed magic can always be undone.” Edan tapped his chin with his knuckles, looking pensive. “I suspect you could expose him with a bucket of water—since he’s using paint, after all.”
“I’ve used magic too,” I reminded him quietly. It made me uncomfortable to remember.
“So you have.” He leaned close. “But your scissors aren’t borrowed magic.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t pay in blood.” A dimple formed on the left corner of his mouth. “That means a little bit of magic sings in you.”
I didn’t know where my grandmother’s scissors came from, or whether Baba had known they were magic. “It was so easy,” I whispered. “Using the scissors…The shawl I made looked like my own work. But it wasn’t. Not really. I don’t know if I should feel proud or ashamed or—”
The dimple disappeared. “Feel lucky,” said Edan. “Your scissors chose to speak to you. It is a gift, one you may need.” His voice turned soft. “One that can go away if you are no longer worthy of its power.”
The sadness in Edan’s words struck a chord in me and made me wonder if he thought of his own magic as a gift. Why had I ever distrusted him? He’d always been my ally here in the palace. He’d always believed in me.
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