“But I saw—”
Edan put two fingers to my lips. “Bandur is cunning,” he said. “He wanted to trick you into thinking he had a weakness so you would let down your guard—then he could mark you.”
I fell silent, knowing that he was right. “I’m still coming with you. My mind is made up.”
Edan sighed. “Maia, you know the isles abound with ghosts and demons. Even if you were safe from them, I won’t be the same.”
“Do you think I care?”
“You should,” he said darkly. “I’ll be a demon.”
“Then I’ll become one too. A ghost, demon—whatever the isles want of me. You don’t have to be alone.”
“That is the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” said Edan sharply. “And I beg you never to repeat it.”
My shoulders started to slump, but I straightened. “My scissors are from Amana,” I said fiercely. “They’re from the legend of the god of thieves. Did you know that?”
“I suspected—”
“That means I’m part legend myself,” I said over him. “Maybe even part enchanter. There is magic in me, so let me help you.”
Edan pressed his lips tightly together. “There’s no arguing with you, is there?”
“I’m the brightest one, remember? You said so yourself.”
He laughed and kissed me again, ever so tenderly. Then he held me—as he had when we lived under the invisible morning stars—until the day washed into night.
I knew then that we were like two pieces of cloth, sewn together for life. Our stitches couldn’t be undone.
I wouldn’t let them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
We arrived within sight of the Autumn Palace five days before the red sun. I didn’t want to count the days until Edan surrendered himself to Bandur, but I couldn’t help it. Too frequently I glanced up at the sky, watching the red slowly bleeding into the sun’s crown. Only at night, when darkness swallowed the sun, could I put it out of my mind.
I could feel the magic rippling in the fibers of my dresses—more and more now, as they approached completion. Maybe I imagined it, but sometimes when the walnuts carrying the light of the moon and sun were nearby, the dresses sang to me. It was a soft, quiet song—like the hum of a peaceful brook. Edan couldn’t hear it, but the song beckoned to me, as if imploring me to finish my task.
I craned my neck to study the Autumn Palace. It sat atop a hill, surrounded by trees that were sleeved with red, gold, and orange leaves. From where I stood, it looked alight with fire.
“You don’t seem eager to go back,” Edan half teased. “I’m sure Ammi will have plenty of cookies and cakes waiting for you in the kitchen. That’s something to look forward to.”
I said nothing, only sighed and began twisting my hair onto the crown of my head.
Edan drew closer. “Don’t forget this,” he said, passing me a pebble to put in my shoe. I’d left Keton’s cane in the Summer Palace.
It had been so long since I had to pretend to be a boy, I wasn’t sure I could do it again.
I nodded silently, but my face must have shown my anxiety, for Edan held my cheek in his hand. “Everything will be fine.”
“Will it?” A hard lump rose in my throat, making it painful to speak.
Edan kissed me, so long and deep that even after he let go, my lips burned.
“It will,” he whispered. “I’ll make it so.”
I knew he was trying to make me feel better. But nothing could erase the pain of his departure.
Numbly, I said, “When will you leave for Lapzur?”
“The morning of the red sun. I won’t go until you finish the dresses. Not until I see that you are safe.”
His words did nothing to comfort me. I wiped the corner of my eye with my knuckle. “I told you I’m coming with you….I won’t have you go alone.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.
He held me and thumbed off the tears falling down my cheeks. “Do you recall when I healed your hand?” he said quietly. “You said you wanted to repay me.”
It felt so long ago. I lifted myself from his arms. “Yes.”
“I want you to do something for me.”
I didn’t like the tentativeness in his voice. “I’m listening.”
“When I leave for Lapzur,” Edan said slowly, “I want you to go home to your family and give them this.” He opened his palm, revealing a fourth walnut no different from the ones I had used to trap sunlight and moonlight.
“A gift for your father and your brother,” he said. “It has a drop of Niwa spider blood, among other things—it’ll bring some happiness back to your family.”
My breath grew ragged. “Edan—”
“Put it in their tea,” he interrupted. “And yours. It’ll make you sleep. And when you wake, you’ll be happy too.”
I frowned, unable to read his dark, impenetrable eyes. “No magic tea is going to make me happy, Edan. Not without you.”
“Please.” He touched my lips. “Trust me.”
I tucked my head under his chin and inhaled. But I made no promise.
* * *
• • •
It was nearly dusk when we reached the Autumn Palace. The moonrise cast a glow on the red and orange leaves, and I couldn’t help but feel we were like moths inside a lantern. Trapped.
I had wondered if we would arrive before Edan changed. I could tell he was about to—the yellow in his eyes grew brighter as the moon overthrew the sun. But as soon as we reached the palace gates, the glow in his eyes dimmed.
“Tell His Majesty that his Lord Enchanter and imperial tailor have returned,” Edan commanded the guard.
The great red gates before us creaked open, and we dismounted. Edan took a deep breath. Suddenly he looked fuller, taller.
He opened his palm, and there was a blue wildflower for me, like the ones he’d given me in the Mountains of the Moon. “This one won’t wither.”
I wouldn’t take it. “I like the old ones,” I replied. I’d pressed them in my sketchbook.
Edan nodded mutely, and the flower disappeared. The gates were open wide enough now for me to see the gardens inside. Shadows flickered. The last few moments Edan and I were free.
“I’ll try to see you whenever I can,” he said. “I can’t promise it’ll be often. Khanujin won’t be pleased that I’ve been gone so long. He’ll keep me by his side.”
Before I could reply, Minister Lorsa arrived to escort us into the Autumn Palace. From his expression of surprise, I knew he’d expected me to fail.
I wished I had.
Lorsa folded his arms, his bright blue sleeves billowing behind him as he set off at a brisk pace. It was like that first day I’d arrived at the Summer Palace. Lorsa’s clothes were the same, and the same jade pendant and giant red tassel swung from his sash. Only this time, I didn’t try to keep up with him. This time, I hobbled and took my time, considering it a small victory whenever Lorsa stopped to wait for me.
I immediately hated the Autumn Palace. I missed the gold roofs and vermillion columns of the Summer Palace, the brilliant gardens and the smell of jasmine and plum blossoms. Yes, the trees here burned a lurid riot of colors even in lantern light, and the stone floors were awash with golden leaves, freshly fallen—but the air smelled stale, like damp ink. There were no dragonflies or butterflies, no larks or swallows. Only a thin mist that cloaked the earth, as if readying it for a deep, long sleep.
To my surprise, we saw Lady Sarnai in one of the gardens. She betrayed no reaction when she noticed us, but she rose, her skirts blooming as she stood, and stared at something far off in the corner—as if she, too, would rather be anywhere but here.
Minister Lorsa ushered us into the emperor’s private chambers. The doors were painted with red-eyed lions that made me shudder and think of Bandur. Inside,
Emperor Khanujin awaited us, a deep blue veil obscuring his face. Once Lorsa had left, he lifted it.
Edan had told me that the emperor relied on his magic to enhance his appearance, but still it shocked me how different he looked now. The real emperor was unimposing, shorter and less muscular than I remembered, with a weak mouth and small, merciless black eyes.
Trying not to stare at him, I fell to my knees as Edan bowed at my side.
“I should have you hanged, Lord Enchanter,” Emperor Khanujin said through his teeth. “You left without my permission.”
“I accept the consequences of my actions, Your Majesty,” said Edan. “I thought it necessary to aid the imperial tailor, to ensure your marriage and peace for A’landi.”
“You thought leaving me would be wise?” The emperor threw his teacup to the ground. It shattered at Edan’s feet. “Wise for the shansen to know you were away? To give him the opportunity to hunt you?”
“If he did so, he failed.”
Emperor Khanujin sniffed, slightly mollified. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his wooden chair, hardly a throne. His nails were long and uncut; they made a clacking sound that set me on edge. “Was your journey successful?”
“It was, Your Majesty.”
“Then at least your absence wasn’t for naught. I wonder, how should I punish you, Lord Enchanter? After all, there is nothing you fear, to my knowledge. And I cannot have you executed for your disobedience, since I need you at my side.”
Edan was silent.
Emperor Khanujin touched the amulet pinned to his robe. “I suppose your very existence is punishment enough. You, a vessel of such power at my command.”
Edan didn’t flinch, but I did. My fists curled at my sides, and I had to bite my cheek to keep from lashing out at the emperor.
“Master Tamarin, you have work to do. Leave us.”
I glanced at Edan, who gave an almost imperceptible lift of his chin. A sign to obey.
The emperor knew my leg wasn’t truly lame, but I made a show of struggling to get up from my knees anyway. I bowed to him. “May you live ten thousand years, Your Majesty,” I said, the familiar words now foreign on my tongue.
Then I left, to return to the life I’d once dreamed of living. What I wouldn’t have given for it to have stayed a dream.
* * *
• • •
My satchel and trunk were already in my new quarters. I opened my trunk to air out my dresses. Seeing them comforted me. I might be back in the palace, but I wouldn’t forget my adventures outside. Wouldn’t forget the battles Edan and I had fought, the magic I’d seen.
These dresses would always remind me.
A plate of almond cookies sat on my cutting table. No note accompanied the treat, but I knew it was from Ammi. Welcome back! I could hear her exclaiming.
Remembering my one friend in the palace cheered me, and I gobbled the cookies quickly, filling my empty stomach. Just after I set down the plate and started to unfold my dresses, the door to my chambers swung open.
“Her Highness, Lady Sarnai, honors you with her presence!” a voice shouted from outside.
Lady Sarnai entered. Her furrowed brow and pursed lips made it clear she wasn’t pleased I had returned alive, but the shansen’s daughter no longer frightened me. I grabbed my cane and bowed.
“The red sun draws near,” she said in lieu of a greeting. The reminder pained me, though she couldn’t know why.
“I’m nearly finished, Your Highness.”
“So you found them?” she said hollowly. “Amana’s children?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Lady Sarnai held a fan, as always, but she twisted it in her hands, so hard I thought it must break. When she spoke next, her voice was tight. “Show me what you’ve done.”
I knelt by my trunk, glad I had taken the time to clean it of sand and dirt. One by one I carefully took out my three dresses.
Lady Sarnai snatched the first one from me, lifting it by the sleeves to view.
“That is to be the gown of the moon,” I said. “I haven’t sewn in the moonlight yet.”
Even without its magical element in place, the dress was breathtaking. I could tell from Lady Sarnai’s silence that I had created something otherworldly.
The sleeves were long and wide and, when held up, curved like the elegant base of a lute. White-gold floss sparkled from the cuffs and the cross-collar, which I’d painstakingly embroidered with tiny flowers and clouds, and the skirt was silver, layered with five sheets of the thinnest silk to create the illusion of pale, shimmering light.
It moved her, how beautiful the dress was. I could see tears misting in her eyes, even though she blinked and struggled to hold them back.
Lady Sarnai dropped the gown to the floor. The color had drained from her face, and her eyes flooded with a mixture of wonder and horror. “It was supposed to be…impossible.”
“It wasn’t easy,” I said tiredly. I couldn’t gloat—the dresses had come at a great cost. “We faced many obstacles, magical and not. Some of your father’s men pursued us.”
Lady Sarnai’s face darkened at the news. I thought she would lash out at me for insinuating that she’d sent Edan with me so her father could capture him, but she said nothing. Still, she wasn’t surprised. I wondered if she was torn between her duty to the shansen and her hatred for him—for forcing her into marriage with Emperor Khanujin.
Lady Sarnai lifted her chin, reconstructing her careful mask of stone, but it was not quite as convincing as it had been before. “Very good, Master Tamarin.” She kept her gaze high to avoid looking at the dress, as if the very sight of it wounded her. “I’m sure Emperor Khanujin will be pleased that you have delivered his wedding gift. But don’t fool yourself into thinking this is your first of many great feats for him. The Son of Heaven’s promises are as empty as the clouds that bore him. You should never have come back.”
Her fan snapped in her hands, and she dropped the broken pieces on my dress. Without so much as a glance at the other two I’d made for her, she stormed out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I survived the next few days by immersing myself in my work. I was so engrossed in finishing Lady Sarnai’s dresses that I barely heard the bells ringing every morning and night, or the rain battering my roof during the storms that pounded the Autumn Palace. I scarcely even paid attention when Ammi chattered away about the emperor’s miraculous recovery from his illness, though I perked up once—when she complained the Lord Enchanter wasn’t eating much at dinner. Whatever magic I was working into the dresses muffled all the noise outside, making my deadline for Lady Sarnai feel far, far away.
After nearly three months on the road, I’d forgotten how exhilarating it was to lose myself to my craft. Not long ago, it had been my heart’s desire to become the greatest tailor in A’landi. Life had been so different then—before I came to the palace, before I wielded my magic scissors, before I met Edan.
He hadn’t come to visit me. It stung, but I couldn’t blame him. Emperor Khanujin must have forbidden it, though sometimes from my window I felt sure a hawk watched me work late into the night. Deep down, when I pushed aside my anger for the emperor, I told myself it was better this way—for both of us. It would hurt less when we had to part.
And so, with the help of my magic scissors and spider-silk gloves, I spent the days spinning sunlight into golden thread so delicate it wouldn’t blind or burn. Sunlight wasn’t something I could spill onto my cutting table and measure with a stick. So I worked straight from the walnut, sifting rays of light onto my gloves and cutting with my scissors as thin a beam as I dared. Then I curled it over the blades and spun it into thread so fine it glided through the eye of my needle. With the moonlight, I did the same, only I braided the silvery beams, teasing them into slender, shining cords.
The night before the re
d sun, I wove sunlight into the first dress. The laughter of the sun did little to lighten my heart, but as its rays bounced off my scissors, I wanted to laugh—not with joy, but with wonder and relief. For when it was complete, the dress of the sun was so radiant my eyes watered from its brightness; even when I looked away, coronets of light stung my vision.
I blinked, flexing my fingers. The vial of the blood of stars sat warm on my lap, and my scissors hummed as I went next to embroider tears of the moon into Lady Sarnai’s second dress. As I worked, I remembered my trial up Rainmaker’s Peak, and my dive into the icy pool. A tear rolled down my cheek—not one of sadness, but of the bittersweet knowledge that the Maia finishing these dresses wasn’t the same as the girl who’d started them three months ago. They were my journey, and soon I’d have to let them go.
I made the final stitch on the dress of moonlight. Only one dress left—the blood of stars.
My fingers trembled, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I hadn’t slept in days; my exhaustion caught up with me now, making my mind wander, my determination waver.
My needle hovered over the last dress. What would happen to me after I finished?
The emperor knew I was a woman. Once these dresses were done, would he truly keep me in the palace? That was all my old naïve self had ever wanted, to win His Majesty’s favor and be the imperial tailor. But now I knew better.
If he did allow me to stay, it would be as a reminder of his power over me. And a reminder of what I’d lost.
Tomorrow, Edan would return to Lapzur. He’d become a demon like Bandur.
All because of me.
Only my work kept me from losing hope. And now, that was to be taken from me. My dresses were all but done, and in the morning, Lady Sarnai would claim them.
I expelled a long, ragged breath and threw myself onto my bed. So many months of being strong. Strong for my family, strong for myself, then strong for Edan.
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