My legs were heavy, but I obeyed, taking one small step at a time, circling before the emperor so that all could observe me. Their eyes followed my every movement, drinking in the dress’s radiance.
Although I knew how Emperor Khanujin’s power worked, its strength was hard to resist. What I’d once mistaken for charisma was force—it poured out of him, strongest when he was near Edan. I steeled myself against it, and my mind was able to resist, but my body couldn’t. The emperor told me to twirl in my dress, and I did so. He told me to take his arm, and I did so. He touched my face, and I let him.
Edan watched, his hands twisted behind his back. His jaw was tight; I knew he was furious with the emperor for using his powers to manipulate me. And furious at himself for not being able to stop it.
“Do you still doubt that these are the dresses of Amana?” Emperor Khanujin asked. “Only such magic could transform a simple girl like Maia Tamarin—into a goddess.”
Lord Xina and Lady Sarnai said nothing. The light from my dress danced about their eyes, but it did not fill them with wonder. Only torment.
“Show us Amana’s power, Maia.” The emperor’s voice rang with authority, yet the sound of it made my body tense.
“Your Majesty,” interrupted Edan. “The dresses are not meant for this world.”
“Quiet,” rasped Emperor Khanujin. Edan’s amulet swung from his robe, but now it glimmered among his other pendants, particularly as the light from my dress brushed against it.
Upon the light of the blood of stars from whence he was bound, Amana had said, your love shall be free.
Edan had told me once that he became an enchanter by drinking the blood of stars. That the cuff on his wrist had appeared once he took his oath on Lapzur.
My gaze wandered from the amulet on the emperor’s sash to the cuff on Edan’s wrist. Could it be that simple?
“Maia Tamarin,” said Emperor Khanujin again, “show us Amana’s power.”
A light sang within me. I would unleash the dress’s magic for Edan, not for the emperor. As my determination grew, the fabric burned brighter and brighter than ever before, with a dazzling silver light that eclipsed whatever it touched. My mind reeled, spinning with so much power that I didn’t feel Edan grab me by the shoulders, didn’t hear Emperor Khanujin laugh or Lady Sarnai scream.
I spun to face Edan, intertwining my fingers with his. A whirlwind of blue and purple light encircled us, a tempest of radiance. “What are you doing?” he shouted.
Instead of replying, I squeezed his hand and placed it over my heart. The light grew so bright no one could see us, not in the eye of its storm. I stood on my toes and kissed him, thinking of all my heart’s greatest desires: for Keton to walk again, for Baba to be happy. For Edan to be free. One by one, I’d make those happen, no matter the cost to me.
Be free, Edan. Be free. I parted my lips and touched my forehead to his, seeing astonishment sweep over his eyes. His hand jerked against my chest as the gold cuff began to smoke and hiss and gold dust trickled to the ground like nothing more than sand. The wind whisked it away before the light of my dress faded and the palace’s wooden walls surrounded us again.
It was over. As calmly as I could, I stepped away from Edan. Everyone else in the room had collapsed. Vases and chairs were overturned, teacups shattered, and linens scattered over the floor. The emperor recovered first. I saw Lord Xina help Lady Sarnai stand, then settle into a respectable distance from her. His large jaw was clenched, his mouth a tight, unhappy line. How familiar that look was to me! I’d often seen it on Edan.
“Behold the splendor and power of Amana,” said the emperor, folding his arms to shake the sleeves of dust. “My congratulations, Master Tamarin. None can deny that you have satisfied Lady Sarnai’s wishes and earned your position in my court.”
I sank to the ground, bowing. The amulet in his sash was dull, with a thin crack in the center splitting the hawk. But the emperor hadn’t noticed. I had a feeling he wouldn’t, not until he saw his own glory fade in the mirror.
“You are relieved of your duties for the remainder of the day.”
I barely heard the rest of the emperor’s words as he dismissed me and everyone else in the Orchid Pavilion. All I could do was simmer under the heat of Edan’s stare. His face had gone ashen, his eyes stricken and confused, his movements heavy. He tried to catch my gaze, but I didn’t dare look up at him, not when he returned my scissors to me, or when his cloak brushed my shoulder as he followed the emperor out.
The guards threw the doors open, letting in a cool blast of air. As the room emptied, Lady Sarnai’s maids hurried to clean up the mess. No one was brave enough to help me out of the dress, so I did it myself, and left it wilted against the emperor’s red lacquered chair.
Lady Sarnai watched me, but her glare lacked its usual menace; this one looked forced, resigned. Turning her back on me, she glided to a corner and sat beside her embroidery frame, as far as possible from the dress I’d left on the emperor’s chair. Her fists did not unclench, not even when I turned to leave her apartments.
I did not put on my hat; I held it at my side while I walked back to my quarters. The guards straightened when they saw me. “Master Tamarin,” they murmured, bending their heads with respect. Minister Lorsa was nearby, and he bent his head as well before quickly turning away.
I should have felt triumphant. After all, I, a simple seamstress from Port Kamalan, had made the legendary dresses of Amana. I had become the imperial tailor of A’landi, the first woman ever to do so. And I had freed Edan, a Lord Enchanter, from his thousand-year oath.
Yet there was a hollowness in my gut. The moment I’d freed Edan, an intense cold had rushed over me.
He’s free, I reminded myself as I collapsed onto my bed. That’s all that matters.
And with that, I fell asleep with the saddest of smiles on my lips.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Edan was not smiling when he woke me. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he sat on the edge of my bed. The change in him was subtle, but I noticed it right away.
His shoulders looked lighter, as if a terrible weight had been lifted. His hair was lighter, too, closer to the black of poppy seeds than the black of night, the bridge of his nose slightly more crooked, and for the first time, I noticed small imperfections on his face—a thin scar above his eye that hadn’t been there before, a small mole on his cheek. My heart swelled to see them.
He spoke, sounding strained. “You summoned Amana.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded. I sat up. “Last night. When I put on the dress, I went to the Great Temple, and she came to me. She granted me a wish.”
He cursed. “Maia, of all the impulsive, foolish—”
“What else would I wish for?” I said softly. “I love you.”
Sunlight touched Edan’s face, casting upon him a ruby glow as his anger dissipated. The sorrow in his eyes spoke a thousand words. “I should have made you drink.”
“Drink?”
“That potion for your father and brother—there is enough in it for you, too. You would have forgotten me. You would have been happy.”
Now I remembered what he meant. My answer hadn’t changed. “How could I ever be happy without you?” The words choked me, and I realized how true they were. I’d been happy for a fleeting moment this morning, when I’d freed Edan from his oath. But I couldn’t be happy forever. Though I’d refused to acknowledge the truth, deep down I’d known that, in setting him free, I’d ensured that Edan and I would never be together.
“Don’t you realize what you’ve done?” he said. “Bandur will come for you now.”
“It would have devastated me if you became like…like him.”
Edan shook me by the shoulders. “It will devastate me if Bandur takes you. Do you not care about that?”
My heart wrenched. I’d neve
r seen Edan look so vulnerable, so sad. I wanted to be with him. My soul burst with it.
You will have to pay the price for his broken oath, Amana had said. But Bandur had not come for me. Not yet, anyway.
“Bandur won’t take me.” My voice shook. “He can’t.”
“I don’t understand, Maia.” Edan’s eyes, so clear and blue I no longer remembered them being any other color, wavered. “What do you mean?”
“You said these dresses are not of this world,” I replied, slowly formulating my lie. “They freed me as well.”
Edan’s gaze was piercing. He didn’t believe me.
“Look,” I said, pushing aside my hair to show him my neck. “There is no mark.”
“There hasn’t been a mark since Bandur transferred his curse to me.”
“And now that curse is broken,” I said. “You’re free—of your oath and of Bandur.” My tongue grew heavy; it pained me to lie to him, yet it was easier than it should have been. A strange, cold feeling washed over me. “We both are.”
A muscle in Edan’s jaw ticked as he searched my eyes. I numbed my emotions, startled by how easy it was to feel nothing—to make Edan find nothing. He had no more magic, no more spells to detect my lie. “You swear it?”
The seams holding me together threatened to burst. I clung to the coldness; I needed it to help me protect Edan. “I do,” I said calmly.
His features softened then. He believed me. “If you and I are truly free, then why do I feel as if we still cannot be together? That the little shophouse by the ocean you dream of is still so far away?”
Drums began to pound, taking away my chance to answer.
“The shansen will arrive soon,” I said. “You need to go. It won’t be long before Emperor Khanujin realizes you are no longer bound to him. He’ll…he’ll change.”
Edan didn’t budge. “Come with me.”
Oh, how I wanted to. But even if I hadn’t been lying about Bandur, I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk what would happen to my family if Emperor Khanujin found out I’d broken Edan’s oath.
I shook my head sadly. “Go. The longer you stay, the more danger you are in.” I could tell that wasn’t enough to convince him, so I added, “And me.”
Edan opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.
“I’ll be safe here. The court is abuzz with the news that I’m a woman—that I made Amana’s dresses. It will intrigue the shansen and the emperor long enough for you to disappear.”
“When did you become so brave, my xitara?” He took my hand and looked down at it. “Your hand is cold, Maia.”
“It’s…it’s from wearing the dress,” I said, pulling away. A hard lump rose in my throat, and I swallowed painfully. More lies. “Please. You must leave.”
He held on to my hand, tightly. Urgency tore away his grief and anger at what I had done; he knew I was right—there was no time. “Guard the dresses. They have great power, and they speak to you. The emperor will be weak without me. I cannot protect A’landi any longer. But perhaps you can.”
“Where will you go?”
“To find a source of magic that exists beyond the oath.”
“Is that…possible?”
“Enchanters are born with magic. Even when our oath is broken, some of it remains in us, only we cannot rekindle it. But my teachers told me of a freed enchanter in Agoria who could still wield some magic. If he is still alive, perhaps he can help me.”
“Edan, I made my wish for you to be free, not to—”
“This is how I choose to be free,” he interrupted gently. “Until I know you are safe from Bandur—and Khanujin—I must find a way to protect you. And when I do, I will come back and take you with me. You are my oath now, Maia Tamarin. And you’ll never be free of me.”
I took his hand and pressed it against my cheek. His warmth spread across my face, melting away the cold. “I know.”
He touched my forehead, his fingers caressing my skin. “May Amana watch over you until I find you again.”
I mustered a weak laugh. “I thought you didn’t believe in the gods.”
“I’m beginning to,” he said in earnest. “Just as I’m beginning to believe you are A’landi’s best hope.” He reached to the floor and passed me our carpet. “Take this. If you are ever in danger, use it to flee. Use it to find me.”
“You should keep it.”
“It can’t hear me any longer.” Sadness seeped into Edan’s voice, despite his effort to hide it.
He pulled me close and kissed me. Roughly, then deeply, as if the intensity of his love would change my mind and make me go with him. It left me breathless. I clung to his neck, listening to the steady pounding of his heart.
He stroked my hair; then he took my cheeks between his hands and lifted my head so our eyes were level. “Thank you, Maia, for freeing me.”
“Be safe,” I whispered. “Remember, you’re mortal now. Don’t do anything foolish, and don’t take too long coming back to me.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “I won’t.”
He unthreaded his fingers from mine; then, with one last kiss, he turned and was gone.
I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Cold gripped my heart, twisting it tighter and tighter as if preparing it to break. Numbly, I closed my curtains, letting shadows fall over my room.
Drums pounded from the temple, a sign the emperor had arrived for his noon prayers to celebrate the red sun. The sound made the water in my washbowl quiver.
I dipped my fingers in the water and splashed my face.
“You freed your enchanter,” murmured a dark, rippling voice. “A mistake, Maia Tamarin. A grave mistake. I warned you that if Edan broke his oath, I would return for you.”
I froze. I couldn’t pick out where the sound was coming from. It seemed to resonate from the walls.
“Look again,” the voice whispered.
I swallowed, then moved into my workroom. The loom was empty, as were the chairs and table. I went back into my bedroom—there was Bandur, in the mirror.
“Did you know,” he said, “they used to play drums to scare off demons?”
I pulled back my shoulders and straightened. “If you’ve come for me, I’m not afraid.”
“Your trembling voice gives you away, Maia Tamarin,” Bandur purred. “I only wish to have a word with you.” The demon took on Sendo’s visage, and my brother smiled at me in the mirror. “Perhaps this will help.”
“Leave my brother out of this,” I spat.
Bandur laughed, and his features rearranged themselves into his usual form. “You surprised me, Maia Tamarin. Edan’s soul was a great prize, but you, the tailor who summoned Amana to life—you might be more valuable yet.”
“If you’ve come to take me to Lapzur, then do it.” I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails bit into my palms. “Or have you not the strength to cross this far from your realm?”
Bandur floated in the glass, his flat, obsidian eyes that bled ash and death gazing at me. “I don’t need to take you to Lapzur.” His hand pierced the mirror, and I staggered back. “You will come of your own volition.”
“I’ll never go back to that treacherous place,” I snapped. “Never.”
“We shall see,” Bandur said with a laugh. “Now that your beloved enchanter is free, he cannot protect you from me. In due time, you’ll beg to take my place as guardian of Lapzur.”
His certainty prickled my stomach with dread. “You’re delusional, demon.”
“Am I?” he rasped. “If you had been a mere girl, your fate would have been easier. I would have spread your bones across the earth so your soul would wander restless. But no, Edan was right. You are no mere girl. So now, the price you pay must be higher. Amana warned you of this.”
My knees should have shaken, and my stomach should have clenche
d, but I felt nothing. I looked at him defiantly. “I’m not afraid.”
“Then it has already begun,” said Bandur. “Demons do not feel fear.”
The cold surging in my chest rioted, and I let out a suffocated gasp. “No. No.”
“Yes, with every second, you become more like me. Soon the drums will only remind you of the heart you once had. Every beat you miss, every chill that touches you is a sign of the darkness folding over you. One day, it will take you away from all that you know and cherish: your memories, your face, your name. Not even your enchanter will love you when you wake as a demon.”
“No!” I shouted, pounding my fist against the mirror. “What you say isn’t true.”
Bandur caught my wrist, his black nails scraping against my skin. “Be happy, Maia. It will not last.”
Then he was gone.
Slowly, I crumpled to the ground. Bandur had to be lying. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.
I wanted to weep, but no tears would fall. And no matter how I tried to summon fear, I could not. Deep down I knew Bandur was right. There was a crack in my soul, a new hollow where shadows seeped in and folded over my heart. Soon it would shatter me, and I’d become like him. A demon.
“I am Maia Tamarin,” I told the mirror. “Daughter of Kalsang and Liling Tamarin, sister of Finlei and Sendo and Keton.” I swallowed. “Lover of Edan.” I said this over and over, remembering the faces of my parents and brothers and Edan, remembering my childhood by the ocean and my love for silk and colors and light. I remembered what I had lost, and what I had gained, and the pain of Edan’s leaving without knowing I’d deceived him. Finally, the tears came, choking me with emotion as I rocked myself back and forth.
I missed Baba and Keton so much. So, so much.
Be happy, Bandur had taunted me. It will not last.
How could I be happy without my family? I’d thought coming to the palace would save Baba and his shop, but I’d been so wrong. And now, without Edan—
Suddenly I remembered Edan’s gift and his words: It’ll bring some happiness back to your family.
I rubbed my eyes and dug furiously in my trunk for the last walnut Edan had given me. When I found it, I clenched it in my fist, clinging to its warmth.
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