Unravel the Dusk

by Elizabeth Lim

  Our tiny room had two moth-bitten cots beside the window, cobwebs slung across the corners, a lone candle on a rickety table, and a pot of incense for prayer. The ceiling creaked every time a loose tile on the roof rattled, but no wind leaked in through the window cracks, and we had a kettle full of hot water.

  This was luxury compared to our tent.

  “There’s a peddler selling fruits and steamed buns on the street,” Ammi said, glancing out the window. “It’ll be cheaper to buy from him than to eat at the inn. Do you want anything?”

  I peeked outside too. Behind the peddler, someone wheeled another cart, selling honeycomb cookies and peanut cakes. My stomach grumbled with a familiar longing for something sweet.

  “Maybe a honeycomb cookie if you have spare change left over,” I suggested.

  The hint of a smile lifted Ammi’s lips. “You like honeycomb cookies? I like them too.” Then her smile vanished, and her brow furrowed.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “All the food I took from the palace is gone. We have enough money for the room and dinner tonight, but…” Her voice faltered. “If you made something, I could sell it. Nothing fancy. A simple handkerchief might be enough.”

  Since making His Majesty’s cloak, I had barely touched a needle. I was afraid my fingers had forgotten how to sew. I’d never gone more than a few days without them itching to work. I bit my lip. “I didn’t bring any—”

  “Use this,” she said, pushing a handful of red silk cloths into my hand. The color was washed out from the storm, but I recognized them as napkins from the wedding banquet.

  A flush deepened Ammi’s cheeks, as if I had accused her. “The maids steal every now and then. There’s a whole black market for items from the palace. I’ve never taken anything before. Never. Except for these and the food we needed for our journey. Besides, His Majesty owes us ten thousand jens for our help finding Lady Sarnai….”

  Her voice trailed off, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing: that it was money we’d likely never see, given we’d aided Sarnai’s escape from the Autumn Palace.

  “I wasn’t rebuking you,” I said. “I’m…impressed.”

  “Oh.” She reached into her pocket and produced three thin spools of thread and a needle. “I asked the innkeeper for these.”

  The color was a dull red and the thread coarse, clearly meant to be used for mending. It would have to do.

  When she left, I unwound the thread from the spools, ignoring the scissors throbbing at my hip. They yearned to work again.

  “Not now,” I murmured to them. It had been so long since I’d sewn without magic. I needed this task more than my scissors did.

  I picked up the needle, rolling it between my thumb and first finger. The two weeks I’d slept after defeating the shansen had made my fingers stiff and clumsy. My first stitches on the napkin were crooked and uneven, some petals of the flower I was trying to embroider bigger than others. Frustrated, I picked them apart, then tried again.

  I loosened my grip on the napkin and slowed down, letting each dip of the needle match the steady rhythm of my breath. As I worked, I hummed the tune Edan used to play on his flute. A twinge of regret fluttered in my chest. If I went straight to Lapzur, I’d never get a chance to give his flute back to him.

  Ammi returned just as I was finishing the last handkerchief. In her basket were sand pears, a box of steamed buns, and one large honeycomb cookie fresh off the griddle.

  I held the cookie on my palm, the heat seeping through the thin banana leaf that wrapped it, and inhaled. Not one of the hundred dishes I’d sampled during the royal wedding could compare to the sweetness of this treat.

  “It’s all yours,” she said, grinning at my blissful expression. “I ate mine on the way back.”

  I wasted no time and took a bite, sinking my teeth into the crispy golden edge, then savoring the syrupy honey as it melted on my tongue. After days of salted meats and leftover banquet food, how wonderful it felt to eat something hot, fresh, and simple.

  I licked my fingers clean and let out a contented sigh.

  “My cookies are better, to be honest,” Ammi said slyly. “I’ll make you some one day.”

  “I didn’t know you baked.”

  “The emperor’s bakers get overworked sometimes. I’d help when I had a spare moment. You don’t get such prosperous cheeks by serving tea all day.” She patted her face. “Used to dream I’d open my own shop, if I ever got out of being a maid. Maybe it would become so famous my family would hear about it.”

  She pursed her lips.

  “Is that why you wanted to win the ten thousand jens?” I asked her gently.

  Ammi shrugged, not wanting to talk about her home anymore. “Baking makes me happy.” She picked up one of the handkerchiefs I’d made. I hoped she wouldn’t notice the dropped stitches on the earlier ones, how some of the petals were uneven. “I’ve noticed two things make you happy. Sweets and sewing.”

  I laughed. “Very observant.”

  “You ought to sew more,” Ammi continued. “You look happier than I’ve seen you in weeks. The Lord Enchanter will be glad to see it.”

  At the mention of Edan, my shoulders sagged. “He won’t. I should tell you, Ammi, I’ve made up my mind not to see—”

  Ammi raised her finger to her lips and darted to the side of the window, closing the curtains with a jerk.

  I heard shouting outside, and horses neighing. Nothing out of the ordinary, given that the inn was on the village’s main street.

  “What’s the matter?” I whispered.

  “Soldiers.”

  The muscles in my jaw stiffened. “Here?”

  She nodded grimly. “That’s not all. The peddler mentioned that mercenaries had been spotted in the next province.”

  The shansen’s men.

  She looked at me, her expression beseeching me for answers. “The emperor’s men are looking for a woman with red eyes. An enchantress. But people are saying she’s a demon.”

  What could I say? She’d seen my red eyes before. I couldn’t deny I was who they were looking for.

  “I’m not a demon, Ammi.” I swallowed, about to add “Not yet,” but she looked so relieved I couldn’t bring myself to undo the lie.

  “The shansen’s demon must have cursed you somehow. You seek the Lord Enchanter to help you.”

  My mouth went dry, the sweet aftertaste of the honeycomb cookie turning sour.

  I didn’t reply. She wasn’t that far from the truth. Maybe it was better that she believed the shansen’s demon had cursed me.

  Ammi flinched as we heard men shouting downstairs. “What should we do?”

  “We stay tonight, leave first thing in the morning. People think we’re brothers, and His Majesty’s men couldn’t possibly know our true identities.”

  Besides, I thought, I’d much rather face Khanujin’s soldiers than the shansen’s mercenaries.

  Ammi took the handkerchiefs I’d embroidered. “I’ll see if I can learn more.”

  “You’re a true friend, Ammi” was all I could manage. I pray you won’t regret it.

  * * *

  • • •

  While Ammi was gone, I lit a candle to ward off the coming dusk, but the shadows that danced along the dented walls stirred my nightmares. Wolves with sharp teeth. Tigers with crooked claws. Birds with broken wings.

  Under the waning flame, I studied my old drawings of Edan, memorizing the sharp angles of his face, the tiny crook of his nose, and wishing I’d taken the time to paint the black of his hair, the blue of his eyes.

  I should try to summon him again, I thought as I flipped the pages of my sketchbook. But after passing my portraits of Baba and Keton, I stopped at a blank page.

  Edan could wait. I needed to draw Ammi first, before I forgot her too.

&nb
sp; I got as far as outlining the contours of her face, when the door rattled open.

  “Look, fifty jens,” Ammi said proudly, showing me the coins in her hand. “It’s not much, but it’ll pay for another night here, and tomorrow I can buy more food.” She noted my sketchbook and hovered over it. “Is that me? I want to see.”

  “It’s not finished,” I said, hastily shutting it, but Ammi put her hand over mine, her nails digging into my flesh.

  I jerked away from her. “Ammi?”

  A sneer formed on her lips, twisting her kind face into one I hardly recognized.

  “What? You don’t like me this way?” Bandur spoke through Ammi’s lips.

  “Get out of her,” I said, grabbing my friend by the neck. I didn’t realize the power of my strength until I was holding her up high, her boots kicking above the ground.

  Bandur laughed, a giggly sound that sliced through me like a knife.

  I set Ammi down, and she slumped into the chair.

  “Enough, Bandur,” I said icily. “Let her go.”

  Ammi looked up, the whites of her eyes bleeding a red so bright I flinched. The color washed out of her face, her skin becoming so pale it matched the alabaster walls behind her.

  “You are the danger to her, not I,” said Bandur. He tilted Ammi’s head so I could see the bruises my fingers had made on her neck. “Look—see what you’ve done.”

  Shame rippled inside me. “No,” I whispered. “That was you….”

  “The longer you stay among these mortals, the greater the harm you will bring to them. You would do well to tell your enchanter that.” The demon forced Ammi’s mouth into a coy smile. “He searches for you day after day.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Edan was looking for me?

  “But even he knows he cannot save you, Sentur’na,” Bandur continued. “You will kill him before he can even try.” The demon paused, reveling in my pained expression. “Return now to Lapzur.”

  “I will return.” My hands flew up to the walnut pendant hidden beneath my tunic. “But when I do, I will fight you.”

  Bandur snorted. “You will lose. Your pledge is unbreakable, and not even your precious dresses can save you. Accept your fate, Maia Tamarin. There is nothing you can do to change it.”

  A red string appeared, connecting me to Bandur. Seeing it, I gasped.

  “Nothing,” he whispered. Then a haze of smoke lifted from Ammi’s limp form, and he was gone.

  Ammi didn’t wake when I shook her, but she was still breathing. Thank the gods for that.

  I slammed my fists on the table so hard that the walls shook. Anger swelled in my chest, fury choking me. “I never, never should have brought her with me.”

  I tore off my pendant, ignoring the wash of dizziness that came over me, and placed it on the table beside the mirror of truth.

  I thought hard of Edan, searching for him to tell him I was going to Lapzur and that he must not come for me. I was going to Lapzur alone.

  My blood still pulsating with rage, I picked up the mirror. Then the walls of my room in the inn disappeared, and the glass misted.

  Edan.

  He sat in meditation, but his eyes flew open before I called his name. At the sight of me, his lips formed a faint smile.

  “Maia,” he said softly, slowly lingering on the music of my name.

  “I’m not coming to you,” I said abruptly. “I have to go to Lapzur before…” My voice trailed. I didn’t need to finish what I was going to say.

  The softness of Edan’s tone vanished. “Let go!”

  The edge in his voice startled me. “Don’t use the amulet. The more you rely on its magic, the harder it will become for you to resist turning into a demon.”

  “It’s not a demon’s amulet,” I argued. “It’s a pendant, full of Amana’s power. The dresses will help me defeat Bandur.”

  “The power of Amana sings through the dresses you have made. But now that power has been exposed to your pledge to Bandur. You must not use it, you must not corrupt its magic. Be strong, xitara. You’re stronger than this.”

  My eyes were starting to burn, and I turned away.

  It was the truth I’d been afraid to confront—to even think about. Sometimes, when a shadow fell over me, I looked down to see my pendant bathed in darkness, the way it had become when I’d made Emperor Khanujin’s cloak. One day, I feared, it would blacken forever, like the amulets belonging to Bandur and Gyiu’rak.

  “You’re already changing, aren’t you?” he said.

  The words stung, but I couldn’t deny them. “I summoned you to say goodbye,” I said. “I’m not going to meet you at the temple.”

  “I don’t care what you’re becoming, I want to see you.” Even through the cloudiness of the mirror’s glass, his cool blue eyes pierced mine. “Meet me in the forest with the poplar trees. I’ll find you.”

  There were hundreds of forests with poplar trees in A’landi, but I knew which one he meant. We’d been happy there, before we had journeyed to Lake Paduan.

  “If you won’t come see Master Tsring, at least come for me.”

  One last time, I thought, and nodded just before the mirror fogged and the vision of Edan left me. My pendant rattled against the mirror, the crack in its center gleaming.

  Sentur’na, Sentur’na, Bandur mocked, his voice creeping into my mind. The shadow of a wolf prowled my walls.

  “GO AWAY!” I yelled.

  Your enchanter cannot help you. Neither can his master. This is my final caution: come to Lapzur. Now.

  “Or what?” I retorted. “You’ll send your ghosts to fetch me?”

  Worse, Sentur’na. Worse. I’ll take away everyone who matters to you. Perhaps I will begin with your friend here. Bandur’s shadow eclipsed Ammi’s sleeping figure, a claw stroking her cheek. She has such a sweet and caring disposition…a true friend.

  “Leave Ammi alone!” I lunged for my pendant, which flared hot with power.

  Bandur’s laugh grew louder and louder, boiling from the walls until I thought I might burst with rage. Sparks of light hissed from my fingertips, but I was too furious to wonder what was happening. Angrily, I hurled a stool at the wall, until his shadow disappeared.

  From behind, Ammi grabbed me and a tide of relief washed over me. She was herself. Except terror was twisting her face, and darts of light flashed in her eyes as she shouted something I could not hear.

  Then the edges of my vision came into focus, and my hearing returned.

  “Fire!” she was shouting. “Fire!”

  Our room had burst into flames.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The fire snaked ruthlessly across the ceiling and raced down the walls. I lunged for my pouch, stamping out the sparks that clung to its tassels.

  Ammi bolted for the door, and I was right behind her when I remembered Edan’s mirror still on the table. I needed it, and I spun back, only to be greeted by a flash of blistering heat.

  A high wall of flames shot up, dancing around the perimeter of the table. No coincidence that the shape of a wolf emerged from the blaze, eyes glimmering, milky-white teeth in its jaw stretched open in a silent laugh. Come into the fire, Sentur’na.

  Smoke bled into my eyes and scorched my cheeks, but it wasn’t the heat that made me hesitate. Nor was it Bandur….

  “Leave it!” Ammi yelled, pulling me toward the door. She couldn’t see Bandur, couldn’t hear him taunting me.

  I yanked my arm away from her and turned back for the mirror.

  Bandur vanished, leaving only his wall of fire behind. It roared at me hungrily, the high flames blackening the edges of my sleeves and my trousers to near-ashes.

  No more hesitation. My fingertips closed over the mirror’s handle, and its glass shimmered, glazed with heat. Touching it should have seared my flesh, just as rushing throug
h the fire should have killed me—yet I felt no pain. If anything, the fire was feathery and soft, its warmth melting the cold inside me. This was what I had feared. This was why Bandur had wanted me to come into the fire….

  Did I imagine it, or was my skin glistening as if ignited by a thousand sparks? I watched, mesmerized, as my nails became as pale as the blue heart of the flames—

  “Hurry, Maia!”

  Behind me, the fire gathered in intensity. The walls were about to cave in. Grabbing the mirror, I took a step back, toward Ammi’s voice—and I tripped.

  The mirror tumbled out of my hand and shattered.

  NO! A strangled scream came out of my throat as I fumbled on the floor to gather the broken shards. Sparks flared at my face, ashes flying into my eyes. I coughed into my sleeve. The smoke was getting thicker, the fire stronger.

  Ammi yanked me to my feet. “We have to go! Maia!”

  I reeled at her angrily, nearly wrestling her, but she hooked my arm through hers and pushed me out of the collapsing room.

  My anger faded. It’d nearly gotten us both killed.

  I covered my mouth with my sleeve, but the smoke was already so thick it coated my lips and lashes. It was harder on Ammi. She was choking on it. If we didn’t get out, she’d suffocate. She’d die.

  We stumbled down the wooden stairs, one step ahead of the flaming falling beams. The altar by the door had crumbled, the painted faces of the gods melting, and the oranges that had been offered in prayer were charred like the dark side of the moon.

  When at last we made it outside, Ammi sucked in a desperate gulp of air. I did the same, the cold stinging my throat before it settled into my lungs.

  The other guests stood, helplessly watching the fire devour the inn, its flames roaring against the cloudless black night. None of them knew how it had started, or where it had come from. But some were starting to speculate.

  “The forests in the North have fires like this. You see the red tips?”

  “Demon fire.”

  I whirled and looked at the fire more closely, watching the edges dance with an unnaturally red sheen. My fingers still burned. No more sparks danced from their tips, but my nails were blackened and burnt. And suddenly I knew.