Unravel the Dusk

by Elizabeth Lim

  I had been the one to start the fire. Not Bandur, but me.

  He was right. This—all this—was a warning that I was changing. That if I didn’t come to Lapzur, I would hurt those I cared about.

  “We have to go,” I said to Ammi. My voice crawled from my throat. I needed to get out of here, as far from what I had done as possible. Before I hurt anyone else.

  “We have to help them. The inn, all these people—”

  “Nothing can help them now,” I replied crisply. “We must go before the emperor hears of this and finds us. Or the shansen.”

  As soon as I’d said it, I wished I could take the words back.

  Ammi looked at me as if she didn’t recognize me.

  I tugged Ammi away from the blazing inn when my demon’s sight flared, showing me a little girl screaming inside. Her mother crouched over her, shielding her with her body.

  The roof of the inn cracked, and my heart clenched.

  My eyes burned with the same terrible heat before they turned red. Not caring who saw, I barreled into the inn, threading through the flames as if they were gusts of wind, not torrents of fire. My lungs shrieked for want of air, but I kept going.

  The girl and her mother were barely conscious, huddled in the corner of the room, heartbreakingly close to the window—their means of escape. When I reached them, they hardly acknowledged me. The little girl let out a groan.

  The human Maia couldn’t carry a mother and her child to safety. Couldn’t even drag both of them the few meters across the room to the window.

  But the demon Maia could.

  A laugh echoed inside my mind—or was it the crackle of the fire around me? I could not tell. I hurried toward the pair and rushed them to the window. It was already open, but the fire had progressed to the roof, gnawing hungrily at the gray tiles. We’d have to get down somehow. Before the inn collapsed and the girl and her mother perished.

  Each second mattered. I tore the enchanted rug out of my pouch and set the mother and daughter on it. I wouldn’t fit.

  “Fly!” I yelled as it quivered to life. “Take them down!”

  Once the rug spiraled out of sight, I leapt after it onto the roof. The fire sprang after me, needling my ankles, and I danced along the clattering roof tiles to keep my shoes from burning. I felt no pain. I did not burn.

  Once I saw the carpet deliver the mother and girl to safety, I circled to the back of the inn where no one would see me and jumped to the ground, my arms held out as if they were wings.

  I landed silently, with impossible grace.

  Well done, Maia, Bandur purred. But it is just the beginning. Will you put more innocent lives at risk? Or have you learned your lesson? Will you face your fate at last?

  “I’ll come to Lapzur,” I whispered. My throat burned. Everything tasted of ashes. Of doom. “I’ll come to Lapzur, but on my terms.”

  My voice hardened. “I’ll be there before the next full moon. I’ll not come before I see Edan.”

  A claw of fire bit into the inn’s roof, and I stifled a scream as tiles smashed down onto the ground.

  You have nerve, to bargain with a demon.

  “You want your freedom, don’t you? Then let me relish the last of mine.”

  You do not seem to understand that it is you who are the danger. The longer you stay away from the isles, the more harm you will bring to those you love.

  He laughed. I will give you two weeks. Bring the enchanter if you wish, but I won’t promise he will be safe on Lapzur. If you do not arrive by sundown, no one you love will be safe anywhere.

  “I’ll be there.”

  No sooner did the promise leave my lips than rain poured down in sheets. Steam rose from the inn’s walls, a sudden wind chasing away the smoke. As fast as it had come alive, the fire began to die.

  The villagers fell to their knees, thanking the gods. I watched from afar as they took in the stranded guests and gave them shelter.

  No one had died in the fire, yet guilt writhed in my chest.

  Whatever consequences I’d have to face for agreeing to go to Lapzur were worth it. I’d never been so relieved to see rain. I couldn’t help but feel it was washing away the blood on my hands.

  Ammi found me, hiding in the shadows.

  “How are they?” I asked. “The mother and the child.”

  “They’ll live. Thanks to you.” She knelt beside me. “You told me you’d be more of a danger than help to A’landi if you stayed in the Winter Palace. Is this what you meant by it?”

  “Yes,” I whispered. My pulse pushed into my throat. “We should part here. I’ll only get worse. The fire, I think I started it because I was angry—” I stopped. How to explain it to her? I didn’t know where to begin.

  “I’ve noticed your eyes,” she said. “They burn red sometimes. It frightened me at first, but I know you, Master Tamarin. Maia. This isn’t you.”

  This isn’t me. That was what I’d been telling myself all this time. But soon it would be me. Soon I wouldn’t be able to hide from myself any longer.

  “Ammi, I…” I wanted to tell her what was happening to me. She’d already guessed and come close, but still, I held back the truth.

  She seemed to understand. “I’m not going to leave you. Whatever is happening to you, it is against your will.”

  My mouth tasted bitter. “I don’t think even Edan can help me now.”

  “He can,” Ammi insisted. “Keep your faith. If you can’t, then I will for you.”

  I said nothing. I couldn’t even thank her.

  “We should go now.” She lowered her voice, which quivered when she spoke, “People saw your carpet, and those two men—the ones with the Northern accents—they’ve started asking everyone questions about you.”

  I went still, remembering the two who’d commented on the fire earlier. So they were the shansen’s men.

  “You’d be safer without me,” I told Ammi.

  “I can’t go back to the palace.” She was afraid; I could hear it in the unsteadiness of her words. But she lifted her chin bravely. “Maybe I would be safer, but you wouldn’t be. This isn’t a fight you win alone, Maia. Until you’re reunited with the Lord Enchanter, I will take care of you.”

  “Then, let’s go.” The carpet had returned to me, and I unrolled it, holding it up. It juddered and shook before it finally lifted, hovering just above the rain accumulating at my ankles.

  But as Ammi jumped onto the carpet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d be safer here, that I should insist that she stay.

  You do need her, I reassured myself again. You need a friend.

  But you might hurt her.

  It chilled me that I couldn’t tell whether the voice was mine or the demon’s inside me.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The storm followed us. Ribbons of lightning streaked across the darkened sky, and thunder boomed in long, shuddering rolls. It was hard not to think of Bandur’s laughter as Ammi and I wove through the clouds, but I had other concerns. We had little money and no food. Worse, both Khanujin’s soldiers and the shansen’s were looking for me.

  Ammi slept, curled into a small ball on her side of the carpet.

  I left her alone, grateful she was finding rest, while a part of me envied her peace. Even if I were able to sleep, my mind wouldn’t let me rest. I couldn’t stop reliving my last conversation with Edan.

  Meet me in the forest with the poplar trees. I’ll find you.

  The forest wasn’t much of a detour on the way to Lapzur. I could easily stop there with a few days to spare—as long as the magic in my carpet didn’t run out.

  So why did I hesitate? I wanted to see him. Gods knew I did.

  And yet…Bandur had agreed too easily to let me bring Edan. Far too easily.

  I gripped the ends of my sleeves tight, twisting thei
r burnt edges with my fingers.

  Who would I even be by the end of the fortnight? Someone who couldn’t feel love? Someone who couldn’t be loved?

  I felt more of myself slipping away. No matter how hard I tried to hold on to my memories, they were like water, leaking through the seams of my fingers. When I thought of Edan, I remembered how my name on his tongue would send a rush of warmth and joy surging through me, but I couldn’t remember how it felt to touch him. I couldn’t even remember what his voice sounded like.

  It wasn’t just Edan. Baba and Keton, too. Soon their drawings in my sketchbook would not be enough to remind me how much I loved them.

  Dawn touched the threads of my carpet, its misty rays illuminating the world below. The rain was finally abating, and I lifted my cloak to glance at Ammi. Her eyebrows pinched together in a restless sleep, her cheeks flushed in spite of the cold.

  I laid my palm against her forehead. “Demon’s breath,” I muttered. She was burning up. “Ammi?”

  She rolled her head to the side, shivering under her damp cloak.

  “Hmmm,” she slurred. “Let me sleep.”

  I had to get her somewhere warm and dry. But where?

  We were flying over a cluster of sandstone pillars; the mist-covered landscape extended for miles of gorges and ravines, the cascades of rushing waterfalls so far below they looked like a painting. I squinted, making out a large city ahead, not far away. From the unusual landscape, I guessed it was Nissei, one of the richest cities in A’landi.

  Nissei sat on the south bank of the Changi River, surrounded by the famous Sand Needle Forests. Although it wasn’t along the Spice Road, many merchants came to trade for its famed porcelain. It was said that the secrets of bone china rivaled the secrets of silk, and certainly, since porcelain was so valuable, every child in Nissei learned to paint china before learning to write.

  I was wary of stopping in such a busy city, but there was no time to search for a better option. The storm had relented, but more dark clouds gathered on the horizon. And Nissei was in the Bansai Province.

  “Master Longhai’s home,” I murmured to myself. He had always been kind to me, even though we’d been competing against each other to become His Majesty’s tailor. He would take us in.

  If I could find him.

  It was early enough that fishermen were still coasting the river, so I landed the carpet near an empty part of the port.

  “Ammi,” I said, hoisting her arms around my neck. “Ammi, I’m going to take you to see Master Longhai.”

  I dragged her to one of the side streets and yelled for the first wagon I saw, pulled by two mules and driven by a boy with a straw hat and dirty fingernails.

  “What’s wrong with your friend?” the boy asked.

  He wouldn’t take her if he knew she was sick. Big cities feared plague, and with winter near, people were bound to be more vigilant.

  “Too much to drink,” I lied, forcing a hearty laugh. “I need to get him home. Master Longhai will be so worried. Could you stop by his shop?”

  The boy frowned. “I’m not going into the city….” Then his eyebrows rose at the thought of a reward from the wealthy tailor. “But I suppose I could make a detour.”

  I was already loading Ammi onto the wagon.

  I pretended to sleep so the driver wouldn’t ask me any more questions, but I stole glances at the city when he wasn’t looking. Cobblestone streets, washed clean by the rain, with curly green moss growing between the stones, brick houses with wooden balconies decked with strings of lanterns, a serpentine canal whose stench offended my nostrils.

  Imperial scrolls hung on every street, but we moved too fast for me to read them. I tensed, hoping they weren’t posters seeking my whereabouts. Or Edan’s.

  Finally, we arrived in front of Longhai’s shop. A board hanging on the door announced that he was not open for business this week.

  Please, I pleaded, pounding on his door. Please, Longhai, please be here.

  Someone answered. A woman with a long face, wearing a tightly pulled bun and a measuring string coiled around her neck.

  She gave me a hard look. What a sight I must have been—rain-washed, sleep-deprived, and dressed in tattered clothing.

  “We don’t answer to beggars.”

  “I’m not a— Wait!” I grabbed the side of the door before it closed in my face.

  The seamstress glowered at me. I couldn’t risk saying I was one of the tailors from the trial.

  “It’s urgent.” I gestured at Ammi, still in the wagon. “My friend needs medical attention.”

  The door began to close on me. “The hospital is on Paiting Road.”

  “Please!” I burst out desperately. “It’s—”

  “Madam Su, what is this din?” a familiar voice interrupted. “I am trying to work.”

  “Master Longhai!” I shouted. “It’s me!”

  Longhai’s portly form appeared in the hallway. “Master Tamarin,” he said, stunned, pulling me inside. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m with a friend. She…she’s ill, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “Say no more.” He ushered me into the hall, waving a thick hand at the seamstress. “Madam Su, pay the driver and bring the girl inside.”

  Outside, the rain was starting up again.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again for a long time, Tamarin. You are welcome here. I’ll see to it that your friend has proper care.”

  I nodded my thanks.

  “Now we’ll get you some clean clothes—and lunch! I remember you always forgot to eat. We’ll have to fatten you up while you’re here.”

  Madam Su and her assistants returned into the shophouse with Ammi, and motioned for me to follow them.

  “She has a fever,” I said, intercepting Madam Su. “Please take good care of her.”

  The old woman’s stern face finally softened. “I’ve had four daughters who’ve been through worse. As long as we get her dried and warm, she will recover.”

  After I washed and changed, Master Longhai gave me a tour of his shop. There were workrooms for cutting, embroidering, and tailoring, and a room for storing fabrics and threads, as well as the garments Longhai’s staff had prepared for his clients: brocade skirts, sashes embroidered with golden carp, and robe after robe of richly dyed silk, tunics trimmed with gold-inlaid designs so fine they shimmered.

  Longhai was a master at painting silk, so he had a studio for himself with a dazzling array of paint pots and inkstones. Hand-painted fans rested on a pine table opposite his workspace. A scroll with the seal from the previous emperor, Khanujin’s father, hung on the wall, commending Longhai for the mastery of his craft.

  Seeing all this, I felt a heaviness in my heart. Only a few months ago, all I’d ever dreamed of was becoming an imperial tailor, of one day having my own shop and my own family.

  Now I wasn’t sure that would ever happen.

  Longhai didn’t ask me any questions. What I was really doing here, why I wasn’t still working for Khanujin, why I hadn’t introduced myself with my real name to Madam Su at the door.

  Guilt bubbled up my throat, a confession spilling out before I could stop it.

  “About the trial,” I began, “I’m sorry I deceived you—about being a man.”

  “I don’t care whether you’re a mare or a stallion, young Tamarin. You are too skilled. Even if I were blind, I would hire you in an instant. I’ve never met your father, but I imagine he must be quite proud of you.”

  I wished I could beam from his praise, but it was hard enough to summon a smile. “I’m not so sure of that anymore.”

  Hesitation creased Longhai’s brow, and he closed the door behind us. “I received this a few days ago,” he said, unrolling a sheet of parchment from his desk drawer.

  It was a drawing of me.
Quite accurate, too. The artist had captured my freckles as well as how I usually parted my hair, and I was even biting my lip the way I tended to when I was nervous.

  Maia Tamarin, age 18. May be traveling under the identity of her brother Keton Tamarin. If found, bring to authorities immediately, alive. Reward of 10,000 gold jens.

  “Master Longhai, I can explain—” My tongue groped to find the right words.

  Longhai ripped the drawing in half. “I’m sure it must be a misunderstanding. If you wish, I could speak to the governor on your behalf. I have some influence in this city, and he will listen to me.”

  “It is not that simple,” I said. “But thank you.”

  “Then you are welcome to hide here as long as you wish. My staff can be trusted, but be wary. Even the most honest man will turn into a viper for a sum of ten thousand jens.”

  Ten thousand jens. Not long ago, I’d never even dreamed of seeing such a sum. Now it was the reward for my capture.

  I swallowed. “I noticed the scrolls hanging from the buildings in Nissei. Are they notices about me?”

  “No, they’re conscriptions.” Longhai’s tone turned grave. “Haven’t you heard? His Majesty is drafting men into the army once more.” He leaned against his desk. “My sons were taken along with many of my workers.”

  The floorboards tilted, and the edges of my vision blurred. The whole shop could have collapsed and I would have stood there, immobilized by shock. All I could think about was Keton. Gods, if the emperor came for him again, then everything I’d done would have been for nothing.

  “I knew the war had resumed.” The muscles in my throat were so tight it hurt to speak. “But if it’s reached this far south already…I thought we’d have more time.”

  “Unfortunately not,” replied Longhai. “There was a battle in the Jingshan Province, not far from the Winter Palace. His Majesty lost a thousand men. He needs more.”

  I balled my fists, trying to ignore the anger gathering under my skin. There was no hope of a truce, not with Lady Sarnai missing. Not with Edan powerless.