The shansen had Gyiu’rak on his side. He was too strong. He’d rip apart my country thread by thread.
A’landi would fall.
Rain and thunder filled the silence between us, and I breathed in. Slowly, my shoulders fell.
“We can do nothing,” Longhai said, answering his own question, given my silence. “You have nothing to worry about while you’re under my care—”
“His Majesty’s soldiers are here?” I asked, my blood turning cold.
“They left a few days ago, after it was announced the war had begun again. They are marching north to defend the Winter Palace. It’s said the shansen’s army is gathered there.”
A mix of relief and dread came over me. “I was there.”
“They won’t be back to look for you,” Longhai assured me.
All I could manage was a meager smile. I’d expected a hundred men and women under his employ, but there were only a handful of seamstresses tittering by the cutting tables. Now I knew why.
“Do you know where the conscription officers are headed next?”
Please don’t say south, I silently pleaded. Not to Port Kamalan.
“I don’t know,” Longhai replied. “You look worried, Master Tamarin.”
“For my brother. The only one I have left.”
The older tailor eyed me. “The real Keton?”
“It was he who was badly injured in the war,” I said grimly. “I took his place to come to the trial. I’ve already lost two brothers to the war. I fear if there’s another…” I couldn’t finish my thought. My hands fell to my sides.
“The war took my companion as well,” said Longhai quietly. “He was dearer to me than anyone in the world.”
I looked up at him. I hadn’t known. “Oh, Master Longhai…”
He spoke over me, “Time eases all wounds, even ones to the heart. All I pray now is that my sons will have a kinder fate. And your brother.”
I didn’t dare pray. Who knew whether it would be gods or demons that listened to me? But I nodded.
“You should write to Keton and your father. Even a few words will ease their worry—I speak as a father, and as a friend. I will have the letter sent discreetly.”
“Thank you, Master Longhai,” I said softly. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you. For letting us stay here…and for being so kind to me during the trial. You should consider yourself fortunate you did not win.”
“I heard she asked you to make the dresses of Amana,” Longhai said slowly. “Did you truly succeed?”
Now I hesitated. “I did.”
“What I would give to see them.”
I didn’t tell him I had the remaining two with me in my amulet. That secret I kept even from Ammi.
“They were supposed to bring peace,” I said at last. “But I’m beginning to believe it would have been better if I’d never made them at all. If I’d stayed in Port Kamalan and never come to the palace.”
“With your talent?” Longhai chuckled. Then, seeing how grim I looked, he sobered. “We do not choose to be tailors; the cloth chooses us. There’s a feeling in our fingers, a feeling in our heart. The gods saw fit for you to bring Amana’s dresses back to this earth. You must believe there is a reason for that, young Tamarin. A good reason.”
I responded with a numb nod. Once I would have believed him.
But it was far too late for me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Under Madam Su’s care, Ammi made a steady recovery. I wished I could sit by her bedside all day, but I’d promised Longhai I would help with his shop. So, while Ammi rested, I joined his staff in the workroom.
My scissors hummed at my hip while I worked, but I ignored their call. No magic for me today; sewing calmed me, and I needed the distraction. My fingers weren’t as nimble as they’d been a month ago, but the tasks Longhai gave me were simple. I stitched a shirt for a scholar and embroidered butterflies on a pair of slippers for a merchant’s daughter.
No one paid me any heed; there was too much work to be done, and the seamstresses were too busy chatting with one another.
“Ay, I heard Scholar Boudi took on a third concubine last week.”
“Another one? How he’s able to afford his household is beyond me.”
“Yes, yes. And think what will happen if war comes. The price of silk will go high!”
As I sat, listening to their gossip, I thought of the seamstresses I’d left behind in the Hall of Dutiful Mending. I hoped they had survived the shansen’s attack.
At noon, the seamstresses cleared the workroom for lunch. I stayed behind. I hadn’t been hungry in days.
“Aren’t you going to eat, my friend?” asked Longhai, seeing I was still at work. “There’s beef stew with rice noodles for lunch today, a shop favorite.”
I didn’t look up at him. “I’m nearly finished.”
He took the stool next to me and observed my work. “Your skill never fails to impress me, Master Tamarin.”
I held up the slippers I’d been embroidering. “There’s nothing impressive about this.”
He pointed at my tight, even stitches and the nine colors I had labored the last two hours to integrate into the design. “Even when your heart is only half in the work, you’re better than most masters out there. I should thank your father for keeping you in Port Kamalan. If you’d grown up in the Bansai Province, you’d have put me out of business.”
I chuckled. “Was your father also a tailor?”
“By the Sages, no. He was a porcelain painter, as was his father before him, and so on. Five generations of fine bone china in my family. Our shop was the first stop merchants made in Nissei. He nearly disowned me when I showed interest in becoming a tailor, but my grandfather saw I had some talent and permitted my mother to teach me embroidery in secret.” He gestured at a painting of his mother, which hung in a place of prominence, presiding over the workroom.
“My younger brother owns the porcelain store now. The war nearly destroyed both of our businesses; if not for each other, we would not have survived. Still, compared to others, fortune has been kind. I’ve my reputation, my health, and my shop.” He paused, and I knew he was thinking of his companion who’d been lost to the previous war and his sons who had recently been called to bear arms.
Lightning cracked the gloomy sky, and Longhai glanced out the window. “The dragons must be out to play,” he murmured.
“The dragons?” I repeated. “Is that a saying here?”
“You haven’t heard it before? I suppose Port Kamalan doesn’t get many typhoons during the summer. Bansai does, and heavy rains in the winter too.” Longhai opened a silk fan. “The Kiatans say that the dragons in heaven bring about mischief to the earth by causing rain and quakes. Their porcelain traders always used to mumble about it when they came during the summers, and we locals picked up the phrase. I rather like it.”
“It’s poetic.”
“Luckily for you, this is a little dragon. Makes travel inadvisable, but it’ll pass.”
The tailor reached into his pocket for some coins. “Now, this is going to be nothing compared to your salary in the palace, but—”
“I couldn’t take your money.” I shook my head. “Please. Especially not after you’ve been so kind to Ammi.”
Longhai set the money on the table, leaving it up to me to decide whether to take it. “Ammi?” His belly shook as he laughed, remembering. “Ah! The kitchen maid who used to serve you breakfast.”
“She’s become a close friend,” I replied. I’d been thinking about my next words ever since I’d arrived at his shop: “I wonder if she might stay on with you.”
Longhai folded up his fan. The amusement fled his eyes, and his features became solemn. “Going somewhere?”
I bit my lip. What could I say, that I was on my way to the Forgotten Isles of La
pzur to battle its guardian? That unless I defeated Bandur, I too would become a demon?
Or should I say I was looking for Edan?
Since Ammi had fallen ill, I’d avoided the thought of Edan. Was he already waiting for me in the forest? What if when I found him, I was more monster than Maia?
“I displeased Emperor Khanujin with my service,” I replied evasively, “so we’ve been trying to go as far from the Winter Palace as possible. Ammi’s done nothing wrong.”
“I see,” said Longhai quietly. “The Tambu Islands might provide sanctuary. Once this storm passes, I could help arrange passage—”
“I don’t plan on hiding,” I said firmly. I wouldn’t elaborate.
“What of the Lord Enchanter?”
My fingers stopped, and I pulled too hard on a thread, causing the fabric to bunch. With a frown, I started undoing the stitches I’d made too tight. Try as I might, I could not set them straight again.
Longhai placed a hand on my work, urging me to look up. His voice softened. “I have many friends who come and go from the palace. A little while before you arrived, news came that he is missing. And I heard he aided you in making the dresses of Amana.”
“He did,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about Edan.
“Master Tamarin…”
At the sound of my name, I bolted up. I wasn’t hungry, but I clutched my stomach, pretending to be suddenly famished.
“What was that you said about beef noodles, Master Longhai? Keep your coins, but I will have some lunch after all.”
Before he could respond—or ask me any more questions—I hurried out of the workroom.
* * *
• • •
The wind howled, a low guttural cry that made even the sturdy walls of Longhai’s shop tremble. The bowl of pins on my worktable rattled, and I bent over to relight my candle.
The seamstresses had left hours ago, and I sat alone by the weaving loom, watching the sheets of rain cascading outside.
I lifted my carpet from the loom; I’d repaired the holes and some of the tattered tassels, but its magic was threadbare. If I was lucky, it might give me a few more days of flight, then I’d have to make the rest of the trip on horseback.
But how to find the forest where I was to meet Edan?
I had no maps, no mirror of truth, and my demon sight had been utterly quiet since I’d made my bargain with Bandur.
A part of me wanted to renege on my promise and go to Lapzur without Edan. That had always been my plan—to go alone—but if I could still be honest with myself, it wasn’t because I was trying to be brave or honorable or true.
It was because I was afraid. Of myself.
Edan’s presence at Lapzur would only endanger his life—from Bandur and from me.
Yet…I’d made a promise, and the part of me that was still Maia wanted to, needed to, keep it…for the sake of clinging to whatever humanity was left in me. When and if I gave in to my fear of the demon in me, Bandur would already have won.
I need to find Edan, I thought. But how?
I’d been thinking about the story of the Kiatan princess Ammi had told me, and the paper cranes the princess had folded and enchanted to help her on her quest to find her brothers.
I would make a bird to find Edan.
With my scissors, I cut a small scrap from the carpet. The magic Edan had imbued into its fibers had weakened, but my scissors had magic enough to send it on a mission.
Carefully, I shaped the scrap into a bird. A knot of thread for eyes so it could see, and two wings so it could soar, strong and powerful, through this storm.
I touched the bird to my walnut amulet, painting its wings with a sliver of light from the tears of the moon, then I placed a gentle kiss on its head.
“Find Edan,” I whispered. “Search the forests and the mountains. Then come back to show me the way. And hurry.”
If I didn’t make it to Lapzur by next week—the full moon—Bandur and his ghosts would take away everyone I loved.
I would willingly surrender myself to him before I would let that happen. But not yet. Not if I might see Edan one last time. Not if together we stood a chance of defeating Bandur.
I opened the window a crack and sent the bird out, watching it weave between the needles of falling rain.
Then I waited.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“If you leave, you will not be welcomed back here.”
Edan didn’t hesitate. He pulled off his temple robe, folded it, and returned it to the old man—the master of the Temple of Nandun.
“You were meant for magic,” said the master, warning him one last time. “Do not undo the progress you’ve made here by going after this girl. Darkness consumes her. Do not let it doom you as well. Stay and finish your training.”
“I was meant for magic, once,” Edan agreed, “but because of Maia, I am no longer the enchanter I was before. I am meant for her now. Her above all else.”
Without waiting for the master to reply, he went to the stables for the stallion he had stolen from the Autumn Palace, and took off into the woods.
The Tura Mountains faded into the distance as Edan barreled through the forest. Every tree was a poplar, spines straight as bamboo rods, like a kingdom of needles.
Under his breath, I heard my name. “Maia,” he murmured. “Wait for me. I’m coming.”
At the sound of my name, whatever this was—a dream or my demon sight—disintegrated, and in its place appeared an image of my cloth bird. It fluttered against the wind, searching for Edan. It began to flap wildly when it found a pocket of poplars, deep within the woods, and my enchanter weaving through thickets.
My cloth bird had found him! Starlight shimmered over its wings as it shot up into the sky, making its way back to me, asleep in Master Longhai’s shophouse.
But then, the stars began to shatter. The ground shuddered, swallowing the trees and the mountains and the moon. Out of the dark chasm flew shadows with charcoal eyes and cloudy white hair.
Sentur’na.
My cloth bird pierced the crowd, wings flapping at the ghosts to fend them off. But there were too many. They surrounded my bed, skeletal arms outstretched. Their fingers circled my neck, squeezing away the last of my breath, and my pendant began to blacken….
“Wake up!” my bird shouted at me, suddenly able to speak. “Wake up!”
* * *
• • •
“Maia, wake up!”
I jolted upright on the bed, breathing hard.
A warm hand rested on my shoulder. “Breathe,” Ammi said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Breathe.”
My heart pounded wildly in my chest. “What…what…”
“You were shouting in your sleep.” My friend’s eyes shone with concern.
“Just a bad dream,” I said shakily.
“You’ve been having a lot of bad dreams.”
“What did I shout?”
Ammi let go of my shoulder. She looked tired, her blankets half tossed onto the ground. I must have disturbed her rest.
“You were speaking in a language I didn’t understand. It sounded like someone was trying to kill you. In the end you kept shouting one word.”
“One word?” I whispered, even though I already knew.
Shadows folded out of the candlelight, and Ammi’s face blurred.
Sentur’na.
I could still hear the voices in my head, relentlessly calling for me, Come back to us.
The wooden ridges of my amulet scraped against my skin, rough and warm, clashing with the cold that clenched my insides. My nail dug into my pendant, trying to pry open the crack to let some of Amana’s power seep out and silence the voices.
No. I forced my hand away from the pendant. That’s what Bandur wants. He wants me to rely on the dresses. He wants t
hem to become corrupted, like me—
“What’s that?” Ammi asked, interrupting my thoughts. “Can I look at it?”
No, I wanted to balk, but I forced myself to pass it to her.
Ammi held the pendant to the light, so the glass crack in the center caught the glint of the sun.
“I’ve never seen anything like this!” she exclaimed. “Where did you get it?”
I wasn’t listening. My throat had closed up like I was being strangled. White-hot barbs of fire pricked the corners of my eyes, which burned redder than ever before.
“Maia!” Someone grabbed my shoulders. “Maia, are you all right?”
I jerked away. “Don’t touch me,” I snarled.
“I’m sorry—” The girl beside me let go. I looked up at her round face, her kind but frightened eyes. “Maia?”
Maia? I backed away, confusion roiling in my gut. That name sounded familiar. Her face looked familiar. Why couldn’t I remember?
Demons devour you piece by piece. Memory by memory. Until you are nothing.
When I looked at the girl again, her white teeth gleamed in the candlelight, fangs protruding through her parted lips and gray fur bristling over her skin.
Bandur.
I slammed him against the window. The iron latticework shuddered behind his back, and he let out a cry of pain. I dug my nails into his arms, sinking through his fur into his flesh.
“Maia!” he squealed at me. “Maia, please! Stop! You’re hurting me!”
He wasn’t fighting back, but I knew better than to trust Bandur’s words. Behind the whimpers and the scarlet eyes thick with pain, he was leering at me—he had my amulet!
“Give it back,” I rasped.
Bandur’s eyes widened in fear. “Here.”
I threw the amulet’s chain over my neck and backed into the corner of our room, breathing hard. It hurt as if someone had ripped my heart from my chest. But why? This had never happened before.
Because it is your demon’s amulet, I could hear my demon voice explain gleefully. And inside, the power of the moon and the stars. Once your pledge to Bandur has been fulfilled, the dresses too will be consumed by darkness.
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