Unravel the Dusk

by Elizabeth Lim

  “Maia!” he shouted.

  “No—” I started to shout, but no sound came out. Salt air rushed up into my nostrils, and a beat later, I shattered.

  The crash into the lake hurt so much my body was in shock. I had forgotten what pain felt like. Water thundered in my ears and the cold began to numb me.

  But it was the burning in my throat that reminded me to kick, to work, to live.

  Reflexively, I swam for the surface.

  I sucked in a gulp of air. The tides were fierce, hungrily trying to bury me in their depths, and water splashed at my face as I thrashed.

  “Edan?” I yelled. It was so dark I couldn’t see anything. “Edan!”

  My dress lit up with the brilliance of the stars. At once, the waters were illuminated, and I saw him, sinking into the depths of the lake.

  I dove after him, grabbing him under the arms and kicking back to the surface. Then I hooked his arm over my shoulders.

  “Edan?” I cried worriedly. “Edan, are you all right?”

  He coughed, water spluttering out of his nose and mouth. His arms splashed clumsily until I steadied them, relief thudding in my ears.

  “That’s the closest I’ve come to drowning in centuries,” he said.

  “You scared me!”

  Behind us, the isles sank into the lake, creating a vast whirlpool whose violent winds I could feel even from here. I watched Lapzur fold into the darkness, the Thief’s Tower disappearing last. Never to be seen again.

  “Well, I guess there goes our option of swimming to the nearest shore,” Edan said, his tone more wry than grave. I placed a salty kiss on his mouth. Only he could find humor in a moment like this.

  But he did have a point. The carpet had flown us quite a distance to reach Lapzur. Without it, we were stranded in the water—from our point in the lake, I couldn’t even see any sign of land.

  Yet I didn’t panic. My mind was already spinning with an idea: after he had marked me, Bandur had been able to journey far from the isles through glass and nightmares and smoke. A demon that was not bound as guardian of Lapzur could probably do much, much more. I remembered how Bandur had thrown me into the well—and how I’d flown up away from its depths. Heat coursed through my fingertips, a spark I’d been struggling to hold back, igniting the flames within me.

  “Wrap your arms around my waist,” I whispered to Edan. “And hold on.”

  We shot out of the water, my skirts blooming like a lantern as it floated us to shore.

  Once we landed, the fire inside me extinguished. I let go of everything and collapsed.

  * * *

  • • •

  A familiar heart beat against my ear, steady and gentle, in a rhythm I’d heard many times before. As I stirred, a warm breath tickled my cheek. A thick cloak was draped over me, a comforting arm wrapped around my waist.

  I couldn’t have been asleep long, for it was still night.

  I twisted to face Edan. His collar was damp, goose bumps rising on his exposed skin.

  “You’re shivering,” I said.

  “My clothes will dry,” he replied through his teeth. “Don’t worry about me, xitara.”

  “I’m not cold,” I said, only to realize it wasn’t true. The air was frigid, and for the first time in weeks, I tasted the frost on my lips when I breathed in. The only thing that kept me from shivering was the blood of stars.

  “What are you—”

  I pulled my dress over my head, unknotting its buttons. Without my scissors, there was no elegant way of undoing them.

  I ignored Edan’s protests and wrapped the dress’s folds around us both, summoning warmth into the shimmering fabric.

  Slowly the color returned to Edan’s skin, but I helped hasten the process by kissing him. It was only dawning on us now that we’d won.

  Bandur was dead. His tower on Lapzur had collapsed.

  The whispers had stopped.

  I breathed in, relishing the silence in my head. I could finally hear myself breathe, could hear my heart racing so fast and unsteadily every beat echoed in my ears. The throbbing in my temples had ceased, and my eyes had stopped burning. And pain—I’d felt pain when we crashed into the waters.

  Did that mean I was free?

  I tilted my head, lips brushing against Edan’s. Heart hammering, I tentatively brought my gaze up to match his. I was sure I’d see two glowing red pupils reflected in his eyes, devastating as the blood-red seals on the letters pronouncing my brothers’ deaths during the war.

  But…nothing.

  My eyes did not even glitter under the moonlight. They were earthy and brown, like the chestnuts I used to buy with my brothers in Port Kamalan. We’d roast them over charcoal and sprinkle precious cumin over the meat—Keton’s favorite. Baba used to get angry with Finlei for wasting his earnings on a spoonful of cumin, just to indulge Keton. But Finlei and Keton were a pair, just as Sendo and I had been.

  As I remembered all this, my eyes watered with emotion. I’d nearly forgotten.

  Edan reached for my fingers, covering them with his. “Your hands are warm.”

  “So they are.” I squeezed his hand, so happy to hold it again. I looked down at the dress of the stars. The brilliant colors of the fabric had become muted, matching the deep-violet sky. My amulet no longer sat heavy on my chest.

  “I think I’m free,” I whispered. “I think…I think it might have worked.”

  “So you’ll not forget me again?” he asked.

  “Never.” I inhaled, and began humming our song. The song his mother used to sing to him, I knew now. “Not even if it means this tune is stuck in my head forever.”

  The song died on my lips as Edan brought my hand to his mouth. His breath tickled my fingertips. He kissed my fingers, his lips traveling across my palm, then to the back of my wrist. Every kiss sent tremors of pleasure shooting through me, like the stars that burst across the night above us.

  I rolled atop him so our chests were aligned, and we sank into the sand, drinking in one another. And just before we fell asleep, for a few blissful moments, I thought that the worst was over.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I awoke gasping.

  Invisible fingers were strangling me, sharp winds biting into my lungs and choking me from inside. As my human pulse thumped, the length between each beat grew longer, longer, until—

  No!

  As my eyes shot open, the shadows disappeared, the fingers pressing down on my throat—gone. In their place I saw the shore, the first rays of dawn cutting across the lake, Edan beside me. It had all been a dream.

  I sucked in a desperate breath. It burned, and I groped at my neck, shock rippling through me at the touch of my own skin, cold as death. Worse yet, the numbness in my chest had returned.

  Careful not to wake Edan, I untangled myself from his arms and sat up. My fingers were like ice. Horrified, I saw that my nails had hardened, the beds brown like dried blood, the tips sharp and pointed.

  I shoved my hands into the sand.

  My heart thudded, deafening over the calm of the gently lapping lake.

  I was still turning into a demon. I hadn’t ended my transformation by defeating Bandur and destroying the isles; I had merely delayed it.

  I didn’t know how long I sat there, battling every new breath, before Edan stirred.

  “Good morning,” he said sleepily. On his lips rested a lazy smile, so endearing it pricked my heart to see it. “How long have you been awake?”

  Hearing his voice, I tensed. I twisted to face the lake before he could glimpse me. My amulet, tucked under the folds of my tunic, throbbed against my ribs. Without looking down, I had a sinking feeling it was still black as night.

  “Not long,” I managed.

  “Listening to the water?”

  His question, so simple a
nd innocent, made my chest ache. He sounded happy. “A little.”

  “Is something wrong, Maia?” I felt Edan’s hands on my shoulders, his shadow melting into mine in the sand. “You sound distressed.”

  I dug my fingers deeper in the sand. I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t even know how. “What will happen to future enchanters now that Lapzur is gone?”

  Edan tore his gaze from the glittering waters before us. For what felt like a long time, he considered my question. “The sun and the moon will continue to meet once a year, and the stars will bleed when they come together. But now that the well of the blood of stars is no more, never again can an enchanter drink from it and bind himself to an oath of a thousand years. A new generation of enchanters will emerge.”

  “But you said the oath prevents them from becoming too greedy. That magic corrupts.”

  “That will always be true,” he replied. “In Kiata they used to ban magic, and anyone born with it was exiled. Other lands never encouraged the tradition of oath taking. It is better this way, I think.” At my silence, he gently teased, “They’ll be singing songs about you in a thousand years, about how you destroyed the Forgotten Isles of Lapzur armed with nothing but a pair of scissors.”

  I mustered a smile, but it faltered as I remembered Master Tsring’s story about my ancestor, the Weaver. “I wish I hadn’t lost them.”

  “Is that why you are melancholy?”

  “They belonged to my family for a long time,” I answered indirectly. “Funny, I used to resent their magic helping me sew. But now that they’re gone, I miss it. Their magic was a part of my past. Without them…”

  I fear I’ll be lost.

  Gently, he thumbed sand off my cheek. I knew he sensed something more was wrong, but his concern was tempered by the joy from last night. He still believed that Bandur’s death and the destruction of Lapzur might have reversed my change into a demon.

  If only I didn’t have to disappoint him.

  For, now as I listened to my heart, I could hear myself breathe between each thump, the rhythm so relentlessly steady I wondered if anything would ever make it race again, whether I would ever feel again.

  It would beat slower and slower, until one day soon, it would stop. And I would no longer be human.

  No longer Maia.

  Hope shriveled inside my chest, but I plastered on a smile. Let Edan think I was better, at least for a few more hours. Let us be happy for a few more hours.

  But my eyes burned with a familiar, devastating heat, and when he reached for my hand, still buried in the sand, I recoiled.

  I swallowed. “I’m not saved yet.”

  Wrenching my hands out of the sand, I raised them. My fingers were unrecognizable, more like claws than hands.

  Edan’s face showed no surprise.

  Which surprised me.

  “Did you know this would happen?”

  Shadows eclipsed his face. Rather than answer, he took my hands, claws and all, holding tight when I tried to pull back. He kissed my fingertips, the hard curves of my nails.

  “Bandur is gone,” he said, as if that would reassure me. “You aren’t bound to the isles any longer.”

  I turned my head before he could kiss me again. My lips were cold, no matter how he tried to warm them with his own. Even when he touched the small of my back, tilting my chin up to face him, I couldn’t bear the scarlet glint of my eyes reflected in his.

  “You should leave. Before I become—”

  “No. Maia.” He raised his wrist, showing me the red thread still affixed there. “We are bound, you and I, in this life and the next. Wherever you wish to go, I will follow.”

  I wondered—where did I wish to go? I wanted to see Baba and Keton, but the thought of telling them the truth—of what was happening to me—that was more than I could bear. It would hurt them to know what’d happened to me. I’d rather spare them the pain.

  Emperor Khanujin, no matter how much I despised him, needed me. It would take a demon to stand against Gyiu’rak, and so long as there was still Maia in me, I needed to help. I needed to save A’landi. I only hoped it wasn’t too late.

  I pushed Edan gently to the side and angled him to face me. I had my answer, but I knew he wouldn’t like it.

  “In our next life, do you think you’ll still be you?” I asked him instead. “Will you be a cattle herder’s son and me the daughter of a tailor once more? Or will you be someone else entirely—and I’ll have to find you again?” I cocked my head. “Maybe in the next life you won’t even like to read.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” replied Edan wryly. “Some things can’t change. Though the young Gen used to think books were better off used as tinder to roast carrots. My family was poor, and there was no civil exam to better yourself like in A’landi.”

  “You’d have done well on the exam,” I said. “Maybe you’d be a high official. Or a minister, like Lorsa.”

  Edan wrinkled his nose. “At least a governor.”

  That made me laugh, and I tried to imagine what he’d been like as a boy. “So the monks taught you to read, after your father left you with them.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t at the monastery long. The soldiers came for me, for every able boy within a hundred miles.” Edan grew quiet. “Sometimes I think the only reason I survived those wars was that I was too young to even carry a sword. I was to play the drums, but my arms were too weak, so I learned the flute instead.”

  “You hardly ever play it anymore,” I said with a note of wistfulness.

  “That’s because I’ve been too busy teaching you to sing,” Edan joked, but he reached into his pocket to oblige me. He took out his flute, but a piece of paper slipped out from inside the instrument’s wooden body. “What’s this?”

  I jumped, recognizing the letter I’d written. I’d forgotten about it.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly, reaching over him for it, but Edan had already begun to read.

  “Maia,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Maia…”

  I hung back. “I wrote it before we left for Lapzur. Our last morning at the temple, Master Tsring told me that the only way to be free was to destroy the dresses….He told me…”

  My voice trailed, my eyes drifting to the farewell I had written Edan. I had composed the letter before Master Tsring had confided in me my fate, and yet…somehow, somehow I must have already known. Perhaps that was why I had forgotten to take the letter back.

  “He told me I would not survive.”

  A muscle ticked in Edan’s jaw. I’d stung him. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say.

  He waved the letter high so I couldn’t snatch it from him. “Were you even going to tell me you were leaving?”

  His voice was firm. Too firm. A flare of anger ignited in me. “It’s my choice, just as it was yours to take the oath. You knew the consequences. I know mine.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same for you as it was for Bandur, Maia. Your heart is good. We would find a way for you to—”

  “Fight it?” I shook my head. “There is no way. You asked where I wished to go next. I want to go to the Winter Palace.”

  As I expected, my answer did not please Edan. He pursed his lips tight. “Maia, you need time to rest. Just because you’re no longer bound to Lapzur doesn’t mean you aren’t still in danger. The last thing you should do is rush back to the palace to fight the shansen’s demon.”

  “Would you have me hide?” I cried. “Would you have me let our soldiers die, let this war drag on for another five years?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “I would prefer that the woman I love not hasten her transformation. Especially not for the sake of fighting Khanujin’s battles.”

  “I’m not fighting for Khanujin, I’m fighting for my country. A’landi is helpless ag
ainst Gyiu’rak without me. Just now you promised to go with me wherever I wished. And now?”

  “I meant what I said,” insisted Edan. His fists clenched at his sides.

  “But?”

  “You might do more harm than good if you go.”

  There. He’d said it.

  The heat in me reached a boil. My cheeks burned, and my eyes blazed with delirious fury. “You suggest that I let this war run its course? You, who’s spent centuries flitting from one war to the next.”

  “Yes, and so I know the ugliness of war. I know that power can make things worse instead of better.”

  “And I know that if I do not help A’landi, then the Maia inside me will be lost forever.”

  “Or maybe that’s precisely how she will be lost,” Edan whispered. “Think this through, xitara.”

  Even hearing him call me xitara, the name that had once been so dear to me, couldn’t quell the anger stirring in me.

  “I would rather die as this Maia than live forever as a demon and watch my country fall,” I snapped. My words took on a cruel edge—I couldn’t help it. “You wouldn’t understand. Nelronat is gone, your family is gone, your home is gone. What have you to fight for?”

  “You,” he said hoarsely. “You are my family and my home.”

  Deep inside, I wanted to stop. I didn’t want to hurt Edan. But the demon in me had other plans.

  “I’m not your family,” I said. “I’m not anyone’s family.”

  “Maia—” He tried to wrap his arms around me, but I threw him off, and he slammed back hard into the sand.

  He got up. Spread his arms out in entreaty. “Please.”

  “Don’t touch me,” I warned him. My control was slipping, and I spun away. I couldn’t—

  “Maia…”

  As I heard him say that name again, my eyes grew so hot the ocean blurred into the sky, and a rush of fire surged through my veins. I turned on him, but my mind was not my own. My body was not my own. Everything happened too fast. One moment, I felt the wind lashing at my face, the next, I saw my claws extended, razor-sharp nails pointed at Edan’s heart.