Blood trickled down his cheek.
I stepped back in shock. I didn’t mean to, I wanted to say, but Edan already had his dagger raised at me.
Seeing it made me balk. I could almost feel pangs of the meteorite’s searing heat radiating off its blade, and I waited, my breath tight, for Edan to utter his name “Jinn” and activate its power.
But he didn’t. He didn’t have to. The message was clear. The sorrow in his eyes was clear.
He lowered the dagger slowly. With every inch that it fell, my heart sank.
“I love you, Maia. Come back.”
My fury vanished, leaving me hollow. Broken.
This was the boy who’d given himself up to a demon for me. The boy I’d given up the sun and moon and stars to be with.
The boy I loved.
I wanted to burrow myself into the earth and stay rooted there, where I would hurt no one, and no one could hurt me.
Edan dropped the dagger. It landed on the dirt with a thump, the meteorite side of the blade still glimmering. The world came into stark focus, and yet everything was spinning, spinning and unraveling. I couldn’t keep up.
“I’m sorry,” he said, uttering the words I should have spoken. “I shouldn’t have—”
I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t bear the pity, couldn’t bear to see the emotions warring on his face. I turned and ran. Even as Edan’s voice calling “Maia!” faded into oblivion, I didn’t stop.
The name meant nothing to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Trees blurred into rushes of color as I fled through the forest, half running and half flying. Ribbons of smoke curled after me, and my feet were barely touching the ground.
I was moving like a demon.
How could Edan think there was any chance for us when I had almost killed him? How foolish I’d been to hope that by freeing myself from Bandur everything might return to the way it had been before.
Maybe I should go far away—where I wouldn’t be a danger to anyone but myself.
I slowed, coming back to earth. Foxes and squirrels scattered, making for the bushes and the trees, but the birds did not flee. At least they weren’t afraid of me.
My claws snagged against my sleeves, and I ripped away the excess fabric. Sparks flicked from my nails, like flashes of the fireworks I’d seen dancing above the Autumn Palace.
Where could I go, looking like this? Not Port Kamalan.
Yet it was the only place I wished to go. I hadn’t been brave enough to say goodbye to Baba and Keton last time, and now I regretted it more than anything.
No, I had other regrets too. Fresh ones.
“You are my family and my home,” Edan had said.
“And you are mine,” I should have told him. I said it now, and I curled my arms around my chest, hugging the ache inside me. The pain was like a knot holding me together, one I did not dare undo.
Didn’t Edan see? He was why I needed to stay, why I needed to fight for the emperor. There would be no home for Baba, Keton, and him—no home for any of us—if Gyiu’rak and the shansen conquered A’landi.
My amulet grazed my knuckles, the walnut ridges sharper than I remembered. I clasped it, feeling Amana’s power recoiling from the demon I was becoming. My dresses had been stronger when they were three; I had been stronger, too. But for all the tremendous power they held, they could not free me from Bandur’s curse. They were doomed along with me.
And with only two left, I didn’t have much time.
Edan was still far behind me. I’d wait for him, apologize, and we’d go to the Winter Palace together. Then, if the gods favored us and we won against the shansen, I would go home to Baba and Keton one last time.
Are you even sure your father and brother are still safe in Port Kamalan? a dark voice rippled inside me.
I stilled. For the first time, I didn’t tell her to go away. What do you know?
Perhaps it is the shansen you should fight for, if you wish your family to be safe.
My eyes began to burn, so hot that I cried out in pain. All of me convulsed, and I curled against an oak tree, tendrils of bright fiery smoke unfurling from my skin.
My demon sight took me far from the forest, to an army of thousands, all sitting erect in their saddles, weapons raised, emerald banners of a tiger sailing in the wind. Ahead was the Winter Palace, but the army had stopped just before the Jingan River. Something momentous was about to happen.
At the helm of the army rode the shansen, with Gyiu’rak beside him.
Her ruby eyes burned fiercely, and when my gaze found her she lifted her head, her whiskers perking up—as if she felt my presence.
Her mouth curved into a lethal smile. “Sister…you’re here. Just in time.”
I stiffened in shock. Why had my sight brought me here—where were Baba and Keton?
The deafening blare of a horn knifed the air, and I noticed the blackened sky, the burned structures and smoldering wreckage beyond the river. The destruction stretched on and on, an unending shroud of charred temples, houses, and trees. Fury choked me, yet I could not look away. The demon inside me was drawn to the destruction as much as I was repulsed by it.
“Demons near and far,” boomed the shansen, his voice speaking in unison with Gyiu’rak’s, “I summon you from the dark recesses of this world.”
I summon you.
The power of his words slammed into me, pulling me into a tide of darkness. I clutched at my head, unsure of what was happening.
“I have paid my blood price and bound Gyiu’rak to me,” the shansen continued. “Hear me and aid me. I will conquer A’landi and bring you back in glory.”
I summon you. Hear me and come to my aid.
The earth rumbled, my vision going in and out as the shansen and Gyiu’rak repeated their call. I tried to fight the summons, but my blood was blazing to answer, and my limbs began to fracture into smoke. My amulet glowed, and the power of my dresses held me in place, but I feared it would not be enough.
Another call from the shansen drew a scream from my lips. I summon you.
Like an invisible dagger, the words stabbed my chest, and I doubled over. I dug my nails into the dirt, to keep my flesh from scattering into smoke and shadow.
Come, Maia, beckoned Gyiu’rak, her blood-red eyes glittering in the smoke swirling around me. We have your father and your brother. They’re waiting for you.
I went still. My father and brother?
My sight burned, and I saw Baba and Keton, chained together, a pine board loaded over their shoulders. Keton struggled to march fast enough, and Baba could hardly bear the weight of his shackles. The walls I’d built around my heart crumbled when I saw them shuffle forward together as the soldiers bellowed for them to move faster.
“Can’t you see he’s an old man?” Keton yelled. “Let him go.”
A soldier beat my brother’s shoulders with a thick lash. “Another word, boy, and those broken legs are what I’ll thrash next.”
Keton collapsed, but as Baba helped him up, my brother’s eyes shone with defiance.
“Don’t,” Baba warned.
“Does the shansen not have enough men that he has to abduct them from the emperor?” Keton said, his lip bleeding from the blow.
The soldier sneered at him. “Fool, they don’t want you two for soldiers.”
My brother’s brow furrowed. “Then?”
“You’ll find out. Once we reach the Winter Palace.” The lash cracked the air again. “Now walk!”
I blinked away the vision, my eyes stinging as if I’d rubbed them with salt. As everything came back into focus—my sight, my hearing—my heart sank. I knew what I’d seen just now hadn’t been a dream.
The shansen had my family. Baba and Keton…they didn’t even know why they’d been taken.
Answer th
e call, Maia, Gyiu’rak rumbled, or your family will pay.
What could I do?
If I went, I’d make the shansen stronger; I would become part of his demon army.
But if A’landi fell, Baba and Keton would die anyway.
My thoughts raced. Last I had faced Gyiu’rak, I’d sacrificed the dress of the sun to defeat her.
I clutched my amulet. “Those three dresses are your body, your mind, your heart,” Master Tsring had said. What would it mean for me to lose my mind?
I knew what Edan would say. He’d tell me that the dress of the moon was too great a sacrifice to make.
But the shansen wasn’t only summoning me. If I had trouble resisting his promises of death and ruin, then who knew how many legions of demons and ghosts would gleefully come to his aid? Such an army would decimate the emperor’s forces.
I had no choice.
Still gripping my amulet, I sprang up. Smoke bled from my fingertips, and every second I resisted the summons made my insides scream with agony. But I needed the dagger.
I didn’t need to search far. Edan had nearly caught up; he was panting, his cheeks flushed from racing after me. When he saw me, he shouted, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I was somewhere else, stuck halfway between the real world and the darkness of the shansen’s summons.
He was a mere hundred paces from me, but I couldn’t wait.
I let go of my amulet and stretched out my hand to him. The smoke from my fingers traveled quickly, thickening until they curled around the dagger on his belt. And in a snap, the weapon flew to my grasp.
“Jinn,” I breathed. The dagger slid out of its sheath, and the meteorite sizzled alive, its power against me so strong that I nearly dropped it. Simply holding the hilt was like putting my hand into a pile of burning coals. But I could bear it; I had to.
I gripped the amulet hanging over my chest. “Help me stay strong,” I whispered, pressing it to my face. If the goddess of the moon was listening, perhaps she would take pity on me. “Help me. Please.”
It took only a thought for me to call forth the dress of the moon. The moon’s soft beams enfolded me, and for the last time, my moon dress coursed out of the walnut, its shimmering silk flowing over my arms. The cuffs and cross-collar sparkled with white-gold floss, the flowers and clouds I’d embroidered glittering like tiny crystals. Light bathed me, and tears misted in my eyes—tears of the moon.
Before I could change my mind, I raised my dagger and stabbed the heart of the dress. Silvery ribbons unraveled, dancing and swirling around me as I dragged the dagger down to the hem of the skirts until I’d torn my creation in half.
Unlike the sun-woven gown, whose death had been fiery and violent, the dress of the moon remained serene. Remorse clotted my throat, and the last of my tears streamed down my face when, finally, I threw its remains into the air.
Amana, I prayed, watching my dress skim the clouds, its light beaming across the sky. If you can hear me, I return the tears of the moon to you. In return, I ask that you sever the threads that bind me—and all demons—to aid Gyiu’rak and the shansen. Give me the strength to stay Maia—long enough to help A’landi.
No sooner did my prayer end than the tears of the moon disappeared in a bright white flash.
The summons ended abruptly. The shansen and Gyiu’rak were gone.
I grasped my amulet, feeling lightheaded. I’d won a victory against the shansen today, but at a terrible cost.
I still have one dress left, I reminded myself. The strongest dress: the blood of stars. My heart.
Was it enough to save my family and A’landi?
“Maia, Maia.” A boy was running toward me out of the forest, breathing hard. He wrapped his cloak over my body and stroked my hair. “It’s all right. He can’t have you.”
“The tears of the moon represents the mind,” I murmured. “I’ve lost it. My memories, my—”
“Then I’ll remind you. You still remember me, don’t you?” He touched his nose to mine, his eyes so blue. Blue as water, as the glittering sea by…I could see it, but I couldn’t name it.
I squinted. His face was familiar, but I couldn’t remember why.
He pressed a kiss on my lips, soft and warm as a breath of sunshine on my back.
Edan. The boy with a thousand names and yet no name. The boy whose hands were stained with the blood of stars. He was coming back to me.
But in his place, other memories fled. My dearest memories, as if handpicked from my mind to hurt me most with their loss. No matter how I tried, I could no longer recall the blue of the waters I’d grown up with, the stories my brother used to tell me of sailors and sea dragons. I’d had three brothers once. Which one had chuckled when he tried to get me to go out into town with him on an adventure? Which one wore a crooked smile, laced with mischief, whenever he managed to swindle me into doing his chores?
“My father and brother…,” I said hollowly. “The shansen has taken them hostage.”
“Then we must go to them.”
I shook my head. “I’ll go.” I shot up, a wisp of smoke shadowing my movement. “I have magic. You don’t.”
Edan flinched at the reminder. “I have enough. This is what the shansen wants. He wants you wild with grief and anger.”
A ragged breath caught in my throat. When I tried to picture my father and brother, their faces were blotted out, as if by a wet brush. They might as well have been strangers, but I knew I needed to save them.
“If you want to save your father and your brother,” said Edan, “then you need a plan, like the one we had for Lapzur. Let me help you wield your magic. The magic in here.” He pointed at my amulet. Then he pressed his fingers to my chest. “And the magic in here.”
“How? I don’t think I can.”
“You need to control your anger,” he said. “It will grow stronger every day, like Master Tsring said, feeding on your desire for vengeance. The more you give in to it, the faster you will forget yourself. The faster you will turn.”
Fury coursed within me, but I picked up the threads of Edan’s reasoning.
“You’re right,” I said at last.
I reached into my pocket, searching for the cloth bird I’d stashed there days ago. “We can’t do this alone, Edan. The shansen has an army of thousands, along with Gyiu’rak at his side. And possibly other demons.” I paused, a name on the tip of my tongue that I fought to bring forward. It belonged to someone important—someone who would bring hope.
“Lady Sarnai,” I said, snatching the name before it fled me. “We must find Lady Sarnai.”
“The shansen’s daughter?”
“He still cares for her. She’s the only one who can fight him.” I lifted the bird’s beak with my finger. “She’s the hope of A’landi, Edan. Not you. Not me.”
He tilted his head. “You sound as if you admire her.”
“I always have,” I admitted. “The problem is, she escaped the palace after her father attacked. Even if I knew where she was, I don’t know if she’d help us.”
Taking a deep breath, I ironed out the wings of my cloth bird, which had become crinkled in my pocket, and held it out to Edan. “We can use this to find her.”
“Clever,” Edan said, inspecting my work. His long fingers traced the threads I’d sewn into the wings, and I knew he recognized them from our enchanted carpet.
A thick eyebrow arched as he mused, “The folds are Kiatan.”
“You know it?” I asked.
“I’ve been to Kiata many a time,” he replied, “when I was much younger.”
“Someone told me a tale about the Kiatan princess who folded such paper cranes to search for her brothers. Mine don’t look so much like cranes, more like ducks—”
“Or phoenixes,” Edan suggested. “Not the A’landan ones, with the eagle head and all the peacock fea
thers. In Nelronat, phoenixes had wings of fire, and they were born from the ashes of their previous lives. I caught one once, brought it with me everywhere—even to Kiata—until it flew away.”
“I’d thought those were legends.” My next words clung to my throat. “Fairy tales, like Shiori’s tale. I hardly remember hers now. Or who told it to me.”
“Then I will tell it to you again,” said Edan. He stroked my cheek. “Tonight.”
My skin warmed at his touch, and the wink of his eye made me blush. My bird sprang to life, its soft wings tickling my palm.
“Find Lady Sarnai,” I whispered to it. “Tell her that the kingdom is in danger, that we need her. Ask her to meet us at the Winter Palace.”
The bird wriggled to life, its pointed beak nodding in assent. Then I lifted my hand and it fluttered off into the sky.
I watched it disappear, weaving its way through the trees until I saw it no more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
We were too late.
The Winter Palace was burning, its sharply curved roofs abloom with fire. Smoke threaded through the emerald pillars and devastated courtyards, and heavy clouds loomed across the sky, which had turned from azure to charcoal.
There was no sign of Lady Sarnai.
Despair gnawed at me as my demon eyes swept through the palace and its surroundings from afar. I took in the helmets, broken spears, smashed lanterns, and spilled canteens. Several corpses lay in the streets: mostly soldiers, frost glittering on their toes, their boots and cloaks stolen by local peasants who couldn’t afford to have scruples about how they survived the coming winter. The dead numbered no more than several dozen.
“Where are the emperor’s soldiers?” I asked Edan. “He sent for an army to defend the Winter Palace. They couldn’t have just disappeared.”
Edan’s expression was grim. “I don’t know, xitara.”
The gates were bolted shut, shadows flickering behind the scarlet-painted doors. The shansen’s guards.
“We’ll have to go over the gates.”
Edan made a face to show exactly how he felt about me using my demon magic, but he took hold of his walnut staff and wrapped his arm around my waist.
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