Immediately, the flames subsided, and Lady Sarnai stabbed her sword into its remains. I could not see her face, but her shoulders heaved in frustration. She’d missed the chance to defeat her father.
She spun from the embers and strode to the banner the shansen’s men had hoisted. She broke its pole over her knee and ripped the flag in half.
“The shansen has retreated,” she declared. “Shut the gates!”
And at her command, the doors of the Winter Palace thundered to a close.
The battle was over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It was not a victory.
Lady Sarnai knew, as I did, that the shansen only conceded the Winter Palace because it held no strategic value for him. The smallest of Khanujin’s residences, it had been built during more peaceful times for the purpose of housing the royal family during A’landi’s bitter winters. It relied on its position on a cliff for its defenses, and the military barracks had been depleted of its resources during the Five Winters’ War. It did not even connect to the Great Spice Road.
Emperor Khanujin had made a mistake staying here. The Spring Palace was only a week’s journey from the Winter Palace, and, seated along the eastern coast of A’landi, it was protected by both the imperial navy and Jappor’s army—the strongest in the nation. Now that Khanujin was dead, no one could stop the shansen from conquering the capital—and A’landi.
No one, I wanted to tell Lady Sarnai, except her.
Her three brothers were in chains; her scarlet arrows jutted out of their hands and legs, their ribs and shoulders. Each wound looked calculated to bring severe pain, but not to kill.
She ignored their pleas for forgiveness and reclaimed her ash bow from her oldest brother.
“Take them to the dungeon,” she told Lord Xina. “I’ll decide what to do with them later.”
Terrified by the dark demon magic they had witnessed, many of the shansen’s troops were willing to pledge themselves to Lady Sarnai, who had fearlessly led them in battle during the Five Winters’ War. Those who would not defect were thrown into the dungeon without food or water. A few spat at her, shouting, “I’ve more honor than to follow a woman!”
They were also thrown in the dungeon, but with a note to the guards to have their tongues cut out.
No one else dared question her command.
By noon, Lady Sarnai had restored order to the Winter Palace. Her men had extinguished all the fires, and she’d enlisted the emperor’s surviving ministers to inventory what weapons could be salvaged from the armory and what food the palace had in its granary and storerooms.
“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Keton asked while I cradled Baba’s head on my lap. “Even more frightening than I remembered her during the war.”
“Yes, she is.” I didn’t want to talk about Lady Sarnai. Seeing my brother and my father again, all I wanted was to memorize their faces. To hear their voices and fill the widening gaps in my memory.
Baba’s sleeves were torn, and when I rolled them up I saw welts on his arms.
“They only hurt us when we resisted,” said Keton thinly. “When they came to Port Kamalan, I tried to fight them. They nearly burned the shop down.”
I paled with wrath. Just thinking of Baba being torn from his worktable, of soldiers looting the shop my family had strived so hard to keep, of seeing my father and brother in chains, and of Keton, who had only just regained his ability to walk, pushed down and whipped—how dare the shansen!
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “This is my fault.”
Keton touched my arm, a sign of forgiveness, but I could see the questions forming in his head, made evident by the crease of his brow. Why was this my fault? Why was I so important that the shansen had sent soldiers to Port Kamalan to capture him and Baba? These questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
I pressed my lips tight and hid my hands in my pockets.
To my relief, Edan appeared.
“The main apartments in the south courtyard were untouched by the fire,” he said quietly. He sounded tired; using magic had drained him more than he was willing to let on. “It’ll be warmer there for your father.”
Keton’s eyes widened, recognizing Edan from the stories I’d told about him, but this wasn’t the time for introductions.
Together, Edan and I lifted Baba and carried him inside. We found a bed in one of the ministers’ chambers, and as we set Baba on it, his hooded eyes peeled open.
He clasped my arm. “Maia.”
I flinched and kept my eyes lowered, hoping Baba wouldn’t notice them if I stayed in the shadows.
“You’re safe, Baba,” I told him. “The shansen is gone. Lady Sarnai has taken the Winter Palace.”
“And the emperor?”
I hesitated. “Dead.”
“Dead. So many dead.” Baba’s eyes glazed over and stared off at the ceiling. He said nothing for a long while. “May the gods watch over him.”
He started to sit up. “Who is that behind you?”
Edan had returned with a steaming bronze kettle.
“Baba, Keton…,” I started. “This is Edan, His Majesty’s Lord Enchanter.”
“Former Lord Enchanter,” said Edan, clearing his throat.
Any other time, I might have smiled at how nervous Edan looked, but not today. He set down the kettle to properly greet my family. First a bow to Baba, then to Keton, who balked.
“We’re the same age,” said my brother. “Stop bowing. Please.”
My father eyed the enchanter with distrust. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard a great deal about you. There are many who believe you are the reason for the Five Winters’ War.”
Edan inhaled a deep breath. “And they would not be incorrect,” he replied, “sir.”
“So you are the one to blame for the deaths of my eldest sons. For the thousands of sons that died, and the many more that are marching to their deaths as we speak.”
“Baba—” I tried to interject. I offered him the water. “Drink.”
At the sound of my voice, Baba’s shoulders trembled.
He let out a sigh of remorse. “I am tired,” he said at last. “Save these introductions for another time. I wish to rest.”
His eyes closed, dismissing us all.
With heavy steps, I followed Edan and Keton out of the room. My brother touched my shoulder and said, so softly only the two of us could hear, “It’s been a difficult week for both of us. I’ll stay and speak with him when he’s better.”
I nodded numbly, trying to hide my disappointment.
“Thank you, Keton,” I said, and I left him to join Edan.
“Don’t worry, xitara.” Edan kissed my cheek. “I was never very popular among A’landans, but I managed to win over the most important ones.”
I forced a smile, but that wasn’t what worried me. If Baba distrusted Edan for his magic, what would he think once he knew the truth about me?
What would he think, once he discovered his daughter was a monster?
* * *
• • •
In the aftermath of the battle, Khanujin’s corpse had been forgotten. His imperial robes lay in tatters, the enchanted cloak I’d made for him almost unrecognizable under the grime and dirt and blood. When I saw the emperor’s corpse defiled and overlooked, the resentment I’d once held for him faded.
“He deserves to be buried,” I said. “Many loved him…even though they didn’t know how cruel he could be.”
“He wasn’t a good man,” agreed Edan, “or a great ruler, but he cared for his country enough to make sacrifices for it.”
He crouched beside his former master. The sneer that used to twist the emperor’s mouth had eased into a gentle line, and he seemed more regal now that he was pale and gray in death.
Among the talismans on his belt, I spied Eda
n’s old amulet.
Edan picked it up and held it, running his thumb over the hawk engraved on the bronze surface. I thought he might keep it, but after a long pause he placed the amulet back on Khanujin’s belt.
“Even without the oath, I felt an obligation to protect him. I promised his father I would protect A’landi. I’ve failed them both.”
“A’landi hasn’t fallen yet,” I replied. “We won’t let it.”
Edan nodded and started to reach for my hand again, but the arrival of Lady Sarnai and her entourage of soldiers cut off whatever he was about to say. The shansen’s daughter stood strong as any king, one hand on her hip, and the other on her sword’s hilt.
“What are you two doing here? With that—” Lady Sarnai couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge the dead emperor. Her expression hardened at us. “There’s work to be done. Make yourselves useful.”
Still kneeling next to Edan, I rose. I didn’t care to look up to her.
No doubt I was expected to obey immediately, but I did the opposite. “He deserves to be buried, Your Highness. You cannot leave him here to rot.”
“Who are you to give commands?”
“He was the emperor,” I reasoned. “Whatever you felt about him, he died for A’landi.”
“A dishonorable death,” she spat. “His army was slaughtered. He allowed himself to be taken prisoner—”
“Would you rather he have run?” I countered. “Emperor Khanujin was no great man, but he was not a coward. He chose to stay with his country to the end.”
Whereas you did not, I left unsaid.
Sarnai’s face darkened at the insult I’d intentionally left hanging in the air.
“Have him washed and cleaned,” she ordered her men. As if an afterthought, she added, “Tailor, make him a suitable shroud for burial.”
She barely spared me a glance as she spun on her heel. Something flittered behind her, even as she tried to swat it away.
My bird.
“Come with me,” I said to Edan, and we trailed her to the Winter Palace’s audience chamber, which Lady Sarnai made her own simply by laying her bow on the pine table. Lord Xina and Khanujin’s surviving ministers were already there, waiting for her.
“Tamarin,” she said, glowering when she realized we’d followed her, her irritation heightened by the fact that her huntress’s ears hadn’t heard us.
She crossed her arms. “I thought I gave you orders to work on a burial robe for your Khanujin.”
Instead of replying, I whistled softly, and the cloth bird, which was darting about the hall, fluttered to my palm.
The shansen’s daughter sniffed. “So the bird is yours. I should have guessed. Trouble seems to follow wherever you go.”
I squared my shoulders boldly. “When do we march on Jappor?”
“March on Jappor?” she repeated. The entire council looked at me like I was mad.
“The window for saving A’landi is closing,” I said. “We have to go now.”
“And why would I save A’landi?” Sarnai growled. “The emperor is dead, thousands of his men are dead. I won’t throw away another thousand lives when there is no hope of winning against my father.” She turned away. “We retreat west, take our survivors with us.”
“But—”
“Nations rise and fall. The enchanter should know that better than any.”
“You’re angry,” I said. “You have a right to be. Khanujin has taken much from you. He’s also taken much from me—from all of us. But think of what will happen to A’landi should your father become emperor. You yourself said he is not the man you remembered, that he’s been corrupted by his demon. What is to stop Gyiu’rak from becoming the true ruler of A’landi?”
Sarnai’s shoulders tensed. “We cannot win against my father’s army. With Khanujin dead, if the shansen’s declared himself emperor, the army in Jappor will be at his side. The other warlords will not dare rise against him.”
“Can you summon them to help us?”
“There isn’t enough time,” replied Lord Xina. “The shansen will reach Jappor in a matter of days. He’ll have control of the imperial army.”
“Gyiu’rak will have control over the imperial army,” said Lady Sarnai tightly. “Her power over my father grows stronger every day. Once the blood price is paid, it will be complete.”
“I thought the blood price was the emperor’s life.”
“The emperor’s life, yes.” Lady Sarnai’s voice became hollow. Her scars shone pale under the watery light. “And ten thousand others.”
My stomach sank. This was not only news to me, but also to the ministers. There was a shocked silence, and then everyone began talking at once. Sarnai raised her hands and stomped her boot on the wooden ground.
“Enough! To my father, it is nothing. Thousands already died in the Five Winters’ War. He sees it as a chance to depose a corrupt dynasty and begin his own. I’ve fought enough battles to know when I must retreat and when I must fight on. There is no way we can win against Gyiu’rak.”
“I disagree, Your Highness,” Edan spoke up.
Lady Sarnai’s voice was hard. “Then enlighten us, enchanter. How can my father be defeated?”
“He will need a few days to recover from his wound,” Edan reasoned. “The imperial navy and Jappor’s army will resist his rule; the Five Winters’ War was not so long ago that they have forgotten he was the enemy. They will try to defend the Spring Palace from him. But his demon will be even stronger in Jappor, given its proximity to the North. I would say we have a week. Two, at most, before the capital falls.”
Lord Xina’s eyes, dark as glittering black stones, turned to Edan. “And why should we trust you? You, whose loyalty can be bought—”
“Bought?” Edan repeated. “Do you think I wanted to help Khanujin fight against the shansen? To tear your country apart in war? I was bound by an oath I could not break. I had no choice. The shansen’s men have a choice; they follow him only out of fear, not out of loyalty. Show them they should fight for you—to save their country.”
“They fear Gyiu’rak,” Lady Sarnai said thickly. “No one can stop her.”
“I can,” I spoke, my voice deadly calm. “I am like her. A demon.”
The room went quiet. The ministers staggered back—as if the distance made them safer from me. Some muttered prayers or curses. Lord Xina pointed his spear squarely at my throat.
I ignored them all and looked steadily at the shansen’s daughter. If my admission took her aback, she did not show it.
“Enchanter, tell me why I shouldn’t have the tailor executed.”
Surprise flickered across Edan’s brow. Lady Sarnai and he had never gotten along; she had never sought his opinion before.
“It is true the imperial tailor has been cursed to follow the path of demons,” he said quietly. “And it’s true that in due time, her actions will no longer be those of Maia Tamarin, but of the monster inside her. Yet I believe that even as a demon, she will do all she can to protect A’landi.”
Grave as Edan sounded, his faith in me warmed some of the ice around my heart. I bit my lip, hoping Sarnai would believe him.
The war minister stood. “This is preposterous. We cannot allow a demon in our midst. Arrest her at once. Lord Xina, I beg you to listen to reason—”
“This is my army to command,” Lady Sarnai said sharply. “Not Lord Xina’s. I give this warning once, Minister Zha, and only because you are new to my rule.”
While the minister cowered, Sarnai’s cold gaze returned to me. “Tomorrow morning, I will announce whether or not we march to Jappor. And I will decide the fate of Maia Tamarin. You are dismissed.”
* * *
• • •
“Do you think she’ll change her mind?”
Edan knew I wasn’t asking whether Lady Sarnai
would spare my life, but whether she’d see the sense in marching to Jappor.
He considered my question. “She is a brilliant warrior, but an inexperienced leader. The shansen never gave her command of his troops during the Five Winters’ War. She was but a girl of fourteen when the war began—very young, and in awe of her father’s reputation and strength. Now that she must fight him, it’s hard to predict what she will or will not do.”
I thought of how the shansen had hesitated before attacking Sarnai. “Do you think he loved her?”
“Before Gyiu’rak corrupted him? Perhaps, in his own way. But the shansen has always loved power above all else. He saw Sarnai’s potential and promised her command of his armies when she came of age.”
“He also promised she wouldn’t have to marry,” I said, remembering what Lady Sarnai herself had told me long ago.
“He bought her loyalty. She served him, and she truly believed that he could make A’landi better by deposing Emperor Khanujin. But when he began dealing with Gyiu’rak, their relationship was poisoned. And when the truce was sealed and he sent her to marry the emperor, her faith in him was completely destroyed.”
“And her faith in A’landi as well,” I murmured with a frown. “How can I help her? We need more men, and we have so little time.”
I paused. The emperor’s banner lay before me. I had intended to sew it into a burial robe, but another idea had been pricking at me.
“The bird I made to find you—and Lady Sarnai. I can make more. Hundreds more.” I swallowed, touching my amulet. The walnut halves felt hollow under my palm. “I only hope I remember how to sew.” I looked at my claws and winced.
Edan took one edge of the banner, so we held it together.
“I’ll help you,” he said.
We set to work, cutting the banner into a hundred squares. Edan folded, and I sewed. I could only manage the most basic of stitches, the ones Mama had taught me when I was a girl. It was enough.
Into each bird, I sewed a thread from the remains of my enchanted carpet to give them the gift of flight. The threads twitched as I worked, awoken by the magic thrumming in my blood.
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