An elegant eyebrow arched, and she sat on one of her trunks, her back rigid. “I knew what you were the moment I saw you. I’ve known it since you made me put on that cursed dress and nearly killed me.”
I bowed my head.
“But no real demon would give up the secret of how to kill her. That is why I gave Edan back his dagger. Why I let you live. But your days are numbered, Tamarin.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t interrupt me. You haven’t the right, and I haven’t finished speaking.” She flexed her sword hand, and her frown deepened.
“I’ve told you what magic did to my father,” she said. “I witnessed him transform from the emperor’s most loyal general to a traitor desirous of power above all else. He thinks he is in control of the demon at his side, but Gyiu’rak has him fooled. She will bleed him dry; it is her nature—a demon’s nature. And I see it in your eyes.”
Her voice turned cold. “You cannot control it if you are weak.”
Weak? my demon voice spluttered in disbelief. Yes, you are weak. But only for resisting. Imagine, Sentur’na, what you could do for A’landi if you gave in. You would truly be Gyiu’rak’s match. You would—
Go away. I snuffed the voice with my mind. I’ll not listen to you.
“Why did you come back?” I asked Sarnai. “You said there was no chance of beating your father.”
“There isn’t,” she said. “But better I lead A’landi against him than you.”
It was meant to be an insult, but I did not flinch. “Then you’ve given me a reason to be glad of what I am becoming.”
I didn’t give her a chance to respond. Spying the ash bow behind her, I gestured at it. “When I was impersonating you, your father said it was a testament of your strength.”
Lady Sarnai ignored the bow and sniffed. “My brothers were trained from birth to be warriors, something I wanted above all else. My father said I could train with them if I could draw his bow. He knew it was an impossible feat, even for my brothers. I could throw a knife and hit a dragonfly from a hundred meters away and stomach the poisons that my brothers meant for each other and slipped me instead, but I did not have enough strength to draw the bow even halfway. My father only thought of me as a pawn to be married off.
“I wouldn’t have it. So I joined my mother for embroidery and dancing lessons, but at night, I went into the woods and carried logs on my back from the forest to the castle to build strength.
“I did this for half a year, until my soft hands grew rough, my back stopped aching from the weight, and my bones grew strong. When my father found out that his only daughter, the Jewel of the North, was doing hard labor in the middle of the night, he ordered the woodsman hanged. What good would I be to him if my beauty was compromised? I could hardly become an empress if my face was scarred and splinters marked my skin.”
She touched her cheek. The violet bruises were faded, all but ghosts against the flush of winter on her cheeks. The silver-white scars on her skin were there to stay, prominent reminders of her encounter with my dresses, but they weren’t what must have chased away the soft elegance she once had as a young girl. War and loss were to blame for that.
She drew a breath. “But I stole my father’s bow and drew it, easily, as if I’d been pulling a sash around my robe, and my arrow cut the woodsman free.
“I was allowed to join my brothers from then on. When I bested them all, my father gave me to Lord Xina to train.” She trailed off, pursing her lips. “Then to Khanujin to marry.”
A long silence fell between us. Finally, I broke it by asking, “Are you relieved he is dead?”
“Khanujin was not a good emperor. Not even a good man.” She lingered, as if what she wanted to say next vexed her. “But I thought about what you said, tailor, and there was truth to your words. Much as I hated him, he put A’landi before all else. Now that I see it, I have no choice but to respect him.” Her expression turned grim. “So, yes, I am relieved that he is dead, but I wish he weren’t. Now his burdens fall to us.”
Us.
“Perhaps even he, the emperor we both came to loathe, had some good in him after all.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lady Sarnai scoffed. But, for once, she had no harsh words to say about Khanujin.
“You’re an odd one, Tamarin,” she said after a pause. “Perhaps in a different life we might have been friends. But not in this one.”
What could I say to that? I bowed my head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Enough with the titles. We are all soldiers now.” She gripped the hilt of her sword, sweeping a cloth over the blade to clean it. The bow behind her remained untouched. “If you have the magic and the will to call so many to our aid, you can find the strength within to battle whatever it is that ails you.”
I blinked in surprise. “Yes, Lady Sarnai.”
“Good. Go now and work on it.” Her voice hardened, regaining the harsh tone I was used to hearing from her. “You must not fail.”
* * *
• • •
Every morning, Keton got up before the other soldiers to exercise his legs, and the next day I followed him. He could walk without his cane now, but not for long, and wielding a sword was difficult for him. Yet when he saw me, a hint of his old grin returned, and for a moment, he was my mischievous youngest brother again, with a gleam in his eye that meant he was up to no good.
“You know, I never thought I’d relish the day the shansen’s right-hand warrior gave me a sword,” said my brother. “Never thought I’d be fighting for his daughter, either.”
“How do the others feel about it?”
“We all have mixed feelings. We didn’t trust Lord Xina at first, but he wouldn’t spend so much time drilling us just to get us all slaughtered in battle.”
“What about Lady Sarnai?”
“Many distrust her, and some even hate her. You can’t blame them. She was just as ruthless as her father during the war, even more brutal on the battlefield than Lord Xina. But we all hate the shansen most, and we know the best person to defeat him is his daughter.” Keton cocked his head. “Will you ask me next what we think about the enchanter?”
I held my breath. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Keton grinned at me. “The enchanter is growing on us. I’m beginning to like him.” His grin widened. “Your friend Ammi’s growing on me, too. I’m guessing more radish soup today?”
“Onion,” I replied.
“Ah, onions.” Keton chuckled and tested the balance of his sword, passing it from one hand to the other. He’d been practicing; I could tell the simple act wasn’t easy for him, even though he made it look so. “Remember how much trouble I used to get into over them?”
I forced a laugh so my brother wouldn’t see that I didn’t remember.
“I’d cut open an onion to help me cry, then take some of Baba’s red dye and pour it over my sleeve to pretend I’d cut myself. What a fit Mama threw, thinking I was injured.”
“And when she found out you weren’t,” I said, slowly piecing it together, “she made you cut onions all day. Until your eyes were so red you couldn’t see straight. And Finlei and Sendo would call you pickle face.”
Keton laughed. “We used to have fun, the four of us. Didn’t we?”
My throat went dry. What memories I had left were like wild birds trapped in a cage. One by one, they flew out, never to return.
“You remember how Sendo and I used to pretend to be Balardan pirates?” Keton sheathed the sword and swung the scabbard at my backside. To his disbelief, I evaded it neatly.
“Where’d you learn that?” he asked.
“On my travels.”
His eyebrow rose. “From the enchanter? Baba asked if he’s made his intentions known to you.”
Hearing that brought a wave of heat over my face agai
n. But it chilled as quickly as it came. All I could say, guardedly, was, “And?”
“He said he has.” Keton’s mouth twisted wryly. “What, no smile? Maybe my advice to you was too good. I think you spent too long pretending to be a man at the palace. Nothing seems to ruffle you anymore.”
“Maybe,” I allowed. Or maybe I know that future will never happen. “What does it matter? Baba doesn’t trust him.”
“Baba wouldn’t trust a monk. It has nothing to do with him being a foreigner; his A’landan is even better than mine. Even if he were the emperor himself, Baba would still have reservations. He doesn’t think anyone is good enough for you.”
“Me?” I twisted my hands, gloved to hide their hideousness. “You have always been Baba’s favorite.”
“I’m the favorite, but you’re the one he sees the most of himself in.” Keton set down his sword and leaned against it; he looked tired from training. “He wants you to be happy. Like he was with Mama.”
I thought of the red thread I’d tied to Edan’s wrist and reached for the strand around my own. Still there.
“Edan makes me happy.”
“Anyone can see that,” Keton said quietly. “Baba will, too. It’s just the magic that worries him. Sorcery is deception, and the enchanter had everyone fooled about the emperor.”
“That was Khanujin’s doing,” I said. “Besides, Edan’s not an enchanter anymore. Most of his magic has left him.”
“Then who is this other…enchanter the shansen spoke of?”
“Enchantress.” I bit my lip, pressing extra hard—but there was no pain. “It’s me.”
I’d expected my brother to reel back in shock, but he merely nodded. “I had a feeling you were hiding something. Baba did too.”
“I—”
“I’m not pressing you to tell us. But there are rumors in the camp….Baba would want to hear the truth, from you.”
“I know.” I hung my head. “I know.”
Keton touched my shoulder. “What was that saying Finlei used to tell you?”
I faltered. My stomach twisted and churned—I could almost feel the words spilling off my tongue, but Keton spoke them before I remembered.
“Seize the wind.” My brother smiled sadly. “Don’t become the kite that never flies.”
I repeated the words, knowing he meant them as encouragement. But it wasn’t so simple. Some things Baba was better off not knowing.
Lady Sarnai appeared suddenly, coming up the short grassy hill behind my brother. As usual, she scowled at me. “Exchanging stories with your brother isn’t what I meant by finding your strength, tailor.”
At the sight of her, Keton dropped to his knees. “Y-your Highness,” he stammered.
My brother couldn’t take his eyes off the shansen’s daughter. Silvery white scars kissed her once flawless skin, and dark gray veins branched across her cheeks and neck. Her beauty was changed, hardened, but perhaps it had never been Lady Sarnai’s beauty that arrested people. Even more than before, she exuded a warrior’s spirit, her steely eyes showing enough mettle to make even the strongest of wills flinch.
“Get up,” Sarnai said to Keton. As he struggled, she acknowledged his past injury with a slight jerk of her chin. She raised her arm to stop me from aiding him.
“He’ll never become strong if you help him.” When Keton stood again, barely able to heave his sword over his shoulder, she frowned.
I knew what she must be thinking: he wouldn’t survive against the shansen’s men, not while simply holding his sword unsteadied his balance and worsened his limp.
And yet it would crush him if he were discharged. I opened my mouth to say a word in his defense, but she spoke before I could:
“A needle is to a tailor as a sword is to a warrior. It is not that different.” Sarnai reached for the bow slung over her shoulder. “But the needle is not the only tool a tailor wields, and a sword does not make the warrior.” She passed her bow to Keton. “Give me your sword.”
Keton obeyed, and Lady Sarnai watched him shift his balance, adjusting for the lighter weapon.
“I did not say to try to draw it,” she said sternly. “That bow is not for you. Hold it still. Like this.”
It was impossible to read what she was thinking as she showed him. But after what felt like a long while, she muttered, “I don’t know what fool gave you a sword.” She clicked her tongue. “We have more need for archers than swordsmen, and your arms and back are stronger than most. Report to Lord Xina, and he will equip you with a bow.”
At that, my brother brightened, and I stiffened in surprise. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. And then to Keton: “You’ve never even wielded a bow before, I can tell. You’ll have to train hard, from now until the battle begins.”
She glared at my lowered head, the only gesture of thanks I could summon.
“And you, tailor. You could use a lesson as well—I’ve seen you with that dagger of yours. Pitiful technique.”
“I’m the least of your worries,” I said. There was no point in telling her I no longer needed a weapon. Should I truly wish to cause harm, I had other means of doing so. “The women need training in how to fight. Those who wish to.”
A light sparked in Lady Sarnai’s eyes. She regarded me, and for a flicker of a moment I thought she saw me more as an equal than as a servant. “Those who wish to join the army will be trained. We’ll begin after lunch.”
By evening, nearly every able woman in the camp had volunteered for Lady Sarnai’s training, including Ammi, adding dozens more soldiers to her army.
We all knew our chances against the shansen were slim, that it took months, not days, to make a soldier. But hope was a valuable weapon, and we were sharpening its every edge.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The last morning of our march to Jappor, it began to snow.
The flakes fell gently at first, frosting the yellow grass. Within an hour, every tree branch glistened with white, like there were pearls hanging from the boughs. The change in the landscape was so mesmerizing that no one saw the smoke from the dying campfire twist into the shape of a tiger.
No one, except me.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. “Gyiu’rak.” I cursed, spinning to warn the others. I didn’t get a chance. She sent an invisible blast of demon wind, rocketing to my lungs.
My throat seized, punctured by a thousand needles, and I lurched forward trying to catch my breath.
“Maia?” Ammi said, running to my side. “Maia, what’s wrong?”
I clutched at my chest, choking and pointing at the fire.
Powerful limbs emerged from the shadows, condensing from smoke to flesh. But by the time Ammi and the others realized what was happening, it was too late.
With an earth-shattering roar, Gyiu’rak burst out of the flames.
Terror descended on the camp, everyone scrambling for weapons and for cover. I pushed Ammi behind a wagon and grabbed the nearest spear, even though I knew it would do little good against a demon.
Gyiu’rak prowled the camp, snarling at the cowering soldiers. Her fur glistened, white as the snow, with burnished stripes like carefully considered strokes of ink.
She was searching for someone. I shouldered my way toward her, but it wasn’t me she wanted; it was Lady Sarnai. The shansen’s daughter appeared, her ash bow raised, with a scarlet arrow nocked in place—aimed at the area between Gyiu’rak’s eyes.
A laugh tumbled out of the demon’s throat. “Your pitiful weapons cannot harm me, little jewel,” she mocked. “But keep them raised if it makes you feel safer.”
She turned to address the rest of the camp, slicing the tension in the air with her every breath. “By request of His Excellency, Emperor Makangis, I bring you warm tidings. As you all are citizens of A’landi, he
offers you this one chance—to surrender.”
Lady Sarnai pulled her bowstring back. I tried to catch her attention, to warn her not to attack.
She ignored me.
Her arrow sang, straight and true, piercing the demon neatly in the forehead. Smoke sizzled from Gyiu’rak’s fur, but she plucked the arrow out as if it were a burr in her coat, and flicked it away.
Within seconds, the demon’s wound closed bloodlessly.
Shock rippled across the camp. Soldiers shrank behind their shields, knees trembling violently. Even Lady Sarnai staggered back.
I moved closer to Gyiu’rak. An arrow couldn’t hurt her, but I could.
“We have ten thousand against your pathetic army,” the demon announced. “Lord Makangis welcomes your surrender now. If not, the battle will commence tomorrow—and we will show no mercy.”
Some of the men wavered, taking tentative steps forward. Then I heard someone cry, “We will not surrender!”
It was Ammi. She and the other women blocked the soldiers. They repeated, “We will not surrender!”
“Your blood price will not be paid.” The words boomed out of me. “Not while I fight by Lady Sarnai’s side.”
“And I,” declared Edan, joining me.
“We fight for Lady Sarnai. We fight for A’landi.”
Soon every man and woman chanted the words, their strength gaining momentum across the camp.
Gyiu’rak threw me a baleful glance. “Curious, that they should listen to you, Maia Tamarin,” she rasped in a low voice. Her head tilted. They don’t know yet, do they? Shall I tell them?
I went very still. My nails had grown so sharp that simply curling my fists made my palms bleed.
What are you afraid of? Gyiu’rak spoke without making a sound, sliding into the inner crevices of my mind. Are you afraid that they’ll try to kill you? That they will fear you? Let them. Soon they will all be dead—
“Leave!” I barked at the demon. “Go now.”
My words hung in the air, the sound of my voice so thunderous that snow trembled off the trees.
A smile curled over Gyiu’rak’s tiger lips. “Very well.”
Unravel the Dusk Page 25
