“Yes, Your Majesty.”
She considered me, as if to determine whether I was joking. Then she sighed. “I suppose I’d expect nothing less of you, tailor.” She fluttered her fingers at the advisers flanking her. “See to it that her wishes are fulfilled.”
Sarnai started to turn on her heel, but she lingered one last moment. “I wish you well, Master Tailor.” She inclined her chin at Edan. “Enchanter.”
Edan and I bowed, not looking up until the wind had erased her footsteps in the sand and I could no longer see her shadow stretching across the shore.
And then I rushed into his open arms—hardly able to believe that at last we were free.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Midsummer arrived, and I was gathering silkworm cocoons in the garden, so many that my basket overflowed. Baba and I had no need to make our own silk anymore; a steady stream of materials arrived every week from our suppliers in the capital, and our shop employed half a dozen workers. But I let myself indulge in this project—it gave me pleasure to collect the cocoons.
Ever since I’d returned to Port Kamalan, I relished plying my craft from start to finish, gathering the raw silk and spinning it into thread, as Mama had taught me. I liked weaving it into cloth and feeling it change in my hands into something beautiful. Something whole. Something mine.
Merchants stopped by the store every day, trying to sell Baba and me their wares. “Silks spun by the masters of the Yunia Province,” they’d entice me. “Look at this marvelous satin, brought here from the heart of Frevera.”
“I’ve pearls from the Taijin Sea, all the way from the Kingdom of Kiata!”
Baba and I always shook our heads. We weren’t interested in their wares.
The merchants learned to wait until Keton was alone in the shop, for though my brother had grown a keen eye for selecting fabrics and restocking materials, his heart was the easiest to tug. Any story from a former soldier would loosen a few jens from his pocket.
I never chided him about it. A smile usually touched my brother’s mouth these days, and it had grown wider ever since we’d made the decision to visit Jappor in autumn.
Ammi lived there now, and she’d started a bakery near the main road that specialized in honeycomb cookies and lotus paste buns. Under Khanujin’s rule, women hadn’t been allowed to own property, but things were different since Empress Sarnai had come to power. I’d heard Ammi’s bakery was doing quite well. Well enough, I hoped, that her family might one day hear of it.
“We should visit,” Keton suggested at least once a week. “You love honeycomb cookies, don’t you, Maia?”
“Yes, but I’ve never known you to have a sweet tooth, brother!”
At that, he’d clamp his mouth shut. Even though he wouldn’t admit it, Keton was counting the days until we saw my friend again. The ghosts in his eyes were nearly gone. Nothing would banish them forever, but light danced in them more often now than not.
So today when he found me in the garden, looking far too solemn, I worried something had happened. “Keton, what’s—”
“You have a visitor,” he said.
Oh. I returned my attention to my silkworms. “If it’s Mister Chiran, tell him his jacket will be ready by eve—”
“It’s not a customer.”
Now I looked up. “Then who is it?”
“You’ll have to come see.”
My brother disappeared into the shop, and by the time I followed, there was no trace of him. I passed Baba, who was instructing the seamstresses to take a break.
“It’s almost lunchtime,” I muttered. “Who could possibly be visiting at this hour?” I hoped it wasn’t Calu, the baker’s son. While I’d been away, he had married a farmer’s daughter, and though he, thankfully, no longer turned his attentions to me, he pestered Baba and me for free mending.
It wasn’t a customer. And certainly not Calu.
I nearly dropped my basket when I saw him. I would recognize his silhouette anywhere, tall and lean, a slight bend in his back as he stooped to avoid hitting his head on the low doorframe. Black hair longer than I remembered, more than a few stray curls lingering over the boyish face I’d so dearly missed.
He was waiting for me to greet him, to run into his arms and plant a kiss on his mouth. It took all my restraint to hold back and say, instead, “You need a haircut.”
There. His expectant smile curved into the crooked grin I so loved, and amusement flecked his eyes.
“I wanted to make a dramatic entrance,” Edan replied. “Maybe fly through your window the way I used to, or send a thousand birds to write out your name in the sky.”
“But?”
“But then I wouldn’t be able to do this.” He bent down and kissed me. The basket in my hand fell to the ground with a quiet thump.
After the Six Winters’ War ended, I’d insisted Edan return to the Temple of Nandun to finish his studies with Master Tsring. It had been hard for us to part again, but I knew he loved magic the same way I loved sewing. I couldn’t deny him the chance to earn it back.
Besides, I needed a little time on my own. My customers knew better than to speak of my past as a demon, but even as the world forgot, I could not. Demons and wolf-shaped shadows still haunted my dreams every few nights. They were less regular now, but I didn’t think they would ever vanish completely.
I told Edan of my dreams in the letters we wrote each other every week. A slew of paper birds were exchanged between us, each a letter. Many days I’d awake at dawn to catch a new letter at my windowsill, and it helped ease my nightmares. Each letter, Edan signed with one of his “thousand names.”
“I didn’t expect you to return until the fall.”
“I finished my studies early,” he said, not without a hint of pride. “Seems after all these years, I still make a good pupil. And, I wanted to surprise you.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “So you’re done?”
“I’m done. Here to stay. As long as you’ll have me.” He opened his hand. A seed rested on his palm, and when I touched it, it bloomed into a plum blossom. Its petals, soft and fragrant, tickled my fingers.
My hand jumped to my mouth.
“I practiced for a month to do that,” Edan admitted. “Just to get that reaction from you.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Most definitely,” he said, scooping me up before I could protest. I squealed, laughing as he spun me around the shop. Then he set me down hastily, and a sheepish look passed over his face as he saw Baba standing stern-faced at the door.
My father greeted Edan with a warm clasp on his arm. “Welcome back. Now that you have returned, my daughter can spend more time at the loom and less time composing love letters.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you ready to take on your role in the shop?” he asked Edan.
“I’ve been practicing changing my reds to blues, and I—”
“Reds to blues? I’ve dyes for that.” I wrinkled my nose playfully. “Best not to waste your magic. You can tend to the horses or help with the finances. Didn’t you mention something about a money tree once?”
“You said you didn’t care about money.”
“I lied.”
Edan laughed. “What a terrible liar you are, Maia Tamarin.” He bent down to kiss me again, but Baba cleared his throat and gave me a sidelong look.
“You both could start by making a run to the market,” he said. “I’ve placed an order with Mister Geh, whose ship should have arrived this morning. Go pick it up, will you?”
Picking up orders was usually Keton’s job, but Edan bowed his head and muttered, “Yes, sir,” as he ushered me out the back door.
“Wait, we’re going out the wrong way. Mister Geh’s shop is down the street. There’s nothing out the back except—”
My words died on my lip
s as soon as I saw the boat. Tethered to a wooden pole I was certain hadn’t been there yesterday, floating gently atop the waves.
“The ocean?” Edan finished for me.
I nodded mutely.
Yes, all that was behind Baba’s shophouse was the ocean. Sendo and I used to sit in the back, watching the ships coast toward the port and dreaming that we too would sail on one someday. But we’d been too poor to buy a boat, and the fishermen always refused our requests, saying they were too busy to indulge our childish fantasies.
I drew in a deep breath. “What is this?”
“You said you’d never ridden on a ship before,” Edan said. “I thought about hiring one, but what’s the fun in sailing for an hour or two only to have to bring the boat back?” He leaned against the boat’s canopy, which was my favorite shade of blue.
“So I built you one, with some help from the disciples back at the temple…and some input from your brother. It isn’t much to look at, but it’s enchanted not to sink and it’ll fit your family comfortably, and—”
I pressed my fingers to his lips, shushing him. Then I pressed my nose to his. “Have I ever told you that you talk too much?”
He caught my fingers, kissing them one by one while he continued to speak. “And there’s an hour until sundown, so if the currents are kind, we should be able to take it out to see the Summer Palace from here.”
“I don’t care about the palace,” I said, clasping Edan’s hand as he helped lower me onto the boat. It rocked gently under my heels, and I saw a chest stuffed with Edan’s maps of A’landi, Samaran, Balar, and a dozen other places I’d never been.
“No compass, no maps, no navigating north, south, east, or west. We’ll have a thousand other days for that.” I grabbed the rope anchoring us to shore, using it to steady my balance as I stepped onto the small deck. “Let’s seize the wind and let it take us where we ought to go.”
“We can do that. It might take longer than an hour, though.”
“We have time,” I said, letting go of the rope and stumbling toward him. Edan caught me, pulling me with him behind the wheel. He gathered me close, his arm around my waist.
The sea shone before us, full of possibility. Not long ago, I’d thought my story was like a fairy tale. After all, there were demons and ghosts, an emperor ensorcelled, and a princess who’d become the greatest warrior of her generation. Sometimes I didn’t quite believe that I’d ever left my corner in Baba’s shop, that I’d sewn the sun, the moon, and the stars into Amana’s legendary dresses.
My tale was over. Perhaps fate had more magic in store for me in the future. But for now, I was content just to drift in the glittering sea with the boy I loved.
I leaned against Edan, slipping one of my hands into his cloak pocket. My fingers brushed against a small leather-bound journal, and I took it out. “What’s this?”
“Notes.” Edan looked sheepish. “Some famous poets have begun writing about us, and they’ve taken an alarming number of creative liberties.”
“Such as?”
“Calling me a cowherd.”
I blinked, confused, until I remembered: “But you were a herder’s son.”
“That was ages ago.” Edan made a face, but his eyes were smiling. “After so many years of service, I don’t even get to be remembered as the most illustrious, illuminating, and formidable enchanter in all of A’landi? Thankfully, your name is far more fitting.”
I laughed. “What does the poem call me?”
A beat, and then Edan reached for my hand, clasping it. “The Weaver.”
The Weaver. That name meant so much.
I looked to the stars, wondering if my ancestor the Weaver was there, watching over me with Mama and my brothers. Then I looked to the red thread on my wrist and that on Edan’s.
Astonishing, that a cowherd’s son and a simple weaver, separated by centuries of starfalls, should find each other. If Edan hadn’t taken his oath as an enchanter, and if I hadn’t dared to step beyond the path that was laid out for me and gone to the palace, we might never have met. Whatever history remembered of us, whether it likened us to the sun and the moon—only permitted to meet once a year—or simply to a boy and a girl touched by the stars, fate had danced to bring us together.
I touched my red thread, content that I had finally found its other end.
“Maia,” Edan was saying, “shall I read one of the poems to you?”
“Later.” A smile touched my lips, and as Edan raised an eyebrow, wondering what I was thinking about, I kissed him, then opened my arms to the glittering waters. “I’ve had enough of the stars for now. Take me to the sea.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, dear reader, for making it to the end. It’s been a bittersweet experience writing the conclusion to the story I always wanted to read and tell. Sequels are infinitely harder to write (at least for me), and though I will miss Maia and her journey deeply, I’m also grateful and relieved to have finished her tale and sent it out into the world. Most of all, I am grateful to the many wonderful people who made Spin the Dawn and Unravel the Dusk a reality.
My perpetual thanks to Gina Maccoby, my agent, for being with me from the beginning and guiding me through the thickets of publishing with her wisdom and ever good sense.
To Katherine Harrison, for once again whipping my book into shape with her sharp edits, and never failing to amaze me with her patience, enthusiasm, and professionalism. I am so lucky to have her as my editor. A huge thank-you to everyone at Knopf BFYR, including Alex Hess, Alison Impey, Melanie Nolan, Gianna Lakenauth, Janet Wygal, Artie Bennett, Jake Eldred, Alison Kolani, Lisa Leventer, Judy Kiviat, Julie Wilson, and Barbara Perris. Thank you for being the most supportive team I could ask for and for bringing Maia’s story to more readers. You all make me feel incredibly fortunate to work with you.
To Tran Nguyen, for yet another breathtaking cover. Someone on Instagram called it Maia 2.0, leveled up, and I completely agree. I love it more than I have words to express. And to Kim Mai Guest, thank you for lending your beautiful voice and narrating Maia’s tale in the audiobooks.
To my critique partners Doug Tyskiewicz and Leslie Zampetti, for lending their keen eyes and ears and for entertaining Charlotte when I needed to bring her to our meetings. A shout-out to my fellow writers Liz Braswell, Bess Cozby, Lauren Spieller, June Tan, Swati Teerdhala, and the Electric Eighteens, for being dear friends and for commiseration in dire times (especially about Book II woes). To my beta readers, Amaris White, Eva Liu, Joyce Lin, and Diana Inadomi, for being my dearest friends and, often, most critical readers.
And, of course, thank you to all the fellow writers, readers, booksellers, Goodreads librarians, bookstagrammers, and bloggers who’ve been so supportive of Spin the Dawn and Unravel the Dusk. Special thanks to Catarina Book Designs, Rachele Raka, and Yoshi Yoshitani, for the gorgeous art that was part of Unravel the Dusk’s preorder campaign.
Lastly, thank you to my family. To my parents and my sister, for helping organize and moderate my book launches, for giving me their honest opinions on everything from dialogue to the food my characters ought to eat, and for nurturing my imagination when I was a child so I could have the courage and determination to become a writer.
Thank you to Charlotte, for being the joy who makes me laugh every day, and for reminding me that children are the future of books!
Most of all, thank you to my husband, Adrian. Thank you for listening to me constantly worry about my books, for rigorously reading over my drafts while the baby is asleep, and for being my faith that love is real.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ELIZABETH LIM grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, where she was raised on a hearty diet of fairy tales, myths, and songs. Before becoming an author, Elizabeth was a professional film and video game composer, and she still tends to come up with her best book ideas when writing near a p
iano. An alumna of Harvard College and the Juilliard School, she now lives in New York City with her husband and her daughter. Spin the Dawn (book 1 in the Blood of Stars duology) was her first original novel, and Unravel the Dusk is her second.
elizabethlim.com
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