Lorsa continued: “The four of you may go to the market this afternoon to purchase supplies. You will be given a stipend of three hundred jens, and half a week to complete the jacket.” He paused, the way he always did before he said something unpleasant. “Oh, and one more thing: it must be made of paper.”
* * *
• • •
“Paper!” Longhai muttered as we walked into town. “Of all things…” He stroked his beard, then reached into his pocket for his wine flask. “She’s not going to wear paper to greet foreign dignitaries. You know, I’m beginning to suspect she’s using the trial as a way to postpone her marriage to Emperor Khanujin.”
I clicked my tongue. Edan had said as much.
I’d taken Edan’s advice about the pebble in the shoe, but now the pain of walking was real, making me too slow even for Longhai, who broke from my side to walk with Yindi.
With a sigh, I continued alone. The trek from the palace into Niyan wasn’t easy—eighty-eight steps down from the palace, then two hundred more steps down Chrysanthemum Hill. Another mile below sprawled Tangsah Marketplace.
Despite the breeze from the nearby Jingan River, the humidity gathered on my temples, pearls of sweat dripping down my cheeks onto my shoulders. The pins I used to fasten the bindings around my chest pricked my side, and I couldn’t help rubbing my irritated skin. My bandages smelled and chafed, but I forgot about my discomfort as soon as I saw Tangsah.
I hadn’t been in a real marketplace since we’d lived in Gangsun. Vendors stretched from street to street, some in bright sloping tents in every shade of orange, some in carts trundling down the paved roads. Ahead were jade carvers, drapery masters, and glassblowers, interspersed with donkeys and wild chickens and children milling about, and farther out were acrobats and fire-eaters. There was no order to the market, but I already loved it.
“Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” Longhai said, reappearing at my side. “It’s second only to the capital.” He pointed at the far side of Tangsah Marketplace and added, “The merchants in the silk quarter will try to cheat you when they find out you’re working in the palace. Don’t pay more than half what they’re asking. And don’t act like it’s your first time here.”
I shifted the weight from my foot to my cane. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes,” Longhai said. He paused. “You have real talent, Keton, but you’re young. If we weren’t in this silly competition, I would take you to be my apprentice.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “This contest wearies me. We are craftsmen. We should learn from one another, not cut each other’s throats.”
Before I could reply, Norbu slipped between us. “Are you coming to the alehouse with us, young Tamarin? I’ll buy you a drink, if it means learning your embroidery secrets. That shawl was marvelous.”
I fumbled with my cane. “I need to spend the day buying supplies.”
“Such a killjoy.” Yindi sniffed. “We have the day off and three hundred jens each. We should enjoy it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Longhai said. “You won the last two challenges. I’m rather inclined to follow young Tamarin myself.”
But he didn’t. Longhai had a weakness for drink. I had a feeling Yindi and Norbu were using it against him.
“Aren’t you hot wearing all that?” Yindi said, waving at my tunic. I’d been wearing at least three layers to help obscure my chest.
“This is cool weather to me,” I lied, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sweat pooling on the back of my neck.
Yindi crossed his arms, his flat, pudgy nose wrinkling as usual. “You’re an odd one, Tamarin.” He shook his head and disappeared into the drinking house with Norbu.
I stole a peek inside: it was full of men, some gambling at tiles and others drunkenly reciting poetry. In the center was Norbu, hobnobbing with the magistrates and nobles while his servant did his shopping.
“Doesn’t he ever work?” I asked Longhai before he too went inside.
“Don’t underestimate Norbu,” Longhai said. “How do you think he is the richest tailor in A’landi? Certainly not by spending all day at the loom.”
I retreated to the shade of a tangerine farmer’s tent and stared at my map. Then I tightened my money pouch around my neck; Tangsah was infamous for its pickpockets.
Passing several bakers’ shops and tents, I spied sesame cakes and honeycomb cookies. The palace fed me well, but there was nothing like honeycomb cookies fresh off the griddle.
I shook off the craving. Silk, not cookies, I reminded myself. Thread, not cakes.
With renewed determination, I set out to buy my supplies. After a few hours, my basket was heavy. I’d used up almost all the money Lorsa had given us on dyes, new needles, gold foil to make metallic thread, and a smaller frame for more intricate embroidery.
I had two jens and thirty fen left. Just enough to buy myself some lunch. I stopped by the baker whose steamed vegetable buns looked and smelled freshest, and got an apple from the farmer next door with my remaining fen.
There was a tap on my basket, and I jerked back, immediately assuming it was a pickpocket. It was Edan.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“Why do you need any of this when you have those scissors of yours?” he said, frowning at the contents of my basket.
I hurried away from the farmer’s stall. “I’m not going to use them.”
He followed me. “Now that’s a foolish idea if I’ve ever heard one.”
“Lady Sarnai hates magic. I’m not being sent home over a pair of scissors. And I refuse to cheat.” I glared at the Lord Enchanter. He was grinning and munching on a shiny yellow apple. My apple! “Do you ever take anything seriously?”
“I take everything seriously. Especially magic. If I had enchanted scissors like yours, the trial would be over by now.”
“You couldn’t sew to save your life,” I retorted, reaching for my apple.
“Ah, but I wouldn’t need to.” He closed the snack in his fist, then opened his fingers. My apple had disappeared.
I tried not to dwell on how he had done that; it would give him too much satisfaction. “Shouldn’t you be in the palace? Advising and protecting the emperor, or whatever it is you do?”
“His Majesty doesn’t need my protection—or advice. He’s a grown man.” Edan grinned. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
The sun made everything feel very hot. Flustered, I said, “Emperor Khanujin is a great man. There is much about him to admire.”
“Such as? His grace and wit? His charm and beauty? I daresay someone’s infatuated.” Edan peered at me inquisitively. “Have you spoken to him?”
My cheeks bloomed bright red. “N-no.”
“Would you like to?” Edan touched his chin. “I could arrange it.”
I remembered then what Lady Sarnai had said about Edan—that he’d taken a liking to me. No, I thought. He simply enjoyed tormenting me because he knew my secret. That I was a girl.
Was that why I was so petulant around him? Or had it been so long since I’d had my brothers to look after me that I didn’t trust him? That I couldn’t trust him?
“Are you so bored that you have nothing to do but follow me around?”
“My duty is to protect A’landi and ensure that the royal wedding takes place. I follow you around to look after A’landi’s best interests.”
“I thought you were following Lady Sarnai.”
“Ah,” Edan said, looking pleased. “I see someone’s been listening to court intrigue. Very good, Maia.”
“Will you not call me that in public?” I whispered harshly.
His lips stretched into a smile. “Very well. But I may in private?”
“Hmph.” I crossed my arms. “I don’t see the lady anywhere nearby.”
“She is bathing in the holy waters of the Sacred Moo
n Temple. It wouldn’t do for me to have followed her there, so I took the opportunity to replenish my supplies.”
Edan held out his hands, which were empty. Before I could retort “What supplies?” a falcon dove into the marketplace, landing on his shoulder. His gaze still on me, Edan untied the scroll knotted on the falcon’s left claw and stroked the bird’s white throat.
I held my breath as Edan read the note. His expression gave nothing away, but he let out a small, inaudible breath.
“I hope you find someone to help you carry your goods home, Mistress—I mean, Master Tamarin. I would offer, but I’m afraid I’ve been summoned back to the palace. And as you know, one must obey the emperor.”
“Even you?” I said. “The almighty Lord Enchanter?”
“Even me.” Edan swooped a bow. The falcon on his shoulder craned its neck, peering at me with its round yellow eyes. “Another time, Master Tamarin.”
“I hope not,” I muttered.
Edan chuckled, having heard me. “Careful of pickpockets!” he called from behind.
Worried, I dug my hand into my pocket, only to find a new apple—and fifty jens.
I whirled around, but Edan was gone.
I let out an exasperated sigh. Never had I met anyone so insufferably pleased with himself.
I took a bite of my new apple. And yet, maybe he wasn’t all bad.
Maybe.
CHAPTER TEN
The following morning, just as we began drawing up designs and celebrating that we’d have the next few days free of the shansen’s daughter, who should stride into the Hall of Supreme Diligence but Lady Sarnai, unannounced and unexpected. Scissors clattered to the ground, and Longhai threw his flask behind his table as we all leapt to our feet in alarm.
Lady Sarnai swept past us, wearing a white cloak made entirely of dove feathers, a quiver of scarlet arrows hanging on her shoulder and a bow in her hand. Minister Lorsa was noticeably absent from her side today. Only a maid accompanied her, one who looked as if she would rather be doing anything than carrying the four dead birds gathered in her arms.
As Lady Sarnai’s dark eyes descended on us, the maid slung a dead falcon on Norbu’s table, Yindi’s, Longhai’s, then mine. My bird landed with a thump, its sharp yellow eyes open and hollow, its gray-spotted wings spread wide enough to cover the breadth of my table. I swallowed, thinking of the black hawk I’d seen my very first day in the palace.
Lady Sarnai sniffed. “I desire these feathers to be incorporated into a silk sash for His Majesty. To wear over his ceremonial robes to the temple.”
I hid a grimace. Surely, Lady Sarnai knew this would be a great insult to the emperor? It was forbidden to wear any signs of death into a temple.
“Master Longhai,” she said. “You look ill at ease. Does my request distress you?”
“No, Lady Sarnai,” he said quickly.
“Curious,” she murmured. “The sight of my morning’s spoils made your Lord Enchanter so uncomfortable he excused himself from my company for the day.”
I flinched at this news, remembering the falcon in the market. Had these birds been Edan’s pets?
Lady Sarnai picked on me next. “The Lord Enchanter is such an enigmatic creature. What secrets simmer beneath that vile countenance, I wonder. Master Tamarin, I understand the two of you have become acquainted.”
I opened my mouth to protest.
But Lady Sarnai went on: “It would be wise to stay away from him. Magic is the art of demons, no matter how the Lord Enchanter denies it. And as you know, any outside assistance is forbidden in the trial.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Good.” A sigh escaped her, and for a moment she looked quite miserable. But that cold mask returned, and she said, “I’ll leave you all to work.”
I did not enjoy depluming the dead falcon, but the other tailors seemed to have no problems with the task. Longhai worked swiftly and was already arranging the feathers around his worktable. I heard snipping sounds from Norbu’s side of the room and couldn’t help but cringe every time his blades cut.
Not long after Lady Sarnai left, Minister Lorsa appeared. “Kneel!” he barked at us, and we immediately dashed to the center of the room and touched our foreheads to the floor.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Longhai.
I had my answer before the old man could reply.
Emperor Khanujin had arrived.
The warmth of that first time I’d seen him washed over me once again. Only for a fleeting moment did I sense that it was strange, as if I were caught in some sort of spell that muddled my thoughts. I basked in his presence and hoped he would never leave.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” we shouted, “may you live ten thousand years!”
“Ruler of a Thousand Lands,” Lorsa’s voice rang. “Khagan of Kings, Son of Heaven, Favored of Amana, Glorious Sovereign of A’landi.”
The titles went on and on. I didn’t dare look up, not even when the emperor finally spoke.
“Rise.”
I was the last to obey. I unbent my knees and stood, only to see Edan behind the emperor. He tilted his head at my left leg, reminding me it was supposed to be crippled.
As I adjusted my position, I noticed Edan observing the feathers on our tables. The smirk he usually wore turned to a frown, and his arms stiffened at his sides.
“I understand that Her Highness, Lady Sarnai, visited the Hall of Supreme Diligence this morning,” Emperor Khanujin said.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Lorsa. “She had an additional task for the tailors.”
“What was it?”
“She wished to surprise you with a feather sash to wear to your morning prayers.”
Emperor Khanujin regarded Lorsa. “And did you not think to inform Lady Sarnai that it is forbidden to hunt any bird on imperial grounds?”
Lorsa’s face darkened, and he lowered his eyes. “My humblest apologies, Your Majesty,” he babbled, falling on his knees and kissing His Majesty’s feet until he was told to rise.
Cautiously, I looked at the emperor and observed the dozens of jade and gold pendants adorning his neck and sash. One didn’t shine as brilliantly as the rest.
It was bronze, and I made out the outline of a bird engraved on it. No wonder he was unhappy that Lady Sarnai hunted them in his gardens.
“I am grateful for Lady Sarnai’s generosity,” Emperor Khanujin said, addressing us tailors now, “but I have no need for a new ceremonial sash. I wear my father’s, out of respect for the sacrifices he made to unite this country.” He paused. “Reuniting A’landi is now my responsibility. You may find it contrary to tradition that Lady Sarnai is overseeing the selection of the next imperial tailor, but her happiness is of the utmost importance to maintaining the peace of our realm. I trust you will do your best to please her.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I intoned with the rest of the tailors.
“You come from all parts of A’landi, and some of you have journeyed far. I look forward to welcoming one of you into the palace.”
My heart was fluttering so fast I almost didn’t see Edan’s wink as he followed the emperor out.
I shook myself from my trance. There was something strange about Emperor Khanujin. Strange and wonderful, I thought.
Or strange and terrible.
* * *
• • •
It was late when I finally left the hall. My fingers were stiff from hours of knitting lace and folding silk ribbon flowers for Lady Sarnai’s jacket, and my mind was swimming from lack of sleep. As I opened the door to my room, all I could think about was collapsing onto my bed and—
I reared back in surprise. My cot was aglow, and the walls seemed to be humming softly.
My magic scissors.
I yanked them out of the bundle under my mattress. Seeing them again, I f
elt my fingers almost instinctively slipping into the bows. It was so tempting. Lady Sarnai loathed magic, but Longhai had said it wasn’t cheating, and Edan had encouraged me to use them.
I shook my head vigorously. You’re listening to Edan now, Maia? What’s gotten into you?
I needed to get rid of the scissors.
Before I could change my mind, I rewrapped them, took the bundle, and crept out into the gardens. I couldn’t throw them into a well, no matter how much I wished to be rid of them. The scissors had belonged to my grandmother, and Baba had given them to me. Maybe I would bury them—if only for a little while.
I had just passed the magnolia courtyard when I heard a lady weeping. The sound was soft, almost lost amid crickets chirping.
The sniffling stopped, replaced by a voice I knew all too well. “Who’s there?”
Lady Sarnai. Her commanding tone made me freeze. I swallowed, aware I was somewhere I shouldn’t be, and yet something in her voice betrayed a trace of—fear?
But Lady Sarnai was her father’s daughter. She didn’t let up. “Show yourself.”
I stepped out from behind the bush. “M-my apologies, Y-Your Highness. I…I got lost on my way back to the hall and—”
Lady Sarnai was the same height as me, but her voice—raw and thick with anger—made me feel small. “Did the emperor send you to spy on me?”
My eyes widened. “N-no, Your Highness. I thought you were one of the maids.”
Lady Sarnai scoffed, but she clenched her handkerchief and said nothing, looking so miserable my heart softened toward her.
“You’re homesick?” I said gently. “I am too.”
“You couldn’t possibly understand how I’m feeling.” Lady Sarnai dabbed her eyes, then said harshly, “Don’t tell me you fought in the war, that you were away from your home for years. I don’t care.”
I wondered now if her coldness—that flat, emotionless face she wore whenever she came to the Hall of Supreme Diligence—was a mask.
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