Spin the Dawn

by Elizabeth Lim

  Lady Sarnai missed home. I could see it in the dark pools of her wet eyes.

  She was angry and sad that her father had sacrificed her to make peace with Emperor Khanujin. And if Longhai was right about her relationship with Lord Xina, she had even more reason to be miserable.

  “Lady Sarnai,” I began hesitantly, “I know it’s difficult for you here. But His Majesty is doing his best to make you happy. He’s a kind man, and—”

  “A kind man?” She laughed bitterly. “That enchanter has you all fooled.”

  I frowned. “He would make you happy,” I repeated. “If you only let him.”

  “What do you know about happiness?” she snapped. “You’re a man. Now that the war is over, you can do what you want. You’ve proven yourself to A’landi. The world is open to you.”

  “I’m…I’m a simple tailor.”

  “A tailor who’s been invited to sew for the emperor. A girl couldn’t do that. A girl isn’t fit to be anything more than a prize. My father promised he’d never force me to marry. He taught me to hunt and to fight like a man. I was just as good as all my brothers. And now?” Lady Sarnai wrung her hands. “He broke his promise to me. At first I thought it was because the war and magic had blackened his heart, but that is just the way of men. For what is a promise if it’s made to a woman?”

  Her words rang so true to me, I almost staggered back.

  “I made a promise to my—my sister,” I said, catching myself at the last moment. “That I would win this competition so she could have a better life. It isn’t one I intend to break.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Lady Sarnai straightened, gathering her poise. “Leave me.”

  I bowed and obeyed.

  I couldn’t say my encounter with Lady Sarnai made me like her any more than before. Yes, I had glimpsed a vulnerable side of her, but she was still the cold and heartless daughter of the shansen. Yet something had changed.

  Now I pitied her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After my meeting with Lady Sarnai, I took care not to stray too far from the Hall of Supreme Diligence. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be so forgiving if I ran into her again.

  It was alone in the hall that Edan found me working on her jacket. The paper Minister Lorsa had given us was stiff, which was good for painting but cumbersome for the wide, flowing sleeves of my design.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, looking up when Edan’s shadow blocked the early-morning light.

  “The emperor’s at his prayers. I thought I’d go for a walk.”

  “You’re here to check up on me, aren’t you?” I said, dipping my brush into the pot of gold paint.

  “Not just you,” Edan said. “On the others, too.”

  “They’re still sleeping.” I tilted my head at the empty wine gourds on Longhai’s table. “They were up late drinking, as usual.”

  I swirled my brush and held it to the side of the pot so the excess would drain off. Setting it to the jacket, I swiftly painted a set of leaves patterned on imperial brocade, an embossed fabric with golden weaving.

  Edan leaned over me. “You’re quite the artist,” he said approvingly. “Did your brother teach you to paint like this?”

  I frowned at him. “You never told me how you knew my brothers died in the war.”

  “It’s my business to know things,” he said. For a moment, he looked weary—the way Keton did whenever someone mentioned the war. It made me wonder if Edan had fought beside the emperor.

  I drew a ragged breath and turned back to my work, not wanting to expose my grief to Edan. “Shouldn’t you be following Lady Sarnai?”

  “Someone’s prickly today,” he said, folding his arms. His demeanor was serene and cool again. “You’ll be pleased to know His Majesty has decided to supervise the contests from now on.”

  “Why would I be pleased?” I said, but my heart skipped a beat as I continued painting. I had often wished it were Emperor Khanujin I saw daily, instead of his Lord Enchanter.

  My sketchbook suddenly appeared in Edan’s hand, and he flipped through page after page of my drawings of Emperor Khanujin. Designs for his wardrobe, to be precise, but I’d taken care to draw his face on each.

  I jumped to my feet, horrified. “That’s mine! Where did you— Give that back!”

  “Drawing portraits of His Majesty in your spare time?” Edan said airily. “It doesn’t surprise me. Every girl in A’landi is besotted with our boy king.”

  My face burning, I snatched my sketchbook from him. “Boy king?” I huffed. “He’s older than you.”

  “He looks older than me,” Edan corrected. “And as you’ve said, looks are often deceiving.”

  I shoved my sketchbook into my pocket. “I’m not besotted with him.”

  Edan chuckled at me. “Impersonating a man doesn’t make you one. I know very well you aren’t immune to the emperor’s charms.”

  “You make Emperor Khanujin sound like he’s cast an enchantment,” I countered. “If he has, shouldn’t he work on charming Lady Sarnai?”

  I expected a snide retort from the Lord Enchanter, but Edan admitted, “Her resistance to him is strange. Everyone usually loves the emperor, at least when I’m around.”

  What an odd thing to say.

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps Lady Sarnai has charms of her own.”

  I hesitated. “I heard you were unhappy about the falcons she shot.”

  Edan cocked an eyebrow. “So you’ve been talking about me?” he asked, then laughed at my discomfort. “You’ll have to work on your habit of blushing, Master Tamarin.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you,” I said defensively. “Lady Sarnai brought it up.”

  “What else have you learned about me?”

  “Nothing. Except that you enjoy tormenting me.”

  “I’m helping you.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “Not even with your little infatuation for Emperor Khanujin?” Edan’s eyes flickered, this time green as the leaves behind him. “Given how little love Lady Sarnai has for him, maybe he’ll take on some concubines.” He gave me a sly, sidelong glance. “I could put you at the top of the list if you’d like.”

  I flashed him my fiercest scowl. “I’m going to be the imperial tailor.”

  “Master Huan served His Majesty’s father for thirty years. Do you think you can stay here for as long without revealing what you really are?”

  I swallowed. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about it, but I couldn’t tell Edan that. “Yes.”

  “Then you are very naïve.”

  “Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?” I huffed. “I’ve managed perfectly so far.”

  “You haven’t been here long,” Edan reminded me. “And,” he added smugly, “you’ve had help. If not for me, you’d be in a carriage on the way home by now. Or locked up in the dungeons.”

  I harrumphed, but the words made me press my brush to the jacket harder than I meant to.

  “I suppose if you stayed on, I could help with your disguise,” Edan mused. “I’m already helping you as it is.”

  “What exactly do you get out of this?”

  Edan found a coin in his pocket and tossed it with one hand. “Minister Lorsa and I made a bet.” He tilted his head back. “The winner gets a pig.”

  My brush sagged, drawing a line I hadn’t meant to. “You’re betting my future over a pig?”

  “Pigs are smarter than people give them credit for! Where I grew up, we almost worshipped them.” He sounded so serious I couldn’t tell if he was joking. “Besides, I don’t like Lorsa much. It would be fun to see him lose a pig.” He smiled. “With that in mind, I suggest you move your jacket away from the window. There’s a storm coming.”

  I looked up. “I see no rain clouds.”

 
“If nothing else, you can trust an enchanter to tell the weather accurately.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Edan made a face. “At the very least, move the jacket away from all that incense by Yindi’s station. You don’t want your work to smell like a prayer ritual.”

  “You’re a sacrilegious one,” I muttered. “What does it matter? Lady Sarnai never wears anything we make her.”

  “She’s trying to amuse herself.”

  “The way you amuse yourself betting pigs on my future?”

  “Not quite. Though I’d win faster if you called upon those special scissors of yours.”

  I wrung my brush free of water. “I’ve buried them.”

  “Buried them?” He grinned, tossing the coin one last time. “How many times have I told you not to lie to an enchanter, Maia Tamarin?”

  “Master Tamarin. And I don’t need them.”

  “You’re used to being underestimated, so you want to prove yourself. Don’t let that be your crutch. Accept help when you need it.”

  “I will. Now would you please go?”

  He bowed, his black hair netting the sunlight as he bent. “As you wish, Master Tamarin.” He winked at me. “As you wish.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Much as I resented him, Edan was right about the weather. Soon after dusk, the clouds darkened. Thunder boomed, followed by streaks of lightning ripping across the sky. Rain pattered against the roof, and I quickly moved my jacket away from the windows and shut them.

  I prayed the paint would dry despite the humidity. I’d spent a small fortune on the color, a deep violet that was one of A’landi’s most prized exports on the Great Spice Road.

  “Where’s Norbu?” I asked Longhai. “His jacket’s not here.”

  “I haven’t seen him. Neither has Yindi.” Longhai took a swig from his gourd, a larger one than his previous—a “gift” from Norbu, I suspected. “Hope he’s not caught in the rain.”

  I didn’t have time to worry about Norbu. I set my jacket on my table and inspected it with a critical eye. Stiff enough to stand on its own, the jacket had rippling sleeves and an embroidered collar like in the Freverish courts, and tonight I would twine strips of silk into its lace belt. Every detail was a marriage between one end of the Spice Road and the other.

  Not bad. Best of all, I’d made it by myself with no help from any special scissors.

  But think of what you could’ve done with the scissors, my inner voice nagged me.

  I ignored it. If Lady Sarnai discovered that I was using magic, I would be dismissed.

  Then again, if I lost the trial, I’d be sent home. There were four of us left now. Surely there’d be at least one more challenge before an imperial tailor was chosen?

  I worked late, long after Longhai and Yindi had gone to bed, and the warm rain tinkling down the roofs became a patter, then a mist. Since no one was here, I decided to try on my jacket to make sure the belt would hold the paper folds together. As I tied the belt about my waist, a black hawk with white-tipped wings cried out and circled in the night sky.

  “There it is again!” I peered out the window, but it’d already flown out of sight. I slipped outside to look for the bird.

  Shadows crawled over the palace grounds, and the round red lanterns that lit the corridor beamed like glowing stars. In the distance I heard crickets chirping, and the soft rustle of the wind against the trees. The hawk was nowhere to be seen.

  Disappointed, I suddenly became aware that I’d forgotten my cane and had worn my jacket out of the hall. I slipped it off, and as I turned back, a terrible sight made me gasp.

  Smoke. Not from the kitchens, but billowing out of the Hall of Supreme Diligence. The hall was on fire!

  I dropped my jacket and dashed for the nearest fire bell. “Fire! Fire!”

  Still shouting, I pulled open the door. Flames danced near Yindi’s worktable. I saw his jacket hanging on one of the wooden screens, and Longhai’s stretched out on his table. They’d be ruined if I didn’t do something!

  Barreling inside was not the smartest thing to do, but I did it anyway, ignoring the pain from the pebble in my shoe and racing to rescue their jackets.

  I grabbed them and hurried toward the door. The ground smoldered under my feet, and the smoke was thick, searing my lungs and obscuring my sight.

  Disoriented, I spun. I’d made sure to leave the door open when I entered, but now it was closed!

  I threw my body against it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  I pushed again, grunting. “Let me out!” I shouted, coughing into my sleeve. “Someone, anyone—help!”

  Flames licked the wooden stand on which one of the Three Sages stood. The wood beneath it creaked and snapped. Like bones breaking. The giant statue rumbled and toppled onto the ground. It rolled, faster and faster—toward me.

  Nowhere to run. I climbed onto a table and leapt for the lantern hanging above me. It swung, barely strong enough to hold my weight. I kicked up my dangling feet just as the Sage bowled beneath me into the fire.

  The lantern snapped, and I tumbled onto the table.

  Smoke filled my lungs. Coughing, I swerved toward the closest window—one that, thank Amana, had no screens. I pushed the jackets out first, then squeezed my body through, but the pattern of the latticework caught at my hips.

  No, no, no. I wriggled. I panicked. So close.

  “Norbu?” I shouted, seeing a figure outside. “Norbu, is that you?”

  No answer.

  I sucked in my stomach and drove my hips through the window. With one last push, I rolled away from the hall, panting and struggling to catch my breath. Then I saw Norbu coming out of the shadows.

  “Norbu!” I shouted. “Thank Amana you’re—”

  Norbu stepped on my wrist, pinning my hand to the ground.

  Squirming, I kicked and cried, “Norbu, what are you—”

  I stopped. He was carrying one of the heavy metal pans we used for smoothing our fabrics. I tried to yank my wrist away, but he was too strong. Too quick.

  He raised the pan high, then brought it crashing down onto my hand.

  Pain shot up from the tips of my fingers and flooded my brain. I screamed, but Norbu’s other foot covered my mouth, muffling the sound before it pierced the commotion behind us.

  The last thing I saw was Norbu slipping out behind the hall. Then everything went black.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I couldn’t move my hand. It felt like a pincushion, punctured by scorching needles from every side. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and my heart beat so fast I could hardly breathe. I tried to scream, but my mouth was gagged.

  Something touched my broken hand, subduing the pain just enough for me to breathe.

  I blinked, my vision bleary. I was lying on a bench, with a pillow slightly elevating my head.

  Where was I? Not in my room. The smells here were crisper, an undertone of cinnamon and musk. The colors were a blur—splashes of periwinkle, an ocher wall, a tower of books with faded crimson spines. I shut my eyes, then opened them again.

  How did I get here?

  A voice. Male. Calm. “Ah, you’re awake.”

  Edan’s thin face focused into view.

  “Drink this.” He dribbled tea over the cloth in my mouth. It filtered down my throat, warm, but not hot enough to burn. It was surprisingly sweet, the taste of the medicine masked by tangerine nectar and ginger.

  “I infused the tea with willow bark shavings,” Edan said. “That should help with the pain.” He untied the cord restraining my arm and lifted my hand. “Are you going to scream?”

  I blinked. No.

  “Now, I warn you,” he said, releasing the gag, “I hate it when girls scream.”

  “I’m. Not. A. Girl,” I said between breaths.
r />   “I hate it even more when boys scream.”

  I tried to wiggle my fingers, but they wouldn’t move. A tide of panic set my heart racing again. “I can’t—”

  “Don’t worry,” Edan said. “Now, xitara, don’t get the wrong idea.” He brought my fingertips to his lips and blew on them.

  “What are you—”

  He set my hand down. “It should take a few minutes. It might feel a little odd. Best for you not to think about it.”

  “Think about what?”

  “The burns aren’t as bad as I feared,” he went on, ignoring me. “But the joints and muscles are in poor shape.”

  “Think about what?” I repeated.

  Then I felt it. A sharp twinge in the muscles of my hand. The twinge became a tingling—more painful than pleasurable, but the sensation was odd, as if my bones were reconstructing themselves. Feeling returned to me finger by finger, and blood rushed to my palm as the swelling went down and my veins blued. I held my breath until it was over; then I gasped. “How did you—”

  Edan poured water liberally over my hand, washing away the blood and soothing the bruises. “Healing was never my gift, but I learned enough to be useful.”

  I sat up. “I meant, how did you find me?”

  “Oh,” he said. “I heard you scream. Good thing you did. My hearing is very sensitive, you know.”

  I was barely listening. I wished he hadn’t taken away my gag. The pain in my hand spiked, and I wanted to scream again, but I wouldn’t—not in front of Edan. So I clenched my teeth together and clamped my lips closed.

  Slowly, the bruises faded before my eyes, the ones over my knuckles taking longest to disappear. I watched, so mesmerized that I almost forgot the pain.

  “There,” Edan announced. “Good as new. Almost, anyway.”

  I stared at my hand.

  “No ‘thank you’?” said Edan mildly.

  “Thank you,” I breathed, flipping my hand back and forth. Even my calluses were gone. It would be a nuisance developing new ones, but better than having a broken hand. “Thank you.”