We stopped to make camp before sunset, and I was so exhausted I fell asleep soon after pitching my tent.
When I woke, night was fading, the first glimmers of the sun peeking over the horizon and shining through the folds of my tent. I rolled to my side and reached into my satchel for my brush and a piece of parchment.
Dear Baba and Maia,
I think more and more of Finlei and Sendo these days now that I am traveling the Road. Last night, I slept under the stars for the first time since they went after the war. I woke once or twice in the middle of the night, sure Finlei had wrapped a blanket over my shoulders and Sendo was there at my side to comfort me with a story—the way he used to when I had a bad dream. But there was just sand, and the ghostly silence of this empty land.
I lifted my brush, not wanting to continue the letter on such a melancholy note. On the bottom of the page, I drew a picture of my horse and the sand dunes and lizards. Best not to mention Edan, who’d vanished into his tent just after dinner and still hadn’t awoken.
We won’t have water for days in the desert. Imagine! Me in the desert, after growing up by Port Kamalan’s sea. I miss you so much, Baba. And Maia—thirty-eight steps.
I folded my letter in half. Blowing sand settled into the crease as I tucked the letter into my satchel. I’d been in the desert long enough to know it was useless trying to sweep it clean.
I crawled out of my tent then and laid my head back against the sand, watching the stars fade. Remembering that Finlei and Sendo were dead made me homesick for Port Kamalan, and here, wandering in the vast world, I somehow felt closer to Baba and Keton than I ever had in the palace. Strangely, even though I was bound to return to finish Lady Sarnai’s dresses, I’d never felt so free.
Two months of this lay ahead. I started counting the days, unsure of what was to come.
* * *
• • •
The Samarand Passage rested on the fringe of the Halakmarat Desert, marked by two jutting rocks. It appeared to be nothing but a large expanse of sand, naked trees, and dying grass—but within was a small trading town. There we exchanged our horses for camels. I wasn’t sad to see Pumpkin go—four days in his company had left my thighs and knees blue with bruises. Now it really hurt to walk.
Seeing the Halakmarat Desert on the horizon—how large the sun was here—made my stomach flutter with excitement. This was the farthest west in A’landi I had ever been! Already I’d seen more of the world than I’d ever dreamed I would.
“Come,” Edan said, “we have a few stops to make.”
Edan pulled up his hood, and I did the same. The winds here were strong, carrying sand from the desert, and the arid air chafed my skin.
The marketplace was on one long block with an inn at the end. I peered into a stall that sold sticky rice wrapped in palm leaves, and jugs of date milk for travelers preparing to go into the desert. The price of water made my eyebrows jump. Edan didn’t stop to buy any, and I wondered what we would do for water. Then again, I’d never seen the Lord Enchanter stop to fill his canteen, and yet somehow it was always full.
“Where are we going?”
“To get supplies.”
I frowned and looked back. “But the marketplace is that way.”
Edan ignored me, making for the drinking house.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured me. “This is one of the more respectable establishments. No fighting’s allowed, and everyone’s required to keep his shirt on.”
I smiled nervously as a group of drunken men jostled past. “That makes me feel so much better.”
I’d never seen such a motley crowd of men. Merchants, gamblers, soldiers, and even a monk or two. About a third were A’landan, a good number were Agorian, and a few, I noticed with a gulp, looked like Balardans—barbarians who’d been fighting A’landi for years. They had helped the shansen in his campaign against Emperor Khanujin.
Edan pointed at a man drinking alone in the corner. “Best leather merchant in town. Go talk to him. You need to make a pair of shoes.” He touched my shoulder and leaned closer. “A bargaining tip—don’t smile so much. You do it when you’re nervous, but these merchants will just think you’re a dolt.”
I frowned at him. “Where are you going?”
“Silk merchants,” Edan said, heading toward a group of men playing cards.
I grunted—I’d far rather haggle with the silk sellers.
“Chess?” the leather merchant asked when I stopped at his table. He was already preparing the pieces for his next game.
I scratched at a mosquito bite on my arm and ignored the offer to play. Chess had always been Finlei’s game, not mine—but I wasn’t terrible. In fact, in all of Port Kamalan, Finlei was the only one who could beat me.
I put on my fiercest haggling expression. “I was told you have leather to sell.”
“This is a drinking house, boy,” replied the merchant. He had a face like his goods—tough, with many creases. “If you’re not here to play, I’m not in the mood for business.”
I took the stool across from him. It was like old times. Usually merchants who ended up in Port Kamalan were too tired to be difficult, but I’d dealt with the worst of them. “How about a game, then? If I win, you’ll give me a swath of your best leather. Free of charge.”
“There must be sand in your eyes.” The merchant laughed and took another swig of his wine. He reminded me of Longhai, but I could see that behind his friendly drawl he was out to cheat me. “I never mix business with pleasure.”
“Even for this?” I took out my pouch of jens from the palace and loosened the opening just enough for the merchant to see what was inside.
His eyes widened. “That’s enough to buy twenty swaths of leather, boy.”
“Oh, would you prefer to sell now?”
He stared at my pouch greedily. “Not a chance.”
Good. I’ll get a free swath of leather. And prove to Edan I’m a better haggler than he is. “You start.”
While he made his move, I studied my side of the board. Chess was a battle of two armies; capturing the opponent’s general meant victory. Finlei had been a master, and the only way to beat him was to make him think he was winning until the very end—when he couldn’t breach the defenses I’d constructed around my general.
The strategy worked. It was a close game, but I beat the merchant tidily. Trying not to swagger with pride, I rolled my newly acquired swath of leather under my arm and went to find Edan.
The drinking house had grown even more crowded. Everywhere, men shouted “More food! More drink!” at the serving boys, who juggled gourds of wine and bowls of steaming noodles, and men who were already drunk shouted too, reciting bad poetry louder than it ought to have been heard. But as I threaded through the chaos, a familiar laugh cut through the din of several men gambling behind a bamboo screen.
My heart jumped wildly in my chest. Norbu?
A straw hat obscured his hair, and he wore a robe far coarser than the ones he’d donned in the palace, but I would recognize that silhouette—and that laugh—anywhere.
His heavy-lidded gaze fixed upon me, and I glanced away quickly, but not fast enough. Norbu caught me staring. His eyes lifted slightly, and his mouth curled into a sneer, one that raised goose bumps on my arms.
He whispered something to the Balardans next to him before slipping out of the gambling room. My heart hammering, I tried to follow. But by the time I’d squeezed through the crowd, Norbu had vanished.
And I had found Edan—or rather, heard him. He was in the back, his long legs splayed across the carpet, laughing and drinking and playing cards with the silk merchants. I stalked toward him, but Edan pretended not to see me.
“Have you heard?” one of the merchants was saying to him. “Emperor Khanujin’s taken ill. No one’s seen him for days. He won’t leave his room.”
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As usual, my companion wore an inscrutable smile—either it meant nothing, or he knew something no one else did. “Well,” he said, ignoring me, “we must hope His Majesty’s health improves before he leaves for the Autumn Palace.”
“Yes,” the merchant said solemnly. “He was always sickly as a child, I remember. Word had it his father was glad Prince Khanujin was the second in line. Never thought the boy would make it to his adult years. I pray he marries Lady Sarnai quickly and produces an heir.”
Edan replied, “Yes, a prayer for His Majesty’s health.”
The silk merchant gave Edan a hug. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Gallan. Try not to overpay next time.”
“Overpay?” I echoed as soon as Edan joined me. He pushed through the rear door, heading to a stall to pick up his purchase.
“The man doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he replied. “I got all this for two hundred jens. Compliments of my friends at the card table.”
I surveyed his prize: ten yards of wild silk. “Did you cheat?”
“An enchanter never reveals his secrets,” Edan replied mysteriously.
“I’d say someone pulled the wool over your eyes.” I crossed my arms. “I could’ve gotten all this for fifty in Port Kamalan. I wish you’d let me handle the silk merchants.”
His smirk fell apart. Rather sulkily, he asked, “How much did you pay?”
My turn to smirk. I held out my merchandise. “All the leather we need. Finest quality. Free.”
“Free?”
“I won at chess. Fair and square.”
“Remind me not to underestimate you.” Edan grinned, looking a little proud.
Heat rose to my cheeks, but I didn’t grin back. I glanced around, making sure we were alone, then asked, “Who is Gallan?”
“One of my many names,” Edan said dismissively. “Don’t call me Edan when we’re away from the palace.”
“Why not? What should I call you?”
“Anything else.” Edan hesitated, looking suddenly pensive. “The emperor won’t be pleased I’m gone. He may dispatch people to come find me. Or worse, if word gets out that I’m missing, the shansen might try to capture me.”
I swallowed uneasily. “I should tell you, I saw Norbu just now. In the drinking house.”
“Norbu?” Edan raised an eyebrow.
I nodded. “I thought he was to be executed.”
“It’s possible he bribed his way out of prison,” considered Edan. “With his wealth and reputation, it wouldn’t be unheard of. You needn’t worry about him, though. He won’t remember you’re a woman.”
That wasn’t why I was worried. “He was with a group of Balardans.”
A shrug. “He probably hired them to take him out of A’landi. Depending on how he escaped, the emperor’s soldiers might be after him. We’re the least of his concerns. And more importantly, he’s the least of yours.”
I hoped so.
With a long sigh, I glanced at the sky. The sun was setting now, its rim a deep burnt crimson. In three months’ time, when the sun burned bright red, the shansen would arrive at the Autumn Palace, and Emperor Khanujin and Lady Sarnai would be wed.
A reminder my time was short.
After Edan picked up our camels, we led them out of town and made camp by a small pond just outside the Samarand Passage. It was shallow and overrun with flies, but I filled my canteens to the brim. Edan had warned me his enchantment on our canteens wouldn’t last through the desert, and the pond would be the last reliable source of water for days.
“That worried look will be permanently etched on your face if you don’t stop frowning,” he remarked as I sat cross-legged, cutting a pattern for the bodice of one of the dresses.
“Easy for you to say,” I retorted. “You’re not the one with the impossible task of pleasing Lady Sarnai. Bet she’s counting the days until she can order my death sentence.”
“Well, Emperor Khanujin certainly won’t welcome me with open arms if you fail. I did disobey him by coming with you.”
True, and I hadn’t been grateful.
I set the collar down on my lap. “I heard the merchant say His Majesty was ill.”
Edan cracked his knuckles, something I had never seen him do. “Emperor Khanujin is prone to illness from time to time. Your gods will watch over him.”
“Shouldn’t you go back to heal him?”
“I would guess he’s more angry than unwell.”
I didn’t understand what he meant, but the edge in his voice was a warning not to pry. “Well, thank you for coming with me.”
“Thank me after you make the dresses.”
I shook my head. “I still don’t believe it’s possible. The gods live in a separate world from us,” I explained. “Our worlds do not touch.”
“Except through magic,” he corrected me. “I wasn’t lying when I told you Amana’s dresses can be made.”
“You also said they shouldn’t be.”
“True,” Edan said. “Those dresses have great power—power that is not meant to exist in the mortal world. But it’s good you’re reluctant. That just might keep you alive.”
I’d never seen him so serious. “Are you trying to frighten me?”
“No.” Edan’s grim expression didn’t change. “I want you to know that some journeys have ends, but not this one. This one will change you. Irrevocably.”
“Don’t all journeys change you?”
“It isn’t the same.” He leaned forward. “I, too, once journeyed beyond the stars.”
“What did you find?”
His voice turned lethally soft. “That it’s just the beginning.” He stood and walked away. “If ever you change your mind and want to go back, say the word. I will not question it.”
“What do you mean, it’s just the beginning?” I called after him.
But of course, Edan did not reply.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Edan was back to his usual cheerful self the next day, and to my relief, he said nothing about our conversation the night before. I was eager to resume our travels. The sooner we completed our journey, the sooner I could get back to the palace to make the dresses, and relieve myself of the heavy burden of securing peace for A’landi.
The camels were faster than our horses, and a good deal more pleasant to ride. I didn’t even mind the smell. The hump took some getting used to, but my camel—whom I named Milk—wasn’t half as finicky as Pumpkin.
“Milk?” commented Edan on my camel’s new name. His silhouette was dark and lean against the sun. “I’m naming mine Snowfoot.” He gestured at the white fur over his camel’s hooves.
“What about Pestilence?” I suggested sweetly.
Edan’s lips bent into a grin. “Teasing me now, are you? That’s a good development.”
I reached to pet Milk’s small, petal-shaped ears. Her long, honey-colored lashes batted when I touched them, and an irritated snort escaped the thin slits of her nostrils. I sat back, chastened. Milk walked with a steady enough gait that I could take out my sketchbook and start drafting the dress of the sun. I remembered helping Mama design a dress for our statue of Amana at home when I was younger, but sewing the dress from scratch would be different from fitting one onto a statue. The tales said little about how Amana’s dress looked, except that the skirt flared like rays of the sun. That was enough of a clue to start fleshing out some ideas.
As we progressed into the Halakmarat Desert, sweat trickled down the crook of my neck. I wasn’t made for the desert, as the camels were—or as Edan was, apparently. While I suffered and reddened under the sun, his smooth, bronze skin didn’t even sweat.
It made me wonder about him. Like me, Edan kept his satchel always close at his side. Only, his was full of vials of various powders and liquids I couldn’t begin to name. Like m
y spools and needles, I supposed. We each had our craft.
I’d begun to understand how his eyes changed color with his mood. Black when he was angry, irises like thunderclouds. Yellow when he used magic—with pupils as round as full moons. Blue when he was calm, like the pale sky above us.
I’d thought I’d learn more about his past now that we were traveling companions, but he’d only grown more mysterious. He always disappeared at dusk, and he was always awake before I was, despite his claim that he detested rising early. And these days, he always looked so tired.
“You’ve been quiet,” I remarked.
“Talking depletes my energy,” Edan replied, flipping a page of his book. “I dislike the desert more than most terrains.”
“Why?”
“It’s dry. And windy. Then there’s the sun. The desert is where his power shines brightest, where he reminds you how small and insignificant you are. Over time, he’ll burn away everything you have, from your hope to your dignity, to your very life.” He stopped, his lips twisting to an apologetic grimace. “I suppose I’ve spent too much time in deserts.”
I mustered a smile. The heat was intense. “I thought you didn’t believe in A’landi’s gods.”
“I’m not A’landan,” Edan said. “But the sun is worshipped in many lands. He’s a brilliant, brutal deity. And now we are in the heart of his kingdom.”
“Was it always a desert here? I heard that A’landi was once surrounded by forest.”
Edan put down his book, and the sinking sun left us in shadow. Dusk was coming. “Why do you ask?”
“Because…” My voice trailed off. “I thought you’d know. You seem to have been here before….”
“I’ve been many places before.”
“So you’ve said,” I replied, remembering how I’d thought he’d looked too young to have accomplished so much—that his boasts were merely hot air. Now I wasn’t so sure. “When were you here?”
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