I would not let Bandur take my soul. Not without a fight.
I needed to see light in Baba’s eyes again, to see Keton walk again. I needed to remember what it was like to be happy. If only for one last time.
Reaching for my scissors, I attacked the remains of our enchanted carpet until it quivered with life.
Home. I was going home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It was a few hours before sunset when I arrived in Port Kamalan. The roads were empty; everyone was at home to celebrate the red sun, and not even the street peddlers were out selling their wares. I spied Calu’s father in his bakery, stirring flour, oil, sugar, and water as he did every afternoon, preparing the dough for tomorrow morning’s buns, but he didn’t see me. No one did.
Our shop was closed, but I knew Baba was absentminded and would have forgotten to lock the door. With my carpet rolled under my arm, I quietly pushed my way inside.
Nothing had changed—piles of linen shirts sat folded on the counter, cobwebs were slung across the corners, and Baba’s pan with charcoal rested against a low stool.
“Who’s there?” a voice rasped from far behind the counter—if I were to guess, from our little altar beside the kitchen. Baba shuffled slowly into the storefront.
Seeing my father made me choke with emotion. “Baba!”
He recognized my voice before my silhouette; then his eyes widened.
“Heavens, Maia!” His breath hitched. “You should have written that you were coming.”
“I can’t stay long,” I said, trying to remain in the shadows. My eyes were bloodshot from crying, and I didn’t want Baba to see.
Baba ushered me inside. “Did the emperor give you a holiday?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t think he would, now that you’re the imperial tailor.” Baba held my shoulders. “My daughter, the emperor’s tailor. It’s been difficult keeping your secret, especially when I’m so proud of you.”
“You don’t need to anymore. The emperor has told everyone that I am a woman.”
“Truly?” Baba stood taller. “Then, praise Amana, he is as magnificent as they say.”
I pursed my lips instead of responding. The red sun hung lower in the sky, but its light poured in from the kitchen window, and I shielded my eyes from the glare. “Where is Keton?”
“Home in time for dinner?” came a voice behind me. “Thank the gods. Baba put me in charge of the cooking. But now that you’re back…”
“Keton,” I said softly. My hand slipped into my pocket with the walnut Edan had given me, and I held it as I watched Keton struggle forward, dragging himself along the wall. I rushed to help him, dipping under his shoulder and wrapping my arm around his waist so he could lean on me.
“Careful, Maia,” he scolded me, half teasing. “These bones are still healing. You’ll crush them with that grip of yours.”
The corners of my vision glistened, and my throat swelled. I let him go. “You can walk?”
“Hardly,” Keton replied, wearily leaning against the wall.
“You said you’d take a step for every day I was gone.”
“Maia,” said Baba sharply.
At my side, Keton hung his head. “I tried. I really tried, Maia.”
My heart sank, but I smiled so Keton couldn’t see the sadness in my eyes.
I rested my carpet against the wall and looked about the shop. It was neater than before, but only barely. I saw my letters strewn over the cutting table, their edges worn, and I briefly wondered if the sand caught between their folds had made it to Port Kamalan. I couldn’t bring myself to check.
On the kitchen table was a line of half-burnt candles and a pile of half-sewn silk. I stroked the silk; it was satiny and lustrous, the kind you could only buy from merchants on the Road.
“You’ve been sewing again,” I marveled, hearing Baba’s box of pins rattling in his pocket as he followed me. “Was the money I sent enough?”
“You sent us too much money,” Baba scolded me. “I had to give half of it away so our neighbors would stop asking where it came from and where you’d gone. They’re shrewd ones, those fishermen’s wives, but they’re no snitches…at least not after a hundred jens.”
“I was worried you wouldn’t have enough food,” I said, relieved.
“Be more worried about Keton’s sewing skills.”
“I’m getting better,” my brother protested.
“Yes, he can finally sew buttons now.”
Keton made a face. “What about you, Maia?” he said, studying me. “You look…different.”
I was wearing his old clothes—the ones I’d taken the night I’d decided to leave home. Yet I knew what he meant. I was different.
I’d battled ghosts and touched the stars. I’d climbed a mountain to the moon and conquered the fury of the sun. How could I be the same girl who used to sit in the corner mending rips and practicing embroidery all day?
But I said none of this as I helped Keton to his chair and spread a blanket over his legs. Drums thundered in the near distance. The sound startled me, and I jumped. “What’s that?”
“They’re from the temple,” Keton said, frowning at my unease. “Maia, are you all right?”
“Just tired,” I said quickly. “I’ve had a long journey.”
It was the first lie I’d ever told my brother. I wasn’t fine, and when I glanced at Baba, I could tell he knew it. I clutched Edan’s walnut in my hand. Somehow, it gave me strength to know that if this was the last time I’d see my family, I’d do some good for them.
“So,” Keton said. “Tell me everything.”
I sat on the stool beside his chair, still unsettled by the drums. Their pounding was a steady counterpoint to my unsteady heart. “What is there to tell?”
“Come on, Maia. You’ve been gone for months. You’re the imperial tailor. You’ve met the emperor and the shansen’s daughter. You must have a story to tell.”
I touched his knees and looked back at Baba’s pile of clothes to be mended. It would be so easy to stay here with them, to take care of the shop and forget everything that had happened. If only I could. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“Start at the beginning,” Baba said. “Make it a tale, like the ones Sendo used to tell you. Then the story will come to you.”
Yes, Sendo used to tell me fairy tales. How he’d love mine if he were still alive: the tale of a girl who’d sewn the sun, the moon, and the stars into three dresses, the tale of a girl whom a demon had vowed to possess.
It was the tale of a boy, too. A boy who could fly but not swim. A boy with the powers of the gods but the shackles of a slave. A boy who loved me.
It was a tale still being written.
I took a deep breath, then told them about the trial, the master tailors I had met and competed against, and Lady Sarnai’s request for the three dresses of the sun and the moon and the stars. I recounted my journey with Edan across A’landi and the Halakmarat Desert and Agoria, even to the Forgotten Isles of Lapzur, and what enchantment surrounded Emperor Khanujin whenever Edan was near. But as I approached the end of my story, Baba’s brow creased. No matter how I tried to hide what I was feeling, he could always read me. He could tell I was leaving something out, and he was right.
Shadows fell over me as the day aged, and I sank into them to hide from the scrutiny of Baba’s gaze. I couldn’t tell him I’d fallen in love with the emperor’s enchanter, or that the power of Amana’s dresses had set him free—or that I’d been cursed by a demon.
“That’s quite the tale, Maia,” said Baba when I finished. “So it is thanks to you that the emperor and Lady Sarnai will wed.”
“Tell me more about the ghosts and the demons,” urged Keton. “And this enchanter.”
“Later, Keton.” Baba looked at me and frowned. “Maia
, you don’t look well.”
“I’m just tired.” I managed a smile, but my fists were clenched. A chill seeped in from one of the windows. “Keton, you’re shivering. Let me get you some tea.”
“I’m not shivering,” my brother protested, but I was already up.
Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved the walnut. Deftly, I cracked it open like an egg. A golden liquid, thick as honey, glistened before me, and the scent of ginger wafted into the air. I started to empty its contents into the teapot, but at the last moment, I wavered. I’d witnessed enough of Edan’s enchantment to have faith in it, and yet…magic had never been what made Baba call me the strong one. It had changed me, but it had never made me stronger—or happier. How could it, for Baba and Keton?
They were waiting for me, so I shoved the walnut behind one of our potted plants. I scooped up the nearest cup and filled it. The weight of the tea pressed the cup against my palm, and the heat settled in a second later. My skin tingled from the warmth, and I handed the cup to Keton, then poured a cup for Baba. Then a cup for me.
“Let us celebrate my appointment as imperial tailor,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t come out strangled. “Let us toast Emperor Khanujin’s wedding to the shansen’s daughter. And pray its success will allow me to come home more.”
“To peace,” Baba toasted. He drained his cup, and Keton too drank the tea in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
I watched them both, hoping with all my heart I had made the right choice.
“You’re staring at me, Maia,” said Keton teasingly. “Do I have tea leaves up my nose?”
I crouched beside him, taking his hands in mine, and smiled. “No, I’m just happy to see you. And Baba. And to be home again.”
He drew me close. “Remember our last morning in Gangsun?” he asked quietly. “I refused to leave, and I climbed a tree to hide so no one would find me.”
I remembered. “You fell and broke your arm.”
“It hurt so much I was afraid I’d never be able to use it again, but I was more afraid of Finlei.” Keton let out a soft laugh. “He scolded me until my ears rang. But afterward, he splinted my arm and, once it healed, he helped me exercise it to make it strong again.”
Keton’s hands steadied, his breath evening. “I’d forgotten that morning for so many years, and yet, after you left, I thought about it every day.” Finally he confessed, “I think I was afraid of you, too. Not that you’d scold me. But that I would let you down.”
I was glad he was holding my hands, for my balance wobbled as I rocked back with surprise. “Keton…”
“I did try,” he said, silencing and steadying me both at once. “Every morning, every night. Some days were better than others, but every time, I fell. I didn’t want to fall when you came back.”
Before Baba or I could say anything, he peeled off the blanket. His knees trembled, and he reached out to keep them still.
“You’ve been away a long time, sister,” he said, “and I promised a step for each day. But I didn’t promise that they’d all be at once.” He inhaled, and pulled himself to the edge of his chair, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He struggled to stand without help from the walls or from Baba, but he wouldn’t take my arm when I held it out to him.
Folding his fingers tightly over his cane, he stabbed it a cautious distance ahead, dragged his foot forward, and closed the gap with a step. Then another. And another, until I heard Baba gasp as Keton staggered toward him.
Three steps, and my brother collapsed against the chair beside Baba. I wrapped my arms around him.
“Three for now,” said my brother, smiling as he ruffled my hair. “Will you count that, Maia?”
“I would rather count your smiles than your steps, dear brother,” I said. “What means most to me is being here, home with you and Baba.”
Baba came to us, and we embraced him. It’d been so long since we were together like this, I never wanted to let go.
As I knelt beside my brother, Baba told stories about us as children, how Keton used to put worms in my hair and how Baba worried I’d never be recognized as a tailor in my own right. And he laughed. I heard my father laugh for the first time in years.
Dusk bloomed too soon. Baba began to light the candles, but his eyelids drooped, heavy with tiredness. I ushered him to his room to get some rest. Then gently, I helped Keton to his bed.
I found the walnut where I’d left it, its contents still warm and glistening. Still there for me to drink. For me to be happy, as Edan had told me. But it was too late for me. To see my father laugh and my brother walk, and to see Edan become free…that was all the happiness I needed. I’d cling to it, as long as I could—until Bandur took my soul, piece by piece.
The drums thundered, still distant, but quicker. My heart lurched. Maybe if I stayed here, Bandur’s prophecy wouldn’t come true. Maybe if I didn’t go back, I could salvage who I was.
No. Amana had warned me of the price I’d pay to save Edan. And even in a thousand lifetimes, I would not have made a different choice.
I poured the walnut into a potted bamboo shoot on the windowsill. The plant grew greener as it absorbed Edan’s magic. A sight that both stung my heart and made it swell.
I sat beside Keton on his cot. His eyes were already half closed, and a smile touched his lips. I kissed his forehead, and I pressed his cheek to mine. “Sleep, dear brother.”
“Is this real?” he murmured, clasping my hand. “Are you really here? Did Baba really laugh?”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “I’m here. And Baba did laugh. He will, again and again until we never forget the sound—because we’re together. And we will be again, soon. Now sleep.”
I listened as his breathing slowed. In and out it wove, in and out—that steady rhythm meant he was fast asleep. I wrapped a blanket over Baba’s shoulders and pulled up Keton’s so it covered his chest. Then, careful not to make a sound, I left our shop.
The last vestiges of the red sun painted the horizon in crimson. I shielded my eyes from its light and sat on my carpet. In the glass window of Baba’s shop, a shadow flickered in my reflection’s eyes—making them sparkle blood-red.
A shiver coursed down my spine. Just a trick of the light, I told myself. From the red sun.
I watched the sky until the last strains of daylight faded, washed over by the black of night. Yet as I soared over Port Kamalan’s glittering waters back to the palace, that shiver settled in me. I knew I had ended my tale to Baba and Keton on a wondrous note. I had been afraid to tell them the truth, that my homecoming was not the end of my story.
But a new and terrible beginning.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My book would not be in your hands without Gina Maccoby, my stalwart agent. Thank you, Gina, for seeing something special in my writing and giving me a chance, for helping me hone my writing to be the best it can be, and for believing in me through the ups and downs of my path to publication. You are the mentor I always dreamed of having.
To Katherine Harrison, editor extraordinaire. I knew from the beginning that Maia had found her home with you, and I’m thankful that fate landed my book in your hands. Thank you for making her story even stronger with your keen edits, and for championing Spin the Dawn in ways I didn’t even know were possible.
A hearty thank-you to the Knopf BFYR team: Alex Hess, Alison Impey, Julia Maguire, Mary McCue, Jaclyn Whalen, Alison Kolani, Tracy Heydweiller, Jake Eldred, Artie Bennett, Janet Renard, Amy Schroeder, and Barbara Perris for the incredible enthusiasm, time, and effort you put behind making this book not just a reality, but also a work of art to read, hold, and cherish.
Thank you, Tran Nguyen, for a tremendous cover that breathed life into Maia Tamarin. I’ve lost count of how many indulgent hours I’ve spent staring at it. I couldn’t have imagined a more fitting cover, and I love it so much. To Virginia
Allyn, for your breathtaking map; my heart still flutters every time I notice a new detail on it.
To Doug Tyskiewicz and Leslie Zampetti, my critique partners: I’m convinced one of the hardest things about writing is finding a steady critique group with fellow authors whose work and company you enjoy. I am so lucky to have found you two and even luckier to call you both my friends.
To Patti Lee Gauch, for her life-changing advice on voice (don’t flinch!), and for inspiring me to light the spark in my writing. To Gregory Maguire and Patricia McMahon, for reminding me to unravel the threads of my favorite fairy tales and keep Maia tough. And I’d be remiss not to include Nancy Sondel and the wonderful teens and adults at the Pacific Coast Children’s Writers Workshop, who gave me valuable feedback on Spin the Dawn during its early days.
To my fellow writers Liz Braswell, Kat Cho, Bess Cozby, Suzi Guina, Joanna Ruth Meyer, Lauren Spieller, June Tan, and Swati Teerdhala, for their friendship and advice, and for squealing with me over bookish updates and agonizing together over drafting and revisions. I’ve learned so much from you all. Thank you also to Roselle Lim, for her insight into Chinese embroidery schools and for her sewing expertise; Sarah Neilson, for her thoughtful feedback, so much of which has strengthened Spin the Dawn’s story; Heidi Heilig, for being such an encouraging force for aspiring writers; and Jen Gaska at Pop! Goes the Reader, for graciously hosting Spin the Dawn’s cover reveal.
A big shout-out to the Electric 18s, for being the most amazing debut group a girl could ask for. You have all made me feel like part of one big, happy family. I also want to take a moment to thank the teachers and professors I had the privilege of studying with during my journey to become an author: thank you for encouraging me to take risks and be creative.
And, of course, thank you to all the fellow writers, readers, booksellers, Goodreads librarians, and bloggers I’ve met in the past two years—virtually or in real life—who’ve done so much to make me feel welcome in the kidlit community. Thanks to you, the future of books and storytelling—our future—is brighter than ever.
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