Spin the Dawn(100)

Her fan snapped in her hands, and she dropped the broken pieces on my dress. Without so much as a glance at the other two I’d made for her, she stormed out.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


I survived the next few days by immersing myself in my work. I was so engrossed in finishing Lady Sarnai’s dresses that I barely heard the bells ringing every morning and night, or the rain battering my roof during the storms that pounded the Autumn Palace. I scarcely even paid attention when Ammi chattered away about the emperor’s miraculous recovery from his illness, though I perked up once—when she complained the Lord Enchanter wasn’t eating much at dinner. Whatever magic I was working into the dresses muffled all the noise outside, making my deadline for Lady Sarnai feel far, far away.

After nearly three months on the road, I’d forgotten how exhilarating it was to lose myself to my craft. Not long ago, it had been my heart’s desire to become the greatest tailor in A’landi. Life had been so different then—before I came to the palace, before I wielded my magic scissors, before I met Edan.

He hadn’t come to visit me. It stung, but I couldn’t blame him. Emperor Khanujin must have forbidden it, though sometimes from my window I felt sure a hawk watched me work late into the night. Deep down, when I pushed aside my anger for the emperor, I told myself it was better this way—for both of us. It would hurt less when we had to part.

And so, with the help of my magic scissors and spider-silk gloves, I spent the days spinning sunlight into golden thread so delicate it wouldn’t blind or burn. Sunlight wasn’t something I could spill onto my cutting table and measure with a stick. So I worked straight from the walnut, sifting rays of light onto my gloves and cutting with my scissors as thin a beam as I dared. Then I curled it over the blades and spun it into thread so fine it glided through the eye of my needle. With the moonlight, I did the same, only I braided the silvery beams, teasing them into slender, shining cords.

The night before the red sun, I wove sunlight into the first dress. The laughter of the sun did little to lighten my heart, but as its rays bounced off my scissors, I wanted to laugh—not with joy, but with wonder and relief. For when it was complete, the dress of the sun was so radiant my eyes watered from its brightness; even when I looked away, coronets of light stung my vision.

I blinked, flexing my fingers. The vial of the blood of stars sat warm on my lap, and my scissors hummed as I went next to embroider tears of the moon into Lady Sarnai’s second dress. As I worked, I remembered my trial up Rainmaker’s Peak, and my dive into the icy pool. A tear rolled down my cheek—not one of sadness, but of the bittersweet knowledge that the Maia finishing these dresses wasn’t the same as the girl who’d started them three months ago. They were my journey, and soon I’d have to let them go.

I made the final stitch on the dress of moonlight. Only one dress left—the blood of stars.

My fingers trembled, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I hadn’t slept in days; my exhaustion caught up with me now, making my mind wander, my determination waver.

My needle hovered over the last dress. What would happen to me after I finished?

The emperor knew I was a woman. Once these dresses were done, would he truly keep me in the palace? That was all my old na?ve self had ever wanted, to win His Majesty’s favor and be the imperial tailor. But now I knew better.

If he did allow me to stay, it would be as a reminder of his power over me. And a reminder of what I’d lost.

Tomorrow, Edan would return to Lapzur. He’d become a demon like Bandur.

All because of me.

Only my work kept me from losing hope. And now, that was to be taken from me. My dresses were all but done, and in the morning, Lady Sarnai would claim them.

I expelled a long, ragged breath and threw myself onto my bed. So many months of being strong. Strong for my family, strong for myself, then strong for Edan.

Finally, I let go. Everything I’d worked so hard to keep inside, all the hurt and grief I’d buried, I poured out of my heart and sobbed.

Why couldn’t I just be Maia, the obedient daughter? The girl who loved to sew, and who only wanted to spend the rest of her days with her three brothers and her father?

But Finlei was gone. So was Sendo. And Keton—his spirit was but a phantom of his former self.

Edan had filled the void left by my brothers. He’d brought out the adventurer, the dreamer, and the rebel in me. But now I was about to lose him, too.

I couldn’t lose Edan.

I wouldn’t.

I slowed my thoughts, putting the pieces together. If Edan were free of his oath to Emperor Khanujin…then he would no longer be an enchanter. He couldn’t become a demon. He couldn’t take Bandur’s place as guardian of Lapzur.

I rolled off my bed and picked up my scissors. Using my teeth, I popped off the cork holding the blood of stars in the vial, and I carefully poured its precious contents over the scissor blades. Then I touched them to the smooth white silk of my final dress.

Slowly, gradually, the blood of stars spread, paint rippling across an empty canvas.

The night was dark and starless, but inside my little room, I’d spun a world of light.

My dresses shone so brightly their power seeped through my closed doors and windows. Seeing all three dresses at once should have blinded me—but I was their maker, and that protected me from their intensity.