Spin the Dawn(101)

I stepped back, exhaling a long breath as I looked at my creations. “One woven with the laughter of the sun,” I whispered. “Another embroidered with the tears of the moon, and lastly, one painted with the blood of the stars.”

I searched for something to fix, a loose thread or button, but the scissors and I had made no mistakes. The dresses were perfect. Worthy of any empress. Worthy of a goddess.

With a sigh, I brushed my hand over the last dress. The paint had dried unnaturally quickly, and as my fingers lingered over its fine silk, I knew it was the most beautiful of the three, my masterpiece. The dress of the sun was wide and full, a glorious, incandescent gold with rounded flaps at the hem that flared like the sun’s rays, and the dress of the moon was sleek and silvery, with flowing off-the-shoulder sleeves and a slim-fitting skirt that rippled down to a train. But the dress of the stars—it was black as night, yet when I touched it, a spectrum unfurled, shimmering with gold and silver and purple and a thousand other colors I could not name. I held the bodice to my chest, imagining myself in it.

Why not, Maia? You’ve spent your whole life sewing for others, dreaming up dresses that you’ve never dared to try on.

Before I could change my mind, I undid the hundred buttons I’d painstakingly sewn onto the star-painted dress, stepped into the skirt, and pulled up the bodice, threading my arms into the sleeves. Whatever power Amana’s dresses held, I was going to find out. Tonight.

By magic, the skirt bloomed, the buttons knotted together one by one, and the sash tied over my waist. I touched my hands to my heart, trying to rein in my excitement. The dress fit perfectly. It hugged me neatly at the hips, the soft silk flowing outward like the petals of a rose. The fabric itself was warm, in a way that made me feel it was somehow alive.

I let my hair down and hid my face with a thin veil made of leftover silk.

Then I ventured outside. The palace was dark; the lanterns illuminating the garden paths flickered, their candles growing scarce of wax. But I needed no lantern or torch to see my way. My dress sparkled and lit my path.

The guards who saw me stared, their jaws agape. A few fell to their knees, touching their foreheads to the ground as if I were a goddess. No one asked who I was or where I was going.

I reached the Great Temple. My shoulders tensed, but I pushed past its wooden doors and made my way to the shrine.

An altar to Amana awaited me, lit by candles and incense so that the statues glowed, though the temple was unattended.

Gently, I took a bundle of incense, parted my skirt so I could kneel. “Amana, bless me and forgive me. For I have made the three dresses of legend, of your children: the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

I staked the incense in its pot, bowed, and stood to leave. Then the wind began to hum. No, not the wind. The sound reminded me of my scissors—a quiet song that resonated with my very being, as if only I could hear it.

I turned around. Amana’s statues glowed brighter.

So you have found my children, a woman’s voice said. It was low and powerful, yet kind. And you have made my dresses.

I fell to my knees again. “Mother Goddess, I have.”

They hold great power, power too great to remain in your world.

I bowed my head at the admonishment. “I see that now, Mother Goddess.” My voice trembled as I spoke. “I will serve whatever penance you wish.”

Amana considered me. No punishment is necessary. You have suffered much, and the power of the dresses may cost you more yet. She paused. I shall take mercy on you and lift one of your burdens. Ask me your heart’s greatest desire, Maia. And I shall grant it.

My heart flooded. I didn’t need to think twice. “Please, Amana. Release Edan from his oath to Emperor Khanujin, so that he may be free.”

The incense grew strong, as did the eyes of Amana. Your wish will have great consequences, Maia. Edan will not be able to fulfill his promise to the demon Bandur. You will have to pay the price for his broken oath.

“I do not care,” I said fiercely. “I love Edan.”

A pause. I held my breath, waiting.

Is your wish truly out of love alone? There is anger in you, child. Anger, and great sadness. Is there nothing you would want for yourself?

At her words, my shoulders fell. One could not lie to the mother goddess. “For many years I’ve wished that my family could be together once more,” I admitted quietly. “But that is a loss I know even you, Mother Goddess, cannot undo. Whereas Edan…there is still hope for him.”

Then it shall be done, Amana said at last. Upon the light of the blood of stars from whence he was bound, your love shall be free.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you, Mother Goddess.”

I bowed three times, pressing my forehead to the cool wooden planks of the temple floor. Then I ran down the steps, my heart heavy with Amana’s blessing and my arms spread wide with hope—that tomorrow would spin a new dawn.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


I slept past the gongs of breaking dawn, even past the toll of the regular morning bells. When Ammi burst through my door, she found me asleep atop the blankets, both feet hanging off my bed.

She shook me, hard. “Everyone’s waiting for you!” she cried, her braids whipping in agitation. “You were due at Lady Sarnai’s apartments twenty minutes ago.”

I jolted up. The first thing I saw was the red sun. It glared at me from the door Ammi had left open, casting a crimson glaze over my room, even over the breakfast tray Ammi had set on the floor hours earlier. Some soup had spilled onto the lacquered tray, and in the light it looked almost like blood.