Spin the Dawn(104)

My legs were heavy, but I obeyed, taking one small step at a time, circling before the emperor so that all could observe me. Their eyes followed my every movement, drinking in the dress’s radiance.

Although I knew how Emperor Khanujin’s power worked, its strength was hard to resist. What I’d once mistaken for charisma was force—it poured out of him, strongest when he was near Edan. I steeled myself against it, and my mind was able to resist, but my body couldn’t. The emperor told me to twirl in my dress, and I did so. He told me to take his arm, and I did so. He touched my face, and I let him.

Edan watched, his hands twisted behind his back. His jaw was tight; I knew he was furious with the emperor for using his powers to manipulate me. And furious at himself for not being able to stop it.

“Do you still doubt that these are the dresses of Amana?” Emperor Khanujin asked. “Only such magic could transform a simple girl like Maia Tamarin—into a goddess.”

Lord Xina and Lady Sarnai said nothing. The light from my dress danced about their eyes, but it did not fill them with wonder. Only torment.

“Show us Amana’s power, Maia.” The emperor’s voice rang with authority, yet the sound of it made my body tense.

“Your Majesty,” interrupted Edan. “The dresses are not meant for this world.”

“Quiet,” rasped Emperor Khanujin. Edan’s amulet swung from his robe, but now it glimmered among his other pendants, particularly as the light from my dress brushed against it.

Upon the light of the blood of stars from whence he was bound, Amana had said, your love shall be free.

Edan had told me once that he became an enchanter by drinking the blood of stars. That the cuff on his wrist had appeared once he took his oath on Lapzur.

My gaze wandered from the amulet on the emperor’s sash to the cuff on Edan’s wrist. Could it be that simple?

“Maia Tamarin,” said Emperor Khanujin again, “show us Amana’s power.”

A light sang within me. I would unleash the dress’s magic for Edan, not for the emperor. As my determination grew, the fabric burned brighter and brighter than ever before, with a dazzling silver light that eclipsed whatever it touched. My mind reeled, spinning with so much power that I didn’t feel Edan grab me by the shoulders, didn’t hear Emperor Khanujin laugh or Lady Sarnai scream.

I spun to face Edan, intertwining my fingers with his. A whirlwind of blue and purple light encircled us, a tempest of radiance. “What are you doing?” he shouted.

Instead of replying, I squeezed his hand and placed it over my heart. The light grew so bright no one could see us, not in the eye of its storm. I stood on my toes and kissed him, thinking of all my heart’s greatest desires: for Keton to walk again, for Baba to be happy. For Edan to be free. One by one, I’d make those happen, no matter the cost to me.

Be free, Edan. Be free. I parted my lips and touched my forehead to his, seeing astonishment sweep over his eyes. His hand jerked against my chest as the gold cuff began to smoke and hiss and gold dust trickled to the ground like nothing more than sand. The wind whisked it away before the light of my dress faded and the palace’s wooden walls surrounded us again.

It was over. As calmly as I could, I stepped away from Edan. Everyone else in the room had collapsed. Vases and chairs were overturned, teacups shattered, and linens scattered over the floor. The emperor recovered first. I saw Lord Xina help Lady Sarnai stand, then settle into a respectable distance from her. His large jaw was clenched, his mouth a tight, unhappy line. How familiar that look was to me! I’d often seen it on Edan.

“Behold the splendor and power of Amana,” said the emperor, folding his arms to shake the sleeves of dust. “My congratulations, Master Tamarin. None can deny that you have satisfied Lady Sarnai’s wishes and earned your position in my court.”

I sank to the ground, bowing. The amulet in his sash was dull, with a thin crack in the center splitting the hawk. But the emperor hadn’t noticed. I had a feeling he wouldn’t, not until he saw his own glory fade in the mirror.

“You are relieved of your duties for the remainder of the day.”

I barely heard the rest of the emperor’s words as he dismissed me and everyone else in the Orchid Pavilion. All I could do was simmer under the heat of Edan’s stare. His face had gone ashen, his eyes stricken and confused, his movements heavy. He tried to catch my gaze, but I didn’t dare look up at him, not when he returned my scissors to me, or when his cloak brushed my shoulder as he followed the emperor out.

The guards threw the doors open, letting in a cool blast of air. As the room emptied, Lady Sarnai’s maids hurried to clean up the mess. No one was brave enough to help me out of the dress, so I did it myself, and left it wilted against the emperor’s red lacquered chair.

Lady Sarnai watched me, but her glare lacked its usual menace; this one looked forced, resigned. Turning her back on me, she glided to a corner and sat beside her embroidery frame, as far as possible from the dress I’d left on the emperor’s chair. Her fists did not unclench, not even when I turned to leave her apartments.

I did not put on my hat; I held it at my side while I walked back to my quarters. The guards straightened when they saw me. “Master Tamarin,” they murmured, bending their heads with respect. Minister Lorsa was nearby, and he bent his head as well before quickly turning away.

I should have felt triumphant. After all, I, a simple seamstress from Port Kamalan, had made the legendary dresses of Amana. I had become the imperial tailor of A’landi, the first woman ever to do so. And I had freed Edan, a Lord Enchanter, from his thousand-year oath.