Spin the Dawn(16)

CHAPTER FIVE


Something sharp poked my side.

My eyelids flinched, but I didn’t open them. Gods, if that was Keton jabbing me awake with a knitting needle…

A snicker. “You awake, pretty boy?”

Wait, that didn’t sound like Keton. Of course not. I was in the palace, not back home with Baba and my brother.

Drowsily, I stirred. Drool had dried on the corner of my mouth, and as I wiped it clean with my sleeve, Master Boyen’s round face loomed over me.

He smacked his lips. “Aw, did I wake you from your beauty sleep, Master Tamarin?”

My eyes flew open. Why did he emphasize master like that? Did he know I was a girl?

No, I thought as my mind sharpened. Word must have gotten around that I was no master. It didn’t take much sleuthing to know that none of my father’s sons had earned the title yet.

Boyen smirked at me. “You ought to pack up your things. You’ll be going home, since your shawl’s stained.”

I jumped to my feet. My shawl! Where was it?

I vaguely remembered my scissors flashing and cutting…as if they’d been possessed by a spirit. No, no. That wasn’t possible, I must have imagined it.

Heavens, I must have fallen asleep without finishing!

Frantically, I rummaged through my station for the shawl. Then I remembered: right before I’d put away my father’s scissors, I’d tucked them into a basket with my threads from home.

I crouched, fishing the shawl out of its hiding place. It wasn’t hard to find—its pale daffodil color peeked out from under my spools.

I unfolded it and gasped.

It wasn’t a dream.

Stitches so perfect and embroidery so delicate it should have taken me a month. The couching was flawless, and my twelve colors were blended in graduated tones, making the scene of lilies and peonies look real. Even the lady had been repaired; she wore a vibrant violet robe amid the pink and red flowers, though when I looked closely, she resembled me more than Lady Sarnai.

But stupid, stupid me! My shawl was wrinkled. Why hadn’t I folded it better?

Anxiously, I smoothed out the wrinkles. A servant brought me a pan with charcoal, and I pressed it over the shawl now, careful not to burn the fabric.

I was so busy ironing my shawl I didn’t have time to eat the steaming bowl of porridge the servants had brought me. It wasn’t like me to ignore a free meal—Baba always said my stomach ruled my heart—but much as the fragrant smell of breakfast tortured me, I knew I had to finish my shawl.

In the hall, the other tailors were buzzing.

“Did you hear about the banquet last night?” Master Garad asked. “Lady Sarnai refused to drink to the emperor’s health.”

“Well, he refused to drink to hers as well.”

“A match made in heaven. The Tiger’s daughter and the Dragon’s son.”

“She’s the traitor’s daughter. The emperor had better be careful or she’ll claw his eyes out on their wedding night.”

“You’d do well not to speak ill of the shansen’s daughter,” Yindi warned them.

“Afraid his demons are listening, Yindi?” Garad snickered. “We know you think the shansen’s possessed, you superstitious old fool.”

Yindi shrugged. “Just you wait and see.”

They laughed, but I didn’t join in, even though I was glad Yindi was the target, not me. He got up abruptly to iron his shawl, or so I thought until he stopped at my station.

Ignoring him, I lifted my shawl. The silk shimmered like pale gold. It was magnificent, but I didn’t know whether to be proud or worried. Was this my work, or the work of magic?

“You made that in one night?” Norbu said. “Impressive. Very impressive. I’d say yours is the best of the lot. The best by far.”

I couldn’t help beaming. “Thank you, Master Norbu.”

“Impressive indeed,” Yindi allowed. Based on the dark look that flitted across his face, he knew he had underestimated me. My beam brightened, until he said—

“But Lady Sarnai hates yellow.”

Then Master Yindi walked on.

The gibe stung, and my confidence wavered.

“He’s just jealous,” Norbu soothed. “It’s stunning. Sure to win, I’d say.”

I warmed to him a little. “I hope so.” I tumbled onto my stool, thoroughly exhausted. I barely had a minute’s rest before a gong sounded and Lorsa’s voice rang out.

“Her Highness, Lady Sarnai!”

I scrambled to my feet, chanting with the other tailors, “Good morning, Lady Sarnai!”

The shansen’s daughter entered the hall, followed by an entourage of attendants and guards. I hardly recognized her. The girl I’d spied last night was a warrior who despised the Summer Palace’s decadence—its thousands of servants, gilded gates, and rules and etiquette.

Today, she was a princess. Rubies and emeralds sparkled from her wrists and ears, and strings of pearls tinkled from her headdress, a phoenix crown inlaid with gold dragons, jeweled flowers, and blue kingfisher feathers. It seemed the emperor—or Lady Sarnai’s maids—had won the battle over her wardrobe.

“Good morning, tailors,” she said, in a voice that was soft but not gentle. “You are gathered here to show me what A’landi’s finest tailors have to offer. I warn you, I am not easily impressed. I did not grow up wearing silk. I’ve never appreciated a garment for its beauty or elegance. However, I expect the new imperial tailor to prove me wrong.”