Spin the Dawn(2)

I remembered beaming at her. Back then, all I wanted was for my family to be happy and whole like this—always.

But then Mama died, and everything changed.

We had been living in Gangsun, a key city along the Great Spice Road, and our shop occupied an entire half block. Baba was a well-respected tailor, known throughout southern A’landi for his skill at dressmaking. But ill times fell upon us, my mother’s death opening the first crack in Baba’s strong will.

He began to drink heavily—a way to drown his sorrows, he said. That didn’t last long—in his grief, Baba’s health deteriorated until he was unable to stomach any sort of spirits. He returned to his work at the shop, but he was never quite the same.

Customers noticed the decline in quality of Baba’s sewing and mentioned it to my brothers. Finlei and Sendo never told him; they didn’t have the heart. But a few years before the Five Winters’ War, when I was ten, Finlei convinced Baba to leave Gangsun and move into a shophouse in Port Kamalan, a small coastal town along the fringes of the Road. The fresh sea air would be good for Baba, he insisted.

Our new home occupied the corner of Yanamer and Tongsa Streets, across from a shop that made hand-pulled noodles so long you could get full on just one, and a bakery that sold the best steamed buns and milk bread in the world—at least it tasted that way to my brothers and me when we were hungry, which we often were. But what I loved most was the beautiful view of the ocean. Sometimes while I watched the waves roll along the piers, I secretly prayed that the sea would mend Baba’s broken heart—the way it was slowly healing mine.

Business was best in the summers and winters, when all the caravans traveling east and west on the Great Spice Road stopped in Port Kamalan to enjoy our temperate weather. My father’s little shop depended on a steady supply of indigo, saffron, ocher—colors for our dyes. It was a small town, so we not only tailored garments but also sold fabrics and threads. It had been a long time since Baba had crafted a gown worthy of a great lady, and when the war began, there was little business to be had anyway.

Misfortune followed us to our new home. Port Kamalan was far enough from the capital that I’d thought my brothers would never be drafted into the civil war that ravaged A’landi. But the hostilities between young Emperor Khanujin and the shansen, the country’s most powerful warlord, showed no signs of abating, and the emperor needed more men to fight in his army.

Finlei and Sendo were of age, so they were conscripted first. I was young enough then that the idea of going to war was romantic to me. Having two brothers become soldiers felt honorable.

The day before they left, I was outside, painting on a swath of white cotton. The peach blossoms lining Yanamer Street made me sneeze, and I splattered the last of Baba’s expensive indigo over my skirt.

Finlei laughed at me and wiped drops of paint from my nose.

“Don’t fret,” he said as I desperately tried to salvage as much of the paint as I could.

“It’s eighty jens an ounce! And who knows when the dye merchants will be back?” I muttered, still scrubbing at my skirt. “It’s getting too hot for them to cross the Road.”

“Then I’ll get you some during my travels,” Finlei said. He tipped my chin toward him. “I’m going to see all of A’landi when I’m a soldier. Maybe I’ll come back as a general.”

“I hope you won’t be away as long as that!” I exclaimed.

Finlei’s face sobered. His eyes pooled black, and he pushed aside a wisp of my wind-tousled hair. “Take care of yourself, sister,” he said, his voice carrying both humor and sadness. “Don’t work so hard you—”

“Become the kite that never flies,” I finished for him. “I know.”

Finlei touched my cheek. “Watch over Keton. Make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Take care of Baba, too,” Sendo added, coming up behind me. He’d plucked a flower from the trees in front of our shop, and placed it above my ear. “And work on your calligraphy. I’ll be back soon to make sure your handwriting’s improved.” Sendo ruffled my hair. “You’re the lady of the house now.”

I bowed my head dutifully. “Yes, brothers.”

“You make it sound like I’m useless,” Keton cut in. Baba was shouting at him to finish his chores, and he winced.

A smile broke Finlei’s serious face. “Can you prove otherwise?”

Keton put his hands on his hips, and we all laughed.

“We’ll visit faraway places with the army,” Sendo said, his hand on my shoulder. “What can I bring back for you? Dyes from West Gangseng, maybe? Or pearls from the Majestic Harbor?”

“No, no,” I said. “Just come home safely. Both of you.” But then I paused.

Sendo prodded me. “What is it, Maia?”

My cheeks were hot, and I lowered my eyes to stare at my hands. “If you get to see Emperor Khanujin,” I began slowly, “draw his portrait, will you?”

Finlei’s shoulders shook with mirth. “So you’ve heard how handsome he is from the village girls? Every one of them aspires to become one of the emperor’s concubines.”

I was so embarrassed I couldn’t look at him. “I have no interest in becoming a concubine.”

“You don’t want to live in one of his four palaces?” Keton asked snidely. “I heard he has one for every season.”