Spin the Dawn(21)
The muscles in my jaw stiffened. “Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugged. “Life in the palace is boring now that the war is over. I need something to do, and you intrigued me enough for me to lend a hand.”
“I don’t need your help,” I said, anger simmering inside me now. “A war is fun and games to you, isn’t it? If not for you and the war, my brothers— I would be able to walk without this cane!”
I stormed off, stumbling in my haste to get away.
Forgetting my plan to visit the kitchen, I went back to my room and dumped my satchel out onto my bed, thinking I would mend my pants and shirts so I’d no longer look like a peasant. My magical scissors fell onto the pillow.
There was no humming, no glow this time.
They probably could have cut me an ensemble fit for a prince, but I shrugged off the temptation to use them.
I slid the scissors under my mattress and began to hem my pants the regular way.
As evening fell, I caught sight of a black hawk soaring across the clouds, a gold ring glinting above its talon. Its yellow eyes, bright as the moon, seemed to watch me.
I shut the curtains.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was a good thing I’d refused to go out with Norbu and the others. After their bath, they’d gone to the local drinking house, where Master Taraha and Master Garad drank themselves into a stupor. Now they were spending the day retching. Even from my table, I could smell it.
“Too much mead and garlic shrimps,” Norbu said, slapping Master Garad on the back. The tailor looked like he was going to vomit again.
Norbu grinned at me. “You missed a fun afternoon, young Tamarin. We had a contest to see who could eat and drink the most. Taraha and Garad, the gluttons, won. Or lost, judging by how sick they are now.”
I forced a smile, but I couldn’t help wondering if someone had planned the contest so Garad and Taraha would be too sick to work.
Stop being so suspicious, Maia.
Well, I had reason to be. I didn’t want anyone getting too close. I couldn’t afford to have someone find out I was Maia and not Keton.
The other tailors had nothing to lose from the trial.
I had everything.
* * *
? ? ?
“For the next challenge,” Minister Lorsa announced, “His Majesty has requested a pair of embroidered slippers for Lady Sarnai. On each of your tables, you’ll find a basket with leather, cloth, lint, and satin.
“To prove your skill, all colored embroidery threads have been removed from the work cabinet and replaced with white threads. If you desire any colors, you’ll have to make them yourself. You have three days to complete the task.”
I was already at a disadvantage. I’d never crafted a pair of slippers, so I swiftly calculated what I would need to do. Dyeing threads would take at least a day, and I had hardly brought enough colors to embroider slippers worthy of the future empress.
You memorized the differences between seventy stitches when you were twelve years old, I told myself. You can figure out how to make a proper slipper.
And, I added, you can do it without having to use those scissors.
If I were completely honest with myself, I was itching to try them again. It hadn’t been easy sleeping with them under my bed, expecting them to start humming and glowing.
And I kept wondering—could I win without them?
At least I had one advantage: my foot was closer in size to Lady Sarnai’s than any of the other tailors. I could use my own feet as models.
I traced my chalk over the leather sheet, outlining the sole of each of my feet, then arch-shaped pieces that would cover the toes and heel. Once I had my pattern pieces, I copied them to my bolt of satin twice: one for a lining, and the other for embroidering my designs.
Yindi’s shrill voice had disappeared, and I hadn’t heard Longhai’s laughter in at least an hour. I stood, looking out the hall’s latticed windows. The other tailors were already in the garden gathering supplies to begin dyeing threads. I’d have to do the same.
And I knew just where to go.
I grabbed my cane and hurried out. The clouds were gray, and the sky dark despite its being late morning. I hobbled out into the courtyard, following my nose to the kitchens.
Inside it was hot, with at least a dozen fires blazing at once and a hundred cooks and servants clamoring and rushing about. Sweat dribbled from my temples as different smells assaulted my nose—ducks and chickens hanging on strings from the ceiling, salted fish left on racks to dry.
“I’m looking for Ammi,” I said to a cook who was frying dough and seasoning it with cumin. The smell made my mouth water, and oil crackled and popped, spitting onto my sleeves.
When he ignored me, I wandered past the cooks, deeper into the kitchen. Serving girls bustled about with their arms full of trays and plates, but no sign of Ammi.
After ten minutes of wandering, I noticed a storeroom full of tea. There Ammi was, steeping tea leaves in hot water with dried orange peel.
“Master Tamarin!” she exclaimed.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I began. “I was wondering whether you could help me with something.”
She blew her hair out of her face. “I’ll try. What do you need?”
“Spices. For my dyes.”
“Spices?” Ammi wiped her hands on her apron. “Spices are expensive.”