Spin the Dawn(24)

“Yes, sir,” I said, but I avoided looking up at him. I knew if I did, his pale, ever-changing eyes would snare me.

“They’re exquisite,” the Lord Enchanter allowed. “Few diamonds sparkle as much as your slippers, Master Tamarin.” He folded his arms, his long fingers tapping against his elbow, and smiled. “Carry on, then.”

I peeked over my screen to catch a glimpse of the other tailors’ work. Taraha had used dozens of vibrant colors to embroider a hundred flowers onto each shoe. A masterpiece…but he stubbornly hadn’t used any of the special materials Lady Sarnai had requested.

He was asked to go home.

Master Boyen had gotten the palace blacksmith to smelt his bronze pieces into soles, but they were so heavy they tore the delicately woven orchids as he shuffled his eight paces.

He was also sent home.

The walking test was over, so I took my slippers off and laid them on my table, covering them with the embroidered satin cloth.

Lady Sarnai would pick that exact moment to arrive at my table. “Where are your slippers?”

Startled, I jumped. “Your Highness—here…here they are.”

I lifted the satin cover, expecting the shoes to glitter and sparkle, but a cloud passed over the sun, dulling their brilliance.

Lady Sarnai scoffed. “A bit simple for my taste. I’m disappointed, Master Tamarin. I had high hopes for you after seeing your shawl.”

No! Change her mind. Fast. “I…I dyed them with pea flowers, Your Highness,” I rambled, “which I understand grew near your father’s castle—”

“Do not attempt to ingratiate yourself with me,” Lady Sarnai said, but she’d stopped tapping her fan on her palm. The sun had returned and sent beams of light dancing off my slippers across the table and screen. An arched eyebrow rose. “What are they made of?”

I picked up one of the slippers to show how it sparkled in the light. “Glass.”

Lady Sarnai’s eyes narrowed. “Glass will break.”

Hastily, I slipped the slippers on again to show her they wouldn’t. “They’re—”

“Glass is a paradoxical material,” the Lord Enchanter cut in. “Fragile, yet resilient. Like the slippers.”

“You’ve taken a liking to the boy,” Lady Sarnai mocked. “Shall I have him sent to you after hours?”

Unruffled, he said, “How thoughtful, Your Highness. I have been thinking about having new shoes made, but I think I’ll stay with my current pair a little longer. I’ve no desire to walk on any more pins and needles than one does with you already.”

I stifled a smile, but Lady Sarnai wasn’t quite so amused. She snapped her fan open and returned to the front of the hall.

“Master Norbu, Master Longhai, and Master Yindi shall remain,” she said.

I bit my lip, hating how my insides curled. Yindi sent me a smirk, but Lady Sarnai wasn’t finished.

“And,” she said, “I will keep Master Tamarin as well.”

Gratitude and relief washed over me, but it was short-lived.

“Master Yindi has won for the second time,” Lady Sarnai went on. “He shall join me at the banquet tonight in my honor. To the rest of you who remain—do not disappoint me again.”

My inner voice nagged. You were almost sent home.

You could have won—if you had used the scissors.





CHAPTER EIGHT


I’d been in the palace a week, and gone from home for nearly two. I missed Baba and Keton terribly; sometimes after leaving the hall, I composed letters to them in my head. It sounded silly, but it lessened my pangs of loneliness.

Now that there were only four tailors left, I had time to write an actual letter. I sat by a pond of carp surrounded by plum trees, which was quickly becoming my favorite spot in the palace, with a sheet of parchment on my lap, and my brush…but I didn’t know what to say.

    Dear Baba—and Maia,

The emperor has asked twelve men to compete for the position of imperial tailor, and I had to make a pair of slippers last night—out of glass! Can you believe it? I didn’t use those scissors you gave me.



I hesitated and folded an arm over the pond’s stone edge. “Oh, Baba, did you know what they can do? I need to win, but what if I can’t without them?” I wrung my hands. “No, I can’t write that.”

    I didn’t use those scissors you gave me, and my slippers passed the challenge. I hope the money I sent home will be enough to last through the summer.



My brush trembled as I bit my lip, reading aloud as I wrote my last line:

    And, Maia, twelve steps. One for each day I’ve been gone.



A deep voice startled me. “Do you often make conversation with yourself?”

Stuffing my letter into my pocket, I lurched up and almost fell into the pond. I knew without turning around that it was the Lord Enchanter. His voice was growing familiar to me.

“I see you’ve survived another round,” he said when I faced him. He wore black yet again—a good color for skulking in the shadows and catching people unaware.

“It would have been a shame if you’d been sent home,” he continued. “Lucky for you, I decided to interfere.”