Spin the Dawn(30)

The sniffling stopped, replaced by a voice I knew all too well. “Who’s there?”

Lady Sarnai. Her commanding tone made me freeze. I swallowed, aware I was somewhere I shouldn’t be, and yet something in her voice betrayed a trace of—fear?

But Lady Sarnai was her father’s daughter. She didn’t let up. “Show yourself.”

I stepped out from behind the bush. “M-my apologies, Y-Your Highness. I…I got lost on my way back to the hall and—”

Lady Sarnai was the same height as me, but her voice—raw and thick with anger—made me feel small. “Did the emperor send you to spy on me?”

My eyes widened. “N-no, Your Highness. I thought you were one of the maids.”

Lady Sarnai scoffed, but she clenched her handkerchief and said nothing, looking so miserable my heart softened toward her.

“You’re homesick?” I said gently. “I am too.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand how I’m feeling.” Lady Sarnai dabbed her eyes, then said harshly, “Don’t tell me you fought in the war, that you were away from your home for years. I don’t care.”

I wondered now if her coldness—that flat, emotionless face she wore whenever she came to the Hall of Supreme Diligence—was a mask.

Lady Sarnai missed home. I could see it in the dark pools of her wet eyes.

She was angry and sad that her father had sacrificed her to make peace with Emperor Khanujin. And if Longhai was right about her relationship with Lord Xina, she had even more reason to be miserable.

“Lady Sarnai,” I began hesitantly, “I know it’s difficult for you here. But His Majesty is doing his best to make you happy. He’s a kind man, and—”

“A kind man?” She laughed bitterly. “That enchanter has you all fooled.”

I frowned. “He would make you happy,” I repeated. “If you only let him.”

“What do you know about happiness?” she snapped. “You’re a man. Now that the war is over, you can do what you want. You’ve proven yourself to A’landi. The world is open to you.”

“I’m…I’m a simple tailor.”

“A tailor who’s been invited to sew for the emperor. A girl couldn’t do that. A girl isn’t fit to be anything more than a prize. My father promised he’d never force me to marry. He taught me to hunt and to fight like a man. I was just as good as all my brothers. And now?” Lady Sarnai wrung her hands. “He broke his promise to me. At first I thought it was because the war and magic had blackened his heart, but that is just the way of men. For what is a promise if it’s made to a woman?”

Her words rang so true to me, I almost staggered back.

“I made a promise to my—my sister,” I said, catching myself at the last moment. “That I would win this competition so she could have a better life. It isn’t one I intend to break.”

“We’ll see about that.” Lady Sarnai straightened, gathering her poise. “Leave me.”

I bowed and obeyed.

I couldn’t say my encounter with Lady Sarnai made me like her any more than before. Yes, I had glimpsed a vulnerable side of her, but she was still the cold and heartless daughter of the shansen. Yet something had changed.

Now I pitied her.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


After my meeting with Lady Sarnai, I took care not to stray too far from the Hall of Supreme Diligence. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be so forgiving if I ran into her again.

It was alone in the hall that Edan found me working on her jacket. The paper Minister Lorsa had given us was stiff, which was good for painting but cumbersome for the wide, flowing sleeves of my design.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, looking up when Edan’s shadow blocked the early-morning light.

“The emperor’s at his prayers. I thought I’d go for a walk.”

“You’re here to check up on me, aren’t you?” I said, dipping my brush into the pot of gold paint.

“Not just you,” Edan said. “On the others, too.”

“They’re still sleeping.” I tilted my head at the empty wine gourds on Longhai’s table. “They were up late drinking, as usual.”

I swirled my brush and held it to the side of the pot so the excess would drain off. Setting it to the jacket, I swiftly painted a set of leaves patterned on imperial brocade, an embossed fabric with golden weaving.

Edan leaned over me. “You’re quite the artist,” he said approvingly. “Did your brother teach you to paint like this?”

I frowned at him. “You never told me how you knew my brothers died in the war.”

“It’s my business to know things,” he said. For a moment, he looked weary—the way Keton did whenever someone mentioned the war. It made me wonder if Edan had fought beside the emperor.

I drew a ragged breath and turned back to my work, not wanting to expose my grief to Edan. “Shouldn’t you be following Lady Sarnai?”

“Someone’s prickly today,” he said, folding his arms. His demeanor was serene and cool again. “You’ll be pleased to know His Majesty has decided to supervise the contests from now on.”

“Why would I be pleased?” I said, but my heart skipped a beat as I continued painting. I had often wished it were Emperor Khanujin I saw daily, instead of his Lord Enchanter.