Spin the Dawn(4)

That made Calu angry. “Too good for me, are you?”

“I have to run my father’s shop,” I said, trying to be gentle. “He needs me.”

“A girl doesn’t run a shop,” he said, opening the steam basket to take out the latest batch of buns. Usually he would give Baba and me a few, but I knew he wouldn’t today. “You might be a fine seamstress—the finest in the village—but with your brothers away fighting for the emperor, isn’t it time to be sensible and settle down?” He reached for my hand. His fingers were powdery and damp. “Think of your father’s health, Maia. You’re being selfish. You could give him a better life.”

I jerked away, stung. “My father would never give up his shop.”

Calu huffed. “He’ll have to, since you can’t keep it running by yourself. You’ve gotten thin, Maia. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He sneered, my rejection making him cruel. “Give me a kiss, and I’ll throw you a bun.”

I raised my chin. “I’m not a dog.”

“Oh, now you’re too proud to beg, eh? You’ll let your father starve because you’re so high-and-mighty—”

I was done listening. I fled the bakery and stormed across the street. My stomach growled again as I slammed Baba’s shop door behind me. The hardest part was that I knew I was being selfish. I should marry Calu. But I wanted to save my family myself—like Mama said I would.

I crumpled against the door of our shophouse. What if I couldn’t?

Baba found me there, sobbing quietly.

“What’s the matter, Maia?”

I wiped my tears and stood. “Nothing, Baba.”

“Did Calu ask you to marry him again?”

“There’s no work,” I said, evading the question. “We—”

“Calu is a good boy,” he said, “but he is just that—a boy. And he is not worthy of you.” He hovered over my embroidery frame, studying the dragon I’d been stitching. It was difficult working on cotton, rather than silk, but I’d striven to get every detail: its carplike scales, sharp talons, and demon eyes. I could tell Baba was impressed. “You are meant for more, Maia.”

I turned away. “How can I be? I’m not a man.”

“If you were, you would have been sent to war. The gods are protecting you.”

I didn’t believe him, but for his sake, I nodded and dried my tears.

A few weeks before my eighteenth birthday, good news came: the emperor announced a truce with the shansen. The Five Winters’ War was over, at least for now.

But our joy at the news quickly turned to sorrow, for another notice arrived. One with a blood-red seal.

Sendo had died fighting in the mountains, only two days before the truce.

The news shattered Baba anew. He knelt before his altar for an entire night, cradling the shoes Mama had made for Finlei and Sendo when they were young. I didn’t pray with him. I was too angry. If only the gods could have watched over Sendo for two more days!

Two more days.

“At least the war didn’t take all my sons,” Baba said heavily, patting my shoulder. “We must stay strong for Keton.”

Yes, there was still Keton. My youngest brother returned home a month after the truce. He arrived in a wagon, legs stretched out as the wheels creaked over the dirt road. His hair had been cropped, and he’d lost so much weight I barely recognized him. But what startled me most were the ghosts in his eyes, the same eyes that had once sparkled with jokes and mischief.

“Keton!” I shouted.

I ran to him with open arms, tears of happiness streaming down my cheeks. Until I realized why he lay there, propped up against sacks of rice and flour.

Grief swelled in my throat. My brother couldn’t walk.

I climbed onto the wagon and threw my arms around him. He embraced me, but the emptiness in his eyes was clear to see.

The war had taken much from us. Too much. I’d thought I’d hardened my heart enough after Finlei’s death, then after Sendo’s—to be strong for Baba’s sake. But a part of me cracked that day Keton returned.

I fled to my room and curled up against the wall. I sewed until my fingers bled, until the pain swallowed the sobs wracking me. But by the next morning, I had patched myself together. I needed to take care of Baba. And now Keton, too.

Five winters, and I had grown up without knowing it. I was as tall as Keton now, my hair straight and black like my mother’s. Other families with girls my age hired matchmakers to find them husbands. Mine would have too, had Mama been alive and Baba still a successful tailor. But those days were long past.

When spring came, the emperor announced that he was to take the shansen’s daughter, Lady Sarnai, as his wife. A’landi’s bloodiest war would end with a wedding between Emperor Khanujin and his enemy’s daughter. Baba and I didn’t have the heart to celebrate.

Still, it was good news. Peace depended on harmony between the emperor and the shansen. I hoped a royal wedding would heal their rift—and bring more visitors traveling along the Great Spice Road.

That day, I placed the largest order of silk we could afford. It was a risky purchase, but I hoped—we needed business to get better before winter came.

My dream of becoming a tailor for the emperor had faded to a distant memory. Our only source of income now was my skill with the needle. I accepted that I was going to stay in Port Kamalan forever, resigned to my corner in Baba’s shop.