Spin the Dawn(7)

I couldn’t sing or recite poetry. I couldn’t dance. I didn’t have grace, or charm or wiles. But I could sew. Heavens, I could sew.

It had to be me.

When Baba returned to his prayers, I rubbed my finger on the coal from the fireplace and smeared it across my eyebrows. By my worktable was a pair of shears. I grasped them but hesitated. My hands never trembled when they cut cloth—I could cut a straight line in my sleep—so why did they tremble now?

I touched the ends of my hair, which reached past my waist even when braided. I undid the ribbons and unwove the braids. The waves rolled down across my back, tickling my spine.

I lowered my hand, bringing the scissors down with it. What I wanted to do was crazy. I needed to be rational, needed to consider the consequences. But all I could hear was Minister Lorsa telling me I couldn’t go. And Baba telling me I couldn’t go.

My whole life, I’d been told what I couldn’t do because I was a girl. Well, this was my chance to find out. The only thing I could do was take it.

I relaxed my grip on the scissors’ bows and pressed the blades against the back of my neck. With one swift motion, I cut my hair at my shoulders. The strands whisked down my back, landing at my feet in a pool of black satin, which the breeze from an open window swept apart as easily as feathers.

My hands stopped trembling, and I tied my hair back the way Keton and all the boys his age did. A strange calm fell over me, as if I had cut away my fears along with my hair. I knew that wasn’t true, but it was too late to panic. Now I needed proper clothes.

I brought a tray of plain winter melon soup and steamed fish to Keton’s bed. He used to share his room with Finlei and Sendo. Our house had felt small then. Now it felt too big. Half my room was storage for fabrics and beads and dyes…and now Keton had this whole room to himself.

My brother was asleep. His lips were twisted into a grimace as he snored. He’d told us he felt no pain even though his legs were broken.

“How can I feel pain if I can’t feel my legs?” he’d tried to joke.

I set down his dinner and pulled up his blanket so it covered his shoulders. Then I reached into his drawer and pulled out a pair of his trousers. I folded them over my arm and began tiptoeing out.

“Maia.” Keton stirred.

I whirled around. “I thought you were asleep.”

“You thought wrong.” Keton’s head settled back onto the pillow.

I sat beside him on the edge of his bed. “Are you hungry? I brought dinner.”

“You’re stealing my clothes,” he observed, nodding at the pile on my arm. “What’s this all about?”

I leaned into a shadow so he wouldn’t see my hair, and pursed my lips. “There was an official in the shop earlier. He wants Baba to go to the Summer Palace to make clothes for Emperor Khanujin.”

Keton closed his eyes. War had driven out the rebelliousness in my youngest brother, and he looked decades older than his nineteen years. “Baba hasn’t sewn in years. He can’t go.”

“He won’t,” I confirmed. “I’m going.”

Keton pushed himself up with his palms. “Demon’s breath, Maia! Are you crazy? You can’t—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You can’t go,” my brother finished, raising his voice over mine. “You’re a girl.”

“Not anymore.” I touched my hair; then I gritted my teeth. “I’m tired of being told I’m not worthy.”

“It’s not just a matter of being worthy,” Keton said, coughing into his sleeve. “It’s a matter of tradition. Besides, they wouldn’t want a girl taking the emperor’s measurements.”

I blushed in spite of myself. “I’ll go as you, Keton Tamarin.”

“Baba would never agree to this.”

“Baba doesn’t have to know.”

Keton shook his head. “And here I always thought you were the obedient one.” He leaned back with a resigned sigh. “It’s dangerous.”

“Keton, please. I need to do this. For us. For—”

“This is exactly why you shouldn’t go,” my brother interrupted. “Stop trying to convince me. If you’re going to act like a boy, you can’t think like a girl. Don’t stare at the floor so much. Look a man in the eyes when you speak, and never hesitate.”

I quickly lifted my gaze. “I’m not trying to convince you! And I don’t always hesitate.” Then I looked down again.

Keton groaned.

“Sorry! I can’t help it. It’s habit.”

“You’re never going to pass as a boy,” he said. “You bite your lips and stare at the floor. And when you’re not staring at the floor, you’re staring at the sky.”

I looked up, indignant. “I am not!”

“More of that,” Keton encouraged. “More shouting. Boys are angry and arrogant. They like to be the best at everything.”

“I think that’s just you, Keton.”

“If only I had time to train you.”

“I grew up with the three of you. I know what boys are like.”

“Do you?” Keton frowned. “You’re a village girl, Maia. You’re inexperienced in the ways of the world. You’ve spent your life sewing in the corner of our shop.”