Spin the Dawn(9)

I opened my mouth, about to tell him to take care of Keton, and to take care of himself. But Finlei and Sendo had left with such words on their lips, and they’d never returned. So I said nothing and simply nodded.

“Maia,” Baba said, his hand on my shoulder. There was a light in his eyes I hadn’t seen in years. “Be careful. The palace…it will be dangerous.”

“I will be careful, Baba. I promise.”

“Go, then. Show them what you can do.”

I leaned on my cane, dragging my right leg behind me as I limped toward the carriage.

The sun was already bright, but I didn’t have any hands free to shield my face. My features crumpled, and Lorsa grunted when he saw me.

“Keton Tamarin?” he said, looking me up and down. “You and your sister share a strong resemblance.”

My whole body knotted up like a badly coiled rope. I forced a manly laugh, which turned more into a cough. “I hope that’s all we share. After all, she can’t sew and I can.”

The eunuch harrumphed in agreement; then he tossed Baba a sack of jens.

“Get in,” he said to me.

Keton was right. People only saw what they wanted to see.

One last glance at Baba, and at Keton’s window. Then into the carriage I went, with no idea what awaited me. Only that I must succeed—at all costs.





CHAPTER THREE


It was a five days’ carriage ride from Port Kamalan to the Summer Palace. I was disappointed that there was no need to sail there, for, despite having grown up in a port town, I’d never been on a ship. I’d never ridden in a carriage, either—at least, not on such a long journey. My legs and back grew sore from sitting for so long, but I didn’t dare complain. I was too excited. And anxious.

Would I be good enough to sew for the imperial court? And would I see Emperor Khanujin in the Summer Palace? I had to, if I was to become his tailor. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

I did not know much about my sovereign. He was born in the dragon year, like Finlei, which meant he was twenty-three years of age. Stories said he’d been a fierce warrior during the Five Winters’ War, that he could win a man’s loyalty with just a nod, that he was so handsome even the sun paled in comparison. That everyone who saw him loved him.

But I wondered if these were all stories.

If the emperor were truly so wonderful, he wouldn’t have led A’landi to war—even to save the country from breaking in two. Even to save his throne from the treacherous shansen.

A good emperor wouldn’t have taken my brothers away from me.

I squeezed my fingers over my lap, the pressure making me wince. The pain kept me from falling apart, as I always wanted to when I remembered what the war had cost my family.

Boys don’t cry, I scolded myself. I turned toward the window and wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

I tried to focus on other things. Having idle hands always made me anxious, so I busied myself with knitting a sweater. I was fast, and when I finished, I unraveled the yarn and knit another one, and then I practiced my embroidery on a scrap of cotton.

Minister Lorsa never answered the few questions I ventured to ask, and he made no conversation. He slept as much as a bear, and he smelled twice as bad. Everything he ate, he burped out, so I spent most of the trip with my head out the carriage window, savoring the changing smells of A’landi’s terrain as I knit.

On the fifth day, I spotted the Summer Palace in the distance. It was the size of my thumbnail from where the carriage was, and lay cradled in a large valley along the Jingan River, between the Singing Mountains. I had heard tales of its grandeur—its sloping golden roofs, vermillion pillars, and ivory walls—and I trembled with excitement, staring as it gradually became larger and more real to me.

Above us, a hawk soared, black but for the tips of its wings, which looked brushed with snow. Something gold glinted on its talons—like a ring or a bracelet.

“What an odd bird,” I mused. “Is it the emperor’s? It must be…with that cuff. What is it doing so far from the woodlands?”

My voice stirred the sleeping Lorsa, and he scowled at me for waking him.

“Look,” I said, pointing out the window. “A hawk.”

“An annoyance,” he muttered as the hawk let out a cry. “Cursed bird.”

The hawk dipped, spreading its great wings as it swooped beside the carriage. It was so close I could see its eyes. They glowed yellow and were sharply intelligent—they caught my gaze and held it, as if the bird were studying my features and marking me.

I stared back. The hawk’s expression was—almost human.

Mesmerized, I reached my fingers out to stroke its throat. With a sudden jerk, the hawk darted away. It soared back into the sky, disappearing behind a tree on the palace grounds.

The carriage dropped us off at the base of a hill. Wisteria vines swayed in the gentle breeze, scenting the air around the eighty-eight steps to the servants’ entrance. The ascent, I later learned, was a way of keeping us in our place and reminding us we were far below Emperor Khanujin, the Son of Heaven.

I stretched my legs and let out a small groan, feeling the stiffness in my calves from sitting for so long.

“There’s no one to carry you up the steps,” Lorsa said with a smirk.

I didn’t understand what he meant until I remembered I was holding Keton’s cane. “Oh. Don’t worry about me.”