Spin the Dawn(94)

Going with Bandur had been my choice to make, not Edan’s. Mine.

I pursed my lips tight, refusing to look at him. Instead, I stared at the sun. I couldn’t look for much longer than a blink, but still I saw the ever-widening red tinge in its crown. Two weeks left of making Lady Sarnai’s damned dresses. They were the reason everything had gone wrong.

The senior monk, whom I’d heard the others call Ci’an, approached. He was very old, his frame thin and shrunken, but his eyes were sharp. “We welcome guests to the monastery as long as they make themselves useful during their stay. Can you cook?”

“I can,” I admitted. “But I am better with the needle.”

This pleased the old monk. Unlike the others, he wore a faded burgundy sash, which was frayed at the ends. “Then you’ll help with mending.” He cautiously addressed Edan. “And you?”

“I can help with the horses,” Edan said curtly.

The old monk grunted, then motioned for us to follow him into the monastery and to our rooms. The chambers we passed were sparsely furnished, save for several altars and a smattering of statues, mostly of Amana and Nandun, the beggar god who gave away his wealth to the poor.

“We are an enclave of men here,” Ci’an said, addressing Edan. “Should you wish to bathe, you are welcome to. However, we ask that your wife wait until nightfall.”

I stiffened. Of course I’d known Edan and I would have to pose as husband and wife to stay here, but hearing it pained me—because now I knew it would never be true.

“I understand,” said Edan.

Edan was wise enough to retreat to the stables and give me time alone. Another monk delivered a change of robes, and my clothes were taken to be washed.

I tucked my scissors into my sash and started on the mending I’d promised to do. There were holes to patch and sleeves to shorten, but sewing had always been as easy as breathing for me. I finished so quickly that when I returned the clothes, the monk in charge balked, hardly able to believe it.

Wasting no time, I dipped into my trunk for the moonlight dress and sat cross-legged on my cot to sew. Of the three dresses, this one had the most layers: a jacket, a bodice, a belted skirt, and a shawl. It was also the most faithful to A’landan fashion, though I’d taken liberties with the cut. I worked on the jacket now, assembling its pieces and sewing the sleeves into place.

The looming deadline took my mind off Edan and Bandur’s curse. A distraction I sorely needed. Little by little, I let my work fill my heart, let myself revel in the moonlight dress as it came together. I let myself remember how much I loved my craft, and how much pride I took in it.

When daylight was fading, someone knocked on my door. Edan.

He closed the door behind him. “Monasteries haven’t changed much in a few hundred years. All the monks still do is hum and pray. The smells have gotten better, though.” He tried to smile. “I am grateful to whichever god insists that everyone bathes twice a day and sweeps the halls at dawn and dusk.”

He was trying to amuse me, but it felt like we were strangers again.

“They’ve been very kind,” I said stiffly.

“To you. And for that I am grateful.”

“Have you always disliked monks so?”

He shrugged.

I turned away and started embroidering gold on the hem of Lady Sarnai’s dress.

Edan knew I was ignoring him. He let me, for a while. Then he spoke. “I was raised in a monastery,” he said at last. “The gods worshipped there were different, but being here…still brings back memories.”

How little I knew about Edan’s past! Even though I wanted to ignore him, I was still curious. “Where?”

“Nelronat,” he said. “It was a city thousands of miles from here. It doesn’t exist anymore. Barbarians destroyed it centuries ago.”

I was quiet. I’d never heard of Nelronat.

“After my mother died in childbirth,” Edan continued, “my father was left to raise seven sons alone. He hated me. Blamed me for my mother’s death, and it didn’t help that I was a scrawny boy who preferred to read rather than herd the cattle.”

The sadness in his voice made my insides melt, but I wouldn’t look up. I focused on knotting a stitch into place so I could change to a new color of thread.

“My father took me on a trip one day. He said he was going to put me in school, since I was so inclined toward reading. It wasn’t a lie…not really. I was so happy.”

“He left you,” I said, looking up now.

“At a monastery a four days’ journey from our farm. I tried many times, but I could never find my way home. The monks I grew up with were different from the ones here. Not generous and kind. And the gods we worshipped were harsh and unforgiving.

“I stayed with them for years, until soldiers overran the temple and I was deemed old enough to fight for their cause. I was barely eleven.” He chuckled, though the laugh was dry of humor. “Six months into soldiering, my talent for magic was discovered. That led to me serving in more wars, but more as a weapon than a boy…until my first teacher found me.” He stopped, as if he heard something in the distance. “You should go down. Dinner is ready.”

I set down my needle. “What about you? You’re going to change.”

“Just tell the monks I wanted to rest,” he said solemnly.