Spin the Dawn(99)

“I should have you hanged, Lord Enchanter,” Emperor Khanujin said through his teeth. “You left without my permission.”

“I accept the consequences of my actions, Your Majesty,” said Edan. “I thought it necessary to aid the imperial tailor, to ensure your marriage and peace for A’landi.”

“You thought leaving me would be wise?” The emperor threw his teacup to the ground. It shattered at Edan’s feet. “Wise for the shansen to know you were away? To give him the opportunity to hunt you?”

“If he did so, he failed.”

Emperor Khanujin sniffed, slightly mollified. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his wooden chair, hardly a throne. His nails were long and uncut; they made a clacking sound that set me on edge. “Was your journey successful?”

“It was, Your Majesty.”

“Then at least your absence wasn’t for naught. I wonder, how should I punish you, Lord Enchanter? After all, there is nothing you fear, to my knowledge. And I cannot have you executed for your disobedience, since I need you at my side.”

Edan was silent.

Emperor Khanujin touched the amulet pinned to his robe. “I suppose your very existence is punishment enough. You, a vessel of such power at my command.”

Edan didn’t flinch, but I did. My fists curled at my sides, and I had to bite my cheek to keep from lashing out at the emperor.

“Master Tamarin, you have work to do. Leave us.”

I glanced at Edan, who gave an almost imperceptible lift of his chin. A sign to obey.

The emperor knew my leg wasn’t truly lame, but I made a show of struggling to get up from my knees anyway. I bowed to him. “May you live ten thousand years, Your Majesty,” I said, the familiar words now foreign on my tongue.

Then I left, to return to the life I’d once dreamed of living. What I wouldn’t have given for it to have stayed a dream.



* * *



? ? ?

My satchel and trunk were already in my new quarters. I opened my trunk to air out my dresses. Seeing them comforted me. I might be back in the palace, but I wouldn’t forget my adventures outside. Wouldn’t forget the battles Edan and I had fought, the magic I’d seen.

These dresses would always remind me.

A plate of almond cookies sat on my cutting table. No note accompanied the treat, but I knew it was from Ammi. Welcome back! I could hear her exclaiming.

Remembering my one friend in the palace cheered me, and I gobbled the cookies quickly, filling my empty stomach. Just after I set down the plate and started to unfold my dresses, the door to my chambers swung open.

“Her Highness, Lady Sarnai, honors you with her presence!” a voice shouted from outside.

Lady Sarnai entered. Her furrowed brow and pursed lips made it clear she wasn’t pleased I had returned alive, but the shansen’s daughter no longer frightened me. I grabbed my cane and bowed.

“The red sun draws near,” she said in lieu of a greeting. The reminder pained me, though she couldn’t know why.

“I’m nearly finished, Your Highness.”

“So you found them?” she said hollowly. “Amana’s children?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Lady Sarnai held a fan, as always, but she twisted it in her hands, so hard I thought it must break. When she spoke next, her voice was tight. “Show me what you’ve done.”

I knelt by my trunk, glad I had taken the time to clean it of sand and dirt. One by one I carefully took out my three dresses.

Lady Sarnai snatched the first one from me, lifting it by the sleeves to view.

“That is to be the gown of the moon,” I said. “I haven’t sewn in the moonlight yet.”

Even without its magical element in place, the dress was breathtaking. I could tell from Lady Sarnai’s silence that I had created something otherworldly.

The sleeves were long and wide and, when held up, curved like the elegant base of a lute. White-gold floss sparkled from the cuffs and the cross-collar, which I’d painstakingly embroidered with tiny flowers and clouds, and the skirt was silver, layered with five sheets of the thinnest silk to create the illusion of pale, shimmering light.

It moved her, how beautiful the dress was. I could see tears misting in her eyes, even though she blinked and struggled to hold them back.

Lady Sarnai dropped the gown to the floor. The color had drained from her face, and her eyes flooded with a mixture of wonder and horror. “It was supposed to be…impossible.”

“It wasn’t easy,” I said tiredly. I couldn’t gloat—the dresses had come at a great cost. “We faced many obstacles, magical and not. Some of your father’s men pursued us.”

Lady Sarnai’s face darkened at the news. I thought she would lash out at me for insinuating that she’d sent Edan with me so her father could capture him, but she said nothing. Still, she wasn’t surprised. I wondered if she was torn between her duty to the shansen and her hatred for him—for forcing her into marriage with Emperor Khanujin.

Lady Sarnai lifted her chin, reconstructing her careful mask of stone, but it was not quite as convincing as it had been before. “Very good, Master Tamarin.” She kept her gaze high to avoid looking at the dress, as if the very sight of it wounded her. “I’m sure Emperor Khanujin will be pleased that you have delivered his wedding gift. But don’t fool yourself into thinking this is your first of many great feats for him. The Son of Heaven’s promises are as empty as the clouds that bore him. You should never have come back.”