Reiya looked up when Su Lian settled beside her, pressing a strip of thick cloth into her hands—neatly hemmed, ready to be worked on.
The request to contribute had drawn nothing more than a brief glance between the two women, as if they’d expected it all along. There had been no condescension, no false cheer—only the quiet, matter-of-fact offering of a place at their side.
“The Talharen make things people can use,” Su Lian explained asshe threaded her needle. “Belts, pouches, scarves—things made to last, not solely for show.”
Reiya watched closely as Su Lian demonstrated a line of neat stitches, her movements quick and precise. The threads slipped between her fingers, rougher than they looked, each tug requiring just enough pressure to feel deliberate.
Talharen patterns, whether geometric or woven from the shapes of nature, brimmed with meaning. Under Su Lian’s patient guidance, Reiya was beginning to glimpse the language hidden in the weave—knots for protection during travel, stitches for health and longevity, symbols sewn to coax fortune in trade or even call a good spouse into one’s path.
Every thread had to be pulled taut, every knot placed with quiet precision. This wasn’t simply craft. It was survival—each stitch a prayer, each pattern a charm against the unseen dangers of the world.
Su Lian lifted a belt in progress, fingertips grazing the vibrant knots strung along its length.
“This motif is popular with travellers,” she said softly. “They believe it offers protection on the road.”
Reiya brushed her thumb over the raised pattern, the texture strange at first, but quickly becoming familiar.
For a moment, she was a girl again—watching her brother Leif knot ropes before a voyage, rough hands moving in practiced rhythm, weaving prayers to Thalassazor, the sea god.
But the Talharen knots spoke of a different kind of journey, one bound not to the whims of the tides, but to the stubborn, unyielding earth and all the unseen perils it harboured.
On her first attempt, the needle snagged, tugging uneven loops into the fabric. She swallowed her frustration, inhaling deeply and forcing herself to keep going.
Su Lian chuckled.
“Almost.” She guided Reiya’s hands, adjusting her grip. “Relax your wrist. There—see how it moves easier now?”
Reiya nodded, the awkwardness slowly giving way to rhythm. Push, pull, knot, repeat.
It felt different from the frivolous patterns she’d stitched backhome. This workmattered. Every pouch, every belt sold would feed the family, fund their journey, or carry blessings to the buyer.
Hours later, as the wagon wobbled on, her shoulders ached, fingers smarting with tiny pinpricks. She didn’t stop. When she finally held up the small pouch she’d embroidered—a simple design for safe travels—it wasn’t perfect. The lines wavered, the tension uneven, but for the first time in far too long, she felt capable.
And maybe . . .happy, even with sore fingers.
Su Lian must’ve noticed, pulling out a small earthen jar without a word. As the cork popped, the scents of herbs and camphor filled the air.
“Give me your hand.”
Reiya exhaled softly as the woman’s fingers worked the salve into her own, moving higher, gliding over the raw, angry welts circling her wrists. The skin was stretched thin, feverish and torn, each stroke a reminder of how tightly the ropes had bitten into her flesh, how long she’d been bound.
Gradually, the sting dulled beneath the careful pressure of Su Lian’s hands.
Reiya found herself watching closely. There was an elegance in the Xûen woman, subtle but undeniable, as if the road had shaped her without hardening her. It wasn’t the polished refinement Reiya had seen at court, but something quieter—rooted in experience and resilience.
“You’re so accomplished,” she said. “Cooking, sewing, raising a child . . . Was it hard to learn it all?”
“It wasn’t overnight,” Su Lian replied, smiling wistfully. “Like you, I wasn’t born to life on the road. The Xians have always been Talharen, but I came from the Su clan, a trading family in the city. My father owns a large shop in Changzihua, the capital of Xûen-Sarai, catering to wealthy locals and foreign traders. My siblings and I grew up surrounded by treasures from far-off lands, trained to read people as much as contracts.”
Her hands paused for a moment, and she glanced up at Reiya with a fond, knowing smile. “It’s a useful skill—to understand what someone wants before they even say it. I was born in the Year of theFox, you know. My father used to say it’s in my nature to listen twice as much as I speak.”
Reiya arched a brow. “The Fox?”
Su Lian chuckled softly. “Quick-witted and clever, but not as noble as the Phoenix or as steadfast as the Bear. People trust those animals to lead, but the Fox . . . the Fox slips between shadows and knows things before others do.” She winked. “Useful for a merchant’s daughter, though not always a comfort to those around her.”
Reiya chuckled softly. “I imagine you met all kinds of interesting people at the shop.”
“Oh, I did,” Su Lian replied softly. “That’s how I met Jun.”
