“Finlei was brave. Sendo, too, in his own way. But you, Maia, you are strong. Like your mother. You hold us together.”
My knees gave. “Baba…”
He clutched the side of the door, his other hand outstretched with what looked like a bundle of cloth. “Take this.”
The bundle was made of silk so fine I thought it might melt at my touch. I undid the golden cord. Inside was—
A pair of scissors.
I looked at my father in confusion.
“They were your grandmother’s,” Baba said, wrapping the scissors again as if the sight of them pained him. “They never spoke to me. They were waiting for you.”
“What do they—”
Baba silenced my questions. “You’ll know when you need them.”
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.
