Edan opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off.
“I’ll be safe here. The court is abuzz with the news that I’m a woman—that I made Amana’s dresses. It will intrigue the shansen and the emperor long enough for you to disappear.”
“When did you become so brave, myxitara?” He took my hand and looked down at it. “Your hand is cold, Maia.”
“It’s…it’s from wearing the dress,” I said, pulling away. A hard lump rose in my throat, and I swallowed painfully. More lies. “Please. You must leave.”
He held on to my hand, tightly. Urgency tore away his grief and anger at what I had done; he knew I was right—there was no time. “Guard the dresses. They have great power, and they speak to you. The emperor will be weak without me. I cannot protect A’landi any longer. But perhaps you can.”
“Where will you go?”
“To find a source of magic that exists beyond the oath.”
“Is that…possible?”
“Enchanters are born with magic. Even when our oath is broken, some of it remains in us, only we cannot rekindle it. But my teachers told me of a freed enchanter in Agoria who could still wield some magic. If he is still alive, perhaps he can help me.”
“Edan, I made my wish for you to be free, not to—”
“This is how I choose to be free,” he interrupted gently. “Until I know you are safe from Bandur—and Khanujin—I must find a way to protect you. And when I do, I will come back and take you with me. You are my oath now, Maia Tamarin. And you’ll never be free of me.”
I took his hand and pressed it against my cheek. His warmth spread across my face, melting away the cold. “I know.”
He touched my forehead, his fingers caressing my skin. “May Amana watch over you until I find you again.”
I mustered a weak laugh. “I thought you didn’t believe in the gods.”
“I’m beginning to,” he said in earnest. “Just as I’m beginning to believe you are A’landi’s best hope.” He reached to the floor and passed me our carpet. “Take this. If you are ever in danger, use it to flee. Use it to find me.”
“You should keep it.”
“It can’t hear me any longer.” Sadness seeped into Edan’s voice, despite his effort to hide it.
He pulled me close and kissed me. Roughly, then deeply, as if the intensity of his love would change my mind and make me go with him. It left me breathless. I clung to his neck, listening to the steady pounding of his heart.
He stroked my hair; then he took my cheeks between his hands and lifted my head so our eyes were level. “Thank you, Maia, for freeing me.”
“Be safe,” I whispered. “Remember, you’re mortal now. Don’t do anything foolish, and don’t take too long coming back to me.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “I won’t.”
He unthreaded his fingers from mine; then, with one last kiss, he turned and was gone.
I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Cold gripped my heart, twisting it tighter and tighter as if preparing it to break. Numbly, I closed my curtains, letting shadows fall over my room.
Drums pounded from the temple, a sign the emperor had arrived for his noon prayers to celebrate the red sun. The sound made the water in my washbowl quiver.
I dipped my fingers in the water and splashed my face.
“You freed your enchanter,” murmured a dark, rippling voice. “A mistake, Maia Tamarin. A grave mistake. I warned you that if Edan broke his oath, I would return for you.”
I froze. I couldn’t pick out where the sound was coming from. It seemed to resonate from the walls.
“Look again,” the voice whispered.
I swallowed, then moved into my workroom. The loom was empty, as were the chairs and table. I went back into my bedroom—there was Bandur, in the mirror.
“Did you know,” he said, “they used to play drums to scare off demons?”
