“You have much to learn,” he said, but not unkindly.
We walked together to the Hall of Supreme Diligence, skirting a garden full of winding paths and plum and pine trees.
“The Courtyard of Heavenly Peace. We aren’t allowed past the waterfall there, not without permission.” Longhai lowered his voice. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t take a peek.”
He crouched with his head bent and nudged me to do the same; then he pointed. Far on the other side of the garden, a woman walked briskly as three servants trailed her.
She was beautiful, with ivory skin, cascading black hair, and a swanlike neck. And clearly highborn, given the servants and the regal way she walked. But her clothing was odd: she wore leather boots, a simple shift of pale blue broadcloth that barely covered her ankles, and a quilted fur coat over her shoulders, hardly appropriate for the mild weather.
The maids were pleading with her. “Your Highness, there isn’t much time before your welcoming banquet. Will you not change?”
“What is wrong with what I’m wearing?” the lady replied. Her tone was sharp, and it left no room for argument.
Her maids chased after her. “Your Highness, please!”
The lady strode on, deaf to their pleas. Following her was the largest man I’d ever seen. He was big as a bear and dwarfed the entire pathway. His beard was sharply cropped, and his eyes were narrow, crested by thick, black eyebrows.
“Your Highness,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “You should heed your maids’ advice. Please. It is what your father would wish.”
The lady stilled. She wouldn’t look at her companion, but tension flared between them. She raised her chin. “Youwouldtake his side, wouldn’t you, Lord Xina?”
I couldn’t see whether Lord Xina nodded or bowed in response, but the lady turned to her head maid. “Very well,” she said, her voice shakier than before. “I will see what garments His Majesty has to offer. However, I make no promise to wear any of them.”
Longhai rose once the lady was out of earshot. “Well, well. I’d say that was worthwhile. We’ll have an edge against the others tomorrow. That was Lady Sarnai, the shansen’s daughter.”
I tried not to show my surprise.Thatwas the lady we’d have to sew for during the trial? I’d envisioned her as a warrior like her father—a girl who wore armor and breeches, had no trace of femininity, and had grown up wild and untamed. Lady Sarnaididlook fierce, but she was also…beautiful.
A grin spread across Longhai’s wrinkled face. “Not what you expected, I see.”
“She’s very graceful” was all I could manage. “What about the man behind her?”
“Lord Xina,” Longhai replied in a pinched tone. “The shansen’s favorite warrior and the son of his most trusted adviser. His presence is an insult to His Majesty.”
“An insult?”
“There are rumors Lord Xina was betrothed to Lady Sarnai before the truce was called. That he is her lover. But it’s all court gossip. No one knows for certain.” The old tailor reached into his robes for a flask. He offered it to me, and after I declined, he took a long drink.
I pondered the way the shansen’s daughter had spoken to Lord Xina—was the bitterness in her tone for her lover or for her father? Or both?
Longhai capped his flask. “Did you see her fur coat? Rabbit, fox, wolf, at least three different bears. Northerners only wear what they hunt—Lady Sarnai must be quite skilled.” He heaved a sympathetic sigh. “She won’t have an easy time adjusting to life here.” He leaned closer to me, as if to share a secret. “But she does seem to enjoy aggravating His Majesty. She wore breeches to tea with the emperor and his ministers of war.”
Lady Sarnai had nerve. I didn’t know whether that made me respect her more—or less.
“I’m sure we’ll hear about it tomorrow,” Longhai said as we approached the hall.
I wished Longhai’s station were next to mine, but he was on the opposite end of the room. So I returned to my table alone and took out my sketchbook to start designing a shawl, not bothering to greet the tailors around me. I had a feeling they resented my presence.
To my relief, they ignored me, too. Since I was the last tailor to arrive for the trial, I’d been assigned the worst table—farthest from the windows and toward the middle, where my work was practically on exhibit for everyone to see.
None of the tailors except for Longhai had introduced themselves to me, but through scraps of their conversations, I caught some names I recognized. Like Longhai, they were masters whose styles I’d grown up studying and emulating; these were men who’d been sewing since long before I was born.
Master Taraha and Master Yindi came from different schools of embroidery, but both were geniuses: Taraha specialized in flowers, and Yindi in double-sided embroidery. Master Boyen was brilliant at knotting; Master Delun wove brocades unlike any others. Master Norbu was a favorite of the nobility.
And me? When we’d lived in Gangsun, Baba had asked visiting friends to teach me their regional styles and crafts, and in Port Kamalan, I’d picked up techniques from every merchant and tailor who’d speak to me.
But I was no master, and I had no reputation.
“You!” a man barked, interrupting my worried thoughts. “Pretty boy!”
