Takkan inhaled. “I don’t know much about magic, Lina, but I’ve heard stories from outside Kiata. In every one, enchanters are cunning, often more so than their masters. The Wolf, I sense, will be no different.”
He laughed at himself softly. “Listen to me, counting on secondhand tales to inform my strategy. Everyone is focused on defeating the A’landans, but here I am, worried about the Wolf. It’s a good thing I’m not on the emperor’s council, or the commander of the army. No wonder the others think I’ve gone senseless.”
I leaned a little closer, showing him I didn’t think that. Not at all.
He lowered his voice. “Sometimes I think magic never left Kiata. Not fully. I would even go so far as to wonder whether the princes and princess themselves were ensorcelled—it isthe only way to explain how no one has been able to find them.” His lips thinned. “But maybe I’m just fooling myself. Winter here has a way of muddling one’s reason.”
I shivered, suddenly cold. Takkan was so close to the truth, yet he didn’t even know it. My fingers squeezed the unfinished crane still in my grasp.
I made one last crease on the bird, then opened its wings and showed him.
“What is it, a dove?”
No.
“A swan?”
I tapped the bird’s head.
“A crane?”
Yes.I folded another sheet into a crane. Then another and another until I had six, set out in a misshapen circle. It was the most I dared to show him.
“Six cranes,” said Takkan. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Of course he didn’t. It was unfair, making him play this guessing game. Leading him on as if there were a reward at the end of the trail.
Guilt and frustration swept over me, and I gathered the cranes and tossed them high. Down the stairs they flew, their heads bobbing in the wind as they landed on the snow. But one did not fly and instead landed on my arm. As I picked it up by one wing, Takkan took the other. Our fingertips were so close I could almost feel the warmth of his skin.
I drew my hand away and turned to the tea, which I’d declined. It had gone cold by now, but it didn’t taste bitter as it washed down my throat. It was still fragrant, and the trace of its lingering warmth soothed me.
Takkan held the last crane on his palm. “They’re important to you, aren’t they? The cranes.”
That, at least, I could answer. I nodded.
“Do you know how they came to have that red crown on their heads?”
No. Tell me.
“Everyone knows that Emuri’en used to be the greatest of the seven gods,” Takkan began, his voice deepening as he recounted Kiata’s dearest legend. “She made the ocean out of her tears and painted the sky with her dreams. And her hair outshone every light and star in the universe. So radiant were her tresses that the sun asked for a lock and wore it as a necklace to illuminate the world.”
Takkan’s voice rolled like the rich thrum of the zither’s lowest notes. “With the earth now bright, Emuri’en watched the humans who dwelled below, and she grew to love them. But she could see that humans were weak—susceptible to greed and envy. Every morning, she cut her hair, dulled its brilliance by dyeing it red—the color of strength and blood—and tied different mortals together, binding their fates with love. But with each strand she cut, her power grew weaker, so she drew upon the clouds to make a thousand cranes—sacred birds to assist her in her work.”
He took out the two strands of twine used to wrap our rice dumplings and held one under the crane’s beak.
“Over time, she gave away so much of her power that she could no longer remain in heaven, and she fell to earth. Her cranes tried to catch her, but as they dove, they spilled her red dye upon their foreheads, creating the crimson crown that is still there today.” His voice softened. “When Emuri’en saw, she smiled one last smile, and she made them promise to continue her task, connecting fates and destinies.
“The thousand cranes flew to heaven, praying that she be revived. Though the gods themselves wished their sister to return, they could not bring her back. So instead they took the last strand of her hair and planted it on earth, in hopes that she be reborn one day. And she was, but that is a story for another time.”
He picked up a second crane from the ground, tucked the other strand of twine under its beak.
“To this day, cranes carry the strands of our fate. They say that each time two people’s paths cross, so do their strands. When they become important to one another or make a promise to one another, a knot is tied, connecting them.”
He knotted the two strings together at one end and lowered his voice. “But when they fall in love, their strands are tied together at both ends, becoming one.” He tethered the second end of the twine so it became a circle. “And their fates are irrevocably joined.”
It was the end of his tale, and he offered the knotted strings to me.
I hesitated. “If fate is a bunch of strings, then I’ll carry scissors,” I used to tell my tutors when they’d teach us about Emuri’en. “My choices are my own. I’ll make them as I please.”
