a modest stables next to the grounds, well supplied with hay and water for Opal and Rook. Edan hid our weapons under a bush nearby.
I saw the monks before we reached the gates, outside sweeping the monastery’s wide stone steps. Their heads were shaved, and they wore plain muslin cloaks over their robes. They greeted us with polite bows, but Edan was right—the senior monk eyed him suspiciously. Still, he did not turn us away.
We left our shoes outside, and one of the younger monks brought us water to wash our feet. A thread of saffron floated in the wooden bowl, scenting the air. I dipped my toes, shivering as the cool water washed over my skin.
Edan tried reaching for my hand, but I shoved his away. I saw his jaw stiffen, his mouth drawing in a tight, cautious line, and the twinge in my heart sharpened. I was hurting him, but I couldn’t help it. Deep down, I yearned to have his arms around me, to have his warm breath touch my hair and his heart beat against mine. But every time Edan’s promise to Bandur bubbled up in my memory, a flare of anger burned deep in me.
Going with Bandur had been my choice to make, not Edan’s. Mine.
I pursed my lips tight, refusing to look at him. Instead, I stared at the sun. I couldn’t look for much longer than a blink, but still I saw the ever-widening red tinge in its crown. Two weeks left of making Lady Sarnai’s damned dresses. They were the reason everything had gone wrong.
The senior monk, whom I’d heard the others call Ci’an, approached. He was very old, his frame thin and shrunken, but his eyes were sharp. “We welcome guests to the monastery as long as they make themselves useful during their stay. Can you cook?”
“I can,” I admitted. “But I am better with the needle.”
This pleased the old monk. Unlike the others, he wore a faded burgundy sash, which was frayed at the ends. “Then you’ll help with mending.” He cautiously addressed Edan. “And you?”
“I can help with the horses,” Edan said curtly.
The old monk grunted, then motioned for us to follow him into the monastery and to our rooms. The chambers we passed were sparsely furnished, save for several altars and a smattering of statues, mostly of Amana and Nandun, the beggar god who gave away his wealth to the poor.
“We are an enclave of men here,” Ci’an said, addressing Edan. “Should you wish to bathe, you are welcome to. However, we ask that your wife wait until nightfall.”
I stiffened. Of course I’d known Edan and I would have to pose as husband and wife to stay here, but hearing it pained me—because now I knew it would never be true.
“I understand,” said Edan.
Edan was wise enough to retreat to the stables and give me time alone. Another monk delivered a change of robes, and my clothes were taken to be washed.
I tucked my scissors into my sash and started on the mending I’d promised to do. There were holes to patch and sleeves to shorten, but sewing had always been as easy as breathing for me. I finished so quickly that when I returned the clothes, the monk in charge balked, hardly able to believe it.
Wasting no time, I dipped into my trunk for the moonlight dress and sat cross-legged on my cot to sew. Of the three dresses, this one had the most layers: a jacket, a bodice, a belted skirt, and a shawl. It was also the most faithful to A’landan fashion, though I’d taken liberties with the cut. I worked on the jacket now, assembling its pieces and sewing the sleeves into place.
The looming deadline took my mind off Edan and Bandur’s curse. A distraction I sorely needed. Little by little, I let my work fill my heart, let myself revel in the moonlight dress as it came together. I let myself remember how much I loved my craft, and how much pride I took in it.
When daylight was fading, someone knocked on my door. Edan.
He closed the door behind him. “Monasteries haven’t changed much in a few hundred years. All the monks still do is hum and pray. The smells have gotten better, though.” He tried to smile. “I am grateful to whichever god insists that everyone bathes twice a day and sweeps the halls at dawn and dusk.”
He was trying to amuse me, but it felt like we were strangers