solitude and peace it offers, particularly before taking their oath. Your companion is the first I’ve met…the first to come here after taking his oath.”
“I thought monasteries did not welcome enchanters.”
The monk chuckled. “The rift between religion and magic has grown. But I was not always a monk, and I have seen many things the younger ones have not. Many things they will never see.
“In my time, we called the enchanters gatekeepers, because they guarded magic from the rest of us. It is a heavy responsibility. Respected even by men of religion. To this day, I still hold that respect.”
Ci’an took my arm to lead me. “One thing I have never seen is an enchanter in love. They aren’t supposed to love, you know. In some ways, they are taught to be like monks—compassionate and selfless. Only they love no one, and we love all. Your enchanter is different.”
A lump hardened in my throat. “He’s served a long time,” I said, staring at the ground.
“So he has,” Ci’an said. “Many wish for such power for themselves, but I do not envy his path. The toll is heavy.”
I said nothing. I didn’t want to talk about Edan. It hurt too much to think about his promise to Bandur, knowing there was nothing I could do about it.
Finally, we arrived at the spring. The young moon illuminated a clear pool before me, as well as three statues of Amana standing on the banks. Her eyes were closed in all, her hands clasped together and lifted toward the sky.
“Long ago, these waters were sacred to the priestesses of the mother goddess,” Ci’an explained. “Some still come once a year, on the ninth day of the ninth month, to see the stars form a bridge between the sun and moon. You’ve only just missed it.”
“I’m aware of that,” I whispered, staring at the statues. The two wearing the sun and moon glittered under the silver moonlight, but shadows eclipsed the statue wearing the blood of stars.
“As a seamstress, Amana’s dresses must fascinate you,” Ci’an said.
“I always thought they were a myth,” I replied, “as far from us as the gods were. But that was before I believed in magic. Now that I’ve seen what it can do, I’m no longer sure that the boundary between Heaven and earth is as solid as I believed.” I thought of Bandur and the ghosts. “What if there are no gods? What if there is only magic, only enchanters and demons and ghosts?”
“You must keep your faith,” said Ci’an. “The gods watch over us, but unlike the spirits of this realm, they do not interfere in our lives. Not unless we anger them greatly, or impress them.”
“Yes,” I murmured. “When Amana forgave the god of thieves, she returned light to the world, but only for half the day. She gave us night.”
“She was still angry with him,” Ci’an said. “Deservedly so. But you forget the tailor who actually made the dresses for the god of thieves. What few know is that Amana rewarded him with a gift.”
“What gift is that?”
“It’s said that she gave him a pair of scissors,” Ci’an replied. “Enchanted to imbue their owner with a piece of her power.”
I went very still.
“No one’s ever seen them, but I imagine they must still exist, passed from generation to generation.”
I held in a deep breath and reached into my sash, where my enchanted scissors rested. My fingers traced the design engraved on the shanks—of the sun and moon. These had to be the scissors Amana had given the tailor.
Did that mean the tailor’s family was my own? Did that explain why magic flowed in me? It had to. And why only I could use the scissors.
Why Bandur had said I was more special than I looked.
“What if someone succeeded in making Amana’s dresses?” I said in a rush. “Would the mother goddess interfere?”
“Many have tried to make them, lured by the legend that Amana would grant a wish to any who succeeded.”
“Is it true?”
“I’d imagine that if someone did succeed in making Amana’s dresses…such a feat might incur her wrath more than her blessing.” Seeing my stricken expression, Ci’an smiled. “Then again, I would also wager that tale was made up by priests of Amana’s children to keep their temples prosperous and well visited.”
“I see,” I said quietly.
“Speak to her here,” Ci’an said, gesturing at the spring. “Amana is always listening, but perhaps here, among her children, she will listen more carefully.” He patted my