voice didn’t come out strangled. “Let us toast Emperor Khanujin’s wedding to the shansen’s daughter. And pray its success will allow me to come home more.”
“To peace,” Baba toasted. He drained his cup, and Keton too drank the tea in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
I watched them both, hoping with all my heart I had made the right choice.
“You’re staring at me, Maia,” said Keton teasingly. “Do I have tea leaves up my nose?”
I crouched beside him, taking his hands in mine, and smiled. “No, I’m just happy to see you. And Baba. And to be home again.”
He drew me close. “Remember our last morning in Gangsun?” he asked quietly. “I refused to leave, and I climbed a tree to hide so no one would find me.”
I remembered. “You fell and broke your arm.”
“It hurt so much I was afraid I’d never be able to use it again, but I was more afraid of Finlei.” Keton let out a soft laugh. “He scolded me until my ears rang. But afterward, he splinted my arm and, once it healed, he helped me exercise it to make it strong again.”
Keton’s hands steadied, his breath evening. “I’d forgotten that morning for so many years, and yet, after you left, I thought about it every day.” Finally he confessed, “I think I was afraid of you, too. Not that you’d scold me. But that I would let you down.”
I was glad he was holding my hands, for my balance wobbled as I rocked back with surprise. “Keton…”
“I did try,” he said, silencing and steadying me both at once. “Every morning, every night. Some days were better than others, but every time, I fell. I didn’t want to fall when you came back.”
Before Baba or I could say anything, he peeled off the blanket. His knees trembled, and he reached out to keep them still.
“You’ve been away a long time, sister,” he said, “and I promised a step for each day. But I didn’t promise that they’d all be at once.” He inhaled, and pulled himself to the edge of his chair, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He struggled to stand without help from the walls or from Baba, but he wouldn’t take my arm when I held it out to him.
Folding his fingers tightly over his cane, he stabbed it a cautious distance ahead, dragged his foot forward, and closed the gap with a step. Then another. And another, until I heard Baba gasp as Keton staggered toward him.
Three steps, and my brother collapsed against the chair beside Baba. I wrapped my arms around him.
“Three for now,” said my brother, smiling as he ruffled my hair. “Will you count that, Maia?”
“I would rather count your smiles than your steps, dear brother,” I said. “What means most to me is being here, home with you and Baba.”
Baba came to us, and we embraced him. It’d been so long since we were together like this, I never wanted to let go.
As I knelt beside my brother, Baba told stories about us as children, how Keton used to put worms in my hair and how Baba worried I’d never be recognized as a tailor in my own right. And he laughed. I heard my father laugh for the first time in years.
Dusk bloomed too soon. Baba began to light the candles, but his eyelids drooped, heavy with tiredness. I ushered him to his room to get some rest. Then gently, I helped Keton to his bed.
I found the walnut where I’d left it, its contents still warm and glistening. Still there for me to drink. For me to be happy, as Edan had told me. But it was too late for me. To see my father laugh and my brother walk, and to see Edan become free…that was all the happiness I needed. I’d cling to it, as long as I could—until Bandur took my soul, piece by piece.
The drums thundered, still distant, but quicker. My heart lurched. Maybe if I stayed here, Bandur’s prophecy wouldn’t come true. Maybe if I didn’t go back, I could salvage who I was.
No. Amana had warned me of the price I’d pay to save Edan. And even in a thousand lifetimes, I would not have made a different choice.
I poured the walnut into a potted bamboo shoot on the windowsill. The plant grew greener as it absorbed Edan’s magic. A sight that both stung my heart and made