certain someone on the way home. But as I feared, Calu was there.
“Let me help you with that,” he said, reaching for my basket.
“I don’t need help.”
Calu grabbed the handle and pulled. “Would you stop being so stubborn, Maia?”
“Careful! You’ll spill everything.”
As soon as Calu loosened his grip, I yanked the basket from him and rushed into our shop. I closed the door and started unloading the goods I’d purchased: bundles of linen and muslin, small books of paper for sketching, a handful of oranges, a bag of pink-yellow peaches given to me by our neighbors, salmon eyes (Baba’s favorite), tuna eggs, and a short sack of rice.
I had been so busy fending off Calu I only now saw the carriage parked across the street—and the man waiting in our shop.
He was portly and cast a wide shadow. My eyes roamed over his attire, picking out the brass button missing among its brothers on his bright blue silk coat. I tended to take note of people’s clothing more than their faces.
My shoulders straightened. “Good day, sir,” I said, but the man was in no hurry to greet me. He was too busy eyeing the shop with disdain. Shame made my cheeks prickle with heat.
There was fabric strewn over the floors behind the counter, and a swath of cotton to be hand-painted hung askew in the dyeing rack. We had dismissed all outside help years ago, and there was no money to hire cleaning servants. I had stopped noticing the cobwebs in the corners and the peach blossoms that the wind had swept through the door scattered about the shop.
The man’s gaze finally circled back to me. I pushed my hair from my eyes and tossed my braid behind my shoulder in an effort to make myself more presentable. Then I bowed, as if my good manners might make up for the shop’s shortcomings. I tried again. “Good day, sir. How can I help you?”
Finally, the man stepped toward my counter. A large jade pendant, in the shape of a fan, swayed from his sash. It had a giant red tassel made of knotted silken cords.
An imperial official. Yet he wasn’t wearing the typical gray-and-navy tunic that most imperial servants wore. No, he was a eunuch.
What was one of His Majesty’s eunuchs doing here?
I looked up, taking in his bulging eyes and the finely trimmed beard that did nothing to hide the scornful twist of his lips.
He raised his chin. “You are the daughter of Kalsang Tamarin.”
I nodded. My temples were sweaty from being outside in the marketplace, and the scent of the oranges I’d bought tickled my stomach, which growled. Loudly.
The eunuch wrinkled his nose and said, “His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Khanujin, requests your father’s presence in the Summer Palace.”
Surprised, I dropped my basket on the floor. “My…my father is honored. What does His Imperial Majesty wish of him?”
The emperor’s official cleared his throat. “Your family has served for many generations as court tailors. We have need of your father’s services. Lord Tainak recommended him highly.”
My heart pounded as my mind raced to recall the dress I’d made for Lady Tainak. Oh, yes, a jacket and skirt of the finest silk, with hand-painted cranes and magnolias. The order had been a boon during the winter, and I’d painstakingly rationed the payment so that it would feed us for weeks.
I didn’t need to know any details to feel sure this job would save my family. My dream to sew for the emperor, lost for so long, bubbled in me again.
“Ah, Lady Tainak’s gown,” I said, biting my tongue before I divulged that I’d made it, not Baba. I couldn’t contain my excitement—and curiosity. “What might His Majesty require of my father’s services?”
The eunuch frowned at my boldness. “Where is he?”
“Sir, my father is indisposed, but I’d be happy to relay His Majesty’s instructions—”
“Then I will speak with your brother.”
I chose to ignore his insult. “My brother recently returned from fighting the Five Winters’ War. He is resting.”
The eunuch put his hands on his hips. “Tell your father to come, girl, before I lose my patience and report that he has insolently neglected a summons from the emperor.”
I pursed my lips and bowed quickly. Then I rushed to find Baba.
As usual, he was kneeling at the small shrine by our kitchen stove, holding thin sticks of incense. He bowed three times, once to each of the three different wooden carvings of Amana, the mother goddess.