But me? I knew I could do it. I wanted to be the imperial tailor.
I went to my room and scrubbed my sleeve over the smudges on my mirror so I could see myself clearly. Honestly.
Baba always said I took after Mama, not him. I’d never believed him. I looked at my straight nose, large round eyes, and full lips—yes, those were from Mama. But Mama had been the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, while I…I’d grown up in a house full of men and didn’t even know how to act like a girl.
Finlei used to tease that, from behind, I looked exactly like Keton—reedy as a boy. The freckles on my face and arms didn’t help either. Girls were supposed to be delicate and pale. But maybe, maybe all this could work in my favor.
I couldn’t sing or recite poetry. I couldn’t dance. I didn’t have grace, or charm or wiles. But I could sew. Heavens, I could sew.
It had to be me.
When Baba returned to his prayers, I rubbed my finger on the coal from the fireplace and smeared it across my eyebrows. By my worktable was a pair of shears. I grasped them but hesitated. My hands never trembled when they cut cloth—I could cut a straight line in my sleep—so why did they tremble now?
I touched the ends of my hair, which reached past my waist even when braided. I undid the ribbons and unwove the braids. The waves rolled down across my back, tickling my spine.
I lowered my hand, bringing the scissors down with it. What I wanted to do was crazy. I needed to be rational, needed to consider the consequences. But all I could hear was Minister Lorsa telling me I couldn’t go. And Baba telling me I couldn’t go.
My whole life, I’d been told what I couldn’t do because I was a girl. Well, this was my chance to find out. The only thing I could do was take it.
I relaxed my grip on the scissors’ bows and pressed the blades against the back of my neck. With one swift motion, I cut my hair at my shoulders. The strands whisked down my back, landing at my feet in a pool of black satin, which the breeze from an open window swept apart as easily as feathers.
My hands stopped trembling, and I tied my hair back the way Keton and all the boys his age did. A strange calm fell over me, as if I had cut away my fears along with my hair. I knew that wasn’t true, but it was too late to panic. Now I needed proper clothes.
I brought a tray of plain winter melon soup and steamed fish to Keton’s bed. He used to share his room with Finlei and Sendo. Our house had felt small then. Now it felt too big. Half my room was storage for fabrics and beads and dyes…and now Keton had this whole room to himself.
My brother was asleep. His lips were twisted into a grimace as he snored. He’d told us he felt no pain even though his legs were broken.
“How can I feel pain if I can’t feel my legs?” he’d tried to joke.
I set down his dinner and pulled up his blanket so it covered his shoulders. Then I reached into his drawer and pulled out a pair of his trousers. I folded them over my arm and began tiptoeing out.
“Maia.” Keton stirred.
I whirled around. “I thought you were asleep.”
“You thought wrong.” Keton’s head settled back onto the pillow.
I sat beside him on the edge of his bed. “Are you hungry? I brought dinner.”
“You’re stealing my clothes,” he observed, nodding at the pile on my arm. “What’s this all about?”
I leaned into a shadow so he wouldn’t see my hair, and pursed my lips. “There was an official in the shop earlier. He wants Baba to go to the Summer Palace to make clothes for Emperor Khanujin.”
Keton closed his eyes. War had driven out the rebelliousness in my youngest brother, and he looked decades older than his nineteen years. “Baba hasn’t sewn in years. He can’t go.”
“He won’t,” I confirmed. “I’m going.”
Keton pushed himself up with his palms. “Demon’s breath, Maia! Are you crazy? You can’t—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You can’t go,” my brother finished, raising his voice over mine. “You’re a girl.”
“Not anymore.” I touched my hair; then I gritted my teeth. “I’m tired of being told I’m not worthy.”