for burping, not to hide when I was passing wind, and to spit whenever someone dared insult my honor.
Then finally, when he was too exhausted to continue the lesson, I went to my room and paced back and forth, going over all the things that could go wrong.
If I’m caught, I’ll be killed.
But Keton and Baba need me to do this.
Secretly, I knew I needed it too. If I stayed here, I would become Calu’s wife—a baker’s wife—and my fingers would forget how to sew.
So with no more hesitation, I packed all that I might need. An extra change of Keton’s clothes; my best threads, flosses, awls, and needles; my embroidery ribbons and pincushion; chalk, paintbrushes, paint pots, sketchbooks, and pens.
The sun was in a hurry to rise, or so it felt. Light washed out the blanket of stars above me. I watched the morning crawl over the sea, until it touched my street and my house.
I was ready, my belongings carefully packed into a bundle that I slung over my shoulder. As I headed for the door, I walked confidently—as Keton once did—with a limp to complete the impression, my body bowing over my cane for support.
“Wait,” Baba rasped from behind. “Wait.”
Guilt swelled in my chest. “I’m sorry, Baba.”
Baba shook his head. “I expected it. You were always the strong one.”
“No,” I said quietly, “Finlei and Sendo were the strong ones.”
“Finlei was brave. Sendo, too, in his own way. But you, Maia, you are strong. Like your mother. You hold us together.”
My knees gave. “Baba…”
He clutched the side of the door, his other hand outstretched with what looked like a bundle of cloth. “Take this.”
The bundle was made of silk so fine I thought it might melt at my touch. I undid the golden cord. Inside was—
A pair of scissors.
I looked at my father in confusion.
“They were your grandmother’s,” Baba said, wrapping the scissors again as if the sight of them pained him. “They never spoke to me. They were waiting for you.”
“What do they—”
Baba silenced my questions. “You’ll know when you need them.”
I opened my mouth, about to tell him to take care of Keton, and to take care of himself. But Finlei and Sendo had left with such words on their lips, and they’d never returned. So I said nothing and simply nodded.
“Maia,” Baba said, his hand on my shoulder. There was a light in his eyes I hadn’t seen in years. “Be careful. The palace…it will be dangerous.”
“I will be careful, Baba. I promise.”
“Go, then. Show them what you can do.”
I leaned on my cane, dragging my right leg behind me as I limped toward the carriage.
The sun was already bright, but I didn’t have any hands free to shield my face. My features crumpled, and Lorsa grunted when he saw me.
“Keton Tamarin?” he said, looking me up and down. “You and your sister share a strong resemblance.”
My whole body knotted up like a badly coiled rope. I forced a manly laugh, which turned more into a cough. “I hope that’s all we share. After all, she can’t sew and I can.”
The eunuch harrumphed in agreement; then he tossed Baba a sack of jens.
“Get in,” he said to me.
Keton was right. People only saw what they wanted to see.
One last glance at Baba, and at Keton’s window. Then into the carriage I went, with no idea what awaited me. Only that I must succeed—at all costs.
CHAPTER THREE
It was a five days’ carriage ride from Port Kamalan to the Summer Palace. I was disappointed that there was no need to sail there, for, despite having grown up in a port town, I’d never been on a ship. I’d never ridden in a carriage, either—at least, not on such a long journey. My legs and back grew sore from sitting for so long, but I didn’t dare complain. I was too excited. And anxious.
Would I be good enough to sew for the imperial court? And would I see Emperor Khanujin in the Summer Palace? I had to, if I was to become his tailor. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
I did not know much about my sovereign. He was born in the dragon year, like Finlei, which meant he was twenty-three years of age. Stories said he’d been a fierce warrior during the Five Winters’ War, that he could win a man’s loyalty with just a nod, that he was so handsome even the sun paled in comparison. That everyone who saw him loved