I smelled it first. Baba’s incense: cloves, star anise, sandalwood—and cinnamon. Baba’s incense was always heavy on cinnamon. I inhaled, letting the scent enfold me until I was awash in it.
I whirled around. No, this wasn’t our shop in Port Kamalan. It was too large, too crowded. This was Gangsun—now I saw Baba was in the front, talking to customers, and Finlei was in the back, arguing with our supplier over a sheath of turquoise brocade that apparently had the wrong flowers embroidered on it.
There was my embroidery frame in the corner—ah, I was almost done making a purse for Lady Tainak. She’d wanted it embroidered with a scene of the Three Great Beauties. I still had to finish the Beauty who was playing the lute. Her face was difficult to sew—I’d never been good at embroidering noses.
But where were Keton and Sendo?
I stepped into Baba’s shop, and my fingers brushed over our inventory of silks, satins, and brocades.
Sendo must be hiding somewhere, his nose in a pattern book. An adventure story tucked into its pages, of course.
“Maia!” I heard someone shout. The voice was deep and familiar, but distant.
I glanced out the shopwindow and saw a hawk. His yellow eyes shone, bright as two fervent flames. He let out a small cry, but it dwindled into oblivion as the wind carried him away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
All my fear dissolved, forgotten, as I walked deeper into Baba’s shop. I moved slowly, taking everything in—the wooden counters freshly wiped clean, the tapered cut of Baba’s trousers, the blue porcelain vases full of fresh orchids and lilies, the satin jackets that hung on the southwest wall.
And the dresses! At least a dozen beautiful gowns, ready for their owners to collect. They were so fine. The skirts flared like lanterns, the sleeves light and wispy, trimmed with embroidered silk.
Had I helped make any of them? I couldn’t remember.
I picked up my pace. I needed to find Sendo. Where was he?
The aroma of Mama’s porridge was back. It wafted across the shop, sending pangs of hunger to my stomach. I followed the smell toward the weaving room, but Finlei waved me away from the looms.
“Maia,” he called. “Let’s go to the marketplace.”
I whirled to face my oldest brother. “Now?”
“Of course now. Seize the wind, Maia! There’s a new shipment of wool from Samaran that’s supposed to be softer than a camel’s foot. If we go early, we can buy some before our competitors beat us to it.” His jaw squared into a protective brotherly look. “And you can point out that ruffian who Keton says always bothers you by the temple.”
I chuckled. “I can take care of myself, Finlei.” Tempted as I was to go with him, I drew back. “You’re just eager to leave the shop. Go ahead, I’ll join you after I greet everyone.”
I pushed past a rosewood screen, past a room of workers at their spinning wheels, into the kitchen. Keton was there, his hair longer than I remembered. Then again, why would he have cut it? He’d never gone to war. He was washing dishes—no doubt it was a punishment for something he’d done this morning—and a stalk of sugarcane stuck out of his back pocket. I was tempted to tell him to put it away before Mama saw—she didn’t like it when he indulged his sweet tooth. But he didn’t turn around to greet me, so I left him alone.
And continued deeper into the kitchen.
“Mama,” I breathed.
“Lunch will be ready soon,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. Behind her, a large pot boiled. I inhaled, savoring the smells of chicken with cabbage and salted fish.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“No, no,” Mama replied, pouring rice wine into the pot and covering it. “I’ve the maids. They’re outside with the oven now, baking coconut buns and taro puffs. Your favorite.” She started frying pork with cabbage and cracked a salted egg into the pan. Oil splattered, and the fumes wafted to my nose. I inhaled greedily.
“Are you hungry?”
My stomach rumbled. “Famished.”
“Good,” Mama said over the crackling meat. “Make sure Baba eats. He’s been working so hard he forgets his meals.” She chuckled; then she turned.
Why did it feel like it’d been years since I’d last seen her face? I almost didn’t recognize her—the soft freckles on her nose and cheeks, the gentle curl of her black hair, her round, smiling eyes. She took a step toward me, her