I didn’t like the tentativeness in his voice. “I’m listening.”
“When I leave for Lapzur,” Edan said slowly, “I want you to go home to your family and give them this.” He opened his palm, revealing a fourth walnut no different from the ones I had used to trap sunlight and moonlight.
“A gift for your father and your brother,” he said. “It has a drop of Niwa spider blood, among other things—it’ll bring some happiness back to your family.”
My breath grew ragged. “Edan—”
“Put it in their tea,” he interrupted. “And yours. It’ll make you sleep. And when you wake, you’ll be happy too.”
I frowned, unable to read his dark, impenetrable eyes. “No magic tea is going to make me happy, Edan. Not without you.”
“Please.” He touched my lips. “Trust me.”
I tucked my head under his chin and inhaled. But I made no promise.
• • •
It was nearly dusk when we reached the Autumn Palace. The moonrise cast a glow on the red and orange leaves, and I couldn’t help but feel we were like moths inside a lantern. Trapped.
I had wondered if we would arrive before Edan changed. I could tell he was about to—the yellow in his eyes grew brighter as the moon overthrew the sun. But as soon as we reached the palace gates, the glow in his eyes dimmed.
“Tell His Majesty that his Lord Enchanter and imperial tailor have returned,” Edan commanded the guard.
The great red gates before us creaked open, and we dismounted. Edan took a deep breath. Suddenly he looked fuller, taller.
He opened his palm, and there was a blue wildflower for me, like the ones he’d given me in the Mountains of the Moon. “This one won’t wither.”
I wouldn’t take it. “I like the old ones,” I replied. I’d pressed them in my sketchbook.
Edan nodded mutely, and the flower disappeared. The gates were open wide enough now for me to see the gardens inside. Shadows flickered. The last few moments Edan and I were free.
“I’ll try to see you whenever I can,” he said. “I can’t promise it’ll be often. Khanujin won’t be pleased that I’ve been gone so long. He’ll keep me by his side.”
Before I could reply, Minister Lorsa arrived to escort us into the Autumn Palace. From his expression of surprise, I knew he’d expected me to fail.
I wished I had.
Lorsa folded his arms, his bright blue sleeves billowing behind him as he set off at a brisk pace. It was like that first day I’d arrived at the Summer Palace. Lorsa’s clothes were the same, and the same jade pendant and giant red tassel swung from his sash. Only this time, I didn’t try to keep up with him. This time, I hobbled and took my time, considering it a small victory whenever Lorsa stopped to wait for me.
I immediately hated the Autumn Palace. I missed the gold roofs and vermillion columns of the Summer Palace, the brilliant gardens and the smell of jasmine and plum blossoms. Yes, the trees here burned a lurid riot of colors even in lantern light, and the stone floors were awash with golden leaves, freshly fallen—but the air smelled stale, like damp ink. There were no dragonflies or butterflies, no larks or swallows. Only a thin mist that cloaked the earth, as if readying it for a deep, long sleep.
To my surprise, we saw Lady Sarnai in one of the gardens. She betrayed no reaction when she noticed us, but she rose, her skirts blooming as she stood, and stared at something far off in the corner—as if she, too, would rather be anywhere but here.
Minister Lorsa ushered us into the emperor’s private chambers. The doors were painted with red-eyed lions that made me shudder and think of Bandur. Inside, Emperor Khanujin awaited us, a deep blue veil obscuring his face. Once Lorsa had left, he lifted it.
Edan had told me that the emperor relied on his magic to enhance his appearance, but still it shocked me how different he looked now. The real emperor was unimposing, shorter and less muscular than I remembered, with a weak mouth and small, merciless black eyes.
Trying not to stare at him, I fell to my knees as Edan bowed at my side.
“I should have you hanged, Lord Enchanter,” Emperor Khanujin said through his teeth. “You left without my permission.”
“I accept the consequences of my actions, Your Majesty,” said Edan. “I thought it necessary to aid the imperial tailor, to ensure your marriage and peace for A’landi.”
“You thought leaving me would be wise?” The emperor threw his teacup to the ground. It shattered at Edan’s feet. “Wise for the shansen to know you were away? To give him the opportunity to hunt you?”
“If he did so, he failed.”
Emperor Khanujin sniffed, slightly mollified. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his wooden chair, hardly a throne. His nails were long and uncut; they made a clacking sound that set me on edge. “Was your journey successful?”
