No gong or bell pealed, but the words rang of freedom to my ears. I got up, reaching for the bolt of cloth and my sketchbook. The other tailors were already furiously designing, but I had no idea what I was going to do for Lady Sarnai’s shawl.
Being surrounded by eleven sweaty, zealously competitive men wasn’t going to inspire me, so I gathered some supplies from the cabinet and left the Hall of Supreme Diligence to find my own way.
CHAPTER FOUR
My new home was a narrow room shaped like an elbow, furnished with a cot and a three-legged table barely steady enough to hold a candle. There was also a small bronze vessel on the wooden windowsill with incense for prayer, a bamboo lantern hanging from the ceiling, and a porcelain washbasin in which a fly had drowned.
“At least it’s clean,” I said aloud. “And I don’t have to share it with anyone.”
It was the first time I’d been alone in nearly a week. I leaned my head against the painted wall, taking a moment to breathe before I addressed the real reason I needed time to myself.
Slowly, I undid my shirt buttons. My entire torso pounded with pain. My chest was fairly flat for a girl, but I’d taken the precaution of binding strips of linen around it, and after five days of travel, my discomfort was enormous. I didn’t dare remove the strips, but I dipped my hands into the bowl of water and cleaned off my sweat.
I’d have to get used to the pain.
I buttoned my shirt again and emptied my satchel onto the bed. For once, the sight of my tools didn’t inspire or comfort me. I heaved a sigh. There was no way I could embroider an entire shawl by tomorrow morning.
I could paint one, though.
I was about to rifle through my things for my brushes when the bundle with Baba’s scissors caught my eye. Out of curiosity, I unwrapped it, holding out the scissors so they glinted in the dim light. The finger bows were thinner and more delicate than those of my own pair, but aside from the sun and moon engraved on the shanks, there was nothing special about them. Besides, I didn’t need an extra pair of scissors, so I rewrapped them and shoved them under my cot.
“Now, where are the paint pots I took?” I muttered, rummaging through my supplies. “Did I leave them in the hall?”
I must have. With a groan, I limped back toward the Hall of Supreme Diligence. I’d hoped not to run into anyone on the way, but an old man waved at me as I passed him.
He was large and wide in girth, but his fingers appeared thin and nimble. A glance at his sash confirmed he was a fellow tailor: we wore pins and needles the way a general wore medals. I stopped to greet him. He was not someone who had bet against my abilities—that I knew of.
“You must be Master Tamarin’s son,” he said. “Your face is the easiest one to recognize. You barely look old enough to grow a beard!”
He said it so cheerfully I forgot my restraint and laughed.
“Wing Longhai,” he introduced himself. “From the Bansai Province.”
I recognized the name. Master Longhai was famous for making men’s robes; he’d attired the most acclaimed scholars and the highest nobles. He’d even made a robe for Emperor Khanujin’s father.
“Keton Tamarin,” I replied. “From Port Kamalan, south of Gangsun.”
Longhai smiled. His face was craggy, with deep grooves; his skin was touched by the sun, more than was usual for a master tailor, which suggested that, like me, he came from humble beginnings. Even so, his clothes were very fine, and he gave off a faint smell of rice wine under a perfume of sandalwood and lotus.
“Ah,” he said. “I thought you looked like you were from the South. I take it you’ve brought amulets for luck and fortitude? My wife wouldn’t let me leave home without a stockpile of charms. Master Yindi already has a dozen hanging off his desk!”
I wrapped my hand over my cane. “I don’t believe in such things.”
“And you call yourself a Southerner?”
“Port Kamalan is very small,” I replied tersely. “There’s little place for magic there.”
Longhai shook his head at me. “Magic might not have any place in Port Kamalan, but you’re in the imperial court now. You’ll change your mind. Especially after you meet the emperor’s Lord Enchanter.”
I raised an eyebrow. I knew little of enchanters, lord or not, other than that they were rare and drifted from land to land. They didn’t sound like very loyal advisers to me, so I didn’t understand why kings and emperors prized them so much.
Longhai must have noticed the skeptical look on my face, for he said, “The Lord Enchanter advises Emperor Khanujin on many matters. He served the emperor’s father for years, yet he hasn’t aged a day! Some of the tailors are trying to befriend him—they’ll do anything for an edge.”
“Wouldn’t using magic be cheating?”
“An unfair advantage, I’d say. But cheating?” Longhai chuckled. “Do you think the emperor’s trial will be a competition merely of skill?”
I shrugged. I’d always been skeptical of magic. But I tended to be skeptical of most things I couldn’t stitch together with a needle and thread. “What else is there to test?”
