The humming in my head was louder now. I looked down, feeling a strange trembling at my side. At first I thought it came from my scissors, but that was impossible, so I ignored it.
Then they started glowing.
I grasped them to snip a loose thread and found that I was unable to put them down. Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I could see the shawl, completed—just as I had sketched it. But there was no way I could accomplish it in the hours remaining.
But you can, a voice assured me.Myvoice, but more confident somehow.
The scissors glided over the shawl, possessed in a way that my hands could only follow. Invisible threads repaired the cloth’s damage, giving it life anew, and colors from my paint pots soaked into the silk, while the smeared paints dissolved and scattered until my design was back in place.
Impossible as it appeared, the scissors not only cut but embroidered. The thin silver blades split and gathered my threads and flosses to dance through the silk, embroidering intricate flowers and birds, trees, and mountains with precision and elegance.
With magic.
Magic I couldn’t stop. My hand wouldn’t let go of the scissors, no matter how I tried to pry them away, no matter how much I wanted to put them down. I was under a spell, drunk with their power.
If not for the soreness that swelled between my fingers, I would have thought I was dreaming.
With a final snip, the scissors became dull again, their glow vanished.
Completely spent, I collapsed onto my table and slept.
CHAPTER FIVE
Something sharp poked my side.
My eyelids flinched, but I didn’t open them. Gods, if that was Keton jabbing me awake with a knitting needle…
A snicker. “You awake, pretty boy?”
Wait, that didn’t sound like Keton. Of course not. I was in the palace, not back home with Baba and my brother.
Drowsily, I stirred. Drool had dried on the corner of my mouth, and as I wiped it clean with my sleeve, Master Boyen’s round face loomed over me.
He smacked his lips. “Aw, did I wake you from your beauty sleep,MasterTamarin?”
My eyes flew open. Why did he emphasizemasterlike that? Did he know I was a girl?
No, I thought as my mind sharpened. Word must have gotten around that I was no master. It didn’t take much sleuthing to know that none of my father’s sons had earned the title yet.
Boyen smirked at me. “You ought to pack up your things. You’ll be going home, since your shawl’s stained.”
I jumped to my feet. My shawl! Where was it?
I vaguely remembered my scissors flashing and cutting…as if they’d been possessed by a spirit. No, no. That wasn’t possible, I must have imagined it.
Heavens, I must have fallen asleep without finishing!
Frantically, I rummaged through my station for the shawl. Then I remembered: right before I’d put away my father’s scissors, I’d tucked them into a basket with my threads from home.
I crouched, fishing the shawl out of its hiding place. It wasn’t hard to find—its pale daffodil color peeked out from under my spools.
I unfolded it and gasped.
It wasn’t a dream.
Stitches so perfect and embroidery so delicate it should have taken me a month. The couching was flawless, and my twelve colors were blended in graduated tones, making the scene of lilies and peonies look real. Even the lady had been repaired; she wore a vibrant violet robe amid the pink and red flowers, though when I looked closely, she resembledmemore than Lady Sarnai.
But stupid, stupid me! My shawl was wrinkled. Why hadn’t I folded it better?
