“You’re not a good liar, Maia Tamarin.” Edan tilted his head. “Those scissors are charmed. Any enchanter could smell their magic on you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I turned to go, but Edan blocked my path. “The slippers you made were very good, but with the scissors, you could have put Yindi, Norbu, and Longhai to shame.” Still not letting me pass, he crouched so our eyes were level. “If you think I’m going to send you home for it, you’re quite mistaken. You’ve piqued my curiosity,MasterTamarin. Enchanted objects do not work for just anyone.”
“What would you know about it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice sharp even though I was secretly curious.
“Plenty.” Edan chuckled. “If you want to win the trial,xitara, you’re going to need my help.”
I bristled at his arrogance. “Will you stop calling me that?”
“You don’t like it?”
“Why would I like being called a little lamb?”
“Ah. You know your Old A’landan.” Looking suddenly amused, Edan tapped his chin. It was pointed, despite the squareness of his jaw. Not an unpleasing combination—but odd all the same. “I’ll consider it—if you win.”
“Iwillwin,” I replied. “And withoutyourhelp.”
“You’re a strange one, you know.” He watched me with crossed arms and a smirk. “When the other tailors arrived, they tried their best to bribe me with jewels, silks, furs, even one of their daughters—all for some help. But you refuse when I give it freely.”
“You’re not helping me,” I said through my teeth. “You’re tormenting me.”
That dry chuckle again. “As you say, Master Tamarin. But a suggestion—try putting a pebble in your shoe so you at least remember which leg is supposed to be broken.”
With that, he bowed to me as if I were as highborn a lady as the emperor’s bride-to-be. Then he walked away, whistling a tune.
Accept help from someone so insufferable? I scoffed.
That he would even suggest it baffled me.
I turned on my heel, refusing to glance back at him. But I did watch my footing for the rest of the day—and hoped, anxiously, that I could trust him to keep my secrets.
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning was blisteringly hot, which was no excuse for Yindi and Norbu to lounge about the hall with their shirts off, but they did it anyway. I averted my eyes, especially from Norbu, whose hairy belly really wasn’t something I wanted to see.
For once I was grateful when Minister Lorsa arrived to announce our next challenge.
“His Majesty will soon have the pleasure of welcoming important dignitaries from the Far West. As such, Her Highness, Lady Sarnai, requires new clothes to greet them. She is aware that you are all capable of sewing garments in our local A’landan style, but she wishes to explore your range. The tailor who makes her a jacket that best embodies the Spice Road from one end to the other will win this challenge.”
My mind was already reeling. A’landi was the eastern end of the Great Spice Road, and Frevera the western end. What little I knew of fashion on that side of the world meant plunging necklines, a prince’s ransom of lace and brocade, and tight bodices—the opposite of A’landi’s modest, flowing styles.
Lorsa continued: “The four of you may go to the market this afternoon to purchase supplies. You will be given a stipend of three hundred jens, and half a week to complete the jacket.” He paused, the way he always did before he said something unpleasant. “Oh, and one more thing: it must be made of paper.”
• • •
“Paper!” Longhai muttered as we walked into town. “Of all things…” He stroked his beard, then reached into his pocket for his wine flask. “She’s not going to wear paper to greet foreign dignitaries. You know, I’m beginning to suspect she’s using the trial as a way to postpone her marriage to Emperor Khanujin.”
I clicked my tongue. Edan had said as much.
I’d taken Edan’s advice about the pebble in the shoe, but now the pain of walking was real, making me too slow even for Longhai, who broke from my side to walk with Yindi.
With a sigh, I continued alone. The trek from the palace into Niyan wasn’t easy—eighty-eight steps down from the palace, then two hundred more steps down Chrysanthemum Hill. Another mile below sprawled Tangsah Marketplace.
Despite the breeze from the nearby Jingan River, the humidity gathered on my temples, pearls of sweat dripping down my cheeks onto my shoulders. The pins I used to fasten the bindings around my chest pricked my side, and I couldn’t help rubbing my irritated skin. My bandages smelled and chafed, but I forgot about my discomfort as soon as I saw Tangsah.
I hadn’t been in a real marketplace since we’d lived in Gangsun. Vendors stretched from street to street, some in bright sloping tents in every shade of orange, some in carts trundling down the paved roads. Ahead were jade carvers, drapery masters, and glassblowers, interspersed with donkeys and wild chickens and children milling about, and farther out were acrobats and fire-eaters. There was no order to the market, but I already loved it.
