When spring came, the emperor announced that he was to take the shansen’s daughter, Lady Sarnai, as his wife. A’landi’s bloodiest war would end with a wedding between Emperor Khanujin and his enemy’s daughter. Baba and I didn’t have the heart to celebrate.
Still, it was good news. Peace depended on harmony between the emperor and the shansen. I hoped a royal wedding would heal their rift—and bring more visitors traveling along the Great Spice Road.
That day, I placed the largest order of silk we could afford. It was a risky purchase, but I hoped—weneededbusiness to get better before winter came.
My dream of becoming a tailor for the emperor had faded to a distant memory. Our only source of income now was my skill with the needle. I accepted that I was going to stay in Port Kamalan forever, resigned to my corner in Baba’s shop.
I was wrong.
CHAPTER TWO
Apatchwork of thick, gray clouds drifted across the sky, the seams so tight I could barely see the light behind them. It was a gloomy day, odd for the beginning of summer, but no rain fell, so I continued my morning routine.
I carried a ladder under my arm, climbing it to check on each of the mulberry trees growing in our small yard. Spindly white silkworms fed on the leaves, but there were no cocoons to collect today. My little silkworms didn’t produce much during the summer, so I wasn’t too concerned that my basket remained empty.
During the war, silk had been too expensive to buy, and our shop didn’t produce enough to sell, so most of our business had been in linen and hemp. Working with the rough fabrics had kept my fingers nimble and my art alive. But now that the war was over, we’d have to work more in silk again. I hoped my order would arrive soon.
“Baba,” I called, “I’m going out to the market. Do you want anything?”
No answer. He was probably still asleep. He’d been staying up late, praying at the family altar, since Keton’s return.
Our small market was busier than ever, and the peddlers wouldn’t haggle down their prices. I took my time, hoping that would help me avoid a certain someone on the way home. But as I feared, Calu was there.
“Let me help you with that,” he said, reaching for my basket.
“I don’t need help.”
Calu grabbed the handle and pulled. “Would you stop being so stubborn, Maia?”
“Careful! You’ll spill everything.”
As soon as Calu loosened his grip, I yanked the basket from him and rushed into our shop. I closed the door and started unloading the goods I’d purchased: bundles of linen and muslin, small books of paper for sketching, a handful of oranges, a bag of pink-yellow peaches given to me by our neighbors, salmon eyes (Baba’s favorite), tuna eggs, and a short sack of rice.
I had been so busy fending off Calu I only now saw the carriage parked across the street—and the man waiting in our shop.
He was portly and cast a wide shadow. My eyes roamed over his attire, picking out the brass button missing among its brothers on his bright blue silk coat. I tended to take note of people’s clothing more than their faces.
My shoulders straightened. “Good day, sir,” I said, but the man was in no hurry to greet me. He was too busy eyeing the shop with disdain. Shame made my cheeks prickle with heat.
There was fabric strewn over the floors behind the counter, and a swath of cotton to be hand-painted hung askew in the dyeing rack. We had dismissed all outside help years ago, and there was no money to hire cleaning servants. I had stopped noticing the cobwebs in the corners and the peach blossoms that the wind had swept through the door scattered about the shop.
The man’s gaze finally circled back to me. I pushed my hair from my eyes and tossed my braid behind my shoulder in an effort to make myself more presentable. Then I bowed, as if my good manners might make up for the shop’s shortcomings. I tried again. “Good day, sir. How can I help you?”
Finally, the man stepped toward my counter. A large jade pendant, in the shape of a fan, swayed from his sash. It had a giant red tassel made of knotted silken cords.
An imperial official. Yet he wasn’t wearing the typical gray-and-navy tunic that most imperial servants wore. No, he was a eunuch.
What was one of His Majesty’s eunuchs doing here?
I looked up, taking in his bulging eyes and the finely trimmed beard that did nothing to hide the scornful twist of his lips.
He raised his chin. “You are the daughter of Kalsang Tamarin.”
I nodded. My temples were sweaty from being outside in the marketplace, and the scent of the oranges I’d bought tickled my stomach, which growled. Loudly.
The eunuch wrinkled his nose and said, “His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Khanujin, requests your father’s presence in the Summer Palace.”
Surprised, I dropped my basket on the floor. “My…my father is honored. What does His Imperial Majesty wish of him?”
