I almost threw his clothes at him for the insult. “I’m not trying to become a concubine.”
Keton clucked his tongue. “Don’t wrinkle your nose so much, and try not to smile.”
“Like this?” I asked. I imitated the grimace he made when he was sleeping.
“Better.” He leaned back, a small smile on his lips. But it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Are you sure you want to do this? If the emperor finds out…ifanyonefinds out…”
“I’ll be killed,” I finished for him. “I know.”
But this was the best way to take care of my family. My chance to become a real tailor, the best tailor in all of A’landi.
“It’ll be good money,” I said firmly. “I’ll send all of it home. Besides…” I managed a smile. “I already cut my hair.”
Keton sighed. “I can’t believeI’mtelling you this, but be careful.”
“I will.”
“I’ll expect plenty of stories about the girls at court when you get back,” my brother said lightly. “And about Emperor Khanujin.” He tensed. “Maybe you’ll even see the shansen.”
“I promise,” I said softly. “I’ll come back full of stories.”
I glanced at the cane I had bought Keton when he first came home a month ago. He’d never touched it. How could he use it, when he could barely move his legs?
“Take it,” he said, watching me.
The wood was rough, and it bit into my palm. Good—some pain would remind me to stay on my guard.
“Promise me you’ll try to walk?” I said to him. “A little every day.”
“I’ll take a step for every day that you’re gone.”
That was enough to solidify my decision. I kissed my brother on the forehead. “Then I’ll hope to be gone a long time.”
• • •
While Baba slept, Keton drilled me on how to act like a boy. How to laugh deeply from my stomach, how to grunt with satisfaction after a good meal, how to grimace after drinking a strong cup of wine. He taught me not to apologize for burping, not to hide when I was passing wind, and to spit whenever someone dared insult my honor.
Then finally, when he was too exhausted to continue the lesson, I went to my room and paced back and forth, going over all the things that could go wrong.
If I’m caught, I’ll be killed.
But Keton and Baba need me to do this.
Secretly, I knewIneeded it too. If I stayed here, I would become Calu’s wife—a baker’s wife—and my fingers would forget how to sew.
So with no more hesitation, I packed all that I might need. An extra change of Keton’s clothes; my best threads, flosses, awls, and needles; my embroidery ribbons and pincushion; chalk, paintbrushes, paint pots, sketchbooks, and pens.
The sun was in a hurry to rise, or so it felt. Light washed out the blanket of stars above me. I watched the morning crawl over the sea, until it touched my street and my house.
I was ready, my belongings carefully packed into a bundle that I slung over my shoulder. As I headed for the door, I walked confidently—as Keton once did—with a limp to complete the impression, my body bowing over my cane for support.
“Wait,” Baba rasped from behind. “Wait.”
Guilt swelled in my chest. “I’m sorry, Baba.”
Baba shook his head. “I expected it. You were always the strong one.”
“No,” I said quietly, “Finlei and Sendo were the strong ones.”
