For the first time I noticed that, unlike most ladies’, her nails were cut short and square, her knuckles rough, calluses running along her fingers worse than even mine. An archer’s hands.
A survivor’s hands.
“There is no hope for A’landi,” she said. “Consider that advice my repayment to you, tailor. And may we never meet again.”
With that, she and Lord Xina slipped away, leaving my heart heavy.
If Lady Sarnai would not save A’landi, then war between the emperor and the shansen was inevitable. Thousands would die, brave young soldiers like my brothers Finlei and Sendo, and countless other innocent lives would be lost. The rift in my country I’d sacrificed so much to mend would never heal.
“Coward!” I shouted after her, even though I knew she couldn’t hear.
I clenched my fists, hating myself for believing in Lady Sarnai and for hoping she might do what I could not—I thought she would bring peace to A’landi.
I was wrong.
• • •
The only guards I encountered on my way out of the dungeon were dead ones, a trail of bodies that Lord Xina and Lady Sarnai had left behind in their escape.
Once outside, I fished through my pouch, searching its endless folds for my carpet. I pulled it out and began to unroll it, when—
“Halt!”
I spun, whipping my rug open just as the whack of a spear hit the back of my skull.
My knees buckled.
Another hit. This time harder.
My rug slipped from my fingers. I crumpled, and a dark tide washed over the edges of my world.
CHAPTER TEN
Three days after the disastrous wedding banquet, the shansen returned—with an army of a thousand men. Their footsteps made the hills quake, and smoke from their cannons grayed the skies. Sensing the earth would bleed once more with war, the heavens wept.
Rain poured from the skies, falling first like needles, then in sheets. Thunder beat the sky, so loudly it swallowed the sounds of the emperor’s soldiers.
I pressed my ear against a boarded window.
Nothing.
I’d waited all day for the guards to come for me. Every morning since I’d been caught, two of His Majesty’s strongest guards dragged me to the Hall of Dutiful Mending. They forced me to take my breakfast while thirty seamstresses watched, their stomachs growling, their dry throats denied tea or water. They were allowed no food or drink until their work was done.
Then came the worst part. After my breakfast, the seamstresses were beaten.
The girls cowered behind their stations. A few whimpered, “Please, Master Tamarin. Help me.”
Their pleas tore at me, but I schooled my features to remain as still as stone. On the first day, I had tried to stop the guards, but in response they took one of the seamstresses’ hands and broke her fingers. Now I knew a kind word from me would only make things worse. There was nothing I could do to help them.
Khanujin was punishing them to hurt me. Every girl reminded me of myself: a talented seamstress who was here to provide for someone she loved—her parents, her children, her village. Had I successfully remained the imperial tailor, these women would have been under my supervision. I would have gotten to know each of them like a sister, a mother, a grandmother.
But that would never happen now.
Every five lashes, one of the guards barked at me, “Where have Lady Sarnai and Lord Xina gone?”
All I could do was repeat the truth: “I do not know.”
So the lashes continued. Ten a day for each seamstress. I forced myself to face the stinging resentment in their eyes, the injustice that they were being punished formydisobedience.
