In shock, I accidentally closed my hand over the dagger again. The pain was worse this time, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
Angrily, I flung the dagger to the side, my hand now oozing with dark, shadowy blood.
That’s it,my demon urged.Don’t fight it. Use it.
I raised my fist above the emperor’s cloak and squeezed. A few drops were enough for the silk to become awash with the darkest black, the color of a velvet night. My demon’s blood shimmered into the veins of the garment, infusing its fibers with a forbidden enchantment that I hoped would be strong enough to save A’landi.
I pulled back my hand, wrapping my cut with a scrap of cloth.
I prayed I hadn’t gone too far, muttering aloud: “I’m still me. I’m still Maia.”
You’re not finished,my demon prodded. Seal the darkness inside the cloak.
My fingers shaking, I touched my pendant to Emperor Khanujin’s cloak. The light from the walnut, still writhing, ricocheted off the stone walls around me as I began to focus it on a spot of blood, already sinking deeper into the cloth, a stain that would not stop spreading.
Dark shadows enfolded the pendant’s two walnut shells and the glass crack in the center, painting the entire piece black. The darkness lingered for a long second before it vanished, and my pendant was restored to how it’d been before.
Inside me, the voices of Lapzur whispered triumphantly,Sentur’na, Sentur’na—our guardian.
You are coming home.
At last.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
By nightfall, the earth trembled no more. The heavens ceased their weeping, and the sky god painted his canvas the purple-blue of an iris in bloom. But beneath his strokes of twilight, the acrid smell of cannon fire thickened the air, and swords clanged against the wind.
After sundown, the shansen’s army breached the city walls and began their march up the hill to the Autumn Palace. By morning, the war would be at the palace gates.
It was during this eerie interlude, just before dawn, that the emperor summoned me to his war council. He wanted his cloak.
Something told me I might never return to my room, so I brought my pouch, slung over my shoulder. I made it ten paces into the imperial audience chamber before a minister snatched the cloak from my arms and handed it to the emperor.
Khanujin held it up. The hem draped down the wide carpeted steps leading to his throne. The cloak’s creamy marigold silk shimmered in the young sunlight, the bold threads of the dragon I’d embroidered a sharp complement to the black brocade embedded into the fabric—dyed by my demon magic.
“It is done?” he asked me. A hint of precaution colored the question.
“Yes.”
With a grunt of satisfaction, Khanujin stood and tossed the cloak over his shoulders. Almost at once, the wilt in his shoulders squared, his hollow cheeks and sunken figure broadening until he stood tall and full, and his sable hair, swept under the hood, luminous.
A miraculous transformation. All the ministers drew sharp breaths and fell to their knees. A small smile curled across Khanujin’s lips. The same smile that had once enthralled me—had made me worship him as the most magnificent ruler of all kingdoms—now made me loathe him.
“Now we are ready for battle,” he said, raising his sword. “Let us claim victory over the shansen.”
The ministers fawned over him, praising Amana. Even the minister of war, who had looked weary and anxious only moments before, declared the battle all but won.
“Master Tamarin, you shall come with us.”
I jerked up, ears ringing in shock. Outside, lightning flashed, and the rain had started again, rattling against the roof tiles.
“Our army is in position. We ride now.”
I didn’t struggle when his soldiers threw an armored vest meant for someone twice my size over my tunic and jostled me onto a horse.
Khanujin, too, was in armor, the cloak I’d sewn draped over his shoulders. Soldiers and servants cheered him as he passed, even as the gates rumbled with the shansen’s men trying to getin.
“Son of Heaven, bring us victory!” they shouted. Rain beat their temples and streamed down their cheeks. “Khagan of Kings, destroy the traitor!”
