Before Gyiu’rak could leap after him, I caught the hem of her cloak and yanked to hold her back. She spun, lashing at me with her tiger claws.
I was a tailor; I had no warrior’s training. Dance as I did to avoid her attack, I felt the swipe of her fingertips bite my flesh.
Were I human, her touch would have killed me. But my leg bore no wound. Not even a mark.
Gyiu’rak’s scarlet pupils constricted. “Impossible.”
The emperor forgotten, she circled me, ignoring the battle raging around us. Her movements were slow and languid, meant to make me feel like prey.
We both knew I couldn’t run away. She was faster than I was, and far stronger.
I reached for my dagger, hidden in the back of my tailor’s belt.
Gyiu’rak seized my arm. “You,” she rasped, recognizing the weapon as the one I’d wielded against the shansen in the Autumn Palace. The demon looked at me, realization darkening her features.
“You don’t belong here,” she said into my ear. She hissed, “Sister.”
A chill raced up my spine. I shouted, “Jinn!” and unsheathed the blade, then stabbed the glowing meteorite into the demon’s chest. Gyiu’rak’s mouth stretched into a scream, her white hair billowing around me as her flesh blistered and burned. I shoved the dagger deeper, watching the demon’s red eyes darken to cinder—until she finally shriveled into a cloud of smoke.
The cloud took on the form of a tiger as it drifted across the battlefield, seeking its home—the shansen’s amulet.
I didn’t watch for long. My pulse was a martial thrum, the dagger’s blade still singing in my hand.
Around me, the god of death reigned. There were barely any of the emperor’s soldiers left. If I didn’t do something, all would be lost.
I wove my way through the battlefield, up to the ramparts where Khanujin’s remaining archers frantically rained down arrows upon the shansen and his men.
But no matter how many arrows pierced the warlord’s back, he only grew stronger. Soon he’d be at the gates of the Autumn Palace.
Let us help you, Sentur’na. The ghosts of Lapzur will win this fight for you.
Tempting. So tempting. All it would take was a word. A thought.
No.
Drawing on my demon magic would bring dire consequences.
I clutched my pendant. Its warmth radiated uncomfortably against my chest, making me aware of how cold my skin was.
Earlier, when I’d worked on the emperor’s cloak, the pendant had been silent. Amana wouldn’t come to my aid. But now it trembled, faintly aglow with the light of the sun.
The laughter of the sun would overpower the shansen’s army and force him to retreat. It would win the battle for Khanujin.
But did I dare call on Amana?
The power of her dresses was with me, locked tight in my pendant. Before, I hadn’t hesitated. Now I remembered what had happened when I made Khanujin’s cloak, how the darkness had spilled across the pendant, briefly painting it black as a demon’s amulet.
My dresses were the only shield I had against my demon self. If I called upon Amana’s magic—if I sacrificed the dress of the sun to save the emperor—then I risked weakening my own defenses.
The only alternative is far worse,I realized grimly. I trusted Amana more than I trusted any demon, even my own.
Taking the pendant in my hand, I released the dress of the sun. It spilled out like shimmering sand, its wide skirts flaring over my legs, the bodice tightening against my waist. My tailor’s clothes vanished under the magnificent power of the dress, and the strength of the sun filled me, silencing the whispers from Lapzur that haunted me.
Arrows arced toward me, but the dress of the sun swallowed them all. Flames burst from the seams of my dress, flaring whenever anyone dared get too close.
The heat scorched me and yet imbued me with incredible strength; the power was irresistible. But did it come from the dress of the sun or from the demon blood flowing in my veins? Or worse yet, from both?
I’d soon have my answer.
