• • •
The wind howled, a low guttural cry that made even the sturdy walls of Longhai’s shop tremble. The bowl of pins on my worktable rattled, and I bent over to relight my candle.
The seamstresses had left hours ago, and I sat alone by the weaving loom, watching the sheets of rain cascading outside.
I lifted my carpet from the loom; I’d repaired the holes and some of the tattered tassels, but its magic was threadbare. If I was lucky, it might give me a few more days of flight, then I’d have to make the rest of the trip on horseback.
But how to find the forest where I was to meet Edan?
I had no maps, no mirror of truth, and my demon sight had been utterly quiet since I’d made my bargain with Bandur.
A part of me wanted to renege on my promise and go to Lapzur without Edan. That had always been my plan—to go alone—but if I could still be honest with myself, it wasn’t because I was trying to be brave or honorable or true.
It was because I was afraid. Of myself.
Edan’s presence at Lapzur would only endanger his life—from Bandurandfrom me.
Yet…I’d made a promise, and the part of me that was still Maiawantedto,neededto, keep it…for the sake of clinging to whatever humanity was left in me. When and if I gave in to my fear of the demon in me, Bandur would already have won.
I need to find Edan,I thought.But how?
I’d been thinking about the story of the Kiatan princess Ammi had told me, and the paper cranes the princess had folded and enchanted to help her on her quest to find her brothers.
I would make a bird to find Edan.
With my scissors, I cut a small scrap from the carpet. The magic Edan had imbued into its fibers had weakened, but my scissors had magic enough to send it on a mission.
Carefully, I shaped the scrap into a bird. A knot of thread for eyes so it could see, and two wings so it could soar, strong and powerful, through this storm.
I touched the bird to my walnut amulet, painting its wings with a sliver of light from the tears of the moon, then I placed a gentle kiss on its head.
“Find Edan,” I whispered. “Search the forests and the mountains. Then come back to show me the way. And hurry.”
If I didn’t make it to Lapzur by next week—the full moon—Bandur and his ghosts would take away everyone I loved.
I would willingly surrender myself to him before I would let that happen. But not yet. Not if I might see Edan one last time. Not if together we stood a chance of defeating Bandur.
I opened the window a crack and sent the bird out, watching it weave between the needles of falling rain.
Then I waited.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“If you leave, you will not be welcomed back here.”
Edan didn’t hesitate. He pulled off his temple robe, folded it, and returned it to the old man—the master of the Temple of Nandun.
“You were meant for magic,” said the master, warning him one last time. “Do not undo the progress you’ve made here by going after this girl. Darkness consumes her. Do not let it doom you as well. Stay and finish your training.”
“I was meant for magic, once,” Edan agreed, “but because of Maia, I am no longer the enchanter I was before. I am meant for her now. Her above all else.”
Without waiting for the master to reply, he went to the stables for the stallion he had stolen from the Autumn Palace, and took off into the woods.
The Tura Mountains faded into the distance as Edan barreled through the forest. Every tree was a poplar, spines straight as bamboo rods, like a kingdom of needles.
Under his breath, I heard my name. “Maia,” he murmured. “Wait for me. I’m coming.”
At the sound of my name, whatever this was—a dream or my demon sight—disintegrated, and in its place appeared an image of my cloth bird. It fluttered against the wind, searching for Edan. It began to flap wildly when it found a pocket of poplars, deep within the woods, and my enchanter weaving through thickets.
