I tilted my head in surprise. “You talked to Ammi?”
“A little. To thank her for her good work.” Keton stole a glance at Ammi, who was weaving her way through the army, passing out cups of tea and bamboo leaf–wrapped rice dumplings. Then my brother cleared his throat, and an unexpected blush tinged his cheeks. He immediately tried to change the topic. “Why isn’t the enchanter walking with us?”
I glanced at Edan, who’d kept half a dozen paces ahead during our entire march. My lips pursed, and I didn’t reply. Keton knew as well as I did the answer to that.
Baba was still wary of Edan; he thanked him politely when Edan came to help us pitch our tents or bring us food, but Baba never invited him to stay and eat with us.
Every time I tried to defend him, a dark look passed over Baba’s face. I closed my mouth, following Edan’s advice not to say anything—to give Baba more time. But deep down, I was afraid of the questions Baba would ask if we broached the subject of magic; I was afraid that he already knew what I had become.
My brother wore a sly look, one I had never learned how to read.
“Enchanter!” Keton called, waving Edan over. “Why don’t you walk with us?” My brother caught my startled expression. “Don’t worry, Maia. I’ll be nice. Edan! Join us.”
Edan blinked, looking momentarily stricken by the invitation. But he obliged.
“We were just talking about the Spring Palace,” said my brother. “Tell us about it. Are the women as beautiful as they say? Or do you prefer the women from the South?”
“Keton!” I elbowed my brother, horrified. “Have you been drinking?”
He laughed, and I hid a smile when I saw Edan’s expression. I’d never seen him look so tongue-tied.
“All right, all right—just tell us about the Spring Palace. Why is it so far north?”
“A’landi wasn’t always as large as it is now,” Edan replied. “When the first emperor ruled, the Spring Palace was his only residence, and he built it in the North so that the shansen’s armies could defend A’landi from invasion. As the empire expanded east and south, his descendants built three more palaces as a way to divide their time among the kingdom.
“Not until Emperor Tainujin’s time did people begin to worry the capital was too far north. Too close to the shansen’s territory, where the Northerners held more loyalty to him than to the emperor. Those worries would turn out to be prophetic.”
Keton said nothing, which Edan must have mistaken for disinterest, for the next thing he said was, “Maia tells me you fought in the Five Winters’ War.”
A shadow suddenly fell over Keton’s eyes. “I fought in the same regiment as my two brothers. They were far better soldiers than I was. Finlei told me he fought with you once. Said you felled a hundred men with a swoop of your arms.”
Edan’s face was unreadable. “That was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.”
The two men fell silent. I walked between them, until Keton mumbled an excuse to check on Baba.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned the war,” said Edan quietly, after Keton left. “That was a mistake.”
“You were nervous. You shouldn’t be—he likes you.”
“Hewantsto like me. Wanted.”
“Talk to him again,” I said. “It would mean much to me if you two became friends. He’s the only brother I have left. You are both my family.”
“Maia…” Edan’s voice trembled. “You talk as if you’re going to—”
“I’ll take over pulling the wagon,” I interrupted, not wanting to hear the end of what he was going to say. My heart might be numb, but it wasn’t dead yet, and I would spare him whatever pain I could.
“Try again,” I said. “Keton will appreciate your company.”
With a nod, Edan left and went to speak with my brother. I pulled Baba, alone, listening to the crunch of my shoes against the grass. Such a human sound, despite the curling of my claws with each step. My feet longed to fly, but I suppressed the urge and walked on.
A few minutes later, I heard my brother laughing.
“She did what?” Keton exclaimed. “I told her to keep to herself. No wonder you saw through her disguise.”
Though my ears yearned to hear what they were saying about me, I focused on the road ahead. My amulet thumped against my chest, and I thought of the three dresses I had sacrificed so much to make.
What little I had left of my tailoring gift wasn’t for sewing with needle and thread, it was for crafting a future, stitch by stitch, for the people I loved. That future would hold tight, even as I unraveled. It had to, or else the choice I had made—the choice that Master Tsring had told me was inevitable—would be for naught.
