The cost was me—Maia.
I lowered my arms. No. I refused to twist Amana’s powers.
I tore at the dress, but it would not come off. My fingers fumbled for the scissors.
I cut and cut, ignoring the pain bursting inside me from my mutilating the wondrous creation I had labored over for so many months.
But I had created a living force, and as I stepped out of the dress, its broken seams began to come back together again.
I didn’t need Amana to help me. I had the laughter of the sun, the tears of the moon, and the blood of stars with me: three pieces of magic as old as the world itself. I just hadn’t known how to use them—until now.
Once more I activated the dagger and, biting my lip through the searing pain, with one, precise slash, I stabbed the dress of the sun in its fiery bodice, drawing the blade down, down to the edge of the skirts until I had ripped the gown in half. Then I threw the dress, the first of Amana’s legacy, into the sky.
Let the laughter of the sun aid my people, I prayed, watching it burn brighter and brighter. Let the power of Amana save them and bring hope for another day.
In a single burst of light, the dress exploded into the clouds and was no more.
Darkness swept across the Autumn Palace, silencing the arrows and the swords and the spears. As the weapons burned into ashes, the shansen hollered for his army to retreat.
My pendant knocked against my chest, sending a surge of agony rocking my mind from my heart, my heart from my body. Somewhere in the back of my consciousness or in the hollow chambers of my soul, I saw my own blood-red eyes gleaming at me amid a fury of smoke.
And I screamed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Frost crusted my eyelashes, flecks of ice flaking off when I tried to open my eyes.
I am not dead.
My heart stuttered, still beating.
And I am not a demon.
My thoughts were mine. I was still Maia.
I sat up, relieved to recognize my own hands and arms, the tangled black hair brushing my cheeks.
Yet I felt different. Everything ached, a numb sort of pain, vestiges of the agony that had nearly killed me when I destroyed the dress of the sun. And my head…
Sentur’na…, a chorus of voices beckoned.
My heart throbbed, trying to fight off the calling. No, I’m not Sentur’na. I’m not a demon.
Sentur’na.
The voices rose up, growing stronger, gnawing hungrily at the hollow inside me.
A thick strip of bandages hugged my waist; it smelled fresh, lightly scented with ginger. My fingertips grazed my abdomen as I unwrapped it, and I winced.
My skin was scaled with white and gold bruises, so luminous and pearlescent they would have looked almost pretty if not for the stains of dried pus. The dress of the sun had hurt me, but unlike Lady Sarnai, its power couldn’t kill me. I was already healing.
I touched my pendant. The walnut half that had once carried the laughter of the sun no longer sparked gold when I touched it, yet the pendant weighed more heavily on my chest than before—despite the fact that there were only two dresses left inside now.
The tears of the moon. And the blood of stars.
I planted my feet on the ground, surprised when they met rough stone instead of wood. Birds I had never heard before chirped outside my walls. Where was I?
My breath turned to steam in the chilly air, and I inhaled. It smelled different here. A wave of homesickness rushed over me when I heard the unmistakable rhythm of tides washing onto the shore. I was near the sea.
I peeked through the cracks of a hastily boarded window. All I could make out was the full moon hanging in the sky. She had been a slender crescent last time I’d seen her.
By that count, I’d been asleep for two weeks. Two weeks! I let out a heavy breath. Every day I remained free of Bandur’s clutches was a victory.
“Maia?”
Startled, I turned. I hadn’t even heard Ammi come in, carrying a tray of ginger water and more bandages.
“You’re awake!” she exclaimed. The water on her tray trembled.
“What’s happened?” I asked. “Where are we?”
“The Winter Palace.”
The Winter Palace. I should have guessed. Built on a cliff overlooking the Cuiyan Ocean, it was the most naturally protected of His Majesty’s palaces, more a fortress than a palace.
“Why not go to the Spring Palace? The army in the capital is far stronger.”
My friend lowered her voice, and I understood there were guards outside the door. “His Majesty is wounded. They feared he wouldn’t survive the trip to the capital.”
“Oh.” I breathed in. “How many dead?”
Ammi’s face darkened. Her full cheeks looked thinner, and new ghosts haunted her eyes. She reminded me of Keton, of what experiencing war had done to my once carefree brother.
“Over half the Autumn Palace’s army.”
“Half the army?” I repeated, dumbfounded. The number was far more than I had imagined. “And the shansen?”
“He disappeared. His army retreated.”
A victory, then. But a hollow one, given how many casualties we’d suffered.
Still reeling over the losses, I suddenly realized I was missing my scissors. “Where are my things? I was carrying a pouch—”
Ammi reached behind her skirt. “You mean this?”
She held out my pouch. Its folds sagged, the leather more ragged than it’d been before.
“Thank the Nine Heavens,” I murmured. I dug into my bag, taking inventory of what was inside. My carpet, tightly rolled, Edan’s mirror, my dagger, my scissors. All there.
“Thank you, Ammi. I hope it wasn’t too dangerous for you to keep.”
“No,” she replied. “Everything has been in disarray since the battle. Cooks are now guards, maids are now nurses.” She gestured at herself. “I traded shifts with a friend so I could see you, but I can’t stay long.” She lowered her voice. “Once the emperor learns you’re awake, he’ll double the guard. Soldiers from the capital are to arrive tomorrow to reinstate order.”
Tomorrow.
That meant I’d woken up just in time. I fished out my scissors and reached for my tunic, tucking them in their usual place on my tailor’s belt. I couldn’t stay here. But where should I go—to Lapzur or to find Edan?
Ammi was staring. “When I looked in the bag, there was nothing inside. You are an enchanter.”