The meteorite came to life, veins of liquid silver gleaming and glimmering. I didn’t remember such heat emanating from the dagger. My pulse raced as my fingers slid over the blade—
“Agh!” I cried. A jolt of searing pain shot up my hand, and my fingertips leapt off the meteorite as if they’d tried to grab burning coals.
Cradling my wounded fingers, I returned the dagger to my pouch. I pushed the window slightly open, taking in the cool air. Watery moonlight trickled in, dancing across my bare knees. I rocked myself back and forth, squeezing my hand to numb the pain.
It took a long time before the hurt subsided and I could feel my fingers again.
One thing was certain: my time was running short.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sunlight dappled the bamboo window frames, patches of cerulean blue seeping through between the clouds. The storm had finally lifted.
For the first time since I’d attacked her, Ammi arose from her bed. The floorboards creaked under her steps as she tiptoed toward the door. I started to sit up in my bed to call out to her, but she stilled at the sound of my rustling.
I stilled, too. After what felt like a long time, she let out a quiet breath and closed the door behind her. I heard her footsteps rush down the stairs.
Nothing had ever made me feel so wretched. Was she avoiding me?
I dressed to meet her for breakfast. In my mind I rehearsed the three things I needed to tell her. That she’d be safe from me, that I was leaving to find Edan. That I was sorry I’d hurt her.
But when I saw Ammi helping Longhai’s cook knead dough for making steamed buns, I fled before she noticed me.
“Are you not taking breakfast?” Madam Su asked, passing me in the hall.
“I already ate,” I lied. I glanced at the bandages on her tray. “Is someone hurt?”
“Ammi is, didn’t you know?” Worry gathered in the head seamstress’s temples. “She had a bad fall last night. Luckily, it’s just a few scratches.”
Something rose in my chest, strangling my words. “Did she say how she fell?”
“Yes, but I practically had to pry it out of her,” Madam Su said with a laugh. “She said she tripped over a kettle. But, funny, I didn’t leave a kettle in your room.”
My insides churned with guilt. Maybe Ammi would never speak of what happened last night, maybe she would pretend nothing had happened. But in the same way that the old me hadn’t been a good liar, Ammi was not, either.
No wonder she hadn’t been able to look at me last night or talk to me this morning about what had happened.
She was frightened of me. It stung, but I couldn’t blame her.
I was afraid of me, too.
* * *
• • •
“Is everything all right?” Longhai asked me, later that day. “Madam Su mentioned that you looked troubled, though truth be told, you haven’t been yourself since you arrived.”
I concentrated on my embroidery. Today’s project was stitching a mountain landscape for a nobleman’s scarf.
“Look at me, my friend.”
I clung stubbornly to my work. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I got off to a late start this morning. If I don’t continue, I won’t finish this scarf in time—”
“Oh, damn the scarf. It can wait. What’s wrong, Maia?”
Finally, I regarded him. It was the first time he’d used my real name. Did it sound foreign because I’d never heard it coming from his tongue, or because the name was starting to feel less like my own?
Longhai sighed. “Come with me.”
I put down the scarf and followed him back to his personal studio. This time, instead of drinking in the sight of his paintings and his tools, I took in the rosewood desks and chairs cushioned with expensive brocade, the priceless embroidered scrolls hanging on the walls, the hand-painted vases sitting on scarlet-lacquered shelves. In spite of all the finery around me, what caught my eye was the jacket hanging behind Longhai’s desk.
It was a ceremonial military uniform. Bronze tassels dangled from the seams, the intricate swirls and patterns of the brocade inlaid with coral and studded with jade buttons. Embroidered on the left sleeve—was a tiger.
“Did this belong to the shansen?”
“Yes,” he informed me. “To the twenty-third shansen.”
The current shansen, Lord Makangis, was the twenty-seventh. That would mean this jacket was from the Qingmin dynasty. Little craftsmanship had survived the wars during which the last Qingmin emperor was overthrown. “It must be—”
“Priceless?” Longhai said. “Yes, I spent a foolish fortune on it. But it serves as a good reminder to me of what is lost war after war. Art is lost. Art, and our children.”
He lowered his voice. “These are dangerous times, Master Tamarin. There is good reason to believe that Emperor Khanujin’s dynasty is coming to an end and that the shansen will take his throne, but only the gods know what will come to pass.” He leveled his gaze at me. “You are in a precarious position, wanted by both sides. Not many have the ability to help you, and you would not ask for help even if you needed it.”
Edan had observed that about me during the trial.
Well, I did need help. Desperately.
“The storm has passed” was all I could say. “I meant to leave this morning, but…”
“Ah, I heard your friend had a fall.”
My voice came out hoarse. “Yes.”
“You haven’t told her you’re leaving,” Longhai deduced, reading the guilt on my face. “Will you consider staying on?”
After what had happened with Ammi, nothing would change my mind. She couldn’t come with me to Lapzur, or even to the Tura Mountains to find Edan. I couldn’t risk it. “No, I can’t. I must go alone. The soldiers…no one is looking for her.”
Longhai nodded gravely. “She will be safe here. But you…Maia, you can’t expect to get very far on foot.”
I pursed my lips. “I could use a horse. I…I can’t promise I’ll return it. And any maps you can spare.”
“I’ll have my swiftest steed ready for you by this evening. You will stay for dinner, won’t you?”
“I must leave as soon as my work for you is done,” I said, shaking my head. “Before dusk. I fear I’ve already stayed too long.”
Longhai’s face darkened at my words, but bless him, he didn’t ask any more questions. “May the Sages protect you, young Tamarin. And may the gods protect us all.”