His eyebrow rose. “From the enchanter? Baba asked if he’s made his intentions known to you.”
Hearing that brought a wave of heat over my face again. But it chilled as quickly as it came. All I could say, guardedly, was, “And?”
“He said he has.” Keton’s mouth twisted wryly. “What, no smile? Maybe my advice to you was too good. I think you spent too long pretending to be a man at the palace. Nothing seems to ruffle you anymore.”
“Maybe,” I allowed. Or maybe I know that future will never happen. “What does it matter? Baba doesn’t trust him.”
“Baba wouldn’t trust a monk. It has nothing to do with him being a foreigner; his A’landan is even better than mine. Even if he were the emperor himself, Baba would still have reservations. He doesn’t think anyone is good enough for you.”
“Me?” I twisted my hands, gloved to hide their hideousness. “You have always been Baba’s favorite.”
“I’m the favorite, but you’re the one he sees the most of himself in.” Keton set down his sword and leaned against it; he looked tired from training. “He wants you to be happy. Like he was with Mama.”
I thought of the red thread I’d tied to Edan’s wrist and reached for the strand around my own. Still there.
“Edan makes me happy.”
“Anyone can see that,” Keton said quietly. “Baba will, too. It’s just the magic that worries him. Sorcery is deception, and the enchanter had everyone fooled about the emperor.”
“That was Khanujin’s doing,” I said. “Besides, Edan’s not an enchanter anymore. Most of his magic has left him.”
“Then who is this other…enchanter the shansen spoke of?”
“Enchantress.” I bit my lip, pressing extra hard—but there was no pain. “It’s me.”
I’d expected my brother to reel back in shock, but he merely nodded. “I had a feeling you were hiding something. Baba did too.”
“I—”
“I’m not pressing you to tell us. But there are rumors in the camp….Baba would want to hear the truth, from you.”
“I know.” I hung my head. “I know.”
Keton touched my shoulder. “What was that saying Finlei used to tell you?”
I faltered. My stomach twisted and churned—I could almost feel the words spilling off my tongue, but Keton spoke them before I remembered.
“Seize the wind.” My brother smiled sadly. “Don’t become the kite that never flies.”
I repeated the words, knowing he meant them as encouragement. But it wasn’t so simple. Some things Baba was better off not knowing.
Lady Sarnai appeared suddenly, coming up the short grassy hill behind my brother. As usual, she scowled at me. “Exchanging stories with your brother isn’t what I meant by finding your strength, tailor.”
At the sight of her, Keton dropped to his knees. “Y-your Highness,” he stammered.
My brother couldn’t take his eyes off the shansen’s daughter. Silvery white scars kissed her once flawless skin, and dark gray veins branched across her cheeks and neck. Her beauty was changed, hardened, but perhaps it had never been Lady Sarnai’s beauty that arrested people. Even more than before, she exuded a warrior’s spirit, her steely eyes showing enough mettle to make even the strongest of wills flinch.
“Get up,” Sarnai said to Keton. As he struggled, she acknowledged his past injury with a slight jerk of her chin. She raised her arm to stop me from aiding him.
“He’ll never become strong if you help him.” When Keton stood again, barely able to heave his sword over his shoulder, she frowned.
I knew what she must be thinking: he wouldn’t survive against the shansen’s men, not while simply holding his sword unsteadied his balance and worsened his limp.
And yet it would crush him if he were discharged. I opened my mouth to say a word in his defense, but she spoke before I could:
“A needle is to a tailor as a sword is to a warrior. It is not that different.” Sarnai reached for the bow slung over her shoulder. “But the needle is not the only tool a tailor wields, and a sword does not make the warrior.” She passed her bow to Keton. “Give me your sword.”
Keton obeyed, and Lady Sarnai watched him shift his balance, adjusting for the lighter weapon.
“I did not say to try to draw it,” she said sternly. “That bow is not for you. Hold it still. Like this.”
It was impossible to read what she was thinking as she showed him. But after what felt like a long while, she muttered, “I don’t know what fool gave you a sword.” She clicked her tongue. “We have more need for archers than swordsmen, and your arms and back are stronger than most. Report to Lord Xina, and he will equip you with a bow.”
At that, my brother brightened, and I stiffened in surprise. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. And then to Keton: “You’ve never even wielded a bow before, I can tell. You’ll have to train hard, from now until the battle begins.”
She glared at my lowered head, the only gesture of thanks I could summon.
“And you, tailor. You could use a lesson as well—I’ve seen you with that dagger of yours. Pitiful technique.”
“I’m the least of your worries,” I said. There was no point in telling her I no longer needed a weapon. Should I truly wish to cause harm, I had other means of doing so. “The women need training in how to fight. Those who wish to.”
A light sparked in Lady Sarnai’s eyes. She regarded me, and for a flicker of a moment I thought she saw me more as an equal than as a servant. “Those who wish to join the army will be trained. We’ll begin after lunch.”
By evening, nearly every able woman in the camp had volunteered for Lady Sarnai’s training, including Ammi, adding dozens more soldiers to her army.
We all knew our chances against the shansen were slim, that it took months, not days, to make a soldier. But hope was a valuable weapon, and we were sharpening its every edge.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The last morning of our march to Jappor, it began to snow.
The flakes fell gently at first, frosting the yellow grass. Within an hour, every tree branch glistened with white, like there were pearls hanging from the boughs. The change in the landscape was so mesmerizing that no one saw the smoke from the dying campfire twist into the shape of a tiger.