“Edan.”
Relief spread across his face, and he dropped to his knees beside me.
“I thought you’d want to see the ocean one last time,” he started. “We thought you were dead.”
“I’m here.” I pressed my finger to his lips, shushing him. His eyes were moist and swollen, his cheeks stained by tears. I blotted them with my sleeve, then took his face in my hands.
I kissed his cheeks, his nose, his eyes. His lips. I lingered there, inhaling the familiar warmth of his breath. Letting it seep into my own and stay there, as it had when I first loved him.
The warmth of the rising sun touched my face. “It’s morning,” I said. “Where’s Baba? And Keton—”
“They’re safe. They’re on their way from the capital.”
Now I bolted up. “The capital? Does that mean—”
“The war is over.” Edan nodded. “Gyiu’rak is no more. The shansen is no more. And Lady Sarnai is empress.”
“Empress?” I repeated.
“Yes, the people want her. The ministers had a fit at first, over a woman ruling A’landi, but she is the rightful ruler.”
“Empress Sarnai,” I murmured again, letting the words ring. “A’landi is whole again.”
“She’ll be here soon,” Edan said. “We were going to…to bury you here, by the water. It was what your brother said you would have wanted.”
No sooner did he speak than Sarnai approached us, accompanied by an entourage of men and women, their faces worn from the strain of battle. It was easy to see her as empress now, though she still wore her battle armor. Yet in spite of the losses still haunting her eyes, there was something about her—the grace with which she commanded those around her—that made me think she’d always been destined to lead A’landi.
Surprise flickered across her face when she saw me.
“She’s alive.” Sarnai pointed at me. “Why did no one tell me she’s alive?”
“I only just returned,” I replied, scrambling to my feet and bowing, “by the goddess Amana’s grace.”
Lady Sarnai sniffed, quickly regaining her poise. “Stand straight, Tamarin. Enough with the bowing.” She looked me up and down.
As I rose, she lowered her head slightly, clasping her hands at her chest. It wasn’t a bow, but from her, I took it as a sign of great respect. I supposed it was an even greater sign of respect that she had come all the way from the battlefield to the beach to ensure that the body of a mere tailor would be properly sent to heaven.
She’d make a fair ruler, I was sure of it. Perhaps not one who was beloved by all, but she inspired loyalty and respect. That was already more than most could do.
With a flick of her wrist, she dismissed the priests. “We have no more need of your service.”
Then she turned to Edan and me—looking so stern I thought she was about to deliver a rebuke.
“The late emperor’s tailor and the former Lord Enchanter are invited to attend the coronation,” she said instead. Then she paused, as if she’d given her next words much thought but still needed to consider them. “Provided Maia Tamarin is no longer touched by enchantment, she is invited to stay on in my court as adviser and chief imperial tailor. And—” She searched for Edan’s proper title.
“Edan,” he replied. “Just Edan. I’m a Lord Enchanter no longer.”
“Edan is welcome to stay on in my court as enchanter and adviser.”
“Thank you for this chance to serve you, Your Majesty,” I began. “It is a great honor, and Edan and I will always come when you need us. But I believe I speak for us both when I say we wish to return home.”
Her brows furrowed. “Return home?”
“Yes, to Port Kamalan. My family needs my help with our shop, Your Majesty,” I explained.
Lady Sarnai crossed her arms. She looked weary. “You shall not return home empty-handed. What do you wish for, in return for your service to me?”
“Noth—”
Edan nudged me with his elbow and threw me a sidelong glance that read: The empress is offering you anything. Don’t refuse it.
What would I ask for? I had no need for jewels or fine dresses, or a large manor with a hundred servants.
“I’d like a shop,” I said. “One in Port Kamalan, not too far from the sea. I’d like one big enough for my father and brother to live with me, but not so big that I will become indulgent with success.” I paused. “And, I’d like one of A’landi’s finest steeds for Edan.”
Sarnai glowered. “You wish a simple life, when I am offering you a seat on my council?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
She considered me, as if to determine whether I was joking. Then she sighed. “I suppose I’d expect nothing less of you, tailor.” She fluttered her fingers at the advisers flanking her. “See to it that her wishes are fulfilled.”
Sarnai started to turn on her heel, but she lingered one last moment. “I wish you well, Master Tailor.” She inclined her chin at Edan. “Enchanter.”
Edan and I bowed, not looking up until the wind had erased her footsteps in the sand and I could no longer see her shadow stretching across the shore.
And then I rushed into his open arms—hardly able to believe that at last we were free.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Midsummer arrived, and I was gathering silkworm cocoons in the garden, so many that my basket overflowed. Baba and I had no need to make our own silk anymore; a steady stream of materials arrived every week from our suppliers in the capital, and our shop employed half a dozen workers. But I let myself indulge in this project—it gave me pleasure to collect the cocoons.
Ever since I’d returned to Port Kamalan, I relished plying my craft from start to finish, gathering the raw silk and spinning it into thread, as Mama had taught me. I liked weaving it into cloth and feeling it change in my hands into something beautiful. Something whole. Something mine.
Merchants stopped by the store every day, trying to sell Baba and me their wares. “Silks spun by the masters of the Yunia Province,” they’d entice me. “Look at this marvelous satin, brought here from the heart of Frevera.”
“I’ve pearls from the Taijin Sea, all the way from the Kingdom of Kiata!”
Baba and I always shook our heads. We weren’t interested in their wares.
The merchants learned to wait until Keton was alone in the shop, for though my brother had grown a keen eye for selecting fabrics and restocking materials, his heart was the easiest to tug. Any story from a former soldier would loosen a few jens from his pocket.