Unravel the Dusk Page 9

  Rimmed with the liquid gold of amber and honey, and red as blood in the center.

  A demon’s eyes.

  “Gyiu’rak,” I whispered. This was her human form.

  With supernatural speed, she struck three of the emperor’s soldiers dead. Bodies fell around her as she darted between swords and spears, too fast for any human hand to touch, her claws sharp enough to slice through flesh—through bone.

  I’d seen what Gyiu’rak had done to Khanujin’s soldiers the last time I’d encountered her. It didn’t matter whether she was tiger or woman; all it took for a demon to kill was a touch.

  There was no way Khanujin would win this battle.

  I spurred my horse forward. At my command, its hooves thundered toward the emperor.

  “You cannot win!” I yelled at him. “We must retreat.”

  Khanujin brushed me aside with a flap of his sleeves, and two of his guards flanked me so I couldn’t go after him.

  Cannon fire drowned my shouts, but then I heard Gyiu’rak’s deafening growl and the slice of her claws against the wind as she hurtled toward the emperor.

  Strength bubbled in me with violent potential. You can save him.

  I had only a second to decide. I’d already broken my promise to Edan, so why not heed the voice? Why not give in?

  Do nothing, and the emperor will die.

  I ducked between Khanujin’s two guards and grabbed the emperor by his shield, pushing him off his horse.

  The demon slammed into me instead, the impact so brutal I flew off my saddle, landing hard on my back.

  My horse collapsed, dead. Gyiu’rak pulled her claws from its flank and sprang to her feet, ready to launch herself at the emperor again.

  “Run!” I shouted to Khanujin.

  Before Gyiu’rak could leap after him, I caught the hem of her cloak and yanked to hold her back. She spun, lashing at me with her tiger claws.

  I was a tailor; I had no warrior’s training. Dance as I did to avoid her attack, I felt the swipe of her fingertips bite my flesh.

  Were I human, her touch would have killed me. But my leg bore no wound. Not even a mark.

  Gyiu’rak’s scarlet pupils constricted. “Impossible.”

  The emperor forgotten, she circled me, ignoring the battle raging around us. Her movements were slow and languid, meant to make me feel like prey.

  We both knew I couldn’t run away. She was faster than I was, and far stronger.

  I reached for my dagger, hidden in the back of my tailor’s belt.

  Gyiu’rak seized my arm. “You,” she rasped, recognizing the weapon as the one I’d wielded against the shansen in the Autumn Palace. The demon looked at me, realization darkening her features.

  “You don’t belong here,” she said into my ear. She hissed, “Sister.”

  A chill raced up my spine. I shouted, “Jinn!” and unsheathed the blade, then stabbed the glowing meteorite into the demon’s chest. Gyiu’rak’s mouth stretched into a scream, her white hair billowing around me as her flesh blistered and burned. I shoved the dagger deeper, watching the demon’s red eyes darken to cinder—until she finally shriveled into a cloud of smoke.

  The cloud took on the form of a tiger as it drifted across the battlefield, seeking its home—the shansen’s amulet.

  I didn’t watch for long. My pulse was a martial thrum, the dagger’s blade still singing in my hand.

  Around me, the god of death reigned. There were barely any of the emperor’s soldiers left. If I didn’t do something, all would be lost.

  I wove my way through the battlefield, up to the ramparts where Khanujin’s remaining archers frantically rained down arrows upon the shansen and his men.

  But no matter how many arrows pierced the warlord’s back, he only grew stronger. Soon he’d be at the gates of the Autumn Palace.

  Let us help you, Sentur’na. The ghosts of Lapzur will win this fight for you.

  Tempting. So tempting. All it would take was a word. A thought.

  No.

  Drawing on my demon magic would bring dire consequences.

  I clutched my pendant. Its warmth radiated uncomfortably against my chest, making me aware of how cold my skin was.

  Earlier, when I’d worked on the emperor’s cloak, the pendant had been silent. Amana wouldn’t come to my aid. But now it trembled, faintly aglow with the light of the sun.

  The laughter of the sun would overpower the shansen’s army and force him to retreat. It would win the battle for Khanujin.

  But did I dare call on Amana?

  The power of her dresses was with me, locked tight in my pendant. Before, I hadn’t hesitated. Now I remembered what had happened when I made Khanujin’s cloak, how the darkness had spilled across the pendant, briefly painting it black as a demon’s amulet.

  My dresses were the only shield I had against my demon self. If I called upon Amana’s magic—if I sacrificed the dress of the sun to save the emperor—then I risked weakening my own defenses.

  The only alternative is far worse, I realized grimly. I trusted Amana more than I trusted any demon, even my own.

  Taking the pendant in my hand, I released the dress of the sun. It spilled out like shimmering sand, its wide skirts flaring over my legs, the bodice tightening against my waist. My tailor’s clothes vanished under the magnificent power of the dress, and the strength of the sun filled me, silencing the whispers from Lapzur that haunted me.

  Arrows arced toward me, but the dress of the sun swallowed them all. Flames burst from the seams of my dress, flaring whenever anyone dared get too close.

  The heat scorched me and yet imbued me with incredible strength; the power was irresistible. But did it come from the dress of the sun or from the demon blood flowing in my veins? Or worse yet, from both?

  I’d soon have my answer.

  Shadows gathered at the hem of my skirts, slowly slinking into the folds of my dress. The laughter of the sun fought them off, flaring brighter than before, but my demon was strong. She knew how to play on my fears.

  The dress of the sun won’t be enough, she whispered huskily. What can it do, blind the shansen’s army? You’ll need more to save your emperor from Gyiu’rak, but Amana will not heed your plea. I am here. The ghosts of Lapzur are at your command. By the power of the sun and moon and stars, they will obey us. They will decimate the shansen’s army. They will defeat his demon.

  She was right; I did need her. But at what cost would she win this battle for me?

  Deep inside, I already knew. Edan’s concerned face bubbled up in my memory. Baba’s and Keton’s too.

  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.

  Da
rkness 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.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Everyone saw you fight against the shansen. You saved us.”

  I faltered. I owed Ammi an explanation.

  “I’ve a little magic,” I confessed, “but it isn’t like an enchanter’s. It’s dangerous. It’s why Khanujin is keeping me a prisoner. It’s why I have to leave.”

  Ammi flinched at how casually I’d used the emperor’s given name. I wouldn’t refer to him as my ruler ever again.

  “Let me come with you.”

  I shook my head. “You wouldn’t be safe. Besides, I don’t even know where I’m going.”

  “You’re going to look for the Lord Enchanter.”

  My head jerked up. “Who told you that?”

  “No one. It just…makes sense he’d help you.”

  Wait for me, Edan had said. Don’t go to Lapzur.

  Guilt prickled me. I’d already broken one promise to Edan, and now I was considering breaking another.

  Should I try to find him? When I closed my eyes, I could see him. I could hear him calling my name. But the sharp angles of his chin, the bend in the bridge of his nose, the slight lilt in his voice when he called me xitara…those memories were beginning to blur.

  Soon they’d be gone.

  Ammi watched me, her dark eyebrows slanting into a frown. “Something is eating away at you, Maia, and it’s not the wounds from your magic. You shouldn’t go alone to find the Lord Enchanter. I’m coming with you.”

  I wanted to say no, but I hesitated. A part of me knew she was right: who could say what state I would be in, in a few days? Whether I could even trust myself. It would be good to have a friend with me. Besides, she’d be harshly punished if Khanujin discovered she’d played a hand in helping me escape and in freeing Lady Sarnai.

  Still, I wondered whether she’d be safer with the emperor than with me.

  “No,” I said. “You should stay here. It’ll be dangerous.”

  Ammi crossed her arms. “It’s not a request. After months of lying to me, you’re not allowed to refuse. I still haven’t forgiven you, you know. If you don’t want my help, then at least take me away with you. I’ve spent too many years working in the palace—I want to go home.”

  Didn’t we all? But her words struck a chord in me, and, in spite of the sting from learning she still hadn’t forgiven me, I finally nodded.

  “I have to leave tonight,” I warned her.

  “How? There are soldiers all around the Winter Palace.”

  I drew my carpet from the pouch and unrolled it. “With this.”

  Ammi gasped
, amazed that it had fit into such a small bag. But her expression changed to skepticism as she examined my carpet. It had become a shabby thing, more a rag than a rug.

  “Trust me,” I said.

  “We’ll need food,” she said slowly. “And warm clothes. It’s getting colder.”

  “You get the food. I’ll take care of the clothes,” I said, holding up my scissors.

  When she left for the kitchen, I tucked my fingers inside the scissor bows and parted the blades. At once, their magic bloomed; my scissors could make the simplest cotton silken and the dullest material shine, but that was not what I required of them tonight. I made gloves out of a bandage, and out of my bedsheets, the scissors fashioned simple peasants’ garb. All I needed to do was touch the clothes to the stone floor, and an unremarkable shade of gray permeated the fabric. Within minutes, I had our disguises.

  Within an hour, we left the palace.

  * * *

  • • •

  The winds were not in our favor. Powerful gales buffeted my carpet, whose magic had grown feeble over the last few weeks. It limped across the sky, unsteadily rising and dipping without warning when the gusts grew strong. But riding my rug was still far safer than taking the Spice Road. I had a feeling that I could spark the carpet alive with demon magic if I wanted. But I did not dare.

  Thankfully, Ammi was too enraptured by the world below us—and the changing landscapes as they flashed by—to notice my troubled silence.

  “We’re going so fast,” she kept marveling. She let out a squeal as the carpet dipped unsteadily. “Will it take us to the edges of the world?”

  A smile loosened my lips. I remembered how thrilled I’d been when I first experienced Edan’s magic.

  “Not that far,” I replied. “I was told it’s ten times faster than His Majesty’s speediest stallion. Maybe three now, given the headwinds.”

  I studied the quilt of landscapes below. Edan was at the Temple of Nandun, deep within the Tura Mountains. From what I remembered, the Tura Mountains were south of the Winter Palace. The same direction as the Forgotten Isles of Lapzur.