A patchwork of thick, gray clouds drifted across the sky, the seams so tight I could barely see the light behind them. It was a gloomy day, odd for the beginning of summer, but no rain fell, so I continued my morning routine.
I carried a ladder under my arm, climbing it to check on each of the mulberry trees growing in our small yard. Spindly white silkworms fed on the leaves, but there were no cocoons to collect today. My little silkworms didn’t produce much during the summer, so I wasn’t too concerned that my basket remained empty.
During the war, silk had been too expensive to buy, and our shop didn’t produce enough to sell, so most of our business had been in linen and hemp. Working with the rough fabrics had kept my fingers nimble and my art alive. But now that the war was over, we’d have to work more in silk again. I hoped my order would arrive soon.
“Baba,” I called, “I’m going out to the market. Do you want anything?”
No answer. He was probably still asleep. He’d been staying up late, praying at the family altar, since Keton’s return.
Our small market was busier than ever, and the peddlers wouldn’t haggle down their prices. I took my time, hoping that would help me avoid a certain someone on the way home. But as I feared, Calu was there.
“Let me help you with that,” he said, reaching for my basket.
“I don’t need help.”
Calu grabbed the handle and pulled. “Would you stop being so stubborn, Maia?”
“Careful! You’ll spill everything.”
As soon as Calu loosened his grip, I yanked the basket from him and rushed into our shop. I closed the door and started unloading the goods I’d purchased: bundles of linen and muslin, small books of paper for sketching, a handful of oranges, a bag of pink-yellow peaches given to me by our neighbors, salmon eyes (Baba’s favorite), tuna eggs, and a short sack of rice.
I had been so busy fending off Calu I only now saw the carriage parked across the street—and the man waiting in our shop.
He was portly and cast a wide shadow. My eyes roamed over his attire, picking out the brass button missing among its brothers on his bright blue silk coat. I tended to take note of people’s clothing more than their faces.
My shoulders straightened. “Good day, sir,” I said, but the man was in no hurry to greet me. He was too busy eyeing the shop with disdain. Shame made my cheeks prickle with heat.
There was fabric strewn over the floors behind the counter, and a swath of cotton to be hand-painted hung askew in the dyeing rack. We had dismissed all outside help years ago, and there was no money to hire cleaning servants. I had stopped noticing the cobwebs in the corners and the peach blossoms that the wind had swept through the door scattered about the shop.
The man’s gaze finally circled back to me. I pushed my hair from my eyes and tossed my braid behind my shoulder in an effort to make myself more presentable. Then I bowed, as if my good manners might make up for the shop’s shortcomings. I tried again. “Good day, sir. How can I help you?”
Finally, the man stepped toward my counter. A large jade pendant, in the shape of a fan, swayed from his sash. It had a giant red tassel made of knotted silken cords.
An imperial official. Yet he wasn’t wearing the typical gray-and-navy tunic that most imperial servants wore. No, he was a eunuch.
What was one of His Majesty’s eunuchs doing here?
I looked up, taking in his bulging eyes and the finely trimmed beard that did nothing to hide the scornful twist of his lips.
He raised his chin. “You are the daughter of Kalsang Tamarin.”
I nodded. My temples were sweaty from being outside in the marketplace, and the scent of the oranges I’d bought tickled my stomach, which growled. Loudly.
The eunuch wrinkled his nose and said, “His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Khanujin, requests your father’s presence in the Summer Palace.”
Surprised, I dropped my basket on the floor. “My…my father is honored. What does His Imperial Majesty wish of him?”
The emperor’s official cleared his throat. “Your family has served for many generations as court tailors. We have need of your father’s services. Lord Tainak recommended him highly.”
My heart pounded as my mind raced to recall the dress I’d made for Lady Tainak. Oh, yes, a jacket and skirt of the finest silk, with hand-painted cranes and magnolias. The order had been a boon during the winter, and I’d painstakingly rationed the payment so that it would feed us for weeks.
I didn’t need to know any details to feel sure this job would save my family. My dream to sew for the emperor, lost for so long, bubbled in me again.
“Ah, Lady Tainak’s gown,” I said, biting my tongue before I divulged that I’d made it, not Baba. I couldn’t contain my excitement—and curiosity. “What might His Majesty require of my father’s services?”
The eunuch frowned at my boldness. “Where is he?”
“Sir, my father is indisposed, but I’d be happy to relay His Majesty’s instructions—”
“Then I will speak with your brother.”
I chose to ignore his insult. “My brother recently returned from fighting the Five Winters’ War. He is resting.”
The eunuch put his hands on his hips. “Tell your father to come, girl, before I lose my patience and report that he has insolently neglected a summons from the emperor.”
I pursed my lips and bowed quickly. Then I rushed to find Baba.
As usual, he was kneeling at the small shrine by our kitchen stove, holding thin sticks of incense. He bowed three times, once to each of the three different wooden carvings of Amana, the mother goddess.
Mama had painted the Amana statues when I was a child. I’d helped her design the goddess’s divine gowns: one of the sun, one of the moon, and one of the stars. Those statues were among the few things we had that had belonged to Mama, and Baba prayed to them every day and long into the night. He never spoke of Mama, but I knew he missed her terribly.
I didn’t wish to interrupt his worship, but I had no choice. “Baba,” I said, shaking his frail shoulders. “There’s an imperial official here to see you.”
I walked my father to the front of the shop. He was so weak he leaned against my arm. He refused to use a cane, saying it wasn’t his legs that were broken.
“Master Tamarin,” the eunuch said stiffly. Baba’s appearance did not impress him, and he showed it. “His Majesty is in need of a tailor. I have been ordered to bring you with me to the Summer Palace.”
Trying not to chew on my lip, I stared at the floor. There was no way Baba could make the journey to the Summer Palace, not in his condition. I fidgeted, already knowing what Baba was going to say before he said it—
“Much as your presence honors me, I cannot go.”
I watched the eunuch’s nose turn up at Baba, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disdain. I bit my lip, knowing I shouldn’t interfere, but my agitation grew. We needed this chance.
“I can,” I blurted, just as the emperor’s official was about to speak. “I know my father’s trade. It was I who made Lady Tainak’s gown.”
Baba turned to me. “Maia!”
“I can sew,” I insisted. “Better than anyone.” I took a step toward the dyeing rack. Above it were richly embroidered scrolls that I had labored over for weeks and months. “Simply look at my work—”
Baba shook his head, warning me to stop.
“His Imperial Majesty’s instructions were clear,” the eunuch said with a sniff. “To bring the master tailor of the Tamarin family to the Summer Palace. A girl cannot become a master.”
At my side, Baba curled his hands into fists. He said, in the strongest voice I’d heard from him in months, “And who are you to tell me who is a master of my craft?”
The eunuch puffed up his chest. “I am Minister Lorsa of His Imperial Majesty’s Ministry of Culture.”
“Since when do ministers play messenger?”
“You think too much of yourself, Master Tamarin,” Lorsa replied coldly. “I’ve only come to you because Master Dingmar in Gangsun is ill. Your work might have been held in great esteem at one time, but your years lost to ale and wine have soured your family’s good name. If not for Lord Tainak’s recommendation, I would not be here at all.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “You have no right to speak to him that way.”
“Maia, Maia.” Baba rested a hand on my shoulder. “There’s mending in the back to be done.”
It was his way of dismissing me. I gritted my teeth and turned, but I glared at the emperor’s messenger and walked as slowly as I could.
“My carriage will be waiting outside on Yanamer Street,” Lorsa was saying. “If you or your son is not there by tomorrow morning, I will be forced to give this generous offer to someone else. I have my doubts that your humble shop will survive the shame of failing our emperor.”
Then he turned on his heel and left.
“Baba,” I said, rushing to him as soon as the shop door closed. “You cannot go.”
“The emperor’s command cannot be ignored.”
“It’s an invitation,” I said. “Not a command.”
“That’s how it is worded. But I know what will happen if we ignore it.” Baba sighed. “Word will spread that we did not heed the emperor’s calling. No one will come to the shop anymore, and we will lose everything.”
He was right. It wasn’t just about the money or the honor—it was a mandatory invitation. Like being drafted to fight in the Five Winters’ War.
“Now that the war is over,” Baba said, “the emperor needs to show the rest of the world that A’landi is great. He will do so by hiring the best of everyone: musicians, tailors, and painters. No expense will be spared. It is an honor to be invited. One I cannot refuse.”
I said nothing. Baba was in no shape to travel to the palace, let alone become the emperor’s new tailor. And Keton…Keton couldn’t sew the most basic of stitches, let alone garments worthy of the imperial court.
But me? I knew I could do it. I wanted to be the imperial tailor.
I went to my room and scrubbed my sleeve over the smudges on my mirror so I could see myself clearly. Honestly.
Baba always said I took after Mama, not him. I’d never believed him. I looked at my straight nose, large round eyes, and full lips—yes, those were from Mama. But Mama had been the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, while I…I’d grown up in a house full of men and didn’t even know how to act like a girl.
Finlei used to tease that, from behind, I looked exactly like Keton—reedy as a boy. The freckles on my face and arms didn’t help either. Girls were supposed to be delicate and pale. But maybe, maybe all this could work in my favor.
I couldn’t sing or recite poetry. I couldn’t dance. I didn’t have grace, or charm or wiles. But I could sew. Heavens, I could sew.
It had to be me.
When Baba returned to his prayers, I rubbed my finger on the coal from the fireplace and smeared it across my eyebrows. By my worktable was a pair of shears. I grasped them but hesitated. My hands never trembled when they cut cloth—I could cut a straight line in my sleep—so why did they tremble now?
I touched the ends of my hair, which reached past my waist even when braided. I undid the ribbons and unwove the braids. The waves rolled down across my back, tickling my spine.
I lowered my hand, bringing the scissors down with it. What I wanted to do was crazy. I needed to be rational, needed to consider the consequences. But all I could hear was Minister Lorsa telling me I couldn’t go. And Baba telling me I couldn’t go.
My whole life, I’d been told what I couldn’t do because I was a girl. Well, this was my chance to find out. The only thing I could do was take it.
I relaxed my grip on the scissors’ bows and pressed the blades against the back of my neck. With one swift motion, I cut my hair at my shoulders. The strands whisked down my back, landing at my feet in a pool of black satin, which the breeze from an open window swept apart as easily as feathers.
My hands stopped trembling, and I tied my hair back the way Keton and all the boys his age did. A strange calm fell over me, as if I had cut away my fears along with my hair. I knew that wasn’t true, but it was too late to panic. Now I needed proper clothes.
I brought a tray of plain winter melon soup and steamed fish to Keton’s bed. He used to share his room with Finlei and Sendo. Our house had felt small then. Now it felt too big. Half my room was storage for fabrics and beads and dyes…and now Keton had this whole room to himself.
My brother was asleep. His lips were twisted into a grimace as he snored. He’d told us he felt no pain even though his legs were broken.
“How can I feel pain if I can’t feel my legs?” he’d tried to joke.
I set down his dinner and pulled up his blanket so it covered his shoulders. Then I reached into his drawer and pulled out a pair of his trousers. I folded them over my arm and began tiptoeing out.
“Maia.” Keton stirred.
I whirled around. “I thought you were asleep.”
“You thought wrong.” Keton’s head settled back onto the pillow.
I sat beside him on the edge of his bed. “Are you hungry? I brought dinner.”
“You’re stealing my clothes,” he observed, nodding at the pile on my arm. “What’s this all about?”
I leaned into a shadow so he wouldn’t see my hair, and pursed my lips. “There was an official in the shop earlier. He wants Baba to go to the Summer Palace to make clothes for Emperor Khanujin.”
Keton closed his eyes. War had driven out the rebelliousness in my youngest brother, and he looked decades older than his nineteen years. “Baba hasn’t sewn in years. He can’t go.”
“He won’t,” I confirmed. “I’m going.”
Keton pushed himself up with his palms. “Demon’s breath, Maia! Are you crazy? You can’t—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You can’t go,” my brother finished, raising his voice over mine. “You’re a girl.”
“Not anymore.” I touched my hair; then I gritted my teeth. “I’m tired of being told I’m not worthy.”
“It’s not just a matter of being worthy,” Keton said, coughing into his sleeve. “It’s a matter of tradition. Besides, they wouldn’t want a girl taking the emperor’s measurements.”
I blushed in spite of myself. “I’ll go as you, Keton Tamarin.”
“Baba would never agree to this.”
“Baba doesn’t have to know.”
Keton shook his head. “And here I always thought you were the obedient one.” He leaned back with a resigned sigh. “It’s dangerous.”
“Keton, please. I need to do this. For us. For—”
“This is exactly why you shouldn’t go,” my brother interrupted. “Stop trying to convince me. If you’re going to act like a boy, you can’t think like a girl. Don’t stare at the floor so much. Look a man in the eyes when you speak, and never hesitate.”
I quickly lifted my gaze. “I’m not trying to convince you! And I don’t always hesitate.” Then I looked down again.
Keton groaned.
“Sorry! I can’t help it. It’s habit.”
“You’re never going to pass as a boy,” he said. “You bite your lips and stare at the floor. And when you’re not staring at the floor, you’re staring at the sky.”
I looked up, indignant. “I am not!”
“More of that,” Keton encouraged. “More shouting. Boys are angry and arrogant. They like to be the best at everything.”
“I think that’s just you, Keton.”
“If only I had time to train you.”
“I grew up with the three of you. I know what boys are like.”
“Do you?” Keton frowned. “You’re a village girl, Maia. You’re inexperienced in the ways of the world. You’ve spent your life sewing in the corner of our shop.”
“And now I’ll be spending my days sewing in the back of the palace.”
He made a face, as if that proved his point. “Just try not to talk too much. Don’t draw attention to yourself.” He leaned back, his arms behind his head. “People will see what they want to see.”
The sad wisdom in his voice reminded me of Baba. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that,” he said. “You sew better than anyone in this world. Focus on that, not on whether you’re a girl or boy.” He propped himself up with his elbows, studying me. “Finlei was right. From the back you really do look like a boy. And with all your freckles, you’re not pale like most girls….Baba lets you spend too much time out in the sun—”
“Someone has to collect the silkworms,” I said irritably.
“You don’t have that many curves, either.” He squinted at me. “And your voice isn’t very melodious. You’ve never been good at music.”
I almost threw his clothes at him for the insult. “I’m not trying to become a concubine.”
Keton clucked his tongue. “Don’t wrinkle your nose so much, and try not to smile.”
“Like this?” I asked. I imitated the grimace he made when he was sleeping.
“Better.” He leaned back, a small smile on his lips. But it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Are you sure you want to do this? If the emperor finds out…if anyone finds out…”
“I’ll be killed,” I finished for him. “I know.”
But this was the best way to take care of my family. My chance to become a real tailor, the best tailor in all of A’landi.
“It’ll be good money,” I said firmly. “I’ll send all of it home. Besides…” I managed a smile. “I already cut my hair.”
Keton sighed. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this, but be careful.”
“I will.”
“I’ll expect plenty of stories about the girls at court when you get back,” my brother said lightly. “And about Emperor Khanujin.” He tensed. “Maybe you’ll even see the shansen.”
“I promise,” I said softly. “I’ll come back full of stories.”
I glanced at the cane I had bought Keton when he first came home a month ago. He’d never touched it. How could he use it, when he could barely move his legs?
“Take it,” he said, watching me.
The wood was rough, and it bit into my palm. Good—some pain would remind me to stay on my guard.
“Promise me you’ll try to walk?” I said to him. “A little every day.”
“I’ll take a step for every day that you’re gone.”
That was enough to solidify my decision. I kissed my brother on the forehead. “Then I’ll hope to be gone a long time.”
While Baba slept, Keton drilled me on how to act like a boy. How to laugh deeply from my stomach, how to grunt with satisfaction after a good meal, how to grimace after drinking a strong cup of wine. He taught me not to apologize for burping, not to hide when I was passing wind, and to spit whenever someone dared insult my honor.
Then finally, when he was too exhausted to continue the lesson, I went to my room and paced back and forth, going over all the things that could go wrong.
If I’m caught, I’ll be killed.
But Keton and Baba need me to do this.
Secretly, I knew I needed it too. If I stayed here, I would become Calu’s wife—a baker’s wife—and my fingers would forget how to sew.
So with no more hesitation, I packed all that I might need. An extra change of Keton’s clothes; my best threads, flosses, awls, and needles; my embroidery ribbons and pincushion; chalk, paintbrushes, paint pots, sketchbooks, and pens.
The sun was in a hurry to rise, or so it felt. Light washed out the blanket of stars above me. I watched the morning crawl over the sea, until it touched my street and my house.
I was ready, my belongings carefully packed into a bundle that I slung over my shoulder. As I headed for the door, I walked confidently—as Keton once did—with a limp to complete the impression, my body bowing over my cane for support.
“Wait,” Baba rasped from behind. “Wait.”
Guilt swelled in my chest. “I’m sorry, Baba.”
Baba shook his head. “I expected it. You were always the strong one.”
“No,” I said quietly, “Finlei and Sendo were the strong ones.”
“Finlei was brave. Sendo, too, in his own way. But you, Maia, you are strong. Like your mother. You hold us together.”
My knees gave. “Baba…”
He clutched the side of the door, his other hand outstretched with what looked like a bundle of cloth. “Take this.”
The bundle was made of silk so fine I thought it might melt at my touch. I undid the golden cord. Inside was—
A pair of scissors.
I looked at my father in confusion.
“They were your grandmother’s,” Baba said, wrapping the scissors again as if the sight of them pained him. “They never spoke to me. They were waiting for you.”
“What do they—”
Baba silenced my questions. “You’ll know when you need them.”
I opened my mouth, about to tell him to take care of Keton, and to take care of himself. But Finlei and Sendo had left with such words on their lips, and they’d never returned. So I said nothing and simply nodded.
“Maia,” Baba said, his hand on my shoulder. There was a light in his eyes I hadn’t seen in years. “Be careful. The palace…it will be dangerous.”
“I will be careful, Baba. I promise.”
“Go, then. Show them what you can do.”
I leaned on my cane, dragging my right leg behind me as I limped toward the carriage.
The sun was already bright, but I didn’t have any hands free to shield my face. My features crumpled, and Lorsa grunted when he saw me.
“Keton Tamarin?” he said, looking me up and down. “You and your sister share a strong resemblance.”
My whole body knotted up like a badly coiled rope. I forced a manly laugh, which turned more into a cough. “I hope that’s all we share. After all, she can’t sew and I can.”
The eunuch harrumphed in agreement; then he tossed Baba a sack of jens.
“Get in,” he said to me.
Keton was right. People only saw what they wanted to see.
One last glance at Baba, and at Keton’s window. Then into the carriage I went, with no idea what awaited me. Only that I must succeed—at all costs.