the army,” Sendo said, his hand on my shoulder. “What can I bring back for you? Dyes from West Gangseng, maybe? Or pearls from the Majestic Harbor?”
“No, no,” I said. “Just come home safely. Both of you.” But then I paused.
Sendo prodded me. “What is it, Maia?”
My cheeks were hot, and I lowered my eyes to stare at my hands. “If you get to see Emperor Khanujin,” I began slowly, “draw his portrait, will you?”
Finlei’s shoulders shook with mirth. “So you’ve heard how handsome he is from the village girls? Every one of them aspires to become one of the emperor’s concubines.”
I was so embarrassed I couldn’t look at him. “I have no interest in becoming a concubine.”
“You don’t want to live in one of his four palaces?” Keton asked snidely. “I heard he has one for every season.”
“Keton, that’s enough,” Sendo chided.
“I don’t care about his palaces,” I said, turning away from my youngest brother to Sendo. His eyes shone with gentleness—he’d always been my favorite brother, and I knew he would understand. “I want to know what he looks like so I can become his tailor one day. An imperial tailor.”
Keton rolled his eyes at my confession. “That’s as likely as you becoming his concubine!”
Finlei and Sendo glared at him.
“All right, then,” Sendo promised, touching the freckles on my cheek. We were the only two of the family with freckles—a result of our hours daydreaming under the sun. “A portrait of the emperor for my talented sister, Maia.”
I hugged him, knowing my request was very foolish but still hoping all the same.
If I’d known it was the last time we would all be together, I wouldn’t have asked for anything.
* * *
• • •
Two years later, Baba received a notice that Finlei had been killed in battle. The imperial emblem stamped on the bottom of the letter was as red as freshly drawn blood, and hurriedly pressed so that the characters of Emperor Khanujin’s name were smeared. Even months later, the memory would make me cry.
Then one night, with no warning, Keton ran away to join the army. All he left was a quickly scrawled note on top of my morning laundry—knowing it would be the first thing I saw when I woke.
I’ve been useless too long. I’m going to find Sendo and bring him home. Take care of Baba.
Tears filled my eyes, and I crumpled the note in my fist.
What did he know about fighting? Like me, he was lean as a reed, barely strong enough to hold up against the wind. He couldn’t buy rice at the market without being swindled, and he always tried to talk his way out of a fight. How would he survive a war?
I was angry, too—because I couldn’t go with him. If Keton thought he was useless, what was I? I couldn’t fight in the army. And for all the thousands of hours I spent creating new stitches and drawing designs to sell, I could never become a master tailor. I could never take over Baba’s shop. I was a girl. The best I could hope for was to marry well.
Baba never spoke of Keton’s departure, would not speak of my youngest brother for months. But I saw how his fingers became stiff as stones; they could not even stretch wide enough to hold a pair of shears. He spent his days staring at the ocean as I took over our faltering shop. It was up to me to drum up business, to make sure my brothers had a home to return to.
No one had any need for silks and satins, not when our country was devouring itself from within. So I made hemp shirts for the local fishermen and linen dresses for their wives, and I spun flax into thread and mended soldiers’ coats when they passed by. The fishermen gave us fish heads and sacks of rice in return for my work, and it didn’t seem right to charge the soldiers.
Toward the end of every month, I helped the women who were preparing their gifts for the dead—usually paper clothing, which was tricky to sew—to burn before the prayer shrines in honor of their ancestors. I stitched paper into the shoes of passing merchants and strings of coins into their belts to ward off pickpockets. I even repaired amulets for travelers who asked it of me, though I didn’t believe in magic. Not then.
On days when there was no business and our supplies of wheat