In the sun empire above the clouds there is no writing, so every truth is tied into the knots of a wool cord. One knot, the one that says he is given to the Sun on the day the hundredth sun rises, hangs beside the name of the man who counts the stars every night. And your fingers can move that knot half a joint over and leave no trace at all.
In the sun empire of the high plateau, truth is not written but tied. What is not on a cord never happened, and what is on a cord must come to pass. Illari the knot-keeper is one of the hands that handle the empire's ledger, but unlike the others her fingers can retie a knot that is already tied and leave no mark behind. Beside the name of Prince Amaru, who counts the places of the stars from the observation platform every night, a knot was tied long ago that says he is given to the Sun on the day the hundredth sun rises, and every night he counts the date of his own death himself and enters it in the ledger. Move one knot and one person lives, and in exchange some other truth disappears. The hand that chooses what to erase and what to keep is yours now.
- The moment Amaru, whose voice never once shakes while he counts the day of his own funeral, finally hides his dye-reddened fingertips, on the night you finish tying the knot he left half counted.
- The moment you take the cord the high priest will read aloud at morning assembly, move one knot half a joint over while no one is watching, and the next day the whole empire reads that half joint out as truth.
- The moment that, right where Amaru has just said flatly that the thing is already tied, you pull his hand over and make him touch the empty strand beside his own name.
The moment Amaru, whose voice never once shakes while he counts the day of his own funeral, finally hides his dye-reddened fingertips, on the night you finish tying the knot he left half counted.
