Page 100 of A Forgery of Fate

Haidi made the barest nod. “Ever vigilant, ever alone. That is what we used to say about the young lord of the Westerly Seas.” She touched my shoulder. “I am glad he is not alone anymore, Lady Saigas.”

I couldn’t help the flush that warmed my cheeks. I didn’t know what to say, so I simply nodded.

She lingered one last moment. “You’ve spoken to the sea, now listen to it,” she said. “This is the lesson my mother gave when I was chosen to rule. The waters will never lie to you.”

Haidi drew a deep breath, then let out a low keeningsound, calling her people together. The shimmering pool appeared once more, and the merfolk slipped inside, leaving as quietly as they had come.

I waited with the turtles until the merfolk departed and the seam between their world and ours knitted closed. The fog in the waters was clearing, and in the distance, beyond the farthest corners of Yonsar, I could see the Floating Mountains for the first time.

Truly they were beautiful, like mountains spun straight out of a dream, suspended by enchanted threads.

Yet the most warming sight was Yonsar. After my journey to Nanhira, I’d gained a new fondness for this solitary kingdom. Yes, it was gray, its land barren and desolate, but what great painting did not begin on an empty page? Even the most splendid of gardens arose from a hollow field. I had faith Elang would see Yonsar bloom.

I slipped past the gates into the castle, the faintest premonition tingling down my fingertips. Things had to get better from here, I was sure of it.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Little buds of flowers and seagrass began to bloom in the garden, and the sands in the Court of Celestial Harmony shone, bringing a gentle radiance to the heart of the castle. Peace had come to Yonsar, a period of uninterrupted calm during which I was at my most productive. In the mornings, I mixed colors and painted, then for lunch, I joined Kunkoi in the kitchen and made noodles by hand—a routine I began as a respite from my grueling lessons with Shani.

The demon was impossible to please, but I’d finally graduated to drawing Nazayun’s full body. I did my most fastidious work, spending hours on the light that reflected off his scales. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was lacking. When I’d painted my vision of Elang, he had practically flown off the page, so real I could hear the whir of his tail before it splashed into the sea. I didn’t feel the same way about Nazayun.

“It’s his scales,” Shani pointed out. “The color is off.”

“I know,” I said. All week I’d been mixing paints, trying to re-create the proper shade—but none came close to capturing the brilliance of Nazayun’s tyrannical hide.

“A god can’t be painted with ordinary colors. It has to be something special.” She flicked a fin in the direction of my hair. “You could use these blue ragweeds on top of your head.”

“You mean my hair?”

“You’re not a mermaid, it wouldn’t be a sacrifice for you to go bald.”

I glared. “Even if I could make a dye out of my hair, I don’t have enough.”

“Alas.” The demon dangled her tail off my back, swinging it left and right. “Then ask Elang’anmi.”

Ask Elang? I hesitated a beat too long.

“What’s the matter?” Shani leaned forward with a whiff of conspiracy. “Your pulse just sped up three beats. Have you got a crush?”

I shoved her off my shoulder. “No!”

“Good.” Shani floated, her tone thick with warning. “Because I wouldn’t fall in love with Elang’anmi if I were you. You’ll only be disappointed.”

“I know that,” I said. I stuffed a brush into my sleeve, purposefully snubbing the pocket Elang had conjured.

Since coming back from Nanhira, he had become even colder than before; he barely acknowledged me during our dinners together. Every time I so much as sat next to him, he’d pull away to the seat across. I learned to bring a book, but behind its pages I’d secretly study him.

There was more to this surly half dragon than I’d realized. I was used to attributing his hot and cold behavior to the act we had to put on, though lately it had become hazy what was for show and what was not.

I found Elang in his library, delivering a lecture about thorns and pruning-knife technique. His only disciple was Kunkoi, who sat before a jug of dark, bubbling sangi, stifling a yawn.

As I entered, the merman’s head bobbed up. “Lady Saigas is here,” he announced, taking my presence as an excuse to rise. He scooped up a small jar of green peppers from the table. “Look what was found this morning.”

“My snake eyes!” I cried. “I thought I lost them in theFold.”

“They washed into the dunes,” explained Kunkoi. “I was trying to convince His Lord Highness to grow them in the garden so I could distill their poison into a weapon against intruders. Unfortunately, he didn’t approve of the idea.”

Elang cleared his throat.

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