Page 112 of A Forgery of Fate

“Tru,” he said, “your sangi—”

“You really are a monster,” I interrupted. I tugged on my collar. My gills were needling my skin like fiery pinpricks, making it hurt to breathe. But I ignored the pain. The ache in my heart was sharper.

“All these years, you played me for a fool,” I said. “You lied to me, you made me trust you, then you manipulated me into leaving my family and coming here—on thisshammarriage. The worst of it is, I could have forgiven you all that. But you know what I can never forgive?” I clenched my fists, drawing a ragged breath. “I thought you were my friend.”

The words landed hard, and Elang’s face drew long. He looked at me, his lips parted. I waited for him to defend himself, to apologize and explain, but he returned to his sangi preparation. With his back to me, he said, “That was your mistake.”

I’d had enough. The broth spilled, sizzling over the stove. As the flames sparked and danced, I spun for the door.

“Tru, wait—”

I could feel Elang reach out, so I swam faster, until the rippling waves drowned out his calls. I’d made it as far as the Halls of Longevity when my lungs went suddenly tight, the gills in my neck stiffening. The rest happened quickly. The weight of the sea came crushing down, pressure making my head go light and heavy at once. The water turned thick. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see either. My eyes burned.

Strong arms caught me from behind. I couldn’t see his face, but I felt the ends of his long white hair brushing against my cheek.

I turned to find Elang, half-transformed into a dragon so he could catch up to me. His bones were still rearranging themselves, and he was breathing hard. The glow in his yellow eye dimmed as he held me. He pressed a kiss to the side of my lips. At least I thought it was a kiss, until he blew into my mouth. Softly, gently, as if I were a flute.

Air swept into my lungs, and I became aware of hisfingers on my chin, the edges of his claws gently trying to part my lips.

“Drink,” he whispered.

Sangi trickled down my throat. The burning made me wheeze, and I grabbed Elang’s collar to steady myself. It was then, in that instant, that my fingertips sensed the faintest thump coming from his chest.

He arched away from me, as stricken as I was.

When I blinked, he was gone.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The next day and the next, no one sought me out, not even Shani. I stayed in my room, eating Nomi’s candies and trying not to think about Elang’s betrayal.

By now it’d be midwinter in Gangsun. I imagined the snow dusting the top of my hat, and Mama lowering the scarf wrapped high over my neck so it didn’t obscure the lucky mole on my cheek. I’d be haggling at the market over yams to boil for our stews, then listening to Fal complain my soup was too spicy, then reading with Nomi by the window, our stomachs warm and full.

A pang rose to my heart. It hurt, how much I missed my family.

Don’t hold back your visions,Mama had told me before I left for Ai’long.Let them bring you home faster.

The last few days, my fingers had itched with premonition, but I’d shied away, afraid that I might see something terrible about Baba. No longer.

The sooner I learned to master my Sight, the sooner I’d find Baba—and bring him home.

I sat at my desk, steadying my breath. Maybe I couldn’tcontrol what I foresaw, but I could at least practice letting myself fall into a vision. With my brush in my hand, I let my eyes roll back, and muscle by muscle, I uncurled my fingers. The tingles rushed across my fingertips, hot like fire. And once I let go, it was the fastest I had ever entered a trance.

The first thing I painted was the water. As my fingers reached for the familiar gray of Yonsar’s depths, I pinned my concentration on Baba.

Show me my father.

My brush then sought a brighter blue. The water in my vision turned crisp and luminous, and my hand moved in furious motion, sweeping the parchment with a series of curved lines. Within a few strokes, I had the beginnings of a face. This was far more intention than I’d ever been able to achieve during a vision.

Baba?

When the mouth formed, I knew it wasn’t my father. It was small and boat shaped. My father had thick lips. Then came long ears, and two deep-set eyes like bulbs that had never seen the sun.

It was a woman, vaguely familiar. Yet something was different, something was off.

My brush kept moving. Under its fibers, the woman turned monstrous. Her long black hair formed a swirling mass that writhed like eels, the ends crowned by barbed and gleaming hooks. Then her two arms became eight, her teeth grew serrated edges, and in her fathomless eyes, I saw my own reflection.

That was when the brush clattered from my hand. My heart roared in my ears, and I couldn’t stop shaking.

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