Page 113 of A Forgery of Fate

“Nine Hells of Tamra,” I whispered.

It was Queen Haidi.

“Show me how we’ll overthrow Nazayun,” I said, barging into Elang’s chambers. “Tonight. There isn’t time to lose.”

If Elang was surprised to see me at his door, he hid it well. He set down the sanheia flowers he’d been carefully de-thorning. “You had a vision?”

“See for yourself.”

I had no name for the creature Queen Haidi had become. I couldn’t even look at her without my blood going cold. “He’s going to punish her for helping us.”

Elang was studying the painting. His lips drew thin. “I need to know, do you always encounter the subject of your visions afterward?”

“Always. Why? What does that have to do with Queen Haidi?”

“I’ll explain later. For now we cannot warn her, or we risk word of your Sight reaching the Dragon King.”

“Can it be undone?” My heart was still pounding. “Tell me she won’t be like this forever.”

“It will depend.”

“On what?”

Elang set aside my painting. “Listen closely,” he said, sounding graver than before. “I’m going to tell you a secret.”

I leaned forward. I was ready.

“There is an ancient scroll that even the gods fear. No book records its presence, and for a time, anyone who uttered its name was struck down.

“The scroll was made from eversnow bark, its fibers soaked for nine hundred years in tears of lingering sorrow, dried by the hellfires of the Demons’ Cradle, then woven in secret bythe Mother Goddess herself. It is called the Scroll of Oblivion, for whatever is painted on its page will vanish from this earth.”

Understanding dawned. “This is the weapon of the Eight and a Half Immortals.”

“You know the story?”

“Haidi told me. Nazayun thinks you are the half immortal…. It’s why he wants you dead.”

“It’s why he’s wanted all half dragons dead,” said Elang grimly. “I am the last.”

“Who are the other immortals?”

“Deities across the realms,” he answered. “Each of us plays a specific role in Nazayun’s downfall.” His gaze met mine, dark with stories untold. “My role was to find a mortal with enough skill to harness the Scroll. The Painter.”

I kept my expression stony, but an ache rose to my throat nonetheless. That was why he’d come to me as Gaari.

“My grandfather wasn’t always the vengeful creature you see today,” Elang went on. “Long ago he was a beloved king, who built Ai’long in the splendor he wished all realms to enjoy. His greatest pride was Ai’long, and I truly believe a part of him still believes that his every action is for the good of the dragons.”

“He lost his way.” I understood.

Elang nodded. “To be immortal does not mean to be constant. He’s watched the merfolk flourish and humanity grow in number and strength. He became fearful of the other realms, convinced they sought to undermine the dragons’ power.

“This fear was a poison; it changed him, and over time, he became cruel. He ravaged land and sea alike with storms, he turned his own servants into stone, he made monsters out of anyone who dared defy him.”

“What could he be afraid of?” I asked. “He’s a god. He cannot die.”

“He cannot,” agreed Elang, “but hecanbe made weak. Hecanbe made irrelevant.”

I drew in a deep breath. “With this scroll.”

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