Page 115 of A Forgery of Fate

Elang tapped on the Scroll’s rod. In a spark of magic, it swooshed into a single thread, sweeping back into the string around my wrist and knotting itself in place.

For the first time, I could understand why Nazayun feared Elang. As one of the greatest, oldest gods, it was unfathomable that Nazayun had a weakness. Yet here, in my mortal possession, was the sole weapon that could vanquish him.

“That was easier than you expected, wasn’t it?” said Elang.

He’d read my mind. “Too easy.”

“That’s because an object like the porcelain cup doesn’t move, so capturing it is a simple matter. The task is more challenging when it comes to living, breathing subjects.”

Like the Dragon King. “What will I have to do?”

“The rule of the Scroll is that you must only paint the truth. Art must mirror life, always, but therein lies the difficulty.” He inhaled, his dragon nostril twitching. “Life is always moving, always changing. Thus, to capture someone alive—like my grandfather—you must paint him in the final moment before he is sent to Oblivion.”

I frowned. “How would I know his final moment?”

“You won’t,” Elang allowed. “Any premonition you have of him will simply be a chance. But that is already far more than any other painter can give.” He regarded me. “I have confidence in you, Tru.”

I wished I could say the same. Now I understood why he’d asked if I always met the subject of my visions: I’d need to physically touch Nazayun for him to disappear.

I held in a sigh. Elang had certainly thought this through. Now I needed to, as well.

“What will happen to Ai’long if Nazayun disappears?” I asked. “Is there a plan, or will the entire realm be thrown into chaos?”

“My cousin Seryu’ginan will take the throne.”

I’d read about Prince Seryu in one of Elang’s tomes. He was the Dragon King’s heir, his favorite—though it was hard to picture Nazayun showing affection. “You would trust someone who has your grandfather’s favor?”

“Seryu would rather race whales and dally with humansthan embroil himself in plots for power. Nazayun appreciates that. I do too.”

Interesting. It was rare that Elang and Nazayun agreed on anything. “Where is he now?”

“I wouldn’t know. He avoids Ai’long as much as he can. Likely wandering the Forgotten Valleys of Heaven and cavorting with fairies.” Elang twisted his lips. “We haven’t spoken in years.”

I waited for more, but he didn’t elaborate. It sounded like the cousins had been friends, long ago. “Will he be a good ruler?”

Elang cast his gaze downward and wiped an ink stain from the table. “Becoming king is the last thing Seryu will want. He’ll abhor the responsibility and will try every which way to foist the role upon someone else. But once he accepts it—yes, he’ll be a good ruler. He has a heart, a bigger one than most.”

He has a heart.High praise coming from Elang, though I couldn’t miss the heaviness in his voice.

I still had one last question. “If I do this,” I said softly, “if I succeed in painting Nazayun, and sending him to Oblivion, will Haidi…?”

“Yes,” replied Elang, just as softly. “She’ll be freed of him. Your father too, if he is still alive.”

The hope that pinched my chest was sharp. I drew a measured breath, wondering,What about you, Elang? Will you also be free?

I didn’t ask. I was still angry with him. What did I care what happened after my job was done?

“When will we leave for Jinsang?” I asked, getting tobusiness.

“Once you’ve gained some control over your Sight.”

“No. We’ll leave sooner.”

Elang tilted his head, a question perched on his brow.

“You need me to copy a vision of your grandfather onto the Scroll,” I replied. “The problem is, whatever I foresee won’t be detailed enough to produce a giant, true-to-life portrait.”

“That’s why you’ve been studying with Shani.”

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