Page 127 of A Forgery of Fate

Her tail came winging from behind, delivering a stinging slap. My neck jerked back, more out of surprise than pain. I touched my cheek, staring at the demon in disbelief.

“Haven’t you wondered how Elang’s mother really died?” she hissed. “Istole her supply of sangi, same as yours. Except he didn’t make it back in time forher.”

“Shani, no,” I whispered in horror. “Nazayun made you do it.”

“Never seek redemption for a demon. You’ll be disappointed.” Contempt spilled across her face. “Now paint, or I’llmakeyou.”

My cheek still smarting, I sank onto the stool. When the demon wasn’t looking, I folded my sleeve down, covering the precious notes I’d taken of the Dragon King.

I painted slowly at first. Every stroke was reluctant, for I knew there was no way I could save Elang. In exchange for Baba’s life, I’d doomed my husband’s.

But what could I do? I felt like the miller’s daughter in the story Baba used to tell. It was rumored that the girl could turn straw into gold, so a prince locked her away to create mountains of gold for him, just as I was forced to paint for Nazayun.

“And do you know what her reward was?” Nomi had asked, making a face. “She had tomarrythe prince. Can you imagine anything so vile? I would have turned the prince’sentire castle into gold. That way, it would have collapsed under its own weight and crushed him to death.”

“So violent, Nomi!” Fal exclaimed.

Nomi shrugged. “It’s what he deserved. Clever women get revenge.”

In my head, an idea was starting to form. It was only a sprout, nurtured by desperation. Even in my thoughts, it sounded ludicrous. But if it worked…

My fingertips tingled. To send someone into Oblivion, I would have to capture them in their final moments. Not an easy task, but not impossible—especially if I could manipulate my Sight.

For years, I’d wavered between dreading my visions and desiring them—in the fervent hope that they could change the future. When a vision did come, trying to control it was like steering a skiff against a fearsome wind; I only ended up awash.

Today I would open up my sails. I would ride the storm.

Letting my eyes roll back, I set my palm upon the Scroll, and slowly, I began to draw Elang’s face.

I painted the smooth contour of his human cheek, the pebbly texture of his dragon one. The trickiest part was capturing the split in his features, where he changed from human to dragon. The part in his lips, the uneven nostrils, the break between his thick brows.

I had to paint carefully. If my idea was going to work, the deception would have to be nearly imperceptible, even to the Scroll itself.

Luckily, I knew Elang. I’d known him for years.

I would not fail.

“I’m finished,” I announced loudly, moments before the first tides of dawn appeared.

Shani materialized, looking skeptical. “You’re done early.”

“Serve him and live. Refuse and die.”I quoted her flatly.“What do you think I picked?”

“We shall see.”

While the demon surveyed the Scroll, I hung back, clasping my hands to keep my fingers from twitching. Would Shani notice the trick I’d concealed in the painting?

“It seems you’re as much a traitor as I am,” murmured Shani at last. “But you’ve forgotten the eyes.”

I’d purposefully left them white, hoping that the stark emptiness of Elang’s eyes would be a distraction, and no one would notice the unusual composition of my painting. I replied, “A dragon’s pearl is its power; a dragon’s eyes are its spirit. An artist always paints the eyes last.”

Shani gave me a pointed look. “You’re not an artist, you’re a forger. And you’re up to something.”

“I’m a mere mortal,” I said innocently. “Do you think I’d dare deceive the Dragon King?”

The water demon lashed her tail out, pressing its serrated tip to my chin. “If you dare, you’ll fail. Consider yourself warned.”

I bowed my head, catching the vial of sangi she flung my way. Ironic that Shani herself had taught me how to paint a dragon. It was thanks to her that I’d mastered the form—enough that I could hide a secret inside.

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