Page 30 of A Forgery of Fate

He reached into his pocket and pinched forth a triangular piece of maroon-colored cloth. I didn’t know what it was, but as he tossed it my way, I felt a wave of premonitory dread.

The cloth landed on my arm with a moist splat. It was damp, and its dye smeared the pale fabric of my sleeve.

No, not dye.

Blood.

“I believe it belonged to a friend of yours,” said Puhkan. He dipped his head in mock sympathy. “My condolences.”

All of me went cold. This cloth…was Gaari’s eye patch! Bile surged up to my throat, and I choked on my own breath. “You…you—”

“Sank a knife into his back,” Puhkan finished for me. “Threw him into the canal. A bunch of his friends too.”

I wanted to murder this man. First for what he’d done to my mother, and now for killing my friend. Fal gripped my arm before I did something rash.

It hurt to speak. “Gaari had nothing to do with this.”

“He was hardly innocent.” Puhkan shrugged. “A petty criminal, unworthy of the space he took up. A good lesson to you Saigas girls to learn some respect.”

My sisters gathered next to me, Nomi hiding behind Fal. “Get out,” I said. “We’re done.”

Puhkan fitted the ring over his finger. “I don’t think so.”

His men lurched forward, and that was when I smelled the sulfur.

Nomi had shot up, and she hurled a string of burning red firecrackers over her head at Puhkan. “May Saino strike you down!” she shouted.

Smoke exploded, and the firecrackers popped andthundered wildly across the room. “Go!” Fal cried. I grabbed Mama’s hand, and the four of us raced outside.

We didn’t get far.

Fal screamed first. Then Nomi.

A beat later, a sack fell over my head, and all went dark.

Chapter Eight

“Slowly,” murmured a woman’s voice. A blur of light gradually became my mother. “Slowly. Don’t sit up so fast.”

The back of my head ached, and my eyes were sticky with grime. I felt like I’d been unconscious for a week. “What happened?”

Fal stated the obvious: “Yargui took us.”

I let out a groan as I sat up. The floor was cold, and ropes chafed at my wrists and ankles.

I blinked. “Did they hurt you?”

“We haven’t been awake long enough for that,” replied Nomi.

Ever practical, my youngest sister. Though now that I thought about it, Ihadsmelled winksweed on those sacks over our heads. Probably enough to knock us out through the afternoon.

“Where are we?”

No one answered, and I wished I hadn’t asked. Once my vision came back into focus, I knew exactly where we were.

Our old house.

It was falling apart, the wood on the walls stripped bare, the ceiling weeping dust. Still, as clear as yesterday, I could picture the way it had been. In my mind, I resurrected the wooden screen that my sisters and I had hidden behind while eavesdropping on Mama reading fortunes. The hall my sisters and I scampered down, chasing each other while wearing Baba’s sailing clothes, tripping over his long sleeves and landing hard on the smooth walnut floor.

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