Page 4 of A Forgery of Fate

“I don’t think dragons have legs like that,” observed Fal with a wrinkled nose. “He looks like he’s walking, not swimming.”

“I like him,” said Nomi, taking my side. “He looks regal. Almost real.”

He did look real, except I hadn’t given him pupils yet. Baba said that a dragon’s eyes were its spirit, and to always add them last when drawing a creature as unpredictable as a dragon—lest it leap off the page and whisk me away.

“Don’t forget to leave space for your wish, Tru,” Baba reminded me. “What would you like?”

I didn’t have to think long. “I’d like you to finish carving this,” I replied, passing him the small wooden ship he’d made for me years ago. “I’m ready to paint it.”

Baba smiled, but his eyes turned wistful as he took the piece from my hands.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked worriedly.

“No. No.” He slipped the wooden ship into his bag. “I’m just thinking how much taller my girls will be the next time I see them.”

With that, he scooped Nomi into his arms, mussed my blue hair, and patted Falina’s braid, then slid his arm around Mama’s waist. She made a face, but when she thought we weren’t looking, she scooted closer to him.

My painting was done. I’d drawn the five of us in front of Baba’s ship, with Fal’s dresses dancing in the air and Nomi’s dragon watching skeptically, and an extra-large pan of fried crullers in the middle for good luck. Together, we blew it dry. Then in unison, as if we were priestesses blessing a charm, my sisters and I chanted, “Magic paintbrush.”

One by one, Baba embraced each of us. When it came my turn, I wouldn’t let go.

“Never mind the wooden ship,” I said into his ear softly. “Or Fal’s dresses and Nomi’s mermaids. Only promise that next time we can all come with you.”

Baba cocked his head to the side, his eyes twinkling. “Are you sure Fal would want that?”

“Nomi and me, then.” I smiled, tucking the ends of his green scarf over his shoulder. “She can look out for dragons while I count our treasure.”

“You are my treasure,” Baba said, kissing my forehead. “You and your sisters and your mother.” He touched my hair tenderly. “And this will be the last time I leave my treasures behind.”

Then he left for the port, his traveling chest under one arm and leather satchel swung over the other, a corner of my painting peeking out of the half-open flap. Nomi and I ran tothe window, watching him braid through the crowds on the road. I was grateful that his Balardan blood made him tall, so I could track him until he turned the corner.

When he did, I closed the window shutters and started on the dishes. Baba had left us dozens of times before. There was no reason to think this time would be any different.

How wrong I was.

Four months later, on the gray and wintry morning before New Year’s, a pot shattered in the kitchen.

Nomi heard it first. She was the lightest sleeper of us three, and she jolted up, kicking me awake. “What was that?”

I stilled, listening to the aftermath of the sound. Silence.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “Maybe it was a rat.”

Nomi let out a silent shriek. “A rat?”

“They’re out to celebrate New Year’s Eve,” I teased, sitting up to peer out the window. There were lanterns hanging off the larches, and overnight, blue waterbells had bloomed. Star shaped with yellow bells, they were the first envoys of spring—and my favorite flowers. “Come see, all the shophouses put up rat banners. Tomorrow it’ll be theiryear.”

Nomi rubbed her eyes. “I hate the year of the rat.”

“Don’t say that. It’s the first of a new cycle.”

“In Balar there’s no rat year. Only numbered years. Makes more sense for keeping track, don’t you think?”

Nomi, so young and already so regrettably practical.

She jerked her head, suddenly sitting up in the bed. “I hear Mama.”

So did I. “You stay here where it’s warm,” I told her as I started climbing over Falina—who wore cotton buds in her ears and could sleep through a monsoon. “I’ll go see.”

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