Page 74 of A Forgery of Fate

The demon crawled out of my ring, still misty. “What of his eyes?” she asked.

What I remembered was that they were wintry, the palest blue before gray. I hadn’t caught anything more.

“An artist always paints a dragon’s eyes last,” I said evasively. “They carry his spirit.”

Shani saw through my ruse and made a harrumphing sound. But she did return to my desk.

“This is going to take a lot of work,” muttered the demon.In one languid motion, she shifted into a smaller imitation of Nazayun, shuddering when her transformation was complete.

She opened Nazayun’s eyes, two wan and glittering ovals whose cold made me shudder. In the Dragon King’s own merciless tone, she spoke, “Let us begin.”

Confined to my room, I chased the hours by studying with Shani. “We’re doomed,” she’d say of my progress. “Nazayun is a dragon, not a lizard. Do it again.”

The demon made for an exacting mentor. She sat on my shoulder, hurling insults into my ear when I made one mistake, tearing the parchment in half when I made two. Not once did I complain. The work took my mind off the storm, and off Baba.

All night I painted. Even when my fingers cramped and pruned, and new calluses formed where I held my brush, I pressed on. But Iwasonly human. At some point, my eyelids grew heavy, as if weighed down by sand, and my brushstrokes started todrag.

The last thing I remembered was mixing a new well of gray paint.

I slept, but not deeply. Every time there came a lull in the storm, some part of the castle would subsequently explode. And toward the end of the night, when the sea was so dark not even the dawn lights could pierce its murk, the ring on my thumb grew cold.

“She fell asleep at her desk.”

It was Shani speaking. My eyes were closed, but I couldtell from the ripples in the water that we weren’t alone. Someone else had come.

I heard a rustling of pages. “Her progress has been pitiful,” the demon went on. “There’s no chance she’ll be able to paint him—she can’t even summon a vision.”

There came a low murmur, but I couldn’t hear what wassaid.

“Yes, she still despises you, though I suspect she is growing less fearful of you. Are you certain you don’t want me to erase her—”

There came a brisk slice in the water, cutting off her reply.

It had to be Elang, I thought. No one else could silence the demon so effectively.

I could feel his presence grow nearer. He swam gracefully, his movements barely conjuring a ripple. In three quiet strides, he was at my side, his shadow eclipsing my bed.

The glass lip of a vial prodded open my mouth. I tried to peel open a sliver of eye, but Elang touched my forehead, and a wave of sleep overcame me.

Sangi washed down my throat, and I floated back into the sweet oblivion of my dreams.

In the morning, my fingers tingled.

Shani stepped on my hand, pressing harder when I winced. “You’ve been biting your lip and twitching your fingers for the last hour,” she said. “Your mother’s a gambler, you should know better than to have a tell.”

“It’s just a tingle,” I explained groggily. “I get them because of my—”

“Visions. Finally you show a hint of progress.” The demon waved a fin at the parchment. “Paint it out.”

No. “After the storm ends.”

“Now,” insisted the demon. Shani sneered. “What, are you afraid you might make the castle collapse onto us?”

Yes.I bit my lip.Or worse.

The sneer was helpful, though. I ambled toward my chair, not remembering ever leaving it for bed. I picked up my brush.

When I first began to understand my Sight, I’dthoughtI could change the future. I used to tell myself,If I can paint Baba alive, it will be so. I’ll make it so.

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