Page 10

“You’ve got a cut on your face,” Mama said, her first words since we’d escaped.

“On your cheek.”

I touched the gash and looked at Mama tiredly.

Of all the things I expected her to talk about—Puhkan capturing us and burning down our old house, the watery phoenix that had burst out of my ring to rescue us, this lavish carriage that was taking us who-knew-where—of course she’d fixate upon a scratch on my face.

“It’ll heal,” I said.

“Be more careful next time. Scars are not good for fortune. They’re not pleasant to look at either. Don’t smile until it heals, or it’ll stretch out—”

“Mama!”

Mama pursed her lips, but she let it go.

All this fuss was just to hide what was really on her mind.

“Is it true?” she asked me then, very softly.

“You can paint the future?”

The same question perched on my sisters’ brows.

They looked at me with identical expressions—parted lips, sucked-in cheeks, and oval-wide eyes.

But I knew my sisters well enough to tell what they were thinking: Fal didn’t believe me; Nomi wanted to.

“Sometimes,” I answered.

I expected a slew of questions to follow, but Mama merely folded her hands over her lap.

Without another word, she leaned back and closed her eyes, pretending to fall asleep.

That was when Nomi crept forward in her seat.

“Did you see Puhkan’s face at the end, all blank and empty? Like a dead fish. What do you think that bird demon did to him?”

Fal frowned.

“What makes you think that was a demon?”

“Its eyes. They were red.” Nomi snorted.

“Nothing like a phoenix.”

I was quiet, but my fingers instinctively brushed across the ring.

Nomi rested her chin on my shoulder.

“All this time I thought you were a boring art forger. Turns out you can see the future, and you’ve been consorting with demons.” My sister’s eyes sparkled.

Fal clenched the edge of her cushion.

“Enough, Nomi. Tru hasn’t been consorting with demons.” A hesitant pause.

“Have you?”

Thank Saino for his timing.

A gate rumbled open, loud as thunder, cutting off any reply.

We had wheeled into a courtyard, long enough that it stretched out of sight.

Then the mansion sprawled into view: a two-story building with sloping, capped roofs; celadon-glazed windows; and sweeping magnolia trees at every door.

In the center, a hooded figure was descending the stairs to meet us.

“Is that the Demon Prince?” Fal gasped.

She spun to face me.

“Demon turds, Tru! What’s he doing here—what are we doing here, at his house?”

Honestly, I didn’t know.

“I met him yesterday,” I said.

“He bought a painting. Said he’d call for me again.”

“You made a deal with a demon?!”

“Stop panicking, he’s not a demon,” retorted Nomi.

“Demons have red eyes. His are yellow, and”—she paused, squinting—“black, I think. He’s a sorcerer.”

I said nothing, but I was staring too.

He looked different than yesterday.

Taller, fuller—if that was the right word.

His hair was knotted and secured by a tidy gold headdress.

The umbrella was absent.

Gone, too, were his obsidian robes, his cloak now a shell-white mantle that trailed long behind him, like a band of cloud.

Elang’anmi, the phoenix had called him.

’Anmi was an honorific, which meant his name was Elang.

A soft, musical name.

It didn’t fit him.

He looked more like a Zhagar or a Yangonin—Balardan for “reaper of misfortune.”

He was also wearing a different mask.

A plain black one that concealed only the left side of his face, so I could make out the angles of an unyielding jaw, imperious cheekbones, and a stern mouth that I doubted had ever uttered a single kindness.

Mama must have had a different reading of his face, for she instantly perked.

With a quick hop she disembarked the carriage, dusted her skirt, and tucked her hair behind her ears, beaming as he approached.

“You must be the lord of this estate,” she said, smiling widely.

“Our most gracious thanks, Your Highness, for coming to the rescue of my humble little family.”

Mama yanked on Fal’s and Nomi’s arms, bringing them down with her into a bow.

She tugged on my arm too, but my muscles had fossilized into stone.

I wouldn’t budge.

“Thank you,” my sisters spoke.

“Truyan!” Mama elbowed me.

“Where are your manners—”

“You are welcome,” Elang said, his voice skipping over Mama before I could respond.

I expected him to growl and bark and yell the way he had when we’d first met, but he was acting vaguely courteous.

Which only put me more on edge.

“It is late, and I gather that you and your daughters have been without a proper meal.” He gestured at four turtles waiting beside the courtyard entrance.

“Allow my servants to show you to supper in your lodgings.”

Mama hardly blinked, as if turtle servants were perfectly ordinary.

“Rooms?” she exclaimed.

“You’re offering us a place to stay?”

“For tonight,” said Elang.

“Rest now. Enjoy the hospitality that my estate has to offer.”

The turtles came forward, one of them offering a bowl of what smelled like medicinal soup.

Nomi sniffed it, then was starting to sip when I drew the bowl away from her.

“You shouldn’t accept drinks from strangers,” I said tightly.

“It is medicine,” Elang spoke up.

“And we aren’t strangers.”

I could feel his gaze on me, magnified by the burning weight of my mother and sisters’ curiosity.

“You and your family have nothing to fear,” he continued.

“You are safer here than anywhere else.”

Needing no further reassurance, Mama plopped down on a turtle.

“You heard him, Truyan. Drink up and come along. It’s been a day.”

I stole a sidelong glance at my sisters.

Fal, for all her earlier condemnations of the Demon Prince, was already making cooing sounds at one of his turtles, and Nomi was curiously studying how they waddled.

I held in a sigh.

My sisters were exhausted, hungry, and still coming out of the shock of our ordeal.

I couldn’t blame them for accepting Elang’s hospitality.

As for myself?

I curled my lip, refusing to give in.

“You go on,” I told my family.

“Rest first. I want to speak with the prince, alone.”

“Don’t be long,” Mama said sweetly.

She steered her turtle to my side, still smiling while she hissed in my ear, “And don’t be rude, Truyan. I know you. Whatever you have up your sleeve, don’t spoil this opportunity. We have nowhere else to go.”

Mama pulled away and waved brightly.

“I’ll see you later, dear daughter.”

As my family proceeded into the manor, I turned to Elang.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“How did you know to have a carriage waiting where Puhkan had taken us?”

“Most people would simply be grateful for such help.” Now that we were alone, Elang’s tone had become frosty and clipped, every word on the cusp of a snarl.

“You were nearly killed. Go on with your family.”

I wasn’t going anywhere until I had answers.

“That ring you gave me,” I insisted.

“There was a spirit inside it. Why did it save us—what do you want from me?”

“If you want to know, then you will go without supper.”

The way he said it, as if that were the ultimate punishment, both comforted and distressed me.

To think, Mama thought I was the ill-mannered one.

“I want to know,” I said.

“Then follow me.” In a dark whirl, he pivoted out of the courtyard for the main mansion.

He moved like a storm cloud, his walk so fast and fluid I couldn’t tell one step from the next.

I panted to keep up, certain he was trying to lose me with such a pace, though once we entered the house, he abruptly came to a halt midstride.

“If you insist on coming this way,” he said, his back still to me, “it would be courteous of you to remove your shoes. They’re leaving mud stains upon my floors.”

I lowered my eyes to the rich rosewood floors, upon which I had indeed left tracks of mud.

My attempt to wipe at them with my shoe earned me a vociferous grunt.

Fine.

With a grunt myself, I took off my shoes and carried them in my hand.

“Don’t touch anything,” Elang growled before pacing down the hall.

As if he’d heard me breathing hard, he slowed his pace so I could keep up.

Anywhere else I might have been grateful.

But here I sensed that every act of hospitality was being tallied into a debt that I’d soon owe.

Art slathered every wall, porcelain vases and brightly woven carpets animating the long and unlit corridors.

Deeper into the house were tapestries of Mount Jansu—the island of the immortals—life-sized sculptures of the Great Sages, and painstakingly detailed scrolls of Amana’s children: the sun, moon, and stars.

Most were pieces I’d never seen before.

Could they be originals?

I wished I could linger to find out.

How long had the Demon Prince resided in Gangsun?

It couldn’t have been more than three or four years.

With all this art, surely I would have heard his name among the city’s prominent collectors.

Then again, I’d always left the auctions to Gaari.

At the memory of Gaari, my steps grew heavy.

He’d been more than my business partner; he’d been my mentor, my confidant, my friend.

And because of me, he was dead.

Biting my cheek to keep from crying, I looked away from the art and directed my gaze straight ahead.

Our destination was a small library that smelled of paper and dried ink.

Two sculptures of whales framed the doorway, but my eyes jumped straight to the desk, which bore stacks of books—many of which were about painting.

Beside a reading lamp was a pair of brass-rimmed spectacles and an open box filled with writing brushes.

So I was dealing with a learned monster.

Nomi would say that was the most dangerous kind.

The air was warm, and a sweet and herbal smell came from a pot on a corner table.

“Tea?” offered Elang.

“It’s chamomile, fresh from the Spice Road.”

My imagination yanked me forward in time, past a sip of poisoned tea to Elang standing over my corpse, steeping my soul in a kettle before he drank.

“I’m not here to have tea with you.”

“Suit yourself.”

I sat, gravitating naturally to the green cushion across from his desk.

I sank, muscles sighing as the silk soothed my bruised side.

I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was; I could have fallen asleep right then and there.

If not for Elang.

Here in this house, surrounded by books and teacups, he seemed less a monster and more a man.

But I knew better than to lower my guard.

“Who are you?” I demanded once again.

“You consort with demons, you have turtles who do your bidding, and you wield…magic.” I paused.

“ What are you?”

“Many would like to know, but few are privileged with the truth.” He sipped.

“You have the Sight. You tell me what Iam.”

I would have gritted my teeth if not for the pain in my jaw.

He was really starting to get under my skin.

“You’re not a demon,” I said aloud.

“Because of my eyes?” He made a point of blinking.

“Your sister knows her lore.”

Of course he’d heard that.

His ears were sharp, literally.

“Demons do not keep manors on the most expensive street in Gangsun,” I said, “or parade about in masks, or idle themselves with corrupt government officials.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I don’t idle myself with anyone.”

“Renhai’s your neighbor. You said there was nothing in his house worth stealing. That implies you’ve visited before.”

Elang set down his teacup.

“Humans give off a foul stench. His is one of the foulest.”

Strong sense of smell, I added to my mental list.

And what had he called me in his garden?

Krill.

Food for his turtle, no doubt, but a strange insult all the same.

“You aren’t a demon,” I said again.

“You aren’t a sorcerer either. Sorcerers are charming and…and don’t go about extorting innocent painters.”

“Innocent?” Elang made some noise that sounded like a snort.

“Nor are you a god or a spirit or a ghost. You’re…”

I honestly didn’t know.

He was waiting, those yellow-black eyes boring into mine.

Why were they so familiar?

Where had I seen them before?

“Scourge of Saino, take off the mask,” I grumbled.

“The festival is over. Are you as ugly as they say, or do you truly have something to hide?”

Half of his mouth smiled.

“You had only to ask.”

Ever so slowly, as if he knew every second tormented my curiosity, he lifted his mask.

I didn’t mean to recoil, but I’d had no warning.

His face was unlike anything I expected.

It was two faces, really, as though a line were drawn straight down the center, dividing the two sides in half.

One was human, with a smooth, tanned cheek and sculpted black brow; half a nose; and half a hard, square jaw.

Features belonging to a man who’d clearly received an extra moment of the gods’ attention.

Strikingly handsome, Fal would say.

Even with the yellow eye.

It was a shade I’d never encountered before: paler than amber, deeper than gold.

The exact color seemed to change with every flicker of the light—making it impossible to pin down.

Then, as if the gods had decided to play a cruel and twisted joke, there was the not-so-handsome half.

Reptilian was the first word that came to my mind.

From forehead to neck, argent-blue scales stippled his skin, each like a flat teardrop shining mirror sharp.

And this other eye…

it wasn’t actually black but the darkest gray, larger and rounder than his human one, and wreathed by a feathery brow.

He kept his mouth closed, for which I was glad.

I didn’t want to see his teeth.

What could he be?

Both his hands, which he had kept balled at his sides, revealed sharp clawlike nails.

And he had horns!

Gold horns piercing up from his temples that I swore hadn’t been there a minute ago.

The answer came in a scalding wave of revelation.

“You’re…you’re a dragon!” I whispered.

“Well done,” he said, his voice equally soft.

“I am Elangui Ta’ginan Yuwong, lord of the Westerly Seas, prince of the Third Supreme Kingdom.”

So not a demon prince but a dragon prince.

What in the Hells of Tamra was a dragon prince doing in the middle of Gangsun?

I gathered myself and raised my chin.

“I am Truyan Saigas.” I didn’t have any titles, but I was self-conscious of how insignificant my introduction sounded, so I added, “Of West Gangsun, daughter of Arban and Weina. Master art forger of the Dor’lin District.”

The “master” part was a bit of an exaggeration, but I didn’t care.

“I know who you are,” he said.

“And I know you,” I said, lifting my chin to meet his mismatched eyes.

Now I knew why I’d found them familiar.

“You’re the dragon I painted.”

“Half dragon,” Elangui corrected.

His voice was tight.

He was watching my reaction—for what, I couldn’t fathom.

“Your powers of observation serve you well.”

“That’s how you knew I have…visions,” I went on, “and why you wanted the scroll.”

He tilted his head, as if it entertained him to watch me flail for answers.

“And,” I realized, “it’s why you had your demon save me from Madam Yargui’s men.”

“Corpses can’t pay off their debts,” Elang said dryly.

“And speaking of debts, I have decided how you’ll repay mine. With a painting.”

I could have jumped up and danced with relief.

In my desperation, I’d offered anything, and all he wanted was a painting?

Praise Amana.

“A promise is a promise,” I allowed.

“You provide the brushes and the paper, and I’ll paint the most magnificent piece you’ve ever seen. Might take a while, but it seems you’ve got plenty of extra apartments in your estate—”

“The painting I require cannot be done in Gangsun. Or in A’landi, for that matter.”

I looked up, confused.

“Then where?”

A corner of Elang’s mouth ticked upward, minimally.

“Ai’long.”

I made a loud gasping sound.

“Ai’long!”

“You are familiar with it?”

Of course I was.

Every child on the continent grew up on tales about the dragon realm.

Me more than most, thanks to Baba.

He’d had a trove of sailors’ stories.

He’d told me a touch of a dragon’s scales could heal any ailment, their voices were thunder incarnate, and their home, Ai’long, was a realm of merfolk and talking fish, so beautiful that no mortal could visit without being changed forever.

“I have a proposition for you,” said Elang.

From the moment I’d entered this room, the conversation had veered in directions I’d never imagined possible.

I had a feeling things were only about to get more interesting.

“I’m listening.”

“As you may know,” he said, “the enchanted waters of Ai’long are ruled by the God of the Seas.”

“The Dragon King,” I murmured.

“King Nazayun is my grandfather. I displeased him, and consequently, I am prohibited from returning.”

“You mean you’ve been banished.” I leaned forward with interest.

“Are you a criminal there?”

He glared.

“During my absence, my domain has fallen into disrepair. I must return as soon as possible. But to do so, I need the assistance of a human.”

“Me,” I said.

That much was obvious.

“The answer is no. I promised you a painting, not a reunion with your grandfather.”

He gave me an incredulous look.

“Is that what you think I want?”

Then he laughed—a deep and rumbling sound that made the walls judder.

I crossed my arms.

“What’s so funny?”

“You really do have quite the imagination,” he said.

With one last chuckle, his humor drained away, and the half dragon turned solemn once more.

“I haven’t finished yet. You are a wanted criminal, are you not? Sought after for art forgery, theft, violence—”

“ I was attacked,” I protested.

“I’m not a violent person.”

“Perhaps, but the moment you leave my property, you will be pursued, caught, and put in jail for the remainder of your life.”

“That seems rather harsh,” I griped.

“I think the sentence for art forgery is really only a decade.”

“Most prisoners don’t survive the full term of their sentence,” Elang reminded me.

“Madam Yargui will certainly see to it that you do not.”

He was right.

And in that instant, the rest of my protest died on my lips.

“I have the means to ensure your safety,” he said, “and your family’s. In exchange, I ask that you help me break my exile so I may return to Ai’long.”

I looked up at him.

Those strange eyes of his—one light, one dark—were unexpectedly intense, but I didn’t trust them.

Never make a deal with a dragon, the old tales said.

They are cunning, mercurial creatures.

You will never win.

But what about a deal with a half dragon?

I finally reached for my tea.

It was still hot.

Impossible.

“Explain to me how a human would help you return home,” I said carefully.

“I know your lore. No mortals are permitted in the dragon realm unless they are specifically invited by the Dragon King himself.”

“Or unless they are wed to a dragon.”

I swore I had hallucinated his reply.

“What did you say?”

Not a muscle in Elang’s jaw twitched.

He was calm, too calm.

“It so happens that the Dragon King’s stipulation for my return is that I fall in love with a human—and bring my bride with me to Ai’long.”

His gaze fell on me.

“That will be you, Tru Saigas.”