Page 15

The next morning, Elang and I were married.

It was midsummer in the year of the dragon, an auspicious time to be wed, but the sky gods seemed to disagree.

Plump, glutinous clouds eclipsed the sun, and not too far away, Saino beat his thunder drums, stirring up a storm.

As promised, the ceremony was small and private.

It took place under a crooked magnolia tree in the garden, where a priest—who I suspected was actually a merman—spoke the words of rite and ritual to bless our union.

I listened with half an ear.

The entire time, I knelt on a silk cushion, trying to balance the unwieldy crown on my head and sit up straight under the heaviness of my robes.

“I feel like a walking palanquin,” I had joked to my sisters when they’d helped Mailoh dress me.

“I need a mule to help me go forward, these robes are so heavy! And no pockets?”

“You’re the bride, what do you need pockets for?” teased Nomi.

“A paintbrush?”

Yes, a paintbrush.

Ever since my visions had started, I always carried one.

“Why not?” I pulled up my veil and blew at its silk.

“You’d bring a book if you were in my place.”

“Will you stop fiddling with your veil?” Falina clucked her tongue at me and erased the powder from over my mole.

“Keep it on. You’ll be glad for it later.”

She’d been right.

Thanks to that suffocating sheet of silk, I didn’t have to smile or pretend to be happy.

I could scowl and stare off at the ceiling, even make faces at Elang if I wanted.

But I didn’t.

The ceremony was brief and efficient, and all too soon I was called to rise.

Elang and I went through the rites, bowing before each direction of the wind and reciting old chants to thank the gods.

Finally a long red ribbon was to be wrapped around our wrists—the “red string of fate” to bind us before the Heavens.

Tying the string was a custom in all weddings, meant to symbolically connect the fates of two people, forever.

The stronger their love, the stronger their bond.

It’d be easy to cut since we had no bond.

I glanced at Elang, wondering if he was thinking the same.

A mistake.

He was wearing that intent, piercing gaze I had come to know, except today it was fixed on me as if nothing else in the universe existed, only us.

And the way the gold flecks from my headdress spoked his eyes, it was almost…

almost…

I shook away the thought with a hitch in my breath.

It was a good thing he couldn’t see me.

He was a better actor than I’d expected.

He folded back his sleeves to begin the ritual, and I saw his hands up close.

His fingers were long and human, with hard, round knuckles.

His nails, however, were black, curved almost like talons.

I avoided touching them as I laid my palms atop his.

A quiet laugh escaped his nose.

Elang closed his fingers around my hand, taking care that his sharp nails only skimmed my skin.

I wasn’t moved.

Outwardly our pose might have looked tender, but I alone could feel the taut persistence of his hold—like a reminder that there was no turning back.

“I bind you to me, Tru Saigas,” he spoke, wrapping the string around our wrists.

“Until the end of our days upon this earth, under this heaven, and across the seas, our fates are one, our destinies entangled.” He paused then to lift my veil, removing the silken red cloth over my head.

When the candlelight bathed my face, he actually smiled.

“Whatever course you may wend, I will follow.”

Now it was my turn.

I looked up at Elang, mustering a mimicry of his smile.

For half a year, this would be the face of the man I’d call my husband.

Mask or no mask, I could hardly look at him without recoiling.

“I bind you to me,” I began, repeating his words.

The vow tasted like paper, but I forced a measure of feeling into it, as if I were cherishing every word.

“Whatever course you may wend, I will follow.”

I, too, wrapped the string around our wrists, and the priest made a knot.

A symbolic gesture, but I couldn’t help thinking how it literally did shackle Elang and me together.

Then the priest gave his final blessings, and the string shimmered with magic—until Elang and I were left with only two matching red bracelets.

Simple as that, it was over.

By the laws of Heaven and Earth, I was now bound to the man beside me.

I felt no different.

Felt no sudden affection or loyalty to him.

Only the invisible weight of knowing we were two people coerced to be together.

Rain descended in a soft drizzle, and an umbrella opened over my head.

It was Elang’s.

He’d already rolled down his sleeves, covering the red string so it was nowhere in sight.

“This is your chance to say your farewells,” he murmured.

“We won’t return to the house after the procession.”

He pressed the umbrella into my hand.

It was the same one he’d carried when we first met, with a dragon carved onto the handle.

When I looked up to thank him, he was already striding off toward his garden, watching the showers descend upon the flowers.

Mama approached me.

“They say it rains when a dragon weds,” she began, “and the sea sheds tears of joy.” She touched my cheek.

“Don’t hold back your visions. Let them bring you home faster.”

I caught her hand in mine.

“Yes, Mama.”

I bowed to her, then my sisters came under my umbrella.

Fal’s arms had been crossed all day, and she hadn’t smiled once.

“It’s tradition for the groom to pick you up from your home,” she grumbled.

“For your sisters to interrogate him at the door and forbid him from bringing you to the ceremony unless he passes all our tests.”

“You’re going to hold this grudge over him for the rest of your life, aren’t you?” I said.

“I’m a Saigas girl,” replied Fal.

“Grudges are my specialty.”

I laughed.

“What were the tests?”

“We were going to ask questions,” said Nomi.

“Starting easy, like your favorite food, favorite color, favorite flower.” She raised an imaginary bowl.

“We were going to make him drink a numbingly spicy soup to prove that he could endure pain and hardship to be with you.”

“He would have failed them all,” I muttered.

“Probably would have guessed dumplings and blue and…peonies.” I stole a glance at Elang, who was out of a human’s earshot but not a dragon’s.

“Everyone always says their favorite flowers are peonies.”

“If he failed, we wouldn’t have to let you go,” said Fal softly.

The way her eyes twinkled so reminded me of Baba.

“Oh, Fal,” I said thickly.

I took my sisters’ hands.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave you.”

“Don’t waste your imagination worrying about us,” said Nomi.

“I’ll be luxuriating in a dragon’s mansion, reading six books a day. While Fal flirts with the merfolk.”

Fal gave Nomi a playful punch in the shoulder, then reached into her sleeve.

“We didn’t have time to get you a wedding gift, but we bought this for you a while ago. For your birthday.”

The box was red, pertly tied with a cloth ribbon.

Inside was a jar of—

“Snake-eye peppers!” I cried.

They were green chilis, some of the hottest and most fragrant sold on the Spice Road.

My favorite.

“We figured there won’t be much in the way of spices in Ai’long,” explained Nomi.

I didn’t care about propriety or about the powder clumping under my eyes because I was crying.

I drew Fal and Nomi into my arms and hugged them fiercely.

“Don’t you dare get yourself killed,” Fal said in my ear.

“Or every Ghost Festival day, I’ll send you bland noodles with no spice. That’ll be all you get to eat in the afterlife.”

“The worst fate,” I said, choking on a laugh and sob at once.

Drums and gongs resounded from the other side of the gates, and the carriage stopped behind me.

It was time.

My youngest sister was easily two heads shorter than Elang, but she strode up to him, chin raised and eyes steely as though she were the dragon, not he.

“I might not have magic or be friends with merfolk or have a demon at my side,” she declared.

“But I have a brain. Bring my sister back to us, Lord Elang. Or in the name of all that we mortals are capable of, I will find a way to make you regret it.”

They were big words for such a small girl, but Nomi’s vow thundered above the rain pattering over our umbrella.

As expected, Elang said nothing, and his mask revealed nothing.

Yet as my sisters stalked away, he grasped the hook of my umbrella and bore it with me against the rain.

The rain grew harder.

I felt badly for Elang’s attendants, who walked alongside our palanquin without hat or umbrella—until I remembered they were merfolk.

They probably loved to soak in the rain the way I loved to bask in the sun.

Oyang Street was a residential road, accessible only to those who lived there.

But this morning, it had transformed.

Red lanterns hung from every branch, garlands of gold-painted ingots too.

Along the cobblestoned walls were intricate paper cutouts of dragons and phoenixes.

Around us, the crowd was growing.

Most had come to glimpse the infamously reclusive Demon Prince, but I recognized several faces from the fishing district.

“Congratulations, Truyan!” they shouted.

“May you have a hundred years of happiness, and may you have twice as many children as your mother!”

I was grateful when the attendants lit a spate of firecrackers.

As they thundered loudly, the carriage sped ahead, leaving the crowds behind.

I glanced at Elang, whose nostrils were most definitely flared—I couldn’t tell whether from the smoke or the blessings.

Probably both.

“Word’s certainly gotten out about the wedding,” I said, trying to sound cheery.

“It’s a good thing we’re not having a banquet. Mama’s friends must have a thousand questions.”

Elang didn’t reply.

“Take my arm,” he said instead.

“We need to at least look like we enjoy each other’s company.”

Once I obliged, Elang angled us toward the window and waved to the crowds, nodded to the onlookers, even tilted his head close to mine.

It was convincing enough that, for a few minutes, I forgot the forbidding chill that lingered betweenus.

It also helped that I was looking for someone.

“Keep your head inside,” Elang said when we were halfway down the street.

His voice was thin, sieving through his smile.

“You’re letting rain into the carriage.”

My veil was damp, and I tucked it over my shoulder.

“I want to look outside. It’s not every day a girl marries a dragon prince.”

“If you’re looking for Madam Yargui, she isn’t here.”

I bit my lip—my tell that I was agitated.

“How did you—”

“I have no patience for bandits,” interrupted Elang.

“She and her men won’t be a problem for you anymore. They won’t even remember to be a problem.”

Suddenly I wondered where Shani had gone this morning.

“What about the governor’s prefects? They know I’m a forger.”

“See for yourself,” said Elang.

His timing was impeccable.

The moment he spoke, we passed Governor Renhai’s house, and a cordon of prefects approached the carriage.

Among them was the governor himself.

Immediately I jerked away from the window, while Elang tipped his head back against the cushioned seat as if we were stopping for a herd of goats to cross the road and not because I was about to be arrested.

I started to put my veil back on, but Elang caught my hand.

“There’s no need.”

“That’s the governor,” I hissed.

“He’s going to…”

My voice trailed.

Just outside, standing respectfully, were six prefects.

As soon as they saw me, they bowed deeply, their eyes passing over my blue hair with little recognition.

“His Honor, Governor Renhai, extends to you his warmest wishes.” They presented a box of gold jewelry.

“Congratulations, Your Highnesses.”

I was flabbergasted, barely able to manage a nod.

Elang, on the other hand, responded coolly, “The gods have been generous in this lifetime, to bless me with such a clever and beautiful bride.” He was still holding—no, incarcerating —my hand.

“Thank you, Your Excellency, for honoring us with your presence and your generosity.”

The second the carriage rolled out of earshot, I yanked my hand back.

I turned to Elang, demanding, “Shani’s work?”

“She’s enjoyed her time on land more than she lets on.” That was all he would divulge.

I crossed my arms.

“Must be nice for you, being able to throw magic at any trouble that arises.”

“If that were so,” said Elang darkly, “then you wouldn’t be here.”

He had a point.

Chastened, I leaned back too, closing the curtains as the carriage trundled to the end of Oyang Street.

The crowds didn’t follow, most well-wishers staying back to receive the red envelopes Elang’s attendants were passing out.

When the music had receded into a distant buzz, Elang took off his mask.

He had freckles, I noticed for the first time.

They were faint, peppered across the human side of his nose and fading onto the sharp cleft of his chin.

“Do you always wear that?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“That…mask.”

“You’ve seen my face. Wouldn’t you agree it’s necessary?”

I meant to disagree, but then he faced me, his yellow eye glinting even in the absence of direct light.

The way it turned gold was unnerving, and despite my intention, I still flinched.

Proving his point.

“Can’t you take a potion like you give the merfolk?” I pressed.

“Potions have limited effect against my curse. Why do you ask?”

Why?

I supposed because I’d worn masks of my own.

Not literal ones—but wigs for my blue hair and powders to shade my complexion and eyes so I’d look more A’landan.

It did wonders for changing how people saw me, and I hated it.

“No reason,” I lied.

“Will you wear the mask in Ai’long?”

“Everyone in Ai’long knows what I look like,” said Elang.

“Listen,” he spoke again, changing the subject.

“This will be the only time we have alone before we depart. Our entrance into the dragon realm is important. My subjects will be there to greet us, a few emissaries that the Dragon King has sent as well. They will be watching us.”

I nodded, understanding.

“You want us to look fond of each other.”

“That’d be helpful.” He hesitated.

“I warn you, my grandfather’s emissaries will be unfriendly.”

“More unfriendly than you?”

He glared.

“If you value your life, say nothing about being a painter, and nothing about your visions.”

“Noted.” I crossed my arms.

“I’ve been warned.”

He made a grunt.

“One last thing. From this point forward, if I show you kindness or favor, it means nothing. If I give you a gift, or bestow upon you praise, it means nothing. Everything is for appearances only, and should you occupy a place in my thoughts, it is only to facilitate the mission we have agreed upon. I shall expect this to be the same fromyou.”

I thought of the way he’d smiled at me during our wedding, how his eyes had gone unaccountably soft and he’d held my arm during the procession afterward.

I’d be delusional to think it’d been anything more than an act, but somehow it stung just the same.

I tossed my veil behind my back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be counting down the days until this is over.”

“One month, in Ai’long’s time.”

“One month,” I echoed.

It occurred to me then that the success of our arrangement was just as vital to him as it was to me.

Elang had plenty at stake: servants who relied on him, the future of his kingdom, and—obviously—his own life.

Realizing this didn’t make me like him more or feel better about what we had to do, but at least we had an understanding.

We were two people forced together.

By fate, by ill luck, by choice, it didn’t matter.

The procession was over, and the carriage rounded back toward Elang’s manor.

We didn’t say a word to each other the rest of the ride.