Page 24

I was lying on a cloud, lazy beams of sunshine tickling my cheeks.

This had to be heaven, I thought—until I opened myeyes.

Bubbles of air trailed out of my mouth as I jolted up.

I was still in Ai’long, and sitting on a sponge-soft divan, long enough for an eel.

Turquoise flames capered from a pot at my side, warmth that I hadn’t felt in days, and a blanket had been folded over my legs and feet.

Draped around my shoulders was a familiar white cloak, its hood tucked over my head.

Across from me, carrying a bucket and a scrubbing brush, was Elang.

He wore spectacles, the same pair I’d noticed on his desk in Gangsun.

They were brass and round and sat awkwardly on the ridge of his nose—slightly too big for his human eye and too small for the dragon one.

I liked them.

“You really have a death wish, don’t you?” he said, in lieu of a greeting.

“Didn’t I tell you to go back into the castle?”

I threw off my hood.

“If I’d listened to you, Mailoh would’ve died.”

“Mailoh was bait.”

“That doesn’t change the fact she was in trouble.”

Elang bit back a retort and touched my forehead.

His fingers were warm, chasing away the residual chill inside me.

“You were in trouble too.”

The words were chiding, and yet, from the stack of books at his side, the empty cups of tea lining the table, and the lines creasing his brow, I sensed he’d been waiting a long time for me to wake up.

That he’d been…

worried.

“Is she all right?” I asked.

“She’s resting.” Elang’s voice lost some of its edge.

“Her shell was cracked. It will need healing. But yes, she’ll be all right.”

I exhaled in relief.

Slowly I sat up, tugging off my cloak, which Elang caught before it floated away.

“Where’s Shani?”

“In her ring,” said Elang.

His jaw tensed.

“You encountered my grandfather in the Fold. What did he say to you?”

I sobered.

“No surprise, he doesn’t believe we’re a blissfully wedded couple—he asked me why I’m here.” I bit down on my lip as my chest pinched from remembering.

“He offered me my father back…if I told him.”

“You didn’t,” said Elang.

“Obviously not,” I retorted.

“You dragons don’t exactly have a reputation for being honest and honorable. It’s bad enough I made a deal with you. I’d be an idiot to trust the actual Dragon King. Besides…” I inhaled through my nose.

“Besides, I got something out of him. Now I know that my father’s here.”

Elang said nothing and merely dipped his cloak in a bucket, which wasn’t a surprise.

He was heartless, after all.

I peeled off my blanket, rather pleased with myself when I didn’t start floating off the divan.

As I got my bearings, I became aware of the bandages on my arms, the ointment soothing cuts I didn’t even know I’d gotten.

The bowls of soup gone cold at my side, the floating plate of steamed buns.

Even my umbrella, which I’d dropped in the Fold, had been washed and was hooked against the arm of my chair.

“Thank you,” I said then, quietly.

“I can’t have you dying.” Elang scrubbed at his cloak.

“There’s no time to find another human who can paint.”

I stifled the urge to make a face.

Every time I started to think he might not be so bad, he found a way to make me reconsider.

I stuffed a bun into my mouth, appeasing the grumble of my belly, then I observed my surroundings: a circular room with a pinched ceiling and honeycomb walls sparsely decked with books and scrolls.

A litter of crumpled papers spontaneously drifted about, and a pair of towels hung from two of the floating sconces, dangling like flabby jowls.

“I didn’t see this room on my tour,” I remarked while I chewed.

“A bit messy to be yours, isn’t it?”

Elang set down his cloak.

“This is the library.”

“There aren’t many books.”

“The rest are in your room or still in Gangsun.” His tone was curt.

“You recall that I was in exile.”

“You brought back your tea. Mailoh mentioned your secret stash.”

“Tea is different. It needs to be consumed.”

“So no art either?” I pressed.

“You had quite the collection.”

“I forgot how many questions you ask.” He reached for the pot simmering on the hearth.

Before offering me a bowl, he presented a dreaded vial of sangi.

“Drink this first.”

I recoiled.

“For someone with a dragon’s nose, I don’t see how you stand this smell.”

“Humans smell worse.”

“Even me?”

A flicker pleated Elang’s brow; he clearly missed the hours I’d been unconscious.

“Just drink.”

“Humans aren’t all that bad, you know,” I said.

“We invented noodles and silk and porcelain. And we discovered tea, your favorite.”

“The immortals discovered tea.”

“There’s no proof of that.”

“Don’t debate history with a dragon, Lady Saigas. It isfact.”

“Then why do you drink human tea?”

Elang turned back to his cloak.

“Because I am not permitted to drink in the presence of the gods, let alone partake of their tea.”

Oh.

That silenced me, and out of penitence, I finished my sangi in one gulp.

“Now, this,” said Elang.

A marble bowl floated my way, bubbling with a tawny orange liquid.

“Another potion?” I asked.

“I’ve wasted enough magic on you. What else is there to enchant?”

“It could be a love potion,” I said archly.

“Might make acting as your wife a bit easier.”

Elang wasn’t amused.

“Drink. Be careful, it’s still hot.”

Hot was an understatement—it was practically boiling.

Cautiously, I brought the bowl to my lips.

Medicinal soups were bitter, so I grimaced in anticipation.

But this was sweet.

Almost pleasant.

“Ginger, codonopsis root, red dates,” I murmured.

All ingredients to help blood circulation and improve healing.

I wondered—but I didn’t dare ask—if he’d brewed such a soup especially for me.

“And a dash of turmeric.”

Elang looked vaguely impressed.

“You have training as an herbalist.”

“Hardly,” I said.

“My mother used to make me drink all sorts of concoctions to try turning my hair black again.” I warmed my hands around the bowl.

“Sometimes I’d get sick, and I’d have to drink a soup like this to feel better.”

“What was wrong with leaving your hair blue?”

“I think she was worried. The neighborhood children would spit at me whenever I passed. One girl even tried to burn my hair off.”

The hint of a frown clouded Elang’s face.

“Don’t tell me you let them get away with it.”

“I didn’t.” I hid a smile behind my spoon.

“I punched that girl in the face. Quite sure I broke her nose. She left me alone after that.”

“Do you still wish to change your hair?”

“I never did.”

He turned back to his bucket and scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain.

“Good.”

Good?

What did he mean by that?

While I drank and pondered, Elang dipped the garment for one last rinse, then gave a satisfied grunt.

It was a strange thing to witness, the half dragon laundering a cloak in the middle of his library, and the sight brought an unexpected warmth to my heart.

“You really care about that cloak,” I remarked.

“I’ve had it a long time.” Elang gave it a final wring.

“Here, you wear it.”

“Me?” I balked.

“No…no. I’d get it dirty.”

“Then I’d wash it again. Keep it, you need it more than I.”

I accepted the cloak into my arms.

The cloth was softer than it looked, and I resisted hugging it against my chest.

“Aren’t you worried I’ll steal it?”

“You’re a forger, not a thief.”

“Some would argue those are one and the same.”

“They’re not to you,” he said.

My pulse fluttered.

It was simply his way of speaking, as though everything were fact, yet the certainty in his voice took me aback.

It was true, they weren’t.

But how could Elang have known that?

I leaned against the wall, running my fingers down a long crack.

“You know, sometimes I feel like I’ve met you before.”

Elang pushed his spectacles up his nose.

“That’s not possible.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed.

“But it’s a little coincidental, isn’t it? Me falling into your garden when you were looking for a painter with Sight?”

Elang retrieved the blankets I’d discarded, taking a sudden interest in folding them into a neat stack.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know.” I found the red string around my wrist.

I hadn’t paid much attention to it at our wedding, but now I noticed a black thread braided into the center knot, as subtle as a strand of hair.

I tipped my head back against my divan.

“Maybe instead of us pretending to like each other, we could try to be friends. It’d make all the smiling less agonizing. I’ve been told I grow on people—like moss.” I hesitated.

“Gaari made it up. The friend you helped me—”

“I remember. What did he say?”

I stared into my tea.

The memory was over a year old, but still clear in my mind.

“Who would have thought a clumsy thief like you would grow on me, Saigas?” Gaari had said to me with a chuckle.

“You’re like moss, you know.”

“You’re likening me to a weed?”

I finished the rest of my tea in one gulp.

“He said, ‘Moss is better than a weed. It brightens up the world with its presence, and flourishes even when all is against it.’?”

Elang considered this.

“He must have thought highly ofyou.”

“He was a good friend,” I said softly.

There was no point in feeling sorry for what had happened to Gaari.

He wouldn’t want that.

Still, it took effort for me to muster a smile.

“How about it, Prince Elang? Friends, from now on?” I refilled my teacup and raised it to him.

“You can even call me moss if you want.”

He looked at me blankly.

“That endearment you asked for.” I shrugged a shoulder, but I was smiling.

“I still can’t think of anything else.”

“Moss,” Elang repeated.

The faintest smile lifted the corners of his lips.

It was nothing short of enchantment, how such a simple shift changed his face entirely, taming away its beastliness.

I didn’t even realize I was staring.

He did.

Suddenly my reflection blinked out of his eyes, and that hint of a smile vanished.

He drew himself tall, as if recalling where he was, and with whom.

“Make no mistake,” he said, taking a colder tone than I’d heard in days.

“I endure your company for the sake of Yonsar. Any notion of befriending a human is offensive to my senses.”

I felt my cheeks flame with indignation.

So much for the strongest bridge being made of truth.

I retracted my hand.

“Why even bother pretending if it’s all a lie?” I said.

“The soup, the dinners—”

“There will be no dinner until you resume your duties,” he spoke over me.

He sounded actually cross.

“You forget, Lady Saigas, that you are only here because by some forgery of fate, you seem to be capable of the impossible.” He drew out his words.

“The fall of the Dragon King.”

The water felt suddenly cold.

“In the future, should you choose to disregard my warnings and put our mission at risk, your family will pay the consequences.” His gaze narrowed.

“Now, I advise you get back to work.”

Leaving me utterly speechless, he left the room.