Page 28

We had supper with Haidi and her court, where a generous helping of every dish found its way into my bowl, leaving me fit to burst.

The goblets were carved of aquamarine, the wine was briny and smooth.

Braids of lotus dangled from the walls.

After the meal, musicians sang and played lutes made out of shells, a concert of plaintive melodies that I sorely wished I could memorize as well as I learned faces.

Then there was dancing.

I’d never been gifted with rhythm or grace, but a mermaid thrust a ribboned fan in my hand, and soon I found myself somersaulting up to the ceilings, heady with laughter.

Every time I looked down, Kunkoi was flirting with someone new, and Elang…

Elang sat in a corner the whole time, spectacles on, reading a book.

He was the subject of many stares, and I was equally worried that someone might throw a knife at him as ask him to dance.

Weeks with him now, and I still couldn’t guess which would invite the worse reaction.

Once or twice, I caught him watching me, lips twisted in a grimace.

He’d look away immediately, but it was obvious he was annoyed.

I wasn’t looking forward to when we’d have to be alone.

At last the merfolk tired of revelry, and it was time for rest.

Elang and I were shown down a long and winding hall, to our room.

My stomach twisted the entire way.

After what’d happened during our trial earlier, I pictured we’d be given the traditional newlyweds’ chamber, an intimate space dressed in matrimonial red, with scrolls of romantic poetry hanging on every wall, and so many flowers that I’d sneeze.

The very thought of Elang and me locked in such a place for the night made my cheeks burn.

Thank Amana our room was enormous.

At least three times the size of my cave in Yonsar, with no canopy over the bed, no poetry on the walls, and only a simple bouquet of water lilies on the tables.

I thanked our guide excessively before he swam away, thinking I’d had too much to drink.

Then Elang and I were alone.

“I hope that kiss didn’t catch you off guard,” I blurted, unable to help myself.

“I would have asked first. I should have asked first.”

Elang took off his spectacles.

He looked tired.

“Don’task.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“A wife wouldn’t ask her husband if she could kiss him. She’d simply do it.”

How did he do that—pretend like nothing had happened?

It was an act, I reminded myself.

Elang knew that as well as I did.

Yet try as I might, I couldn’t forget the sharp flutter in my stomach.

That undertone of desperation and urgency when our lips had met, as though he’d wanted the kiss as much as I had.

And then there was that ghost of a pulse I’d felt in his chest…

.

“Oh,” I said belatedly.

Now I was embarrassed I’d been embarrassed.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and awkward.

Was he staying here tonight?

Neither of us dared broach the topic of sleeping arrangements, and as I unhooked my cloak, Elang observed outside the window.

“Look outside. Nanhira occupies higher waters than Yonsar; you can see the moon fromhere.”

The moon.

Once I found it, I couldn’t stop staring.

Round and full, its appearance was magnified by the lens of the sea.

“It’s like a pearl,” I murmured.

“I used to think it was mine, when I was a boy. I’d climb every dune and rock I could and try to reach it.”

It wasn’t often that he spoke about his past.

I lowered my guard, just a little.

“The Sages say when the moon is brightest, so is your longing for home,” I said.

“I finally understand what they meant.”

“Your heart is your home,” we spoke, almost at the same time.

I looked at him in surprise, but he’d turned off to the side.

He changed the topic.

“Shanizhun tells me you’ve been staying up late every night to paint.”

I tilted my head.

“What else does she tell you?”

“That you’ve gotten better at painting dragons. That Kunkoi’s been flirting with you.”

“Are you jealous?”

“If I were jealous, he wouldn’t be snoring like thunder across the hall. He’d be shark bait.”

I laughed.

Elang could be funny, maybe even charming, when he wanted to.

“I should check on Kunkoi,” he said.

“He has a weakness for wine, and he surely imbibed in excess tonight. I might need to stay with him until morning.”

It was an excuse to let me have the room alone, and I appreciated it.

But as he turned to leave, my hand went up to my butterfly pendant.

“Will you tell me the story of Lady Liayin and the shepherd before you go?”

Elang twisted back, uncertainty furrowing his brow.

“Now?”

“I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know what happens to them,” I confessed.

“I’m not good at telling stories.”

“Try your best.”

To my surprise, he sat on the chair opposite the bed.

“It’s a famous story in Ai’long, the tale of Liayin,” he began.

“She spun silk unlike any other. A gown woven when she was happy would bring its wearer great luck. A sash spun when she was angry might become a ward against demons. There was a war between the merfolk and dragons back then, and as Liayin’s reputation spread, her parents sought to marry her off to a heavenly prince in exchange for aid from the gods.”

Elang’s words settled into a steady cadence.

“She became betrothed to the Crown Prince himself—a high honor. But Liayin did not wish to wed a stranger. And so, night after night, she rose to the surface, where she could weep alone and unseen. Her tears became pearls, and as they washed away with the tides, she had an idea. Rather than let them go to waste, she gathered the pearls in a kelp net and ferried them to shore, where a young shepherd later chanced upon them. He shared the pearls with his village, but he would not say where he had found them. Instead, he waited patiently on the shore until Liayin at last returned, weeping as before.

“When he worked up the courage to approach her, she leapt back into the sea.

But he played his flute, so sweetly that she couldn’t help but listen.

She returned, and slowly the two became friends.

They fell in love.

”

I leaned forward.

I’d always loved a good love story.

“Months passed, and as Liayin’s marriage to the Crown Prince approached, she and the shepherd decided to run away together. One night she cut her hair so that no one from home might find or follow her. With the last of her magic, she transformed her tail into legs.

“She married the shepherd and lived happily among humans for many years.

But one day, her children found the silk robes she had woven.

They were too radiant for the mortal world, and when her daughter brought them out of Liayin’s hiding place, a crab on the beach spied them.

The next day, when Liayin went to the river to gather water, the merfolk dragged her back into Ai’long.

”

I drew in a thin breath when Elang paused.

“Don’t tease me like that. That can’t be the end.”

He almost smiled, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Her husband and her children searched for her for years. Finally they came to a temple dedicated to worshipping the sea, where her children prayed for their mother to return. While they prayed, luminous pearls showered upon their heads. They were Liayin’s tears, aglow with her love.

“The king and queen of Nanhira took pity on her and said that if she could weave a cloth that would surround and protect the merfolk realm, then they would allow her to be with her mortal husband and children again.

It took her many years, but the strength of her love endured.

Liayin wove the Cloak of Nanhira, which still protects the merfolk realm today, impenetrable even for the Dragon King.

”

“Was she reunited with her family in the end?”

That was what mattered most to me, and I was relieved when Elang nodded.

“She returned to the mortal realm, where they lived happily for the rest of their days.”

“I like that story,” I murmured.

“I’ll tell it to my sisterswhen I go home.”

“There’s a little more. At the end of the war, the merfolk sent Liayin’s tears to light Ai’long’s waters—as a gesture of peace. It is a tradition that has continued.”

“The Luminous Hour,” I remembered.

Mailoh had mentioned it on my first tour.

“It’s a few days before the Resonant Tide, isn’t it? That’s soon. Will it come to Yonsar?”

“I expect so.” His gaze shifted downward.

“I should like you to have one fond memory of your time here, before yougo.”

What a strange thing for him to say.

“My time here hasn’t been all bad,” I allowed.

I tickled the moss in my hair.

“Some things are growing on me. The garden, the clothes, Shani, even.”

One sprig came undone and started to float away, but Elang caught it.

“Moss isn’t your favorite flower, is it?”

“Moss isn’t a flower. You should know that.”

“What about chrysanthemums, then? Lilies? Orchids?”

“Waterbells,” I replied.

“The New Year flowers?” His brow pinched.

“Because the bells look like gold ingots?”

I laughed.

That was why A’landans bought them during New Year’s, to welcome prosperity into their homes.

“I find them interesting because they’re born in the dark, yet only bloom in the light. Seeing them reassures me that better times are ahead. Besides, they’re never anyone’s favorite.”

“Not like peonies.”

Everyone always says their favorite flowers are peonies, I’d told my sisters on the day I’d left for Ai’long.

I’d been certain Elang had been eavesdropping, and he had.

I hid my amusement.

“When I was little, I used to think their bells made music, and if you rang them, golden coins would come sprinkling out of the petals. I even tried to grow a garden of them because I thought I’d make my family rich. But we Saigas sisters all have the killing touch when it comes to plants.”

Elang was quiet for a moment.

“It helps to talk to them,” he said.

“The flowers.”

“Is that your secret to growing sanheia?” I teased.

“What do you talk to them about?”

The faintest smile bloomed across his lips.

Then he said, “It’s late. Even half dragons have to sleep.”

He didn’t look tired.

His yellow eye burned like a torch, and moonlight caught in the other, turning its gray into silver.

There was something familiar about that one.

Usually it was dark, resembling smoke from a flame blown out.

But under the glaze of the evening tides, it was different.

Paler.

I couldn’t shake the sense that I’d seen it somewhere before—a specter of the past.

Impossible, I told myself, pushing the thought away.

Yet still it preyed on me, a small annoyance—like a pebble in my shoe.

“Good night, Tru,” he said, oblivious to my thoughts.

He placed the moss in my palm.

“Don’t stay up too late watching the moon.”

When I opened my hand, the sprig of moss had turned into a single waterbell, blue petals abloom.

I set it beside my bed with a smile.

“Good night.”

In the morning, we returned to Yonsar, accompanied by Queen Haidi.

I hadn’t expected a welcome party.

But it never crossed my mind that we’d face an ambush.

Sharks were everywhere, barring entry to the castle.

There were hundreds of them, sectioned into groups.

Swarms, I assumed, until I realized that they were divided into formations, tactically positioned for attack.

“Shells out!” Caisan hollered at his soldiers.

“Spears forward!”

Kunkoi immediately leapt forward to marshal the soldiers, followed by the merfolk who had accompanied us from Nanhira.

I started too, until Elang took my arm.

“Stay with Her Majesty,” he said, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“Please.”

I regarded him, my heart skipping a beat.

“Don’t look so disappointed, Lady Saigas,” said Queen Haidi, smiling at us.

“Your husband can fend for himself. Come withme.”

I followed her, but I kept looking worriedly over my shoulder.

The sharks had pinpointed Yonsar’s every weakness, from the cracks that had yet to be repaired to the injured turtles stacked on the Gate of a Thousand Shells.

From the looks of it, they’d begun their offense while we were away.

Again and again, they rammed the gate, each time ripping just a little deeper past Yonsar’s defenses.

“Let the soldiers do the fighting,” said Haidi.

“You have your own task.”

I turned to her, confused.

“What am I to do?”

“Ah, I take it Elangui didn’t explain. He requested that you be the one to speak to the seas.”

“Speak to the seas?” I repeated stupidly.

“Are they…alive?”

“Not quite.” She took my arm and drew me into higher waters, farther from the fray.

“As you know, the waters of Ai’long are enchanted. But the magic has no mind of its own, it takes no sides; it is simply here, as universal as air on land. Yet it is powerful magic—older than the gods themselves—magic that gave the Dragon King his pearl. And you, as the lady of the Westerly Seas, are connected to it.”

“Forgive me if I don’t understand,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means the seas will listen to you when you speak to them,” Haidi explained.

“They may not heed you, but they will hear you. Sometimes, that is all you need to change the tides.”

She passed me a swath of iridescent cloth, exquisite as a fragment of rainbow.

“I have woven this ward to protect Yonsar from the Dragon King’s wrath.”

I stared.

The cloth was barely wide enough to cover my shoulders.

Haidi acknowledged my disbelief with a nod.

“Yes, it may not look like much, but the threads are strong. Therein comes your part. You must appeal to the waters and ask them to disperse it across Yonsar.”

Appeal to the waters, she said, as though it were as easy as planting a seed.

“And if they don’t?” I asked.

“Help, I mean.”

Haidi’s calm was unflappable.

“Then today will be Yonsar’s last.”

I was starting to wish I’d eaten a second bowl of breakfast.

At least then my stomach wouldn’t be churning the way it was, with immense anxiety.

“What do I do?” I asked.

“Swim as high as you can,” said Haidi.

“Then plead your case to the seas.”

All right, it was a start.

After taking a deep breath, I jetted up high above the seafloor until I overlooked the castle.

A battle raged below, lashes of kelp whips and clangs of spears and swords disrupting the peace of Yonsar’s waters.

Each second I hesitated, the sharks advanced deeper.

I needed to hurry.

I had no idea how to speak to the seas or even make myself heard, so I simply swam upward, the silken ward shimmering in my arms.

I was nearly high enough to see the streaks of crimson in the tides, the mysterious auroras of light like an underwater sun.

Here, I slowed.

I listened.

The calamity of the battle below had grown distant, replaced by a low and constant hum.

It was gentle, yet persistent enough that it made my skin buzz.

I had never heard it before; then again, I’d never tried to listen.

Could this be the magic of Ai’long?

It was worth a try.

“Reverent waters,” I murmured, “I beseech you for aid. Yonsar is in danger, we are in need. Her Majesty Queen Haidi has woven this ward of merfolk silk to protect us. Please, accept it. Help us.”

I held out the bundle in my arms, as if I expected someone to come and take it from me.

But there was no response.

The sea was as still as it had been before I’d spoken, and the hum went on, unbroken.

The disappointment stung, and I hugged the silk to my chest.

Here I was, floating in the middle of the sea without a clue what to do next.

Below, I picked out Elang fighting among the sharks.

He ought to be the one appealing to the seas, not me.

I wasn’t raised here, I had no connection to Yonsar.

Or to Ai’long.

That’s not true, I thought.

I have Baba.

He’s here, waiting to be found.

He needs me, just as Yonsar does.

Elang had once said that the strongest bridge was made of truth.

Perhaps this was my chance to build that bridge—with Ai’long.

Reverent waters, I tried again.

This time, in my thoughts, I spoke plainly: You probably know already that I’m not truly Elang’s Heavenly Match—the only reason I’m pretending to be is because the Dragon King stole my father away, years ago when I was a little girl.

It’s been so long I can’t even remember the sound of his voice.

A lump hardened in my throat.

Now that I’m here, I see that I’m not the only one who’s suffered.

Yonsar is everything to Elang, and it’s come to mean something to me too.

I’m not asking you to take a side against the Dragon King, because I know that you cannot.

But if you can, please help us protect the Westerly Seas.

For a second time, I held out the merfolk silk, but I didn’t wait for the water to respond.

I let the silk drop from my arms, releasing it as though it were an offering.

Down it fluttered, graceful as a crane’s flight.

Beams of iridescent light appeared then, carried by a rippling wave, and they ferried the silk down, draping its gossamer threads upon the castle and the nearby mountains.

Suddenly I felt a heaviness in my body, making me sink back to where I’d started, at Haidi’s side.

My offering had been accepted, but the queen’s work had just begun.

The long ends of her hair fanned out, conducting the silken ribbons across Yonsar, twisting and spinning to guide them into place.

Then came the most splendorous magic.

The silk spun off into glittering ribbons, knitting itself through the castle’s stone walls, up and down, left and right.

No corner was forgotten, no window or eave neglected.

And its effect took place immediately.

Invisible barriers prevented the sharks from advancing.

The ones that were already past the gates were suddenly sent reeling back, stung by the power of the woven ward.

The turtles and merfolk chased them into the backwaters, and I let out a cheer.

“We did it,” I cried.

Merfolk surrounded the castle.

Echoing their queen, they touched their hair to the walls, and strands of shimmering magic traveled across the stone and marble, filling the cracks made by the storms.

Before long, the castle exuded a soft sheen of enchantment, and the turtles raised their spears in triumph.

They honked in celebration as the castle became whole once again, its crumbled walls at last repaired.

When the magic was complete, Haidi’s hair settled into a river behind her back.

Her body sagged from the effort, and I caught her arm, holding her upright before she lost her balance.

Queen Haidi cast me a startled frown, and I let go.

“I’m sorry—”

“No.” She smiled.

A true smile of warmth—and friendship.

“Thank you.”

“I—I should be thanking you, ” I stammered.

“We’re grateful…for everything that you’ve done.”

“You should be protected from future storms,” Haidi said.

“But be mindful, it will only last through the Resonant Tide. After that you will be at Nazayun’s mercy.”

“I understand,” I replied quietly.

Haidi and I had settled in front of the castle, and while I observed Yonsar’s forces gathering home, the queen observed me.

Her brow furrowed.

“Something is troubling you.”

“The Dragon King can make monsters out of squids and eels,” I said slowly.

“Why should he care so much about a mere half dragon like Elang?”

“A mere half dragon?” A tendril of Haidi’s hair brushed across her lips, lingering there as if it were passing a secret.

“Elang is more than that. He is a symbol of defiance, a creature who should never have been born.”

I didn’t understand.

“Dragons do not multiply easily; this is why they sometimes seek mates outside their kind. Merfolk, usually—and on rare occasions, humans. The late lord Ta’ginan did not follow the proper rites when he met Elang’s mother, and so your husband was born in secret, without King Nazayun’s blessing.”

“And because Elang didn’t have this blessing, Nazayun hates him?”

“That is part of it.” Haidi paused.

“Have you heard of the Eight and a Half Immortals?”

“I know of the Eight Immortals,” I replied.

“Not Eight and a Half.”

“There’s a legend—forgotten by most, immortals and mortals alike—that when a god is no longer deserving of their divinity, eight and a half immortals will come together, bringing forth nine celestial treasures. A hammer that strikes thunder, a mirror that casts lightning, a drum that summons rain, and so on. Together they will create a weapon so formidable that it will vanquish the unworthy god and strip away his power.” Haidi folded her hands.

“Nazayun believes that he is a target.”

“With good reason,” I muttered.

Then it occurred to me: “He thinks the half immortal is Elang.”

“Correct.” Haidi lowered her voice.

“Nazayun has been trying to kill Elang ever since he was born, but each attempt has been unsuccessful. He believes Elang is protected by the Eight Immortals. The mere possibility of a threat is unacceptable; that is why he cursed him.”

“Nazayun fears him.”

A nod.

“A fact that he tries to hide, lest it bring him loss of face in the dragon court. Even still, no one dares help Elang.”

“You dared,” I said softly.

Haidi made the barest nod.

“Ever vigilant, ever alone. That is what we used to say about the young lord of the Westerly Seas.” She touched my shoulder.

“I am glad he is not alone anymore, Lady Saigas.”

I couldn’t help the flush that warmed my cheeks.

I didn’t know what to say, so I simply nodded.

She lingered one last moment.

“You’ve spoken to the sea, now listen to it,” she said.

“This is the lesson my mother gave when I was chosen to rule. The waters will never lie to you.”

Haidi drew a deep breath, then let out a low keening sound, calling her people together.

The shimmering pool appeared once more, and the merfolk slipped inside, leaving as quietly as they had come.

I waited with the turtles until the merfolk departed and the seam between their world and ours knitted closed.

The fog in the waters was clearing, and in the distance, beyond the farthest corners of Yonsar, I could see the Floating Mountains for the first time.

Truly they were beautiful, like mountains spun straight out of a dream, suspended by enchanted threads.

Yet the most warming sight was Yonsar.

After my journey to Nanhira, I’d gained a new fondness for this solitary kingdom.

Yes, it was gray, its land barren and desolate, but what great painting did not begin on an empty page?

Even the most splendid of gardens arose from a hollow field.

I had faith Elang would see Yonsar bloom.

I slipped past the gates into the castle, the faintest premonition tingling down my fingertips.

Things had to get better from here, I was sure of it.