Page 29

Little buds of flowers and seagrass began to bloom in the garden, and the sands in the Court of Celestial Harmony shone, bringing a gentle radiance to the heart of the castle.

Peace had come to Yonsar, a period of uninterrupted calm during which I was at my most productive.

In the mornings, I mixed colors and painted, then for lunch, I joined Kunkoi in the kitchen and made noodles by hand—a routine I began as a respite from my grueling lessons with Shani.

The demon was impossible to please, but I’d finally graduated to drawing Nazayun’s full body.

I did my most fastidious work, spending hours on the light that reflected off his scales.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was lacking.

When I’d painted my vision of Elang, he had practically flown off the page, so real I could hear the whir of his tail before it splashed into the sea.

I didn’t feel the same way about Nazayun.

“It’s his scales,” Shani pointed out.

“The color is off.”

“I know,” I said.

All week I’d been mixing paints, trying to re-create the proper shade—but none came close to capturing the brilliance of Nazayun’s tyrannical hide.

“A god can’t be painted with ordinary colors. It has to be something special.” She flicked a fin in the direction of my hair.

“You could use these blue ragweeds on top of your head.”

“You mean my hair?”

“You’re not a mermaid, it wouldn’t be a sacrifice for you to go bald.”

I glared.

“Even if I could make a dye out of my hair, I don’t have enough.”

“Alas.” The demon dangled her tail off my back, swinging it left and right.

“Then ask Elang’anmi.”

Ask Elang?

I hesitated a beat too long.

“What’s the matter?” Shani leaned forward with a whiff of conspiracy.

“Your pulse just sped up three beats. Have you got a crush?”

I shoved her off my shoulder.

“No!”

“Good.” Shani floated, her tone thick with warning.

“Because I wouldn’t fall in love with Elang’anmi if I were you. You’ll only be disappointed.”

“I know that,” I said.

I stuffed a brush into my sleeve, purposefully snubbing the pocket Elang had conjured.

Since coming back from Nanhira, he had become even colder than before; he barely acknowledged me during our dinners together.

Every time I so much as sat next to him, he’d pull away to the seat across.

I learned to bring a book, but behind its pages I’d secretly study him.

There was more to this surly half dragon than I’d realized.

I was used to attributing his hot and cold behavior to the act we had to put on, though lately it had become hazy what was for show and what was not.

I found Elang in his library, delivering a lecture about thorns and pruning-knife technique.

His only disciple was Kunkoi, who sat before a jug of dark, bubbling sangi, stifling a yawn.

As I entered, the merman’s head bobbed up.

“Lady Saigas is here,” he announced, taking my presence as an excuse to rise.

He scooped up a small jar of green peppers from the table.

“Look what was found this morning.”

“My snake eyes!” I cried.

“I thought I lost them in theFold.”

“They washed into the dunes,” explained Kunkoi.

“I was trying to convince His Lord Highness to grow them in the garden so I could distill their poison into a weapon against intruders. Unfortunately, he didn’t approve of the idea.”

Elang cleared his throat.

“Rightly so,” I said, ignoring Elang.

“They’re peppers—they’re not poisonous.”

“Not poisonous? I ate one and nearly died.”

“You mean, you saw a glimpse of heaven,” I teased.

“Trust me, it’s not so bad. I’ll make you noodles with chili sauce for lunch. That’ll change your mind—”

“That’s enough,” Elang interrupted with a growl.

He hurled a bundle of thorned sanheia into Kunkoi’s arms.

“Bring these to the storeroom.”

The merman blinked, looking rather hopeful.

“Does that mean the lesson is over?”

“Go. Now.”

Faster than a sailfish, Kunkoi somersaulted off.

Once Elang and I were alone, the half dragon became preoccupied with washing an assortment of vials and flasks.

I swam up to help.

“Don’t touch anything,” he said, pushing the bowls away from my reach.

“Some of the ingredients are still active. You might contaminate the potion.”

“Sorry.” I pursed my lips.

“Were you teaching Kunkoi how to make sangi?”

“Attempting to teach.”

I sent Elang a curious look.

“First Queen Haidi, now Kunkoi? Soon it won’t be your precious secret anymore.”

“It was never meant to be a secret. I only kept it one to protect Ai’long. But soon I’ll need others to carry it on.”

“In case you decide to become a whale?” I joked.

He didn’t smile.

“Yes, well…half dragons don’t live forever.”

My humor faded.

Elang had turned his back to me and was corking the flask of bubbling sangi to cool.

“I’m busy, as you can see. What brings you here? Have you had a vision?”

“I’ve had a tingle.”

“And?”

“I need paint,” I said, steering the conversation away from my Sight.

“I’ve been working on sketches for Nazayun’s portrait, and the blue’s not right.”

“You cannot start the portrait without a vision,” said Elang crisply.

“Why not? Have you seen your grandfather? It’ll take weeks to paint him, and I’m halfway through my time here. I need to get started.”

As usual, Elang wasn’t going to provide a useful explanation.

“If you haven’t had a premonition, then your presence here is unnecessary. Dinner isn’t for several hours.”

My husband, ever the pleasant conversationalist.

I gritted my teeth, striving to be patient.

“I need more paint,” I tried again.

“Look.”

From inside my sleeve, I pulled out my latest sketch of Nazayun and unrolled the parchment.

“I’ve tried everything, but I can’t mix the right shade of blue for his scales. Maybe if you’ve got some pea flower tea in that treasury of yours, I could try it.”

“What treasury?”

“That secret room where you keep your teas and maps and demons know what else.”

“You went through my crates? There’s a reason that gallery is hidden.”

I crossed my arms, vexed by his vexed tone.

“Do I look like I’ve had time to hunt through your tea tins? I probably should have, given how difficult you’re making this.”

“Let me see that.” With a grunt, Elang took my sketch.

He adjusted his spectacles and studied it silently.

“The color’s too dull,” he said at last.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

Elang wouldn’t let go of the sketch.

“What is he looking at?” he asked, pointing at Nazayun’s head.

“His eyes are cast skyward.”

Were they?

I’d painted Nazayun perched upon a cliff, claws digging into the rock, his tail lolling behind him in a series of bounding hills.

I’d shaped him like the mountains themselves, so that from a distance, you had to look twice to see that he was a dragon.

“I pictured this as the moment he finds out that he’s been defeated,” I replied.

“So he’s looking up at—”

“The moon,” Elang and I said at the same time.

We were side by side, our elbows almost touching, and he hadn’t moved away.

“I see you made the composition of his body like a landscape,” he murmured.

“It almost feels like a deception.”

“I’ve always liked hiding secret meanings in my art.”

“Clever. You’ve improved.”

“Thank you,” I replied over the skip in my heart.

It was rare to get a compliment from Elang, even one as grudging as this.

He straightened, returning the sketch to me in one terse gesture.

“I’ll source the paint for you by the end of this week.”

“I’ll need at least a cask-full.”

“Let that be my concern, not yours.”

His tone had become thick, making it clear I was dismissed.

Just to irk him, I stayed on.

“There’s sand on your shoulder,” I said, dusting it off.

It was black, rocky sand, not the star-shaped stuff found in the Court of Celestial Harmony.

“Did you venture into the Fold this morning?”

“Only to hunt for spies.” He paused for a fraction of a second.

“Your chilis were found along the journey.”

I twisted open the jar.

“You say that with such disdain. Is there no hope of a pepper garden in the castle?”

Elang’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you know how the character for spice is built?”

“No.”

Using his finger, he wrote the character on his palm.

“A bouquet of suffering. I think Yonsar has suffered quite enough.”

He said it deadpan, but still I gave a snort.

“That only means you haven’t had the proper experience. I’ll show you.”

I picked a few peppers from the jar.

“Snake eyes are so fragrant that you can rub their husks on your palm and smell it on the back of your hand.” I demonstrated and inhaled, taking in every note: the toasty husks, the crisp tang of citrus, the woody undertone that rushed up the back of my nose.

“Try.”

Elang humored me by rubbing a chili on his palm.

He sniffed, carefully.

He seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Isn’t it amazing?”

“ Amazing is not the word I’d choose. I think my nose has gone numb.”

It was true; both sides of his nose had turned red.

My hand jumped to my mouth.

“I should’ve warned you it might tingle. It’ll sting less once you build up a tolerance. Try again.”

“I think you’ve discovered a new form of torture,” he said, but he rolled the pepper across his palm a second time, more slowly and intently than before.

“I thought you were from the South. Where do you get this love of spice?”

My breath caught in my throat.

The question brought about a rush of melancholy—and déjà vu—that I couldn’t quite place.

“My father,” I replied belatedly.

“Snake-eye peppers were his favorite—he used to pick them fresh off the trees when he was a boy in Balar.”

“They’re not A’landan?”

“A’landans would tell you they are, but they stole the seeds from Balar and started trading them for profit on the Spice Road. They’d pay people like my father to shuttle them across the continent.” I rolled the chilis on my palm.

“Sometimes Baba would sneak a handful to bring home. We’d eat them with dinner, then he’d crush any leftovers into paint.” I smashed a chili between my nails and showed Elang the powdery smear on my finger.

“He’d say this made for the exact green of the mountains in his hometown.”

It was a memory I’d never shared before, and a lump rose to my throat.

“He promised to take me one day.”

Elang said nothing, but he brought the pepper to his nose once more.

He inhaled, deeper than before, and closed his eyes.

“Maybe you could put it in my soup,” he said slowly, “a pinch at a time. I think then, over a period, I might grow accustomed to it.”

Scourge of Saino, what was it about Elang that made me want to slap him one minute, then kiss him the next?

He was growing on me.

He saw my smile.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Most definitely. But it’s too late, the seas heard you agree.”

“So they did.” He started to laugh, then his eyes snapped up, his wide brow furrowing.

“Do you hear that? A wrinkle in the current…”

I felt it as soon as he mentioned it.

Instinct had me grab Elang by the arm, pulling him behind a pillar—an instant before a jellyfish exploded into the library, barbs shooting out of its tentacles.

They fired fast as raindrops, piercing into the thick folds of my cloak.

With a whip of his tail, Elang seized the creature.

Fresh barbs shot out, ripping past his arms as he clawed through the jellyfish, restraining its head in his fist.

“Who let you through the wards?” he demanded.

Light pulsed through the jellyfish’s head, accelerating until there was a brilliant flash.

I shielded my eyes with my sleeve.

When I looked again, the creature had gone limp.

It was dead.

“What did it say?” I asked shakily.

“Nothing.” Elang pulled out a barb from his torso with a grunt.

Kunkoi found us rushing into the hall, Mailoh at his side.

He spoke rapidly, and I only caught the words sanheia and Caisan before Elang’s spine went rigid and I heard him curse for the first time.

His rage manifested in the water, which roiled under my feet, so fierce I worried he might knock down a wall.

As soon as he noticed, he closed his fists and drew himself tall.

The waves receded.

“Where is Caisan?” he asked in a low growl.

“In your personal quarters,” replied Mailoh, nervously gesturing down to where the hall tapered off.

“Shanizhun’s subdued him.”

“You may go. I’ll take care of it from here.”

I felt sorry for the turtles who paddled out of our way as if their lives depended on it.

Elang hurried to his quarters, and I followed.

Inside was General Caisan.

Unconscious.

Shani hovered above him, invoking a shimmering mantle of floating beads.

Within each one was a memory, and Shani’s eyes shone like I’d never seen before, a deep, hypnotic red.

“Here’s your spy.” She called forth a bead.

“He let the jellyfish into the castle while you were brewing sangi.”

I felt myself pale.

Elang had trusted Caisan to monitor Yonsar’s wards.

Why betray that trust?

It didn’t make sense.

“Why did they come?” I said.

“The jellyfish—were they trying to kill Elang?”

“They were looking for something,” replied Elang, whose eyes didn’t leave Caisan.

“Something I’ve kept hidden for a long time.”

His voice was low, but if the betrayal still aggrieved him, he did not show it.

“Return the memories to the general.”

Shani protested, “What—”

“Do as I say.”

The demon muttered under her breath, but she obeyed.

She swam around Caisan, flinging the beads of his memories back into his mind.

“Take General Caisan to the keep,” Elang ordered her.

“I’ll deal with him later.”

While Shani took Caisan away, I surveyed Elang’s chambers.

Weeks into our “marriage,” I’d still never been invited here.

It felt more like a vagabond’s quarters than a prince’s.

Only one bookshelf, a wide bed with a blue quilt, an empty vase that looked rather forlorn.

I rifled through a chest, looking for a spare cloth.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Did I give you permission to go through my—”

“You’re bleeding. You need a bandage.”

“That isn’t urgent right now.” Elang pulled me up, lifting me above a mess of ripped scrolls and overturned chests.

Sanheia flowers floated everywhere.

Their stems were snapped, the petals shriveled up like flakes of black snow.

I almost didn’t dare to ask: “The sangi, is it—”

“Destroyed.” Elang held up a single rose.

“This is all that’s left. Barely enough to make a day’s supply.” He crumbled the petals in his hand, trying to hold in his anger.

“The dose you took this morning was the last I’d prepared.”

Its bitterness still lingered on my lips.

“Why would Caisan let in the patrols?”

“I’ve told you before, not everyone in this castle can be trusted.”

“Surely, he had a reason.” I frowned.

Caisan was far from my favorite creature in Yonsar, but I’d thought him loyal.

As if he could read my thoughts, Elang said, “I never said anyone in this castle was disloyal. A spy can be bribed, they can be coerced.” His jaw drew tight.

“Sometimes they act because they have no choice.”

“You think he was threatened?”

“I don’t know.” His expression was grim, and he reached into a chest for a satchel, then swung it over his head.

“I’ll question him when I return.”

“Return?” My eyes widened with realization.

“You’re leaving!”

“I’ve no choice but to go to Gangsun. You need sangi.”

“Then I’m coming too.”

“You will stay.” He was firm.

“This is what Nazayun wants—for you to abandon the safety of the castle.”

“But my family—”

“Will only be endangered by your presence. You have to focus on our mission.”

My heart clenched.

I hated that he was right.

I missed Mama and my sisters so much.

“What about you?” I took his arm.

“You…you’re hurt.”

As I spoke, I saw just how hurt.

I gently rotated his arm, not letting go when he twisted away.

I could see the angry red cuts the barbs had left.

Worse yet, across his back was a gruesome network of scars.

Lacerations and slash marks, like one got from a fight, and deeper, shorter cuts…

as though someone had tried to gouge out his scales.

Most of the scars looked old, faded over years—except for a wound below his left shoulder.

It was still pink, still deep and malicious.

Almost certainly from being recently stabbed.

“Who did this to you?” I asked.

“Various assassins” was his brusque reply.

“They’re nothing.”

“The barbs—”

“Forgive me, Tru.” He shook my hand off his arm.

“But every second I linger here is valuable time onshore. Keep close to Shani and don’t leave the castle.”

He touched his spectacles, and a mask materialized in their place.

He pressed it to his face.

I hadn’t seen him wear the mask in weeks.

It seemed to sever the fragile friendship we had built together, leaving us strangers once more.

“I’ll tell your family you said hello,” he said.

And without another word, he was gone.