Page 32

I was in the kitchen, hand-rolling noodles for breakfast, when I felt the change in the water.

A rumble came from outside, followed by the sounds of a skirmish.

Shouts.

Spears clanking.

It didn’t last long.

Soon afterward was joyous celebration and an extra shimmer of warmth riding in the currents.

Elang was back.

I heard Mailoh fuss over him, her voice jumping an octave.

Meanwhile I slapped my raw noodles against the table, cutting them thin as ribbons.

My soup was near boiling.

That was how he found me, cooking with my back to the door.

“A little early for noodles, isn’t it?” he said when I didn’t turn around.

Gaari had adored noodles for breakfast, a memory that only fueled my anger.

I bunched the dough together and made a sharp slice across.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Elang drew closer behind me.

“I have the sanheia,” he said, sounding worried.

“Give me a moment to prepare it.”

I clanged the lid back onto my pot and turned to regard him.

He looked tired.

His eyes were duller, his scales less vibrant.

Any other day, I would have asked whether he was hurt, but I was in an arch mood.

I inclined my head to the bundle under his arm, wrapped in cheerful red paper.

“That doesn’t look like sanheia,” I remarked.

“I brought gifts from your family. I told your sisters how much you hate taking sangi, so they sent something to sweeten the ordeal.”

He unwrapped a box of fresh dragonbeard candy—a dozen frothy white cocoons of sugar and peanuts, neatly packed.

One piece was missing.

“Nomi offered me some,” he explained.

He must have been drunk on air, for he actually smiled.

“I was curious because of the name. It’s a horrible name for a candy.”

Did you like it?

I almost asked, but I bit my tongue just in time.

Elang didn’t like sweets.

Also in the bundle was a tin of dried peppercorns, three knotty bulbs of ginger, and other food items from Mama, who clearly worried I wasn’t eating enough.

I folded the gifts back into the paper, my heartstrings growing tight.

I could practically smell home: the sandalwood from the incense Fal liked to burn, the first frost on the larch trees, the oil from Mama’s cooking.

“How are they?”

“Your family is well,” said Elang.

“But I suspect they’re growing bored. Your mother tried to get me to play tiles withher.”

“Did you?”

Elang was still smiling.

He was in an oddly cheerful mood.

Playing tiles with my mother?

Did he think we were actually married?

He probably cheats, I thought, simmering alongside mypot.

“Did you have noodles when you were back?” I asked crisply.

“You were away nearly a week in the mortal realm, and there are exceptional noodles in Gangsun.”

“I only ate at home,” he replied.

“Your sisters were full of news I’m to relay to you.”

My breath hitched.

“Did they write?”

“They wanted to, but I couldn’t risk the patrols finding any letters. I’ll share their stories at dinner.”

Dinner.

Never before had he anticipated eating together except to inquire about my visions.

Why was he different today?

Were I a bit more delusional, I might have thought he’d missed me.

I seized a long coil of kelp, dropping it purposefully into my broth.

“You should rest,” he said obliviously.

A basket of roses had arrived in the kitchen, and he unloaded them onto a table.

“Don’t be alarmed if your gills start feeling tight—we still have a little while. I’ll have the sangi brought to you as soon as it’s ready—”

“When were you going to tell me that you were Gaari?” I interrupted.

I relished the way his back went rigid.

The way his two faces folded, the cautious joy of his mood vanquished.

He said, quietly, “You found the paintings.”

“I found everything.”

He inhaled through his nose.

I’d pictured his reaction a hundred different ways.

Him locking me in the dungeon with Caisan, ordering Shani to erase my memories, even shifting into Gaari and laughing in my face.

But I did not picture him looking relieved.

“I’m glad,” he said.

“You’re glad?” I repeated, my voice rising.

“Is that all you can say? You made me think he was dead! You made me think Puhkan sank a knife into his chest.”

“He did,” Elang said, picking up a rose and nicking off its thorns.

“I have the scar to show for it.”

I remembered that odious scar.

When I’d first seen it, I couldn’t imagine what might pierce a dragon’s scales.

But if Elang had been human, and disguised as an old man when he was wounded…

so many things now made sense.

“I took a carriage home,” he went on.

“Narrowly beat you to Oyang Street before you fell into my garden. I wore black so you wouldn’t see the blood.”

He’d been swathed in black, I remembered now, roaring and growling like a beast.

What pain he must’ve been suffering!

That umbrella he’d leaned on had been a cane, the pallor of his skin from blood loss.

Revelation made my throat burn, and the gills on my neck constricted.

It hurt to breathe, it hurt to even think.

I thought of all the times Gaari had come to me with a new job, right when I needed money the most.

The way he could read my moods and know how to make me laugh.

He had been my mentor, my friend.

Now my every memory of him was tainted with Elang’s betrayal.

“Why?” I asked.

It was the only word I could muster.

Elang didn’t turn around.

He shredded a handful of rose petals with his claws.

“I have to finish preparing your sangi. I must ask that we continue this discussion—”

“Damn the sangi.” I grabbed his arm.

“Why the ruse, why waste three years pretending to be my friend when all you were going to do was just…” The words dried up inside me, heat swelling up to the backs of my eyes.

Damn it, I would not cry in front of Elang.

He touched a button on his cloak, transforming it into the drawing I’d made on the day Baba left home.

His voice was soft.

“This is why.”

I looked down, facing the dragon I’d drawn so many years ago.

He looked far too familiar.

Crescent horns jutted out of his temples, and his scales were silvery blue, each a shining teardrop.

But most damning were his eyes: one was yellow and the other smeared with dark ink—like day and night.

“No,” I said hoarsely.

“I painted this when I was a child. It can’t be—”

“It is,” Elang said.

“You painted me.”

I shook my head, refusing to believe it.

“It was the beginning of your Sight manifesting. Shanizhun is the one who found your drawing in Nazayun’s palace. She gave it to me after I freed her—about five years ago, not long after your father’s ship sank. I left immediately for Gangsun to find you, but Nazayun’s assassins followed me. I was afraid they’d find you too, so I hid. I had Shanizhun watch you, help you when she could. When I was ready, I came to you.”

“As Gaari,” I said flatly.

His lips thinned.

“There were others before Gaari. You wouldn’t remember.”

“What do you mean, I wouldn’t remember?”

His silence only fed the anger gathering under my skin.

He could have been any person on the street, and I wouldn’t have known.

The boy who sold the cabbage dumplings I hated so much, the palanquin carrier shouting that he could bear two grown men on his back, the old beggar sleeping on the corner of Rolan Street with one missing shoe.

“Was it fun?” I seethed.

“You and Shani spying on me, throwing me pity coins when you worried I might starve. You could at least pretend to be sorry.”

“Would that make you feel better?”

Yes, I thought petulantly, but I knew it wasn’t true.

We were long past the point of apologies.

“I don’t enjoy lying, Tru,” said Elang tiredly.

“That’s part of the reason I let Gaari die.”

“Then why come as him at all? Why the disguises and the lies when you could have come to me as yourself?”

“Like this?” Elang faced me fully.

His fangs were bared, his golden horns fully extended so they gleamed in the kitchen fires.

I’d known him for weeks now—was married to him—and still the sight of his two-sided face made my breath hitch.

As a stranger, I would have quailed.

But would I have run?

Elang took my reticence as a yes.

“It took years to find a potion that made me look human,” he said through his teeth.

“Even then, I could only erase this ”—he touched the dragon part of his face—“for minutes at best. Over time, I learned that the less I looked like myself, the longer I could keep it up. That’s why I made the old man.”

“You made him,” I repeated.

“People aren’t wooden figurines that you carve and chuck away when they no longer suit you.”

Elang bowed his head low.

“He was a character I played to earn your trust. I’m not proud of it, but I did what I had to. I needed you to develop your skills as a painter, and believe in your art.”

“For your mission.” It was always about the damned mission.

“Yes.”

Behind me, my broth had reached a boiling point and was on the verge of spilling out of the pot.

I ignored it.

All I could think of was the way Gaari’s cheek used to twitch.

His sudden excuses to leave.

The days and weeks I’d go without hearing from him.

One time we had gone out for dinner and his beard had flickered like lightning, then he’d bowled over in pain.

When I’d asked if he was all right, he’d said, I must have had a bad prawn.

Excuse me, Saigas.

I’ll find you when I’m better.

Bad prawn, my foot!

It was magic taking its toll on Elang.

Making him pay for his lies.

“How much of it was even real?” I whispered.

My voice had gone tremulous, every word a vehement stab.

It was becoming harder to breathe.

“The cons we went on together, the stories you told, the auctions! You have all the paintings from my auctions!”

I couldn’t stop the tears anymore.

They welled up in a rush, trembling on my lids.

I wiped them on my sleeve, hating that Elang could rouse this storm of emotions inside me while he stood like a pillar, unfeeling and unmoving.

“Tru,” he said, “your sangi—”

“You really are a monster,” I interrupted.

I tugged on my collar.

My gills were needling my skin like fiery pinpricks, making it hurt to breathe.

But I ignored the pain.

The ache in my heart was sharper.

“All these years, you played me for a fool,” I said.

“You lied to me, you made me trust you, then you manipulated me into leaving my family and coming here—on this sham marriage. The worst of it is, I could have forgiven you all that. But you know what I can never forgive?” I clenched my fists, drawing a ragged breath.

“I thought you were my friend.”

The words landed hard, and Elang’s face drew long.

He looked at me, his lips parted.

I waited for him to defend himself, to apologize and explain, but he returned to his sangi preparation.

With his back to me, he said, “That was your mistake.”

I’d had enough.

The broth spilled, sizzling over the stove.

As the flames sparked and danced, I spun for the door.

“Tru, wait—”

I could feel Elang reach out, so I swam faster, until the rippling waves drowned out his calls.

I’d made it as far as the Halls of Longevity when my lungs went suddenly tight, the gills in my neck stiffening.

The rest happened quickly.

The weight of the sea came crushing down, pressure making my head go light and heavy at once.

The water turned thick.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t see either.

My eyes burned.

Strong arms caught me from behind.

I couldn’t see his face, but I felt the ends of his long white hair brushing against my cheek.

I turned to find Elang, half-transformed into a dragon so he could catch up to me.

His bones were still rearranging themselves, and he was breathing hard.

The glow in his yellow eye dimmed as he held me.

He pressed a kiss to the side of my lips.

At least I thought it was a kiss, until he blew into my mouth.

Softly, gently, as if I were a flute.

Air swept into my lungs, and I became aware of his fingers on my chin, the edges of his claws gently trying to part my lips.

“Drink,” he whispered.

Sangi trickled down my throat.

The burning made me wheeze, and I grabbed Elang’s collar to steady myself.

It was then, in that instant, that my fingertips sensed the faintest thump coming from his chest.

He arched away from me, as stricken as I was.

When I blinked, he was gone.