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Three Years Later

It was the fifteenth day of the monkey, the last day of the New Year’s festivities.

Much had changed in Gangsun: Governor Renhai was ousted for corruption, new laws were made, and Madam Yargui was never heard from again.

The manor became quiet as most of the merfolk returned to Yonsar.

Even quieter when Nomi was accepted into the National Academy.

Mama started reading fortunes again (though only for entertainment), and she and Baba began charting a pleasure trip they would take across the Taijin Sea once the weather warmed.

Falina opened a shop on Dattu Street selling embroidered boots and slippers with the upturned toe caps she loved so much, and coaxed me into becoming her business partner.

She sewed, I painted designs for her to embroider.

Slowly but surely, I gained a reputation for my dragons.

By the end of our first year, we had so many orders she had to hire two extra seamstresses to help.

“My fingers are going to fall off if I sew another stitch,” Falina announced on the last day of New Year’s.

She tossed me a pair of boots.

“Put these on. I know you’re itching to go out. Everyone’s at the Lantern Festival, and—is it snowing outside?” My sister clapped with glee.

“This is the perfect opportunity to show off our boots and drum up some business.”

“Don’t you already have more orders than you can handle?”

Falina clucked her tongue like Mama.

“What is it the Sages say? Dig the well before you get thirsty.” She stepped out the door.

“Hurry, Mama and Baba are coming too!”

It was early afternoon, and the streets teemed with festivalgoers: children juggling tangerines and slurping warm bowls of glutinous rice balls in syrup, market vendors shouting, “Steamed chestnuts, firecrackers!” Glowing paper lanterns hung from every eave.

Winter had been fierce this year, and thanks to a stalwart frost, even the plum blossoms were slow to bloom.

Normally there would be carts all over the city selling waterbells, but I didn’t spy a single one.

Falina dusted snow from my shoulders, then touched my cheek.

The New Year was still difficult for me, and she could read what was on my mind.

“Look!” Trying to distract me, she pointed at the large crowd before one of the shops.

“They’ve started on riddles already.”

It was a popular game during the festival: You would buy a paper lantern, decorate it, and compose a riddle on one of its sides, hiding the answer on the inside.

The shopkeeper then hung the lanterns for all to see.

Whoever solved the riddle first could claim the lantern as their own.

My sisters and I couldn’t afford to buy our own lanterns when we were younger, so we’d loved competing over who could solve the most riddles.

Now that Nomi was away at school, we couldn’t bring ourselves to play without her.

“Let’s paint one,” Falina exclaimed, purchasing a lantern.

Mama and Baba were already at the shop, and Mama beamed at the fellow customers.

“My daughter’s a famous artist. She’s going to paint the most beautiful lantern of the festival, just you wait. No one’s ever solved her riddle.” She elbowed me.

“Tru!”

I’d already started.

In my neatest calligraphy, I wrote:

I have wings that cannot fly,

a mouth that cannot speak.

Born in the dark, I rise in light—

A star lost from the sky.

Every festival, I wrote the same riddle, and after three years, no one had solved it.

I exhaled warm air into my hands, rubbing them before I began on the art.

I painted a girl and a boy holding a lantern, while hundreds of others floated off into the sky.

It was the vision I’d once drawn on Elang’s heart, but with each passing year, I added more details.

A pair of butterflies behind them, the girl’s blue hair, the boy’s gray eye.

A garland of vibrant belled flowers—and moss, which gave the lantern a wash of green.

Had it really been a vision of the future, or merely a wishful fantasy?

I still didn’t know.

The shopkeeper, Aunt Vosan, recognized me.

“You’ll need a new riddle this year, Truyan,” she said cheerily.

I looked up.

“What?”

“Yours was solved this morning. Your lantern from last year, that is. I kept it on display since it was so pretty.”

Air rushed out of my lungs.

I was too stunned to speak.

Luckily, Mama was there.

“Who solved it?” she asked.

“It’s a shame, you just missed him. He was here an hour ago—a handsome young man. He was quiet but very polite.” Aunt Vosan whirled.

“Which reminds me, he left this for the artist.”

She handed me a single waterbell, its petals still moist with dew.

“A waterbell!” Falina exclaimed.

“We haven’t seen one all winter. It must be a sign spring is on its way.”

Fingers trembling, I cradled the flower on my palm.

My knees had gone numb, and Baba steadied me by the arm before I lost my balance.

“Where did he go—the young man who solved the riddle?”

“I didn’t ask,” replied Aunt Vosan.

“It’s been busy. Everyone is trying to get a lantern for the lighting tonight.”

It couldn’t be Elang, could it?

After three years, I was no stranger to disappointment, and despite what people kept saying, the pain didn’t get easier.

I only got better at hiding it.

Falina tucked the waterbell above my ear and folded my scarf around my neck.

“Go find him. You’ll cry off the disappointment if it’s not him. But there’s a chance that it is…and you’ll regret forever if you don’t find out.”

“When did you become so wise?”

“I learned from you, sister. All those years Baba was missing, you never lost hope.”

Oh, Fal, I wanted to say.

The truth was, the years that Baba was missing, I did lose hope.

Many times.

I was familiar with how cruel hope could be, a knife to the heart, paring it away slowly, one cut at a time.

But, as I’d learned from Elang, I had a rather big heart.

I shouldered my way through the teeming crowds, not even daring to blink lest I miss him.

There had to be thousands of people in the streets today—the odds of finding him were scarce.

I’d take the chance.

I trained my eyes for a green lantern, but each time I found one, it wasn’t mine.

An hour slipped away, then two.

Soon it was nearly dusk, and I’d walked so far I could feel the sinews in my knees twinge with each new step.

My belly, too, chastised me.

I hadn’t eaten since morning.

Ahead, by the canal, children were selling sweets.

Fried dough stuffed with peanuts, candied berries on sticks, sugar-blown animals to celebrate the New Year.

I looked around for something spicy, but the line for noodles went around the corner.

Pickled vegetables it was, then.

I counted my coins and went up to the stall.

That was when I saw my lantern.

It hung from the crossbar of a wooden cart, tucked beside a quiet bridge over the canal.

The cart was full of wildflowers.

A wide hat obscured the profile of the young man tending them, but I recognized those shoulders—straighter than the horizon.

That rigid spine, that audaciously set mouth.

I ventured toward him.

Elang, I was about to cry—when my stomach growled.

Loudly.

I heard a chuckle.

“If you’re looking for Tama’s fishball stall, they’ve already closed for the night.”

That voice.

It was warmer than I remembered, the dragon’s growl sanded away.

Though I had no ear for music, I’d have known the sound of it anywhere.

Elang turned to face me.

From under his hat, I saw his eyes.

Both were gray, and framed by brass-rimmed spectacles that sat on the bridge of his nose, a little crooked, as always.

Joy bubbled to my throat.

“I wasn’t looking for Tama’s,” I said softly.

“I was looking for you.”

“Me?” It was no act, the surprise that flitted across his brow.

“Can I help you, miss?”

Miss.

That one word was a lance into my joy, turning my muscles cold.

I searched his face, certain he was teasing.

But there was no recognition in his eyes.

His expression was blank, as though he’d never met me before.

As though I were a stranger.

“It’s me,” I said.

Tru.

Saigas.

Your moss.

Your wife.

He took me in, his eyes falling to the waterbell in my hair.

The pleats in his brow unfolded, and a flicker of recognition brightened his face, just a touch.

“Sons of the Wind,” he said.

“You’re the artist. The girl with the blue hair!”

I took a step back, my world swaying.

Was it possible to be so deliriously happy and devastated at the same time?

Never, in the thousand dreams I’d dreamed of Elang, had I imagined he might forget me.

“Yes,” I said, swallowing hard.

“You solved my riddle. No one’s solved it in three years.”

“It was a tricky one. But it helps that I work with flowers.”

“Did you grow this waterbell?” I asked, touching the one in my hair.

“I grew enough to fill the entire canal,” he replied, eyes twinkling.

“Would you like to see?”

Behind the cart, he had an entire boat brimming with waterbells.

Hundreds of them, all on the brink of blooming.

An impossible feat in this weather, but here they were, made even more beautiful by the fresh coat of snow dusting their petals.

I was awed.

“Do you want to know the secret?”

He’d told me once before.

“You talk to them?”

I’d forgotten how beautiful he was when he smiled.

“I do. But that’s only half of it.”

He took off his gloves.

His fingers were long and human now, no more claws or sharp nails.

Carefully he lifted a box from the stern of the boat.

Inside was a planting bed teeming with spongy green mounds.

“Moss!” I recognized.

He looked pleased that I knew.

“They’re a vital part of every forest and every garden. Waterbells especially take to them. They thrive together even under the harshest of conditions. Even during winter.”

So he hadn’t forgotten everything.

Me, yes.

But not everything.

I wanted to know his name—whether he was Gaari or Gaarin or someone else entirely.

I wanted to know what he’d been doing these last three years, how his wounds had healed, and if he still had a connection to the sea as I did.

If he still chased after whales and ate noodles at Luk’s.

But I had to be patient.

One question at a time.

“What do you talk to the flowers about?”

From the way he hesitated, I could tell no one had asked him this before.

“There’s a dream I’ve had many a time,” he confessed, “of waterbells floating under the moonlight, and in spite of the cold, it warms me to dream it. Like I’ve found home.” He forced a chuckle.

“I suppose that’s why I was drawn to your lantern. Why I keep planting the same flowers year after year.”

I couldn’t hold it back any longer.

I burst, “Elang, don’t you remember me?” I pointed to the lantern, to its river of waterbells, the starry night, the girl and the boy.

“This is us.”

Whatever rapport we’d built in these few moments of conversation, I’d ruined it.

He took a step back, his gray eyes turning cloudy, and there was a beautiful sadness to the way he shook his head.

“It’s getting late,” he said softly.

“They’ll soon be lighting the lanterns and sending them off. You shouldn’t miss it.”

It was a polite dismissal.

Tears prickled the corners of my eyes.

From under my scarf, I lifted the cord around my neck, my fingers lingering on the jade butterflies.

Two flying in a close pair, never to be parted.

“This is your red thread,” I said, my voice shaking.

“Your promise to me, a lifetime ago.” I pushed it into his hand.

“Maybe it’ll help you remember.”

He caught the cord by its pendant, clasping the butterflies before they fell onto the ground.

Something in his eyes flickered then, as he held them, like a pinch of light sieving through the clouds.

A trick of the sun, I thought, turning before I suffered another disappointment.

I fled back into the crowds, losing myself among the sea of endless faces.

The only direction that mattered was the one farthest from Elang’s cart.

I forced myself to keep going and not look back.

I knew I’d crumble if I did.

It’d gotten colder, and an icy rain glazed the air.

I folded my hood over my head, ignoring the calls from the food vendors as they appealed to the dull pangs in my stomach.

I was crying, and it hurt to breathe.

He was alive, I told myself.

That was what mattered.

Not the fact that he didn’t remember me, that he had looked at me with those cloudy gray eyes like he’d never seen me in his life.

If he was under another curse, I’d break it.

If he’d simply forgotten me, then I’d try again tomorrow, and every day after until that changed.

But not today.

Today the hurt was too much.

I picked up my pace.

Lanterns were floating into the sky, speckling the night with a constellation of paper stars.

A magnificent sight, but I didn’t enjoy it.

I couldn’t.

Soon I was halfway through the market, rushing past Luk’s Noodle Shop for the street where I’d left my family.

Mama and Baba were shopping for tea, and I slowed before the store to unwrap my scarf.

“Wait!” Someone was shouting from behind.

“Wait,Tru!”

I walked inside.

My pulse still throbbed in my ears, and under my hood I couldn’t hear that I was being followed.

Until, three steps in, I felt the change in the water.

It called to me—from the tea being poured, the frost coating the rooftops, the steam of my breath.

It was a tickle of snow, like a gentle kiss upon the back of my neck.

Slowly, I turned.

There he was.

The red string was wrapped twice around his wrist, jade butterflies dangling, and he was carrying my lantern.

Its light bathed his face, making his gray eyes shine.

As he beheld me, there was a spark of recognition in them, growing brighter with each second.

Tru, he’d called me.

I’d never given him my name.

My parents exchanged sly smiles, and Baba tossed my scarf back over my neck.

“Don’t stay out too late,” he said.

Then Mama pushed me out the door.

I stumbled over an icy step.

I wasn’t about to fall, but a firm hand caught me anyway, the ends of our red strings entwining as he laced his fingers with mine.

I looked up at Elang, daring to hope, not daring to speak.

Around us, everywhere I looked, waterbells began floating down the moonlit canals, heads bobbing.

The petals unfolded as they floated, and under the light of the floating lanterns, they glowed.

Just like I had painted.

Just like I’d foreseen.

I reached out to hold the other side of the lantern, a tingle glittering down my spine.

“Took you long enough,” I whispered.

He drew me close, his heart pounding against my ear, steady and strong—and a little too fast.

I took his face in my hands, studying the side of him that used to be dragon.

I traced his hairline and ran my fingers across his cheek, down the slope of his nose, ruddy from the cold, with freckles on both sides as if they’d always been there.

Lastly, I landed on the firm bow of his lips.

A masterpiece, this face.

Every line on it was perfect.

Except one thing.

I straightened his spectacles.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, sounding genuinely nervous.

“I’m thinking I miss the dragon, just a little.” I patted his cheek.

“But this is a good face too. My mother will be pleased that your ears are even thinner than they were before. A good trait for a potential husband.”

“Potential?”

“Our marriage wasn’t real. You’ll have to woo me again.”

“It was real.” The spark in his eyes grew brighter than even my lanternlight, almost golden, and a corner of his mouth played into a smile.

“But I’m willing to start over, if that’s what you desire.”

“I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

“I know.” His eyes shone rich and clear, two raw coals drinking me in as though I were fire.

He bent down, and I lifted in expectation of a kiss, but he merely tucked my arm through his.

To my indignance, his smile widened.

“We’ll have to hurry if we want to beat the crowds.”

“Where are we going?”

As soon as I asked, I knew.

“Tru,” he said, tipping my chin toward his.

“My love. Tell me…do you fancy noodles?”

I grinned like a fool, unable to help myself.

“Just kiss me, you fiend.” I took him by the collar, drawing his lips to mine.

“I always fancy noodles.”