Page 126 of A Forgery of Fate
“Beginning now, you’ll start anew on a fresh subject,” he said. Lightning flashed in his eye. “One you know dearly.”
Yes, I knew. I whispered, “You want me to send Elang into Oblivion.”
“Ever vigilant, ever alone.” Nazayun’s tone made a mockery of kindness. “Oblivion might be just the home he’s been looking for.”
I felt sick. It took all my restraint to hold my tongue, to keep from slinging my foulest curses at him. But that wasn’t how the game was played. I needed to get the Scroll back. In order to do that, I had to put on an act. And gods, I knew how to put on an act.
“If I do this,” I said, finding my voice, “you will free my father?”
“You have my word.”
Immortals were sworn to their promises, Elang had told me, and the power of Nazayun’s word jolted the sea like an electric charge. I looked up, finding my reflection in his eyes, mirror sharp.
“Then you leave me no choice,” I said. “I will paint.”
“We are agreed, then.”
“We are agreed.”
The water beneath my feet howled, currents gathering into a whirlpool. Before I could register what was happening, I was pulled into its swirling depths.
The fall was short, barely longer than a breath. I landed on a marble stool, facing my new prison: a catacomb with a line of grim-looking statues guarding the walls and a squat table in the center. On it were brushes of every hair and size, water bowls, and ink that had been mixed precisely to match Elang’s coloring. How thoughtful.
“You will not leave until your work is done,” boomed Nazayun from above. His voice resounded against the walls, making my ears hurt. “Any tricks, and your father dies. Do you understand?”
I didn’t reply. I was listening to the sea, and I could feel Elang’s presence. Not far, somewhere in this palace, he was a prisoner like me.Becauseof me.
“I’ll need to see Elang,” I spoke, “if I am to paint him.”
“You should have memorized your husband’s face by now,” said Nazayun. His eyes glowed. “You and Elangui may say your farewells once you are finished. You have until the morning, Bride of the Westerly Seas.”
With that he vanished from the chamber, leaving me alone with my impossible task.
I was defiant at first. I paced the room, circling the Scroll of Oblivion. It lay in a grainy river, its folds collecting sand.
“I see you’ve chosen to be stupid,” remarked Shani, misting into the room. She’d turned shapeless, her presence marked by the iridescent outline of her form. “It isn’t often that the Dragon King offers an exchange. If you want to save your father, I wouldn’t infuriate our king by dawdling.”
I couldn’t believe her audacity. Giving me advice?
“I’m thinking,” I snapped.
“You should know Elang’s face by now.”
It wasn’t lost on me, how she no longer used the honorific’anmi.
“It’s no coincidence His Eternal Majesty selected this room for you,” Shani said. “Shall I introduce you to your company?” Shifting back into a stingray, she curled around the closest statue, of an elegant mermaid with sorrowful eyes. “That was Nahma, former high lady of the Southerly Seas. She was turned into stone for sympathizing with your husband when he was banished. Next is Nazayun’s own daughter, the mother of Seryu’ginan, the heir—”
“That’s enough,” I interrupted.
My shoulders fell, and with them went my anger. “Why betray us?” I asked her quietly. “We had the weapon to destroy him. I have it now. Right here.”
Her face went amorphous. “Nazayun offered me a dealonce, not too different from yours,” she said thinly. “Serve him and live. Refuse and die. What do you think I picked?”
“But we were so close,” I appealed. “I know you’re afraid. I know you think you don’t have a choice, but—”
“But nothing,” she barked. “You understand nothing.”
“You have honor, Shanizhun,” I persevered. “I’ve seen it.”
