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“It worked against Angma as Ishirya,” I admit. “I don’t know what power it will have against Angma as a tiger.”
“Her tiger form is the only one that matters. The others are shells.”
“I know that, but—”
Channari’s blood carries the venom of the last Serpent King, Ukar cuts in, always a busybody, even when he’s injured. Not another sovereign has been chosen since he bit her. Her blood is the greatest poison known to Lor’yan.
“I am familiar with the magic of Sundau’s serpents,” says Hokzuh, “and their poison.”
Then you know that not even Angma is immune to it, Ukar replies pointedly. He burrows into the sand. And neither are you.
A muscle twitches in Hokzuh’s enormous jaw. “Seems I’ve got no choice, then. Very well, I’ll take you to your sister. I won’t be able to fly, but we can charter a boat in the morning, should reach Tai’yanan in time if we get one.
“Or…” He cocks his head. “We could pay the witch of Yappang a visit.”
My eyes widen in recognition. “The Nine-Eyed Witch?”
“Why so surprised? We’ve landed on her island.”
“I didn’t think she was real.”
“If your Angma exists, why wouldn’t she?” Hokzuh laughs at my astonishment. “Old Nakri ought to have some disgusting concoction to fix up my wings.” He yawns. “We can discuss her tomorrow. It’s late. Even monsters like us need sleep.”
It is late. The tide is rising higher, and the sea laps at my toes, cold enough that a shiver loosens down my spine.
Buried in the sand, Ukar is already sleeping. Hearing his quiet, steady breathing, I breathe easier too. I could use some rest. But not as much as Hokzuh.
“Thank you, by the way,” I say, low enough I’m not sure if Hokzuh will hear. “For coming back for me in Shenlani.”
The dragon hears. His tone is gruff, but gentle: “You’re welcome.”
With a nod, I head up a sandy dune.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I’ll keep watch.”
“For what, crocodiles? They like to stay by the witch.”
I don’t respond. It isn’t crocodiles or the Nine-Eyed Witch of Yappang I’m worried about, and Hokzuh knows it. Stubbornly, I stake a spot on the sloping dune where I can watch for Angma.
I don’t know how long I stay awake watching the stars blink, bright as Vanna’s heart, but there’s no sign of Angma or her suiyaks. The world is still, with only the distant percussion of the wind in the trees lulling me to sleep.
I resist as long as I can. For the first time in years, I allow hope to creep into my heart. Maybe I will break this curse on my face and save my sister. Maybe everything will be fine, in the end. I can live the rest of my days with my family, the way I’ve dreamed.
With those thoughts to soothe me, the knots in my muscles melt into the sand, and I fall into a sea of dreams.
* * *
I’ve had this dream a thousand times. It begins with the jungle calling for me, but I’m a different Channi. A Channi who waves hello to the other girls in the marketplace, a Channi who’s terrified of snakes and spiders and lizards that jump faster than she can run. A Channi who does not heed the jungle’s calls because she cannot hear them.
My arms are full of starfruits and paper-wrapped rice noodles and fish, and as I come home, Adah takes the basket from me.
“Channi,” he says, “let me help you with that.” The note of tenderness in his voice and the way he looks at me, straight in the eye without flinching, remind me that this is but a dream. I don’t care. This is the Adah I’ve yearned for. This is the life I’ve craved in secret. I’m happy to linger, even if I know it isn’t real. “The cakes are almost ready. Your favorites.”
I follow the smell of coconut cakes into the kitchen. Inside, I find a woman who looks like me, only rounder around the waist and hips, and with earthy eyes and a freckled, sunburned nose.
Her hair is grayer than I remember, and strokes of silver brush her hairline, but I would know that face anywhere. It is my favorite face.
