Sornjia smiled. “Your drawings are good. Sometimes I look at them when you’re at the markets, and it’s like watching a spider craft a web. Your study of the Timber Cathedral is my favorite. I thought it was the original. You know, if you wanted, you could make a career in forgery.”
Tahki stared at his drawings. “Forgery?”
Sornjia sat back on the bed. “Well, forgery isn’t honorable. I only meant that you’re good at replicating work.”
Tahki stared at the lines. He wasn’t just good at replicating work. He was perfect at it. A perfect forger.
“Do you think I could forge a document?” Tahki said.
Sornjia’s smiled drooped. He didn’t frown. At least Tahki couldn’t remember him ever frowning. Sornjia only had variations of his smile. This one wavered at the edges of his mouth. It was his “slightly troubled” smile.
“I don’t think forging documents is safe,” Sornjia said.
“It’s only not safe if you get caught,” Tahki said. He couldn’t get across the borders, not with a Dhaulen’aii passport.
But he could with a passport from another country.
All he needed to do was create false travel documents. He could find some examples in his father’s workshop. He could travel west before heading north, cross the borders into Vatolokít as a citizen of Lapanrill or Swikovand.
“You’re thinking so hard I can hear the knobs in your brain click,” Sornjia said.
Tahki looked up at his brother. “I don’t need Father’s permission to enter the fair.” Hopeful excitement surged through him. “I can do this. I think I can really do this.”
Sornjia shook his head. “Please, stay here.”
“Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“I want to see a bright sunny day when I look at you. But all I can see now is a thunderstorm.”
Tahki folded his designs. He could enter them in a competition at the fair. He could win with them.
“I won’t be gone long,” Tahki said. “It’s not like I’m staying in Vatolokít for any length of time. Two weeks over, three days attending the fair, and two weeks back. I’ll be home before Dunesday.” He would return home with a trophy and display it in the dining hall. Maybe he’d even find work in another country, no longer needing to live under his father’s rule. He could buy more tools, make a new life for himself. He didn’t need servants or a palace. Winning first place in the architectural competition at the World Fair would open up opportunities all over the world.
Sornjia put his hands over his ears. “Something bad will happen if you go. I can feel it strong as the tide feels the moon.” His voice sounded hazy now. Sornjia said strange things every day, but once in a while, it was like his consciousness would go on holiday, and no one could make sense of him for a brief time, the way a day fever hits hard but heals fast.
“You could try to support me, you know,” Tahki said.
Sornjia shut his eyes. “I’m drifting in a dark fog.”
“And Father calls me dramatic.”
“Black fangs and yellow eyes.”
“I’m an adult. Adults leave home.”
“There are walls of glass and faces looking back.”
“This is my chance, Sornjia. If I don’t win at the fair, I’ll know architecture isn’t my calling. I’ll come home and work for Father. But I won’t know until I try.”
Sornjia’s eyes popped open. “You and I have never been away from each other.”
Tahki had thought hearing those words aloud would feel good. It meant he could finally live without a walking mirror behind him. But Sornjia’s words felt weighted. Tahki tried not to show his apprehension. “It’s not like I’m going away forever.”
Sornjia’s irises clouded over. “Promise me you’ll watch for signs of danger.”
Tahki sighed. “Of course I will. Now, are you going to help me pack, or are you going to sit there all day moping?”
Chapter 2
ESCAPING THE palace had been easy. He’d written a note to his father explaining that he needed to be alone and had taken a carriage to their winter cottage in Phoritha. Sornjia said he’d deliver the letter to their father the next day. Then in the waning hours of night, Tahki had found a northbound carriage and left home.
The first week of travel had been excruciating. He had tried to ignore the other passengers, thinking he’d get in some good sketching time. But the carriage jostled about so violently that he couldn’t get a single line down without running off the paper. Then he’d tried to make light conversation with the other passengers, something his father always excelled at, but no one seemed interested in architecture. For the next six days, he occupied his time by counting trees out the window and daydreaming about the fair.
He switched carriages when they arrived in Swikovand. The crossing from Dhaulen’aii into the mountainous territory had been easy. No one bothered to check documents. Snow-covered mountains towered over the small town that smelled like pine and rich chocolate. This was the farthest north he’d ever been. His father had brought him and his brother here once for a diplomatic meeting. Tahki remembered eating a chocolate bar the size of his arm and getting sick for most of the trip, but it had been the first time he’d seen snow. The sight of it, as well as the crisp and cool air, still delighted him.
He exchanged his Dhaulen’aii money for Vatolok coins at the travel shop, traded his silk clothing for leather garments, and then found another carriage. Instead of sandbulls, the carriages were pulled by gingoats, mountainous ramlike creatures with thick white coats and dark horns. Twelve out of the fifteen carriages were heading to the World Fair. He chose one with other foreigners who had
