“I’m going to garrote the empress with her own gold hair. But before that, I’m going to tell her all the things we’re going to do once Prince Gin is emperor. All the ways he’s going to dismantle her kingdom and rebuild it. All the glory we’ll achieve. She tried to prevent us from making Kichona into an empire and paradise, but the joke’s on her—she’ll die and we’ll still get the Evermore.”
Hana’s eyes were as big as Autumn Festival cakes. “Um . . . okay.”
Sora blinked at her, confused. “You don’t want me to make the empress suffer?”
“No, yes, I mean . . . just don’t take too long doing it. More time means more opportunity to mess up. The most important thing is that Empress Aki dies.”
Sora grinned again, the flame growing inside as she thought about carrying out the Dragon Prince’s orders. “I can do that.”
Hana watched her for another minute before nodding. “All right. Remember the objective. Don’t lose your head. Let’s go.”
They sneaked closer to Empress Aki’s tent, pausing as necessary to weave between the Imperial Guards on patrol. When they were fifty yards away, a servant walked out of the tent. She held the flap open for a moment as she talked to one of the nearby guards.
Sora glanced at Hana.
“Good luck,” Hana whispered.
“I don’t need luck.” Sora winked.
The servant finished her conversation and was leaving to fetch something. Sora darted for the tent.
She slipped inside just as the flap swung shut.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Fairy’s tent—actually, the empress’s—was expansive, as befitting royalty. Flickering candles in glass pyramids hung from the ceiling, lighting the main room with their soft glow. A plush sofa took up one of the far corners of the tent, its blue silk upholstery hemmed in gold, several fluffy pillows positioned at the armrests. There was a dining area, with a low table and comfortable cushions on the floor, and the entire tent was perfumed with the sweetness of sparkling rose-apple sidra. It was an expensive luxury from the north of Kichona, and if Fairy was going to die masquerading as the empress, she might as well enjoy these last moments as if she really were royalty.
In the back of the tent, in a portion partitioned off by a heavy velvet curtain, Fairy sipped on the sidra while sitting at the empress’s vanity. Her gold hair was done in curls and braids, and her gown flowed elegantly to the carpeted ground. It was the prettiest she’d ever looked, but she didn’t preen as she might’ve before. Instead, she wore the clothes with a mixture of dread and pride. Dread, because she was all dolled up for her funeral. Pride, because she’d volunteered for this.
Broomstick and Wolf lounged on a couple of armchairs. The Imperial Guards were outside, patrolling the bluff and protecting all sides of the tent.
“You don’t have to stay here with me,” Fairy said, as she painted eyeliner in dramatic wings like the empress wore. “In fact, you should really get as far away as possible from this tent. The closer you are, the more likely you’ll die when the ryuu come for me.” Her hands shook, and the eyeliner went a bit jagged.
“I’m not leaving your side,” Broomstick said. He fiddled with a new kind of fuse he’d been working on. The taiga weapons masters were always looking to improve the Society’s arsenal, and Broomstick had offered to help with developing a new smoke bomb. But his hands were shaking too. Their entire gemina bond was.
Wolf polished his sword furiously. It was already as shiny as a mirror. “You’ve been insisting that we leave since I got here—and probably before that—but stop. We’re not going to let you die. Or if you do, we’re going to die with you.”
Fairy’s eyes welled with tears, and she stopped trying to fix her crooked makeup. Maybe it was selfish, but if this was the end, she really did want her friends by her side. She nodded, unable to say anything.
“Do you think they’re close?” Broomstick asked. None of them believed Prince Gin would follow instructions and send only two ryuu.
She dabbed away her tears—the eyeliner was a mess now, but who cared—and said, “The Imperial Guards will sound the alarm once they see the ryuu approach.”
“We still need to be on alert,” Wolf said, staring intently at the velvet curtain. “The ryuu aren’t like ordinary soldiers. Once they arrive, we might not have much notice. They could just blow in here like a sandstorm. Or an actual sandstorm.”
They didn’t say anything for a moment. Fairy put the eyeliner away and pushed around the other makeup in the cherrywood box but didn’t apply anything else. Broomstick pretended to concentrate on his fuse. Wolf kept polishing his sword with such ferocity, it was as if he were trying to grind it into a different, smaller blade.
Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
Fairy started to hum an Autumn Festival song to fill the silence. It was about a poor farmer whose wheat had not grown, and his neighbors who brought him gifts of bread and new seeds to help.
The velvet curtain behind her lifted. A familiar voice interrupted her song.
“Hello, Your Majesty.”
It was Spirit.
Fairy’s heart leaped. In the same instant, though, horror suffocated her hope as she processed the sadistic bite in Spirit’s tone. She must be under the Dragon Prince’s spell.
“Stop! I’m not—” But before Fairy could finish, she was yanked out of her seat and put in a headlock. A knife pressed against her throat, although there was no visible arm to hold it. Fairy tried to cry out, but the pressure on her neck had disabled her voice box.
“Freeze, Sora!” Wolf shouted, as he and Broomstick jumped up from their chairs.
The arm around Fairy’s neck materialized. If she’d been able to, she would have gasped. Spirit had been invisible.
“Daemon? Broomstick?” Spirit said, confused.
“What are you doing here?” Wolf asked.
“I’m here to kill the empress.” Her voice was fire, not like the same kind of flame it usually was. This was hot in a zealous kind of way, like a forest fire on a rampage.
Fairy tried to jab her with her elbow, but Spirit just tightened her grip.
“Prince Gin hypnotized you,” Wolf said. “You’ll do whatever he says.”
“Shut up,” Spirit said, jerking Fairy against her body. “I’m my own person. I do what I want, and what I want is to help Prince Gin usher Kichona into an age of glory. And then, if we succeed, Kichona will become a paradise, and we will be immortal.”
Broomstick took a cautious step closer, at the same time giving Fairy a warning look not to struggle, because their friend was unpredictable. “That’s just a myth, Spirit,” he said gently. “It’s not real.”
“It is real. We just haven’t achieved it yet because there hasn’t been a warrior worthy of turning Kichona into the vast empire Zomuri wanted. But now we have Prince Gin, and he’ll do it. He’s already pushed magic beyond what taigas have known for centuries. He’ll push our kingdom beyond what we know too. He’ll make the Evermore real.”
“Sora . . .” Wolf said, taking a step closer.
“Shall I slit the empress’s artery and kill her right away, or slice her in a hundred different, shallow places and let her bleed slowly to death before your eyes?”