Sora guided Fairy’s floating form through camp. She had to hurry, in case anyone decided to check on the guards by the empress’s cart. But she also had to be extra careful and quiet at the same time. Sora jumped whenever a ryuu turned in his sleep.
We’re invisible. They can’t see us. Keep going.
The horses were in the woods just outside camp. They were nearly there. They only had to get past Prince Gin’s tent.
But Sora hovered for a moment outside where her sister slept. If only she’d had longer with Hana. If only the fate of the kingdom weren’t hanging in the balance, with Sora being the sole taiga who could give Empress Aki and the Society a chance against the ryuu.
If Sora wanted enough time to report to the Council and put her plan into motion before the ryuu arrived at the Citadel, she had to leave now.
She looked at Hana’s tent once more, then pressed onward out of the camp, into the woods with Fairy’s body floating behind her.
Now, back to her friends, back to the Society. Back to the original point of her mission—bringing her knowledge about Prince Gin to the taigas, then stopping him before the Ceremony of Two Hundred Hearts set everything in bloodcurdling motion.
Sora chose a horse, secured Fairy on the saddle, and climbed on behind her. Sora willed the ryuu particles to show her the path between trees, and she rode hard, letting herself go, surrendering herself and trusting the magic to guide her. Sora’s horse bounded over logs and darted in and out between the gnarled, lichen-covered trunks. They moved so swiftly, the horse’s feet hardly touched the ground before they propelled onward and over the next creek, the next cluster of boulders, the next copse of trees.
After a while, the damp moss and thick foliage of Jade Forest gave way to the Field of Illusions. The black-and-white sands were a dizzying obstacle, their ever-changing patterns too disorienting for all but taigas who were trained to look beyond them.
Unfortunately, almost all the ryuu were former taigas. They would have no trouble getting across, especially since they could also rely on their magic to show them the clear green path forward.
Sora pushed her horse even faster. Every minute was going to be essential for the Society to prepare for this fight. She had to get back.
They charged through the Field of Illusions, the horse’s hooves spraying sand like fistfuls of scatter shot, the tiny metal pellets Daemon carried as throwing weapons. “Sorry for the bumps,” she said to Fairy, whose body bounced violently in front of Sora. “Almost there.”
The sand bit into their skin as they barreled forward. The patterns grew more frenzied. Staircases that looked like they descended straight down to the hells. Hills that crested then dropped off precipitously. Swirls that spun forward and backward at gut-churning speed.
Sora lost track of the emerald path, its particles blending in with the flurrying sand.
But they were almost there. She had to hold on to her focus.
Ignore the illusions. Keep an eye on the outline of the Citadel up ahead.
Concentrate on the ryuu path.
The emerald particles reappeared then, glittering brighter than before. Sora homed in on them, refusing to let go. Out of the corner of her eye, the towering, oil-slick fortress walls of the Citadel grew clearer, larger, as they sprinted closer.
The last illusion asserted itself. It became an ever-shifting set of tiny black-and-white rectangles, flashing so rapidly, it could induce seizures.
“Jump!” Sora shouted at the horse.
They leaped over the final stretch of sand.
Then it was over. Home loomed before them, ten stories of black fortifications and heavy, impenetrable gates. Sora exhaled and hugged Fairy. They’d made it. They had escaped Prince Gin and his ryuu.
And yet, the ache of killing those guards and of abandoning Hana didn’t lessen with distance. In fact, it pulled on Sora, as if part of her had been left behind and had stretched too tautly now. The pain might be a constant—a punishment and a reminder—that she would have to live with.
Choices, unfortunately, had consequences.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Daemon paced near the bridge of a little lake. The Council had divided the Citadel into hundreds of sections, each one manned by large teams of taigas cycling through patrol and sleeping shifts. Bramble, one of the warriors in this lake section, jogged up to Daemon. She was in her thirties and an expert at nunchucks; she’d been one of the apprentices’ sparring teachers. “Good evening, Wolf. Your shift is over. I can take your position.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough.”
Daemon nodded. The floor in the boathouse wasn’t the most accommodating of surfaces, but it was better than sleeping out on the dirt, which was what the taigas in a lot of the other sections had to do. It was fine either way, though. Taigas were accustomed to sleeping outdoors while on missions. This was no different; only slightly strange because their actual beds were in the dormitories not too far away.
“Anything notable during your shift?” Bramble asked.
“No. It was a boring day.”
“Well, I doubt that will last for long. The ryuu must be coming.”
Daemon’s stomach pitched.
“Go get some sleep,” Bramble said. “I think the rest of your team are already at the boathouse.”
He nodded stiffly. The taigas were preparing, in the best way they knew how, for Prince Gin. But no matter how much detail Daemon and Broomstick told them about the ryuu and Copper Bluff, there was only so much they could comprehend without seeing the ryuu for themselves. The councilmembers were the only ones who’d gotten a taste of the threat at Isle of the Moon. The rest of the taigas were just, well, bracing themselves.
And then there was the matter of Sora returning. Gods, Daemon hoped he was right that she was on their side. He felt her presence through their gemina bond; she periodically sent him the feeling of steady reassurance, like a lily pad bobbing evenly on a calm pond. There were others, like Bullfrog, who doubted her, but they were wrong. Sora wanted to be the very best taiga she could be, and if anyone understood the desire to prove themselves, it was Daemon.
Besides, she was with Fairy, right? The ryuu had taken the body of who they thought was the empress, as proof that Prince Gin should wear the crown. Sora probably went back to the ryuu to ensure that Fairy was safe.
Daemon closed his eyes. He thought about the day he arrived in Dassu Desert, so exhausted, he wanted to tumble from his horse. He could still feel what it was like when Fairy hugged him, her swan-like chest against his chest, her laughter in the face of death. She had held him up first, and then he’d held her. There was so much life in her. Even when she’d needed support, it had still been like holding a firecracker in his hands.
She was safe, wasn’t she?
Daemon was unraveling like a rope that had been exposed to the elements for too long.
But his shift was over for now, so he held himself together as best he could and bowed to Bramble, then jogged off the bridge to the boathouse, where Broomstick and two Level 7 apprentices had started a pot of oat porridge over a fire outside. The warriors on their shift were reporting to the Council.
“I could eat twigs right now, I’m so hungry,” Daemon said, as he sat down in the dirt.
“Luckily, we don’t have to.” Stingray, one of the younger apprentices, handed him a bowl of sliced apples.