A chill ran down Sora’s spine. So Liga had been wrong about the vault not being protected against mortals.
“Do you think those stories are true?” Sora asked.
“Perhaps.” Mama shrugged as they walked into her study. “I believe that mythology stems from a combination of truth and fantasy. Most storytellers are not so creative that they can invent tales from whole cloth. They begin with reality, then embellish it.”
Sora chewed on her lip as she thought about that.
Mama climbed a short ladder so she could reach her top bookshelf. She coughed as she retrieved a dusty box.
“There might be something in here,” she said, setting the box on her desk. Mama began to flip through the notebooks and papers inside.
Sora gave her space to work. Soon enough, Mama pulled out a small journal the size of her palm. “This is what I was looking for. I used to carry it in my pocket when I was a university student. That was the only time I did any research around the topic of the Lake of Nightmares.” She handed the journal to Sora.
Inside, Mama’s neat cursive filled the pages. There were notes on all sorts of random things, like a snapshot of her young mind and its many interests before she found her calling in retelling Kichonan legends. There were a few pages on imperial coronation fashion through the ages, a section with doodles of griffins and an idea for a short story, and a page with her monthly budget as a student. Sora smiled at this insight into Mama’s life.
Then Sora found what she was looking for. On a tea-stained page, Mama had jotted some notes about a single historical account from a man who had purportedly found the Lake of Nightmares and returned to tell about it.
- Party of 10 went in; all died but 1.
- Magnetic fields in the ice tunnels. Party split up, and half got lost, never heard from again.
- Ghost faces and snow monster.
- Lake will keep you if you step foot in it.
Sora flipped to the next page. There were a bit of poetry and another griffin doodle but nothing more about Naimo Ice Caves or the Lake of Nightmares.
“Is this all you have?” Sora asked.
“Yes,” Mama said. “That’s why I never bothered to write a story about the lake. There’s not enough information out there.”
Papa barreled into the study then, carrying a tray of small blue cups and a sake carafe in his right hand and a box with orange cups and matching carafe in his left. “Do you think your teachers would like blue or orange better?” he asked.
“You stupid man!” Mama said, snatching both the tray and box away from him. “The Society is too important and busy to care about your pottery. Can’t you see that our daughter was just trying to give you something to do so you’d feel important while she took care of the real reason for her visit—discussing her school project with me?”
“Your arrogance is out of control!” Papa shouted. “Ever since you were awarded that prize for literature, you think you’re the greatest living mind in the kingdom!”
“You’re lucky I deigned to marry a pea brain like you!”
“I seem to recall you admired me when we first met. My family have been master potters for centuries—”
Sora watched sadly. “I’m sorry I can’t help you right now,” she said, even though they couldn’t hear her over their own yelling. “But I’m going to stop this madness as soon as I can. Everything will be better then. I promise.”
Her parents didn’t even notice when she ducked out the door and left the house.
Half a mile down the road, she met Broomstick, who had somehow procured horses for them and just turned the final bend in the switchback. He was covered in dust and sweat, and he looked like he could have used a good meal and bath at her parents’ house.
But one look at the way Sora’s shoulders drooped and he offered her a horse and turned them around, heading away from food and rest, going back down the mountain.
“Were they like the dumpling maker?” Broomstick asked.
Sora nodded, lips pressed tightly together. She’d held her emotions together in front of her parents, but now that she’d left them, it began to sink in how bad the situation was. How her parents’ goodness was being eaten away, like a worm nibbling through an apple. If the worm got to the core, would Mama and Papa rot for good? Sora stifled a sob.
“With Kichona dedicated to Zomuri,” Sora said, “I think the kingdom will only get darker. We have to get that soul and kill Prince Gin before it’s too late. Kichona needs Empress Aki and Sola.”
Sora wiped away the tears threatening to overflow. She wouldn’t cry. Not yet. She was a fighter. A warrior. The last of the protectors of Kichona. She would not let her parents succumb to Zomuri and the Dragon Prince’s rule.
She pulled her shoulders back. “No more stops,” she said. Partly because she couldn’t bear to see other people influenced like Mama, Papa, and Mr. Zaki and partly because she wanted to get to Naimo Ice Caves as quickly as possible.
“We’re going to find Prince Gin’s soul,” Sora said. “And we’re going to destroy him, no matter what the cost.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Fairy held tightly to one of the ridges on Liga’s back as they flew through the moon-shadowed sky. She’d thought sitting on an alligator would be a lot less comfortable, but because Liga was in constellation form—albeit with his sparks dimmed to keep them concealed—his hide was strangely ethereal, buttery smooth yet light as stardust. Combined with the fact that Wolf was pressed warmly behind her, Fairy was quite content as they glided toward their nightly mission to keep tabs on Prince Gin and look for any clues about Empress Aki’s whereabouts.
“How do we engage in subversion?” Liga asked in his typical awkward way as they approached the Citadel. He’d offered to come not only because it would be easier for Fairy and Wolf if he flew them but also because he was fascinated by the human conflict unfolding before him.
Wolf spoke up to answer Liga’s question. “We sneak very quietly, make sure we don’t get caught, and throw wrenches in the ryuu’s gears.”
“I didn’t bring any wrenches,” Liga said.
“Not literal wrenches,” Fairy said. “It’s just a saying—”
But Liga wasn’t listening, because at the same time he said, “Ah, but I can conjure them when you need them!”
She just let that one go.
They landed in the Citadel in the middle of the outdoor amphitheater with its broad black stage and rows of benches set into the grass, where the apprentices had watched many years of graduation ceremonies before them. After a quick pass, they confirmed there was nothing suspicious there.
Next was the sparring arena, where they’d spent countless hours with the taiga weapons master throwing knives, dueling with swords, and fighting with bare hands. Like when Broomstick had last been here, there were a few ryuu practicing their skills, even this late at night. Fairy refused to look into the center of the arena; she didn’t want to see if any of the girls from her dormitory or other classmates were there. And it seemed like business as usual—at least, business of the ryuu variety—so she, Wolf, and Liga quickly moved on.
They snuck through the warrior enclave, a neighborhood of black wood-framed homes for Councilmembers, teachers, and other taiga warriors who lived at the Citadel. Then the apprentice portion of the campus, with its dorms and the tall building where they had classes. Fairy could almost smell the chalk and hear their teachers’ voices. Seeing all this at once—and knowing what was going on inside these fortress walls—was even harder than the last time she’d spied here.