They streamed toward the taigas, flurrying around their heads in a maelstrom. The taigas couldn’t see them, and they stared ahead, oblivious. The magic funneled in through their ears and into their heads.
The effect was startlingly sudden. One moment, the taigas were scowling, and the next, they smiled. For them, Gin’s control of their minds would feel like the soothing sound from inside a conch shell. They were still themselves—mostly—but they could relax, no longer burdened by the stress of whether their own decisions would be right or wrong. Gin would take care of everything. His presence in their heads gave them the security and purpose they’d always hoped for.
“We are proud to serve you, Your Highness,” the prisoners said, their declarations coordinated through their gemina bond.
Gin nodded, swallowing the tinny aftertaste of what he’d done. He hadn’t needed to enchant any of his original Blood Rift warriors to follow his commands; they had believes in his cause from the start. But his plan to capture the Council at Isle of the Moon—and, in effect, control the rest of the Society—had failed, so now it came to this. If the Society wouldn’t join him willingly, he’d make them his soldiers by force. With magic.
It’s necessary, he reminded himself. This is for my people. My kingdom.
Gin interrogated the two taigas before him, and they told him everything he needed to know: someone had seen him here in Takish Gorge, the Council had sent them to investigate, and they were to send back a dragonfly messenger immediately with a report.
“If the Council is waiting to hear from you, I suppose I can’t compel you to stay here.” He thought for a moment. “You’ll return to Paro Village and report that you found nothing here except the trash from an Autumn Festival celebration. You won’t say a word about me or this army.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He ordered them freed, and they hurried away to return to Paro Village.
“Congratulations, Your Highness,” Virtuoso said. She was one of his most talented warriors and potentially his deadliest weapon. “This is so exciting. Your plans are falling into place—”
Gin held up a hand. Virtuoso was also one of the younger of his soldiers, and her unbridled enthusiasm was too much at the moment. “I have a headache. Order the camp packed up. I’m going to my tent to rest.”
It was a lie, the part about the headache. It was Gin’s conscience that hurt.
But he couldn’t let it stop him. Not for too long.
He’d been put on earth for a purpose—make the taigas and Kichona the greatest they could be. Bring glory to Zomuri. And give his people eternal joy and immortality.
Gin clenched his fists. “This life was given back to me when I should have died. And so I swear on it: I will achieve and claim the Evermore.”
Chapter Eleven
Fairy perched on the short wooden bench in the towel room of the boys’ bathhouse, tilting her head so her hair cascaded down like a sheet of mahogany silk. The light from the narrow window above hit her at just the right angle to emphasize the heart shape of her face. Across from her sat Racer, a Level 10 who had enough stubble along his jaw to almost pass for a Level 12. Fairy was fully clothed, but she knew well how the fabric of her tunic draped over her curves, and she also understood how, sometimes, more was a lot better than less.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like you could be the empress’s sister when the sun illuminates you that way?” Racer said, trying to lean casually against the shelf of towels. His desire to cross the two feet of distance between them and smash himself against Fairy was obvious, but he didn’t. He knew the rules—he could look but he couldn’t touch, not until she gave him permission to. Racer was working very hard to stay on his side of the tiny linen room.
“No one’s ever said I look like the empress,” Fairy said coyly, even though loads of boys had given her that compliment before. “You’re terribly sweet to say so.” She leaned forward so that the collar of her tunic gaped slightly. A shadow concealed her cleavage, but the fact that the fabric was open was enough to make Racer’s Adam’s apple bob visibly. A thrill fluttered through Fairy’s chest.
“I really want to kiss you,” Racer said. He held on to the edge of the towel shelf, as if that were the only thing keeping him from closing the last twenty-four inches between them.
“I’m wearing cherry-flavored lipstick today,” she said.
“Oh gods,” he groaned. “Please.”
“What have the other boys told you about me?”
He shook his head. “No one has said a word.”
Fairy smiled her cherry-lipped smile. “That’s right. Because if anyone kisses and tells, I’ll rip out his manhood and serve it to him on a platter. Right?”
Racer’s Adam’s apple bobbed again, but for a different reason. “Right,” he whispered.
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” She stepped forward until she was only an inch away. Her head came up to his chest. She looked up at him through her lashes and reached up to cup his face, drawing his mouth down toward her. He held his breath as her lips approached his.
Someone rapped on the door.
Racer jumped and smacked his back against the towel shelf. Fairy, on the other hand, whirled around in a huff. Every apprentice knew that a closed towel room door meant it was occupied.
She opened the door a crack, ready to tear into whoever was on the other side.
It was Broomstick. “A dragonfly just came in from Paro Village. Your ramparts were up so I figured you were here. I wouldn’t normally bother you, but I thought you’d want to know.”
“Stars, yes.” Fairy stepped outside the towel room and shut the door behind her. “What did the message say? Was it really Prince Gin?”
Technically, Broomstick wasn’t supposed to have access to the dragonflies. The Council’s communications with the Society command posts across the kingdom were strictly confidential. But Broomstick was the kind of person who everyone couldn’t help but like. He had an easy smile and stopped by every office in Warrior Meeting Hall each morning to say hello to all the staff. He remembered their birthdays, where their families were from, and what their hobbies were. Everyone in the building relaxed around Broomstick and chatted freely with him, because conversation with him was an effortless joy.
It also meant they told him all sorts of things he wasn’t supposed to know.
“The message said there was only garbage from a messy Autumn Festival celebration, and the ‘fortifications’ were simply part of a reenactment of the Blood Rift, mimicking the Citadel walls.”
Fairy frowned. “Have you told Spirit and Wolf yet?”
Broomstick shook his head. “We should go do that.”
“Wait.” She opened the towel room door and popped her head in.
“Racer, something came up. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to do this another time,” she said.
His face fell. “Oh. When do you think—?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll come find you, okay?” She didn’t know when, if ever—it really depended on her mood—but she wanted to let him down easily. Besides, he was cute.
He smiled eagerly.
“All right then . . . see you later.” She shut the door, leaving Racer inside, and rejoined Broomstick.
“You know Spirit is not going to be happy about this, right?” she said as they exited the bathhouse and turned across campus toward the girls’ dormitory.
“I know. But I’m guessing it’ll spur some new scheme of hers.”
When they were nine years old, one of the other Level 2s bullied Broomstick about his then-puny size. Sharktooth drew pictures of Broomstick, pummeled him when the teachers weren’t looking, and stole his lunch nearly every day. So Sora “borrowed” a laxative from Fairy’s lab and baked a batch of cookies. Broomstick happened to bring them for lunch the next day. Sharktooth helped himself to them . . .
And never stole Broomstick’s lunch or uttered another mocking word about him ever again.
Fairy nodded now as they walked. “I feel a little guilty that the message didn’t turn out the way Spirit wanted it to, but I’m curious to see what she has up her sleeve next.”
Chapter Twelve
Sora sat with Daemon on the lawn between the girls’ and boys’ dormitories. He’d gotten them pumpkin ice cream wrapped in pancake cones from the mess hall, in an attempt to get her to eat something while they waited for the taigas’ report from Paro Village, but Sora just sat there, staring into the distance as the ice cream melted and dripped all over her hands.
As soon as she saw Fairy and Broomstick approaching, though, she jumped to her feet, her cone abandoned on the grass. The ice cream rolled in a sloppy globe into a patch of dirt.
Daemon sighed and rose too.
“Did the dragonfly come in?” she asked.
Broomstick nodded. “The conclusion was that what you saw was an Autumn Festival celebration. Prince Gin was just part of a reenactment.”
“What? No! Those were real scars we saw, not makeup. There were fortifications around the camp. And what about the fire?”
“You know, you can turn fire green with several different chemicals . . .” Fairy said.