She centered the crystal disk on the velvet roll. Then she raised the needle to her finger. “I am Aki Ora, empress of Kichona, servant to Sola. I give my blood as proof that I am who I claim, and that it is my honor to offer my life for Kichona.” She pricked her skin, inhaled sharply, and held her finger above the crystal disk. A single droplet of blood fell, as dark as the crimson of the room.
Aki pressed the square of white silk to her finger. The handkerchief was never to be washed or replaced. The blood accumulated over the years was a record of many things, not only the length of an emperor’s rule, but also the number of times Sola’s advice had to be sought. Peaceful reigns required fewer visits to the temple. Turbulent ones left the silk entirely stained with red.
This was only the second drop of blood on Aki’s handkerchief. It could be seen as a victory, evidence of her tranquil reign as the Benevolent One. But Aki frowned at it. Two bloodstains were two too many.
Her blood glistened on the crystal, shiny and round like the most valuable of rubies. Aki waited. Every beat of her heart felt like a century.
Half an hour later, the temperature in the temple warmed, as the sun beamed brighter through its walls. The blood on the disk sizzled. And then it evaporated.
Sola appeared. Even though Aki had seen her once before, she still gaped slack-jawed in awe at the goddess’s radiance. The light surrounding Sola was so bright, it nearly blinded Aki. Even so, she could make out the figure of the goddess within—tall and imposing, with orange flames curling around her head instead of hair. A long red gown, her belly round beneath it, pregnant with the possibilities of the next day. And a face that was smooth as a baby’s one moment, then wrinkled and spotted as a great-grandmother’s the next. The sun goddess had existed for so long, she knew no age.
Simultaneously, Aki felt as if a sliver of herself had been carved away. She gasped, even though she had expected it. Seeking answers or favor from Sola was not free. Age was real for humans, and each visit from Sola cost a year of life. The goddess had just shortened Aki’s by another 365 days.
But it’s for Kichona, Aki reminded herself. It’s worth it.
“You have asked for me,” Sola said, her statement blowing through the temple like a desert wind.
“Yes, my lady,” Aki said, bowing deeply and grateful to be on her knees, since her legs were shaking.
She would have to be quick in explaining what she needed. The daily lives of humans could not hold the gods’ interest for long, and Sola would vanish back to Celestae, island of the gods, if she grew bored.
What bravado Aki had presented when talking to Glass Lady, she shed now.
“My kingdom has been attacked, my lady, but I don’t know what it is that we face. What should I do? Who is this enemy? Will Kichona be safe?”
While Sola considered this, the chamber heated up more as the sun focused its beam on the temple. The crystal acted as a magnifying glass, and Aki grew light-headed. She held on to the shrine’s table to steady herself. The only other time she’d come—to consult Sola about what would become the Blood Rift—Aki had nearly passed out under the goddess’s fiery gaze.
But Aki hadn’t fainted, and she wouldn’t today, either. I am as strong as I was then, she thought. Or stronger. Even if I don’t feel it.
Sola strolled over to the dais where Aki had offered her blood and lit incense to send her request to the heavens. The goddess picked up the handkerchief.
“I do not like to be called upon to settle petty human disputes.”
Aki fell to the ground and bowed again. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t know where else to turn.”
Sola scrutinized her. The intensity of her stare was like the heat of a bonfire.
Just as Aki felt as if she would be roasted alive, the goddess relented. “You are young, and therefore unsure,” Sola said. “But I see in you great love for Kichona and unwavering conviction. Stay true to your compass, and you will prevail.”
Aki looked up from the floor. “Thank you, my lady. But you didn’t tell me—who is this new enemy we face?”
The goddess glanced at the handkerchief in her hand. She traced a finger across the silk, ending at the embroidered Ora tiger. “You don’t need me to tell you. You already know.”
She released the handkerchief and let it flutter to the ground, landing in front of where Aki lay prostrate at the foot of the shrine.
Suddenly, flames shot through the center of the silk in a violent, thin line, precisely where Sola’s finger had traced. Aki jumped backward as the handkerchief flew in the air.
The fire extinguished a moment later. The incense stick snuffed itself out. The temperature in the temple dropped back to normal.
Sola was gone.
Aki collapsed back onto her hands and knees, sweat dripping from her forehead. The handkerchief lay on the floor, cleanly singed and split down the center. Half of the Ora tiger had fallen to Aki’s left, and the other half, to her right.
Her heart nearly stopped.
She had learned how to hold herself up like a proper empress over the past ten years, to deal elegantly with whatever challenges presented themselves, but this . . .
Aki could make excuses about interpretations. She could come up with ways to explain away what Sola had meant.
But it wouldn’t change what was right in front of her—the Ora tiger, torn in two.
Could it be?
Aki pulled on a chain around her neck, freeing an abalone shell locket from beneath her collar. Inside were two portraits, side by side, of a gold-haired little girl and her twin brother, the pictures done in profile so it looked as if they were smiling at each other.
She ran her finger over the boy’s portrait. They had been inseparable once. That is, until he began training as a taiga. Because he was royalty, he was taught privately in Rose Palace, rather than with the other apprentices at the Citadel. But being a magical warrior in the making went to her brother’s head, especially since Aki was not blessed with Luna’s magic. Arrogance and avarice moved in between the siblings. Gin gained a taste for power. Aki lost her best friend.
She didn’t want to breathe. Her brother could be alive. How many nights had she lain awake in bed, dreaming that she hadn’t stood up to Gin back then, imagining a world where the Blood Rift hadn’t happened and she’d let him wear the crown instead of fighting him for it. A world where she still had a brother, a twin.
“Is it really you, Gin?”
But then she remembered what happened when those fantasies intersected with reality: if Gin were on the throne, he would chase Zomuri’s legend. He’d use the Society to attack and colonize other kingdoms, and this peaceful, steady life established by their father and the Ora rulers before him would cease to exist. War was not conducted in a vacuum. Bloodshed on the shores of other kingdoms meant bloodshed on Kichona’s shores in return.
So if this split handkerchief meant what Aki thought it meant, then what was coming wasn’t just a reunion between brother and sister. If Gin was the one who possessed the new magic, he’d have a chance to get what he always wanted—the throne, Kichona, and the Evermore.
Aki pressed the locket to her chest.
Her brother would destroy everything.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Daemon sat with his knees to his chest in a dark corner of the ship, behind several wooden boxes in the cargo hold. The air was dank and heavy down here, since there was no ventilation. It stank of stale water and damp rope and old, rotted wood; even if the sailors who’d previously manned this ship pumped the extra water out of the bilge every morning, it was still impossible to get rid of all of it, and years of seafaring seeped into the groaning planks, infusing the ship with every algae-and salt-water-soaked journey in its history.
In spite of the stench and the unsteady rocking of the ship, though, Daemon’s stomach growled. He hadn’t had anything to eat other than a handful of rice crackers and dried fish, before they arrived at Kaede City.
You’re going to have to wait, Daemon thought to his stomach, even if you have to eat yourself. There was no way he was leaving this part of the ship until Sora arrived.
The passing of each minute was excruciating, as if the wheel of time needed oiling and had slowed to a creaking, halting pace. He clenched his teeth as he waited for her.
Don’t be ridiculous, he chastised himself. There’s no panic coming through the bond. Sora’s fine.
But still, Daemon gound his teeth some more.
Forty-five torturous minutes later, Sora dropped down from the ladder and snuck into the cargo hold. The tension in Daemon’s neck and shoulders released as soon as he saw her, but he remained in his corner, tucked away in the shadows, watching as Sora darted around boxes and coils of rope that cluttered the floor. Her movements were fluid yet precise. She was a beautiful, deadly weapon. He never got the chance to simply admire her, and this rare opportunity might never come up again.
When she made it close to his hiding place, he finally stood. Sora smiled when she saw him.
Daemon grinned. “What took you so long?”
She punched him on the shoulder. “I had to wait until foot traffic died down in the hold I was in. It was busier up there.”