She got caught in a sail on the way down, slowing her rapid fall. It was the only way she didn’t die when she hit the deck. Still, the impact slammed every bit of oxygen out of her body.
“Spirit! Are you okay?” Beetle ran up to the edge of the scrimmage ring. She’d nearly forgotten she had an audience. But of course she did. This was, as Hana had put it, a public humiliation.
“I’m all right.” Sora wiped a smear of blood from her cheek. Hopefully it made her look fiercer than she felt, like war paint instead of defeat.
And she would not be humiliated. Not by her little sister. Sora got to her feet.
The last time she and Hana were in the same place, Hana had been so resentful. Sora didn’t want to see that in her sister’s eyes anymore. She wanted both Prince Gin and Hana to be proud of her.
Sora was supposed to have the same power as her sister. But even if Sora didn’t know how to make herself invisible yet, it might still be possible for her to see how Hana did it.
“You’re still thinking like a taiga.” Hana’s voice came from somewhere else on the deck, that now-familiar corrosive condescension returning to burn the edges of her otherwise youthful voice. Sora’s ears were still ringing from the fall and she couldn’t quite place the source. “Magic is like another reality,” Hana continued. “Or rather, one layered on top of the world that ordinary people—and taigas—see.”
Sora remained light on her feet, hands up in fighting stance, while she pondered this.
That was it! Ryuu magic was invisible to taigas. But now that Sora had Sight, she could use it if she focused. She’d seen the oranges in the gorilla, infused with the green of particles. The bats’ wings had glittered with ryuu magic inside them.
If she looked harder at the emerald dust, maybe she’d find Hana, saturated by the magic in much the same way.
Sora bit back a smile, in case it was premature. But that had to be it. Hana wasn’t actually invisible. She’d simply asked the magic to camouflage her from ordinary reality. With that thought, the barriers of Sora’s preconceptions began to fall away.
And there was Hana, like an emerald version of herself, reclining on the edge of the ship’s railing.
Sora pretended to wander aimlessly. But when she was within range, her arm shot out and knocked Hana off the railing. Only because Sora grabbed a fistful of her tunic did her sister not fall overboard.
Hana reappeared.
“Holy heavens,” Beetle said, dropping the last half of his cookie sandwich onto the floor. “No one else has been able to see Virtuoso when she was invisible.”
All the other ryuu stood equally stunned that someone—a recruit, no less—had bested the undefeatable Virtuoso, who now dangled off the side of the ship.
Sora braced herself for Hana’s scowl.
What she got, though, was her sister looking up at her, eyes bright and clear and wide, the exact expression of surprise and awe she used to give Sora when they were young. Sora glowed. This was what she’d wanted. This was what she’d missed.
But the admiration was quickly replaced with Virtuoso’s signature glower. Hana scrambled back onto the railing and shoved Sora aside. She landed on deck and stormed off.
Those two seconds, though, were enough.
I am so glad to be here, Sora thought. Not only to be able to play with magic more powerful than she’d ever imagined possible. But also to be reunited with Hana, even if her little sister hadn’t come around yet to accepting her.
Sora couldn’t wait to spend more time with Hana. She would become the ryuu that Hana had promised Prince Gin she would be. And hopefully, she would permanently earn back that look of love and admiration that had flitted in her little sister’s eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Daemon swam all night. He swam until his muscles cramped, and then he pushed on some more, the magic of his sailfish spell allowing him to continue past ordinary human limits. His lungs burned and his lips cracked from the seawater, and still, he kept swimming. He would never make it to Tiger’s Belly before the ryuu. Their magic could command the sea. Even against an ordinary ship, Daemon’s arms and legs would be no match. But he could do his best and swim ashore on one of the smaller islands nearby.
At the same time, he tried to project the will to resist Prince Gin through his gemina connection. Where was that electric feeling he’d had before, the sharp spark he’d used to shock Sora out of the Dragon Prince’s spell? He needed to send it to Sora again.
But he couldn’t find it. Perhaps Daemon had to be under attack by Prince Gin’s magic in order for his own defenses to rise. There was no blaze of resistance now, just his own thoughts reciting, Be strong, Sora, be strong, over and over again.
And yet, even that was useless. His urging went nowhere, like throwing a ball at a cushioned wall. It simply bounced back, muted. It was as if Sora’s mental ramparts were up.
Why were her ramparts up?
Oh gods, he thought, his arms growing heavier in the water. What if Prince Gin has already hypnotized her?
Part of Daemon wanted to let himself drown. He couldn’t bear to think of Sora stolen by the Dragon Prince. His strong, brilliant gemina reduced to one of the lemmings who followed the prince around.
But another part of Daemon knew that he had to keep going. If Sora had fallen under the charm spell, she’d need him now more than ever. And that part of him guiltily liked that he had a chance to be the hero of the story for once. Between the pair of them, Sora had always shined brighter. Daemon didn’t even know who his parents were or where he’d come from, for gods’ sake.
He heaved himself onto shore, his arms too tired to take care not to slice himself on the coral.
Officially, these islands were called the Sanran Atoll, but Kichonans had long ago nicknamed them the Belly Lint Atoll, since they were a sprinkle of tiny islands south of Tiger’s Belly, and on a map, they looked like specks of navel dirt.
Daemon flipped onto his back and lay there, panting. Because he was no longer in the water, the sailfish spell left him, and with it, his sailfish endurance disappeared, too. Suddenly, human exhaustion caught up and slammed into him. Not two minutes from climbing out of the sea, Daemon passed out.
The sun was up when Daemon woke. His eyes flew open in a panic. Was it morning already? How much time had passed? Gods, he couldn’t afford to fall asleep!
Waves lapped at his legs, and the salt water stung the myriad cuts on his skin. The pain helped him focus, and he realized that whatever time he’d lost couldn’t be recovered, so worrying over it was a waste. All that mattered now was getting to Tiger’s Belly as quickly as possible.
I need a boat. I can’t beat Prince Gin there, but maybe I can still get to Tiger’s Belly before they leave with the new batch of recruits. In time to save Sora.
Daemon rolled over and got to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, but he forced himself to jog toward the cluster of thatch-roofed huts farther up the beach.
Half a dozen fishermen sat on a small pier, some sorting through the day’s catch, others mending nets. It must have been later than Daemon thought it was. Please let the ryuu still be at Tiger’s Belly.
“Yah-ho!” he shouted when he was close enough.
The men looked up at his greeting.
Daemon stopped at the edge of the pier and gave a short bow of his head. “Hello there. I was hoping you could help me.”
They blinked at Daemon, as if he were a strange apparition. He must have looked like some sort of sea creature, dripping wet with seaweed and sand clinging to his clothes.
“Look at his hair,” one of the men whispered. “It looks like the midnight ocean.”
The others gawked.
“Um . . .” Daemon ran his fingers through his hair. Damn blue roots. Once this was all over, he was going to dye them again. But first, he had the small order of business of defeating a magical, vengeful prince bent on hypnotizing all of Kichona. Easy.
After a few more seconds of gaping, the first man who’d noticed Daemon’s hair dropped to his knees and lay out prostrate on the pier, as if bowing to the empress herself.
“What are you doing?” Daemon asked, blood rushing to his cheeks. “Get up. I’m not royalty.”
“Nauti is testing us,” the man said to the others.
They murmured their understanding that they were in the presence of the god of the sea, who in some myths had hair as blue and black as the deepest part of the ocean. They immediately fell to their knees and laid themselves before Daemon.
“No!” Daemon said, the ridiculousness of the scene pushing back on his own embarrassment. “I’m not a god. Especially Nauti, who I’m pretty sure wouldn’t look like a drowned dog if he wanted to appear before you. Look, I’m only a taiga.”
The men crawled up from their bows a little, although they remained on their knees, just in case. “A taiga?”