“It is the greatest privilege in the land to serve Kichona as a taiga,” Mama said. “You have done well in school, and your father and I are very proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
“Your sister would have been proud as well.”
Sora closed her eyes, already welling up. Maybe by shutting them, she could keep the sadness inside, stop it from spilling out into the rest of her life. As if that hadn’t already happened.
“I think you should have this,” Mama said softly, taking off her necklace. It was a simple chain with a golden pearl on it, more affordable than rare tiger pearls.
“But that’s your memorial for Hana.” Sora blinked the tears from her eyes. “I couldn’t take that from you. You’ve worn it since the Blood Rift.”
“And it helped me through my mourning. But now it has a new purpose.” Mama fastened the necklace around Sora’s throat.
“Your Honor, there’s something else I want to say . . .” Mama reached out and touched her knee. Sora stilled, holding her breath.
“Despite your high marks in class,” Mama said, “I know these years haven’t been easy on you. You carry the burden of your sister’s memory with you. But it’s time to stop.”
Sora frowned; she was unaccustomed to the reprimand in her usually deferential mother’s tone.
“Before I read you the story, I said that we should remember Hana by using our lives to do what she could not. Do you understand what I meant by that?”
Sora bowed her head and kept it down, even more respectful than if she were before the Council. “You’re saying I shouldn’t take being a taiga for granted.”
“Yes,” her mother said. “But not only that—honor your sister by becoming the best you could ever be.”
She looked up now. “The best taiga.”
“Yes, that. Try harder in school. Push yourself when you become a warrior. But more important, be the best person you can be.” Mama squeezed her knee, losing the harsh edge in her voice. “Think of Empress Aki. She has done great things for our kingdom, but she doesn’t brag and doesn’t require loud adulation. Maintaining peace and quietly improving our lives is harder than it seems, and it is not glamorous. But there is a nobility in the way that she leads.”
Sora’s cheeks flushed. She was suddenly a bit ashamed of how she’d courted the limelight by shooting off fireworks at Rose Palace, not to mention the umpteen other stunts she’d pulled off in the past.
“Your Honor,” Mama said, “it is your duty to do more than most. To be more than most.”
The moon seemed to shine brighter. It filled Sora, as comprehension set in. Hana never had a chance to reach her potential. But I do.
Her teachers had been telling her for years that she was wasting her talent, that she could be so much more if she simply tried. But Sora hadn’t wanted to.
Until now. Thinking of what Hana could have been—that little girl who was so proud to be a taiga someday, so proud of having a big sister who was already an apprentice—let Sora see her purpose in this world in a different light.
I’ve been so selfish, Sora thought. She moved her hand and clasped Mama’s fingers in hers.
“I carry Hana’s memory with me,” Sora said, touching the golden pearl with her free hand. “I understand what you’re saying—I live this life for the both of us.”
Mama nodded, eyes glassy with tears. She held Sora’s hand more tightly. Sora stopped fighting her own sadness, and she let the tears spill over onto her cheeks. Hana had been a part of Sora’s life for six years, but just because she was dead didn’t mean Sora couldn’t keep her close to her heart now. Hana would be Sora’s inspiration; her death would not be in vain.
After a little longer at the shrine, Sora and her mother climbed together up the mountainside and back home.
Sora immediately went to Daemon. He’d been outside her father’s workshop, admiring the latest ceramic vases and platters. She had put up her mental ramparts while she was away so that he couldn’t feel her sadness. But Daemon’s forehead creased as soon as he saw the dried trails of tears on her face, and he set down the bowl in his hand and rushed to her. “Are you all right?”
She paused, but then nodded. She told him what had happened at the shrine, and through their bond, she shared the small swell of ambition inside her. Sora was talented enough to be part of the Imperial Guard, eventually. It would take years to become one—only the most accomplished warriors, with at least a decade of experience, could qualify for the honor—but the path started early. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late to change the trajectory of their careers.
“Mama’s right—I owe it to Hana to be more than just a decent taiga. From now on, I don’t want to be just some mischievous kid. I want to see what I’m capable of.”
Daemon laughed. “Welcome to actually caring what people think of you.”
Sora made a face. “Well, let’s not take it that far. I’m doing this for you and me, and for Hana. Not for the Council.”
He nodded. “I’m okay with that. But you know, even if your goal was to be the best taiga in Society history, for no reason other than for fun, I’d be there by your side the whole time.”
There was an intensity in his eyes, but it was different from the focus of being in the sparring ring or concentrating on a difficult spell. Sora couldn’t quite put a finger on what it meant. Daemon hadn’t looked at her in that way before. It was so intense that it made her self-conscious.
She looked away and clapped him on the back to break through her own awkwardness. “Then let’s do it. Let’s be the best taigas in Society history. Let’s go be legendary.”
Chapter Five
While the taiga apprentices had gone home for the Autumn Festival, the Council convened for their annual retreat on Isle of the Moon. Kichona was an archipelago, with the main island shaped like a leaping tiger, and Isle of the Moon was a crescent to the north, arcing over the tiger’s head. Glass Lady strolled through the manicured gardens here, past deep-green topiaries shaped like tigers and feather-tipped maples with leaves so bright red, they looked like candied apples. The evening air was crisp with autumn, and she allowed herself a rare moment of relaxation as she strolled across a bridge over one of the many ponds, brimming with koi of every shade imaginable, as if they’d escaped from a painter’s palette. Behind her, the famed Constellation Temple stood stoic yet richly ornamented, six stories high and composed of orange beams, capped off with a gleaming silver-tiled pagoda roof. Its white walls shone bright under the sun, and windows opened atop balconies carved with stars.
After her walk, Glass Lady went to the dining room, part of a high-ceilinged building with a glass roof that provided an unobstructed view of the sky. The other councilmembers had arrived a few minutes earlier and were already tucking into their dinners, their raucous laughter and conversation mingling with the rasp of chopsticks against ceramic bowls. Glass Lady nodded at their pleasure. It was, after all, the main point of assembling here.
The other point was to remind them of the history and identity of Kichona.
She strode up to the table. “My fellow warriors, I hope you enjoyed your first day here yesterday. It is certainly an extravagance to be able to gather on Isle of the Moon to enjoy the luxuries offered here. This would not have been possible without the generosity of our heavenly empress, who never hesitates to pay for this annual rejuvenation of our Council.” Glass Lady raised a teacup in the air. “To Empress Aki, the Benevolent One.”
The councilmembers lifted their teacups. “To Empress Aki, the Benevolent One!”
Glass Lady sipped her tea, then set it on the table. She had just opened her mouth to begin her speech when a sudden roar tore through the room. It filled the air like the exhale of a dragon who had been prodded, unhappily, awake.
In a hairbreadth of a second, every councilmember brandished swords and retrieved sickles and chains, darts, and other weapons from the pockets of their uniforms and the holsters on their backs.
Glass Lady looked up at the top of the dining room. Through the glass, a wave appeared, larger than any typhoon she had ever seen.
She dove beneath a table for cover. The wave crashed through the ceiling. Glass rained down like razor-edged hail.
“What’s happening?” Bullfrog, the nearest councilmember, shouted from beneath a chair he’d used as a shield.
“I don’t—” Another wave crested and smashed through the ceiling before she could finish.
But there wasn’t anything to say anyway. The sky had been clear this morning with no sign of storm. Had there been an earthquake somewhere that triggered a tsunami?
Whatever it was, the Council could not remain here. Glass Lady sprang to her feet, even as her entire body trembled. The next wave was already growing and looming overhead. “Evacuate to higher ground!”
The warriors sprinted for the doors.