A movement outside makes me skitter from the entrance. Hugging the wall, I head down the corridor I’ve found myself in, moving warily. The chanting grows louder. Static glances off my skin. I pick up my pace, a rich glow spilling from the opening ahead, and then I’m stepping through—
A shockwave of magic knocks me so hard I reel back.
By now, I’ve seen shamans at work countless times. The ones in the palace who either healed or bound me. Sweet Hiro, so steady in the face of death. Wren in her Xia trance, the most awe-inspiring of them all. But this is beyond anything I could have imagined.
A vast, high-ceilinged cavern stretches to either side of the archway I’m standing within. And almost inch of it is occupied by shamans.
Ebony-robed, tattoo-riddled shamans, kneeling with bowed heads, power crackling off their bodies like lightning in a thundercloud. They are packed so tightly their robes lap over one another, creating a rippling black sea. More golden marks—the words of their daos—shimmer in the air before latching to the walls, sinking beneath the stone. Unlike outside, here the characters come so fast and thick the air glows with a swirling, molten-bronze wind.
Past the passageway, a narrow walkway lines the chamber. I step into it, glancing for guards. All I see in either direction are more shamans.
Then I notice the chains.
I’d missed them at first with the squalls of magic spinning through the air. My blood runs cold as I follow the line of the chains down from hooks in the ceiling to where they are attached to each shaman’s neck with a heavy gold collar.
Just then, voices sound over the chanting.
“How many did the General say?”
“Three hundred. For now.”
“You think we’ll need more?”
“You saw the size of the blast, Mofa. We’ll be lucky if half this side of the wall isn’t cleared out to deal with the damage.”
“Gods. Whoever did this is going to wish they’d died in the explosion themselves. The King has been on the rampage ever since the Moon Ball.”
I drop to the floor, shoving my back to the wall. Luckily the guards have come from an entranceway farther up to the left, and the pair of them busy themselves with unlocking the chains of the tightly crammed shamans, hefting them to their feet before making them file out one by one.
I’m wondering what to do next—Kiroku didn’t have time to give me any further instructions—when a hand grasps my ankle.
I stifle a scream.
A young shaman leans from the pack, red-faced as he strains against his binds, but his expression is composed as he addresses me, a quickness in his hazel eyes.
“Moonchosen,” he says. “We’ve been waiting for you to come.”
Breathless, I look back at the guards, but by chance they’re moving in the opposite direction, their backs to us.
“Don’t worry about them.” The shaman sits back so his chain isn’t pulling so tight and gives me a small smile. “I’m Ruza.”
“L-Lei,” I stammer.
“I know that. The small bird flies.”
“On the wings of the golden-eyed girl,” I finish.
His face sharpens. “Ready to spread those wings, golden-eyed girl?”
My nerves flicker brighter under the waves of enchantments. The chanting reverberating through the hall hides our voices, but Ruza doesn’t look concerned about the shamans nearby overhearing.
I glance around pointedly. “Are we—is it safe…”
“We’re all on your side here, Lei.” Ruza spreads an arm, and I notice painful-looking welts and slashes covering his skin as the sleeve of his robe slips. “It took a long time, but our network in the palace managed to move all rebel shamans into one place, and we’ve been working on creating an opening in the wall.” As I crick my neck to look, he says, “You won’t see it. We’re using daos to hide it from the guards. So you’ll forgive the others if this isn’t the warm welcome you were imagining. We’re a little tired.”
Guilt cinches my throat. All this magic and pain…
For me.
“You shouldn’t have done this,” I say.
Ruza frowns. “Do you know why we’re doing it?” When I shake my head, he says, “The same reason you fight. We want to see the King and his court brought to their knees.” The boy winces, adjusting the collar at his neck. The skin around it is purpled and crusted with dried blood. “My entire clan was imprisoned by the King—only one of us escaped. My best friend. Hiro.”
I freeze. “You mean…”
Ruza nods. “The same Hiro you knew. Kiroku was the one who recruited me a few months ago. She brought me and my clan members news of your friendship with Hiro. How he’d sacrificed himself to help you and the Hannos. Even if we hadn’t spent over a year in these conditions, that would have been enough to convince us. We’ve been working with her since, along with many other shamans. There are hundreds of us, Lei.”
He spreads an arm again, and I follow it, taking in the cowed, black-robed figures with a swelling wonder. Hundreds of royal shamans, working against the King. It’s more than I’d dared to believe.
When I return my gaze to Ruza, the young boy’s expression is determined and proud. But it strikes fresh shame through me.
“Ruza,” I start, “Hiro died because of us—”
“He chose to die for you. That’s all we ask. To have the choice—”
Shouting comes from where the guards are unshackling the weary shamans. One of them keeps falling when they try and get him to walk. A whipcrack echoes out, and I wince.
“We should hurry,” Ruza says. “I can’t come with you, or it’ll look too suspicious, but I’ll free myself with magic to take you to the spot—”
“I’m not going.”
Ruza stares.
“If I go,” I say, “I’m putting too many people at risk. There are things I need to do here. People I need to protect. I’ve made promises, and I don’t intend on breaking them.”
“You could be free,” he says.
“But they wouldn’t. Please, Ruza. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve all done to arrange this for me, but I can’t leave. And I—I’m sorry, but I need to ask even more of you.”
He smiles. “Anything for a friend of Hiro’s.”
That guts me, but I press on before I lose courage—because the last thing I want to do is ask this young shaman who’s clearly drained and in pain to hurt himself further for me. I extend my arm, showing him the band strapped around my wrist.
He brushes a finger over it and flinches. “A cruel magic,” he says.
“I can’t take it off, or they’ll notice, and my friend Aoki—”
“I know. I can read the daos woven into it. The bands are linked. Whatever is done to this one will be done to hers.”
My heart races. “Is there any way…”
But Ruza’s already wrapped both hands around the bangle. His eyes close, magic shivering into life as he whispers in the strange language of the shamans. His brow is drawn, face tight with concentration. The tendons of his neck tense. I can feel him trembling, his fingers white where they grip my wrist. Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, reminded too much of Hiro, Ruza gasps, sagging.
He can’t even fall to the floor because of the chain.