She saw now what had shocked Lei, and the understanding that came with it rendered her numb.
Because the palace walls were never just black. They only appeared so from a distance. Up close, you could see the amber shimmer of characters dancing beneath their dark surface, feel the buzz of the daos being woven into them without pause by the royal shamans, such powerful daos even Wren had been stunned by the magic she sensed when she’d first arrived at the palace. For almost two hundred years, they’d worked as the original Demon King had envisioned: a living shield of magic, impenetrable, unconquerable.
A shield that had now, finally, failed.
“The protective magic,” Lei whispered, reaching for the wall. “It’s gone.”
THIRTY-SIX
LEI
WHEN MY FINGERS TOUCH THE STONE, I know it’s true.
There is no power within them.
That’s why their golden glow has disappeared. Why we can hear the sounds of battle so clearly, when the magic of the shamans usually blocks out the rest of the world.
Behind my astonishment, a tentative elation builds. The palace’s protection has broken—leaving it wide open for us.
A grin spreads across my lips. I turn to Wren, expecting to see the same growing sense of victory on her face, too.
Instead, tears stream down her cheeks.
“Wren!” I cry, grabbing her. “What’s wrong?”
“There is no more magic,” she says.
“I know. Wren, this is amazing news—”
“No more magic,” she says, “at all.”
It takes a while for the meaning of her words to sink in. When they do, it drives the breath from me.
“That’s what the explosion must have been.” Wren gazes at the gates through wet, disbelieving eyes. “So much magic was being used in such a short period and all in the same place. The Shadow shamans killed themselves. Our shamans were using magic to attack the wall. To protect and heal our injured. I was using magic to fight. And then you… you were about to sacrifice yourself for me.”
I shift guiltily, but her tone isn’t accusatory. It’s disbelief. Incredulity. The worse kind, when you know you’re right, but you’re desperate not to be.
“Qi draining,” Wren whispers. “Too much taken from the earth without enough given back. That’s what’s caused the Sickness—the King torturing the shamans within the wall to perform the protective enchantments. Building the Shadow Sect. Forcing power without any thought of the consequences. The balance of energy has been tipping for years, and tonight it became too much. Now it’s all gone. Magic. My power.”
Before I can say anything, a shadow passes overhead.
Wren and I whip our blades ready. But the winged figure is familiar, despite the blood splashing his gray-tipped feathers and blue hanfu.
“Merrin!” I call as he evades arrows from the archers on the parapet.
Samira dives to distract them so Merrin can come closer.
“The shamans’ protection is gone!” I say, raising my voice just enough for him to hear but not to draw the soldiers’ attention. “The palace walls are unprotected!”
“Find Lova!” Wren tells him. “Get her to direct the cannons at the gate—it’s the weakest point.”
Merrin nods, lifting back high. He joins Samira in attacking the guards atop the parapet to keep their focus from us as Wren and I dash across the court, moving a safe distance from the gates.
“Wren,” I say as we wait. I chose my words carefully. “Your magic—all magic… it’s got to come back, right?”
She’s scanning the court for danger, but I see her jaw clench at my question. “Magic is a fundamental part of the world. It lives in the earth, flows as qi through everything. It won’t have gone forever. It just needs time to regenerate.”
“How long will that take?”
“I don’t know—”
Boom!
The ground shudders as the first cannonball hits its mark. The gates jolt. Dust billows, human-sized pieces of debris falling loose. On the ramparts, the royal soldiers reload their own cannons, ordering archers to send out more arrows.
The doors tremor as a second cannonball crashes into them. A few guards are flung from the parapets by the blast. I wince as they hit the floor, bones splintering upon impact.
The next two explosions ring out in quick succession—and then the great gate of the Hidden Palace finally gives, collapsing in a heap of broken stone and blooming dust.
There’s a triumphant roar.
Backlit by the rising sun, a wave of soldiers emerge through the smoke: Papers in Hanno blue; the yellow robes of the Amala; demons sporting a myriad of clan colors and crests, some still on bear-and horseback.
The guards on the ramparts immediately turn their attention inward. Arrows rain down. Scarlet sprays the air as demons and Papers drop, disappearing under the boots of the soldiers coming up behind them.
Our own archers return fire, toppling more guards.
As the remainder of the royal soldiers rappel down the wall to meet our army head-on, Wren and I charge into the fray. Ceremony Court, deserted not even a minute ago, swells with clashing figures. I spot Nitta, her face blood-splattered and furrowed in concentration as she shifts her chair with deft movements, aiming the blades jutting from its wheels at soldiers’ legs. Beside her, Lova cuts down the maimed demons with her cutlass.
Wren and I fight side by side, slipping into an instinctive rhythm. I’m exhausted, each move making my muscles protest, yet the fight feels different now. Having pierced the palace’s defenses, we finally have the advantage. Knowing that invigorates me—invigorates all of us, judging by the undercurrent of victory humming through our warriors.
Without their boosted power, stolen like Wren’s by the blast, the soldiers of the Shadow Sect have lost their intimidating blood coats and savage strength. And though they’re still highly skilled fighters, I face them without the same fear as before.
Even demons are no match for Paper Girls with fire in their hearts.
It doesn’t take long for what’s left of the King’s perimeter army to fall.
When the last of them have been brought down, cheers burst out. A few young warriors climb onto the bodies of fallen guards, pumping their fists. Others drum their feet, embrace one another fiercely.
Wren grabs my hand. “Let’s check on the others.”
We weave through the throng. Our soldiers are spreading out, taking advantage of the pause in fighting to regroup. While some celebrate, the mood is for the most part somber. We pass medics tending to the wounded. Friends crying over the bodies of the fallen. Dazed Papers and demons sitting in silence.
There are a few last rumbles and flickers from the clouds overhead, but it seems the storm has spent itself at last. The rising sun spills through the gap in the broken gate beneath a haze of dust. I accidentally look straight at it, and am blinking my vision clear when I spot a flash of dark azure.
At first, I think it’s a trick of the light. Then the girl turns to accept a flask someone is handing to her.
Porcelain skin. Gaunt cheekbones. Haunted eyes.