I hope they were too caught up in the battle to notice that I escaped the Dragon Prince’s claws and I’m part of Spirit’s rebellion. Broomstick crossed his fingers and hurried to Warrior Meeting Hall.
The nearest room was a large conference space. He glanced inside, but it was just a bunch of ryuu—not new recruits but Prince Gin’s original warriors from the Blood Rift—sharing several bottles of something and singing drunkenly. It was as if this once sacrosanct building where the Society governed was nothing more than a tavern, the long conference table converted into a sloshy bar.
Broomstick couldn’t bear to listen. He headed farther down the corridor.
Most of the meeting rooms were empty, but the lights in the administrative office were on. Broomstick took a deep breath, put on his most gregarious expression, and strode in as if he belonged there.
“Hey-o,” he said to the half dozen taigas—no, ryuu recruits—who were busy going through stacks of files. “What’d I miss?”
Crossbow, a taiga in his thirties, looked up through his glasses. “Broomstick, where’ve you been? Your shift was supposed to start two hours ago. We’ve been buried in paper here.”
But Moss, a Level 11 apprentice who worked part-time in Warrior Meeting Hall like Broomstick did, set down the files in his hand. “It’s not just two hours. I haven’t seen you at all in the dormitory. Suspicious, don’t you think? That you’ve been missing ever since Spirit and Wolf disappeared?”
Broomstick’s heart seized for a second. But then he let loose an easy smile and shrugged. “You caught me. I ran off with my traitor ex-friends but then decided the smartest thing to do was walk right back into the Citadel and return to my job helping you losers sort through paperwork.”
Crossbow and the others laughed.
Moss kept his eye on Broomstick a moment longer. But a reluctant laugh escaped his lips. “Sorry. It sounded better in my head, but once I said it out loud . . . I guess it’s pretty ridiculous.”
Broomstick’s heart resumed beating. “I really do apologize for being late. The Council has been questioning me since the battle to see if I knew anything of Spirit’s plans.” He scowled for good measure, as if he was disgusted that he’d once considered her a friend. “Between that and practicing this new magic, I haven’t even been back to my room. So if I don’t totally make sense, it’s because I’m severely sleep deprived.”
“This ryuu magic is incredible,” Crossbow said. “I’m dying to finish sorting through all these reports so I can get back to the sparring arena again.”
Everyone nodded. Thank the gods they’d swallowed Broomstick’s excuses. It was something Fairy had taught him—if you’re caught in an untruth (for her it was usually gossip), either get angry while you defend it as truth or confess to it as if the deception was the most obvious mistake in the world. Either way, people ended up believing your initial lie. Psychology was a strange beast but a helpful one.
Broomstick picked up a pile of loose papers. “So what are these, and what are we doing with them?”
“Initial responses to the emperor’s decrees,” Moss said. “We have to organize them by subject and geographical location for Virtuoso to review.”
Holy heavens. Virtuoso was Spirit’s sister, who Broomstick knew as Hana. She was also the Dragon Prince’s right-hand ryuu. Sadness for Spirit prickled at Broomstick, along with a sharp stab of fear—Hana wasn’t someone to trifle with.
“The red folders are for tax reports,” Moss said, continuing on from before. “Orange for confiscation of tiger pearls, yellow for updates on weapons manufacturing, and green for the collection of all fish, meat, fruit, vegetables, and grains for the army.”
Dread mounted inside Broomstick. Kichona was being transformed into a war machine, and at a horrifying pace. Spirit had been very wrong that the ryuu would still be picking up the pieces from their battle. Instead, the Dragon Prince had already issued decrees seizing everything that defined the kingdom—the tiger pearls; the happy, colorful tunics and dresses worn by the people; the bountiful orchards full of yuzu; and the nets full of shrimp and fish. And that wasn’t even touching upon what he could eventually do to the minds of the citizens themselves. He would probably conscript them for the army, to support the ryuu.
“The speed that we’re getting ready for war is, uh, exciting,” Broomstick said through gritted teeth. “How long is this war supposed to take? And how do we know when we do enough to bring paradise on earth?”
Because that was the point of it all. The Evermore—a promise of transforming Kichona into a utopia and giving all Kichonans eternal life to enjoy there. The only problem was that hundreds of thousands—probably more—would have to die before Kichona achieved the goal.
“We’ll be granted the Evermore when Emperor Gin delivers the hearts of all seven monarchs to Zomuri,” Crossbow said matter-of-factly.
Broomstick paled as he ran through the countries and their rulers.
High King Erickson of Shinowana
Ria Kayla of Brin
Emperor Geoffrey Stafford of Caldan
Queen Meredith of Fale Po Tair
Tsarina Austine of Thoma
Empress Vivíana of Xerlinis
Queen Everleigh of Vyratta
How long would it take to win against all of them? To conquer their kingdoms, capture the monarchs, and murder each one? It would be decades of bloodshed.
On top of that, the start of war against the mainland meant the other kingdoms would band together to fight back against Kichona. Like Sora had said, they wouldn’t stay overseas either. They would come here, and everything Broomstick had ever known would be destroyed. Cities and villages torched. Innocent people—like his parents, brothers, and sisters at home—would be taken prisoner, beaten, and killed. Kichona’s beautiful, peaceful way of life trampled in the mud and rotted by death.
Moss reached over to grab a report on increased output goals for mining iron ore. His actions were, again, that horribly bizarre mind control where Broomstick’s old friends seemed completely normal except for their unflinching lack of morality and their dedication to the Dragon Prince’s war. Broomstick, on the other hand, could hardly breathe, let alone read the papers in his hands.
If he, Fairy, Spirit, and Wolf couldn’t assassinate Prince Gin, Kichona would cease to be Kichona.
Chapter Seven
Fairy darted through the Citadel’s grounds, keeping away from the paths and staying along the back sides of the buildings whenever possible. Her first stop was the mess hall. There was a boiler room beneath the main dining room that no one ever went to except the maintenance staff, and it was both out of the way and uncomfortable enough to be used as a prison cell.
She tiptoed to the back door of the mess hall and pressed her ear against it. It was relatively quiet on the other side. Thank the gods it wasn’t mealtime.
But Fairy didn’t go inside. If the boiler room was being used as a jail for the empress, the main access door from the inside would be locked and heavily guarded. Luckily, Fairy knew a secret way in. (She’d brought a boy down there once, but it had been way too steamy—and not in the good way.)
She knelt in the garden behind the mess hall and brushed the ground with her hands, searching. Mud caked in her fingernails, and a couple rocks scraped her.