Circle of Shadows (Circle of Shadows, #1)(3)
A group of six apprentices vaulted across the courtyard, executing quadruple somersaults in midair before landing on the parapet above.
“And with a panther spell, taigas could sneak silently through the night. With Sola-blessed rulers on the throne and Luna-touched warriors protecting its shores, no invaders could match them, and Kichona thrived.”
There was an ominous pause before the narrator continued.
“Sometimes, however, the most dangerous threats come from within.”
The Imperial Guards on the wall above the courtyard drew a black tarp over the open roof, casting the space into darkness. There was only a narrow hole in the center of the tarp that allowed in a small amount of moonlight. Of course, the taigas didn’t need this to see; they could cast owl spells to enhance their night vision. But Empress Aki could not use magic and would need a hint of light to watch the rest of the show.
Beside Sora, her roommate pulled out a stiletto blade. She was known as Fairy because she’d always been petite, and her face was soft, with rose-kissed cheeks like a cherub. But many apprentices had figured out the hard way during sparring practice that Fairy didn’t battle like a dainty pixie. Made purely of muscle and pluck, she fought fast and dirty, and she made fun of the vanquished afterward.
Sora and Fairy were playing the heroes in the exhibition, and the two girls stepped into the center of the courtyard, Sora near the back and Fairy closer to where the empress sat. A large glass shield had been erected in front of Empress Aki to protect her. The apprentices were using practice weapons made of wood, but even those could hurt someone if they accidentally flew astray.
“Such danger came calling upon Kichona on an evening just a decade ago,” the narrator said. “It is always calm before a storm, and in that silence, Prince Gin and his soldiers sprang.”
Sora’s stomach clenched. She’d been only eight years old during the Blood Rift, but its mention still had a visceral effect on her.
Then-emperor Kenzo Ora had died unexpectedly of an aneurysm. Afterward, his children could not agree on how to rule the kingdom. Princess Aki wanted to continue their family’s legacy of peaceful prosperity, the foundation of Kichona’s happiness. However, her twin brother, Gin, belonged to the Cult of the Evermore, which believed that Zomuri, god of glory, would grant them paradise on earth if enough blood was shed in his name. Prince Gin wanted to utilize the taigas’ magic to build Kichona’s military might, to wage war and conquer neighboring lands.
Because the princess was nine minutes older than her brother, she was first in line for the throne. But nine is an unlucky number, according to Kichonan superstition. Prince Gin would not back down, not when the future of the kingdom was at stake. Taiga warriors took sides, and a brief but vicious civil war was fought. Prince Gin’s taigas battled cruelly in their attempted coup, decapitating soldiers and leaving their heads on spikes, gutting them alive, and forcing them to watch the murder of their friends.
But perhaps the most barbaric part of the Blood Rift—and what Sora remembered most vividly—was Prince Gin’s warriors setting the Citadel on fire. The inferno burned down many buildings, including the nursery, where Sora’s little sister and others perished.
The terror of that night shivered through Sora now.
Daemon reached through their gemina bond to soothe her, projecting the sensation of a placid lake. As the “leader” of the enemy, he was off to the side of the courtyard, but he could still sense Sora’s unease through their connection. It was as if he were saying, Remember, this is pretend. It’s only an exhibition.
Sora swallowed hard. Right. This wasn’t real.
Besides, Sora thought, if Empress Aki has no problem with the Level 12s commemorating the Blood Rift victory every year, then I should be able to deal with it. After all, the empress had had to battle against her own brother. That could not be an easy memory to bear.
Sora curled the fourth fingers on both hands so that they touched her thumbs and formed circles. “Sight like an owl,” she chanted softly three times.
The rims of Sora’s eyes tingled, and her vision sharpened just as Daemon and the other apprentices—“Prince Gin’s warriors”—began to creep out of the darkness in front of her. On the other side of the courtyard, they did the same to Fairy.
Sora crouched into a defensive stance, throwing stars already poised at her fingertips.
Prince Gin’s soldiers attacked, shouting, “For the future emperor!”
Sora unleashed a flurry of stars at the enemy. Two of them ducked, and one fell, feigning death.
Another wave of them came at her. She hurled more stars and darts, and then some more.
Sora spun away from an oncoming soldier, then threw a star behind her back at her attacker. It met the base of his skull. He stumbled, then fell as if dead.
She reached for another star. Her fingers ran over the band across her chest, but all she touched was leather. “Crow’s eye!” she swore, as if surprised. “I’m out.”
She unsheathed her daggers, one in each hand.
Prince Gin’s soldiers fanned out in front of her, Daemon included. He leered as he turned his sword in his palm. “There are many dangers lurking in the night,” he said. His voice oozed. “A pretty girl like you ought to stay tucked in bed if she wants to remain safe.”
“I would say the same of you,” Sora quipped, “except you aren’t the least bit pretty.”