Circle of Shadows (Circle of Shadows, #1)(21)

Emperor Mareo hesitated. But he pulled back his shoulders and said, “I promise all the lives it shall take. All the people I conquer shall worship you. All I kill shall die in your name.”

Zomuri smiled. “Do what I bid of you, and you shall have your paradise on earth. You shall have the Evermore.”

The curse was made.

Emperor Mareo’s legs buckled beneath him from exhaustion, and he hit the ground. He wept, but out of gratitude rather than pain. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you.”

Zomuri picked him up by the scruff of his neck and stood him back on his wobbling legs. “Do not thank me yet. There is much work to be done. You will broaden Kichona’s borders as far as the eye can see. You will convert the people of the lands you conquer to our faith and make them worship me. And you will pay your tithe to me in blood.”

The emperor quivered under the burden with which he’d been bestowed. But he had asked for it. And he wanted the Evermore.

“The first tithe you owe comes due to me as soon as you return home. You shall find Kichonans aged one to one hundred, a male and female each, and sacrifice their lives to me in the Ceremony of Two Hundred Hearts. Only then will I grant you the right to seek the Evermore.”

Emperor Mareo’s jaw hung open. “You want me to kill two hundred of my own people? Babies? Old women?”

Zomuri huffed, and a cloud of sulfurous air billowed from his nose. “The Evermore is the greatest prize of them all. Blood must be shed to make Kichona into the empire I want. Therefore, the first step is a ritual to prove to me that no life is too precious for you to spare, whether young or old, Kichonan or not.”

The emperor stood in the cavern, knees quaking. It was unspeakable, what Zomuri asked.

But it was also a small price to pay to bring paradise to the rest of the kingdom.

With this mission bestowed upon him, Emperor Mareo returned to his palace. He called for volunteers throughout the kingdom, a male and a female for each age between one and one hundred, promising them glory. And then, away from curious eyes, he slaughtered them, offering their hearts to Zomuri.

After that, Mareo’s armies massacred tens of thousands overseas, and he pursued his goal to the end of his days.

But when he died, Kichona’s borders barely skimmed the edges of the mainland. The mantle of the curse would have to be picked up by another disciple, who would, like his predecessor, offer the blood of many, many others.

Thus, it continued. There were periods of peace, when no one was foolish enough to desire what Zomuri had offered, not at so high a cost. But the avarice of men always rears its head again, and in time, another would try for what those who had come before him had failed to achieve.

But there was never enough blood to quench Zomuri’s thirst for glory in his name. Never enough for the god to grant heaven on earth. Therefore, it was not man who achieved immortality but, rather, the curse, which trailed their greed like an unshakable, eternal shadow.

The Evermore was never worth its price.





Chapter Ten


A crowd had formed in the center of the camp in Takish Gorge. The Dragon Prince walked to the edge of it. He cleared his throat.

The warriors turned. As soon as they saw it was him, they bowed and said, “Your Highness,” and stepped aside.

A path quickly appeared. Two taiga warriors from Paro Village had been captured that morning, and they were being kept in cages made of the skulls and femurs of foxes and wolverines and other forest animals, held together and unbreakable by magic. It was a specialty of another one of Gin’s soldiers.

The Dragon Prince strode to the cages and peered inside. “New recruits?” he asked.

The prisoner on the left gawked at him.

Was it because she was surprised to see him? Or was it the hideous scars on his face? Gin fought the urge to draw the hood of his cloak over his head. A true leader showed no fear. He had to project the aura of impenetrability.

Meanwhile, the taiga prisoner in the other cage spat at him. “I’d rather die than join a traitor like you.”

“Oh, really?” one of Gin’s warriors in the crowd asked. It was Skeleton, the one who’d built these cells. “Let’s see how true that is.”

Without his even forming a mudra or uttering a chant, the bones of the cage began to arc inward. As they did so, the bars splintered, turning into hundreds of bone stakes and spears. They closed in on the taiga rapidly.

“Stop!” her gemina cried.

Gin let it go on for another second, then held up his hand. The killer instinct in his warriors’ veins was a good thing. However, the taigas were not enemies. They might resist Gin at first, but they were part of the kingdom he meant to rule, to raise to great heights.

Once his warriors were abroad, though, Gin would unleash them and all their magic on their true adversaries.

On his command, the bones of the cage ceased their crushing movement inward.

The taiga in the cage quivered visibly, but contempt still glinted in her eyes.

“Skeleton,” Gin said, “I’d appreciate if you didn’t kill our prisoners before I’ve had a chance to decide what to do with them.”

“Yes, of course, Your Highness,” Skeleton said, bowing. “I let my excitement run away from me. Please accept my apologies.”

Gin turned to the prisoners. “I understand why you hate me. History is written by victors. I lost the Blood Rift; therefore, I’m the enemy. But the truth is, I care for Kichona as much as my sister does. We simply have different views on what’s best for the kingdom.”