Circle of Shadows (Circle of Shadows, #1)(22)
The promise of the Evermore swelled in Gin’s heart. It was soft, like the petals of a golden rose trying to bloom, and yet it ached, for it was a dream so big, it couldn’t fully unfurl in the space of one human being. He wanted to share his hope with the kingdom, to make the fantasy a reality for all of Kichona.
It would, of course, mean sacrifices had to be made along the way. Lots of blood would be shed, but it would be outweighed by the happiness, the paradise, that would come. That was Zomuri’s point. Only a truly courageous leader would have the fortitude to do what needed to be done to achieve the Evermore for his people.
Gin had the ability to do it.
Actually, more than that. When he was born, Luna had passed over Aki but had chosen to bless Gin as a taiga. Then, after the Blood Rift, he’d been on the brink of death yet somehow survived. His warriors had fled with him overseas and nursed him back to health in the rugged mountains of Shinowana, where he recovered and discovered new magic. All these improbabilities couldn’t have been an accident. The gods wanted him to know he was special.
Therefore, Gin had the responsibility to pursue the Evermore, to bring the best future possible to his people. It burned like a torch in the center of his chest.
He looked at the two prisoners again. Gin focused on the air around him. His magic appeared, like the dust of a million emeralds ground into glitter, floating in the breeze.
Take control of their minds, he willed the sparkling green particles.
They streamed toward the taigas, flurrying around their heads in a maelstrom. The taigas couldn’t see them, and they stared ahead, oblivious. The magic funneled in through their ears and into their heads.
The effect was startlingly sudden. One moment, the taigas were scowling, and the next, they smiled. For them, Gin’s control of their minds would feel like the soothing sound from inside a conch shell. They were still themselves—mostly—but they could relax, no longer burdened by the stress of whether their own decisions would be right or wrong. Gin would take care of everything. His presence in their heads gave them the security and purpose they’d always hoped for.
“We are proud to serve you, Your Highness,” the prisoners said, their declarations coordinated through their gemina bond.
Gin nodded, swallowing the tinny aftertaste of what he’d done. He hadn’t needed to enchant any of his original Blood Rift warriors to follow his commands; they had believes in his cause from the start. But his plan to capture the Council at Isle of the Moon—and, in effect, control the rest of the Society—had failed, so now it came to this. If the Society wouldn’t join him willingly, he’d make them his soldiers by force. With magic.
It’s necessary, he reminded himself. This is for my people. My kingdom.
Gin interrogated the two taigas before him, and they told him everything he needed to know: someone had seen him here in Takish Gorge, the Council had sent them to investigate, and they were to send back a dragonfly messenger immediately with a report.
“If the Council is waiting to hear from you, I suppose I can’t compel you to stay here.” He thought for a moment. “You’ll return to Paro Village and report that you found nothing here except the trash from an Autumn Festival celebration. You won’t say a word about me or this army.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He ordered them freed, and they hurried away to return to Paro Village.
“Congratulations, Your Highness,” Virtuoso said. She was one of his most talented warriors and potentially his deadliest weapon. “This is so exciting. Your plans are falling into place—”
Gin held up a hand. Virtuoso was also one of the younger of his soldiers, and her unbridled enthusiasm was too much at the moment. “I have a headache. Order the camp packed up. I’m going to my tent to rest.”
It was a lie, the part about the headache. It was Gin’s conscience that hurt.
But he couldn’t let it stop him. Not for too long.
He’d been put on earth for a purpose—make the taigas and Kichona the greatest they could be. Bring glory to Zomuri. And give his people eternal joy and immortality.
Gin clenched his fists. “This life was given back to me when I should have died. And so I swear on it: I will achieve and claim the Evermore.”
Chapter Eleven
Fairy perched on the short wooden bench in the towel room of the boys’ bathhouse, tilting her head so her hair cascaded down like a sheet of mahogany silk. The light from the narrow window above hit her at just the right angle to emphasize the heart shape of her face. Across from her sat Racer, a Level 10 who had enough stubble along his jaw to almost pass for a Level 12. Fairy was fully clothed, but she knew well how the fabric of her tunic draped over her curves, and she also understood how, sometimes, more was a lot better than less.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like you could be the empress’s sister when the sun illuminates you that way?” Racer said, trying to lean casually against the shelf of towels. His desire to cross the two feet of distance between them and smash himself against Fairy was obvious, but he didn’t. He knew the rules—he could look but he couldn’t touch, not until she gave him permission to. Racer was working very hard to stay on his side of the tiny linen room.
“No one’s ever said I look like the empress,” Fairy said coyly, even though loads of boys had given her that compliment before. “You’re terribly sweet to say so.” She leaned forward so that the collar of her tunic gaped slightly. A shadow concealed her cleavage, but the fact that the fabric was open was enough to make Racer’s Adam’s apple bob visibly. A thrill fluttered through Fairy’s chest.