Circle of Shadows (Circle of Shadows, #1)(90)

Choices, unfortunately, had consequences.





Chapter Fifty-Seven


Daemon paced near the bridge of a little lake. The Council had divided the Citadel into hundreds of sections, each one manned by large teams of taigas cycling through patrol and sleeping shifts. Bramble, one of the warriors in this lake section, jogged up to Daemon. She was in her thirties and an expert at nunchucks; she’d been one of the apprentices’ sparring teachers. “Good evening, Wolf. Your shift is over. I can take your position.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough.”

Daemon nodded. The floor in the boathouse wasn’t the most accommodating of surfaces, but it was better than sleeping out on the dirt, which was what the taigas in a lot of the other sections had to do. It was fine either way, though. Taigas were accustomed to sleeping outdoors while on missions. This was no different; only slightly strange because their actual beds were in the dormitories not too far away.

“Anything notable during your shift?” Bramble asked.

“No. It was a boring day.”

“Well, I doubt that will last for long. The ryuu must be coming.”

Daemon’s stomach pitched.

“Go get some sleep,” Bramble said. “I think the rest of your team are already at the boathouse.”

He nodded stiffly. The taigas were preparing, in the best way they knew how, for Prince Gin. But no matter how much detail Daemon and Broomstick told them about the ryuu and Copper Bluff, there was only so much they could comprehend without seeing the ryuu for themselves. The councilmembers were the only ones who’d gotten a taste of the threat at Isle of the Moon. The rest of the taigas were just, well, bracing themselves.

And then there was the matter of Sora returning. Gods, Daemon hoped he was right that she was on their side. He felt her presence through their gemina bond; she periodically sent him the feeling of steady reassurance, like a lily pad bobbing evenly on a calm pond. There were others, like Bullfrog, who doubted her, but they were wrong. Sora wanted to be the very best taiga she could be, and if anyone understood the desire to prove themselves, it was Daemon.

Besides, she was with Fairy, right? The ryuu had taken the body of who they thought was the empress, as proof that Prince Gin should wear the crown. Sora probably went back to the ryuu to ensure that Fairy was safe.

Daemon closed his eyes. He thought about the day he arrived in Dassu Desert, so exhausted, he wanted to tumble from his horse. He could still feel what it was like when Fairy hugged him, her swan-like chest against his chest, her laughter in the face of death. She had held him up first, and then he’d held her. There was so much life in her. Even when she’d needed support, it had still been like holding a firecracker in his hands.

She was safe, wasn’t she?

Daemon was unraveling like a rope that had been exposed to the elements for too long.

But his shift was over for now, so he held himself together as best he could and bowed to Bramble, then jogged off the bridge to the boathouse, where Broomstick and two Level 7 apprentices had started a pot of oat porridge over a fire outside. The warriors on their shift were reporting to the Council.

“I could eat twigs right now, I’m so hungry,” Daemon said, as he sat down in the dirt.

“Luckily, we don’t have to.” Stingray, one of the younger apprentices, handed him a bowl of sliced apples.

Stingray glared at Wirecutter, another Level 7. “You’re stirring the pot the wrong way. It’s supposed to go clockwise, not counterclockwise.”

“It’s oat porridge,” Wirecutter snapped back. “Right or left won’t make a difference.”

Stingray grumbled.

Everyone was on edge.

The porridge bubbled over. Instead of waiting for the bickering kids to handle it, Daemon grabbed a pair of potholders and took it off the fire.

Despite the bubbling and being stirred the “wrong” way, the porridge had cooked just fine. Daemon ladled steaming portions into bowls and topped them with dried, salted fish and scallions. They ate in silence except for the clacking of utensils and the slurping of porridge.

When they were done, Stingray yawned, and Wirecutter yawned a second after him. They sometimes snapped at each other like brothers, but they were also geminas, and it was as if the fatigue were contagious through their connection.

“It’s been a long watch,” Daemon said, finding some comfort in being the older-brother figure, “and the Dragon Prince is going to arrive any day now. We should all turn in and get some rest while we can.”

“Agreed,” Broomstick said.

Stingray and Wirecutter yawned again and trudged into the boathouse without protest.

“Should we clean up?” Daemon asked.

“Nah,” Broomstick said. “The warriors will be back soon. Just put a lid on the porridge.”

Daemon left the bowls of dried fish and scallions out for the warriors and covered the pot. Then he and Broomstick headed into the boathouse.

He thought it would be hard to get any rest, knowing that Prince Gin and Sora were coming. But the weight of fatigue pressed in on him, and after being on his feet for twelve hours, the sleeping mat felt like a plush down mattress. Daemon crawled under his blanket, and sleep hit him over the head.





Chapter Fifty-Eight