Page 10 of Circle of Shadows
“It was my pleasure,” Daemon said, his cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so hard. “And thankyoufor the sake.”
Chapter Four
Finished with their mission and officially on Autumn Festival break, Sora and Daemon rode all the next day to Samara Mountain, and then up dusty switchbacks, passing only a handful of people with their mules, and even fewer houses. The mountain sliced into the cerulean sky like jagged shards of slate, its crooked pines tucked into crevices and clinging to the steep rock. It was always with mixed emotion that Sora returned here. She loved her parents, but she’d spent her whole life with the Society of Taigas, and after eighteen years, the Citadel felt more like home than this place where she’d been born.
Across Kichona, the other taiga apprentices were also home to celebrate the Autumn Festival. They would light lanterns with their families and hang them over their doorways. There would be feasts to pay homage to the major gods—steamed whole fish to honor Nauti, god of the sea; bowls overflowing with noodles for Silva, goddess of wealth;platters of sautéed morning glory stalks for Sola, goddess of the sun; and a variety of stewed vegetables on beds of rice for Emmer, god of the harvest.
Daemon had come home with her because he didn’t have family to return to. Unlike the other apprentices, he hadn’t been brought to the Citadel by adoring parents and dedicated to service to the kingdom. Rather, until age five, Daemon had lived in Takish Gorge, a remote, uninhabited part of Kichona, with a family of wolves, eating, hunting, and playing in the forest with his lupine brothers and sisters. The trapper who found Daemon would have left him in the canyon—ferocious as he was, with his snapping teeth and his nails grown out long and sharpened like claws—if not for Luna’s silver triplicate whorls on the small of his back, a mark that glittered even when the sun was gone.
Daemon was well aware that this sounded like a fairy-tale trope. But he wore the badge with amused pride, at least outwardly. Only Sora knew that he hated not knowing who his parents were, why they’d left him, and how he’d come to be raised by wolves.
Nevertheless—or perhapsbecauseof this—Sora and Daemon spent the second half of their Autumn Festival break in Takish Gorge every year, visiting the only place he knew as his. And if he wanted to find his parents this year, Sora would help him.
As the sun began to set, they reached a solitary wooden home perched on a ridge, as if the house had grown like a bonsai out of the stone. It overlooked the turquoise waters of the sea, which surrounded the kingdom, a natural barrier from the rest of the world. The colors of dusk settledinto the sky like the inside of an abalone shell, a muted iridescence no less stunning than a daylight rainbow despite its subtlety.
A small woman in a long red-and-blue-striped skirt and a blouse as yellow as the sun swept the stone path in front of the house. Her pale blond hair—the same almost-platinum shade as Sora’s beneath the black taiga dye—was tied back neatly in a bun, and she wore no jewelry except a single golden pearl at her throat. As she worked, she hummed a lilting melody, like wind chimes on All Spirits’ Eve. The aroma of braised fish and bamboo shoots, cooking on the outdoor stove, mingled with the mountain air.
Because taigas tread lightly, it wasn’t until Sora and Daemon stood with their mud-spattered boots halfway down the path that her mother noticed them. Her mother looked up, up, up at the tall girl and the even taller boy in front of her. She took in the Society uniforms that Sora and Daemon wore now—black tunics, loose trousers, and the thin, cloth-covered armor—as well as the throwing stars strapped on the leather band across their chests, the knives on their belts, and the sword and bo staff on their backs. There were more weapons, tucked into the secret pockets of sleeves and other folds of fabric, of course, but Sora’s mother didn’t see those.
“Your Honors,” she said, bowing.
Sora blushed and took her mother’s hands, pulling her upright. “Please, Mama, how many times have I asked you to just call me Sora?”
Her father, a wiry man with a kind, downward tilt at the corners of his eyes, came out of the house and stood behind his wife. “It is the greatest privilege a Kichonan canever hope for, to have a child blessed by Luna to serve the empress. Let us have the small pleasure of reminding ourselves of that and addressing you by your title.” Papa bowed to both her and Daemon.
Sora rolled her eyes but smiled. “You two are always so stubborn.”
“I know someone else who’s very stubborn,” Daemon said, looking at Sora.
“Where do you think she gets it from?” Mama said with a wink.
“Come,” Papa said. “Your mother has cooked up quite a feast. We’ll stuff our bellies, and then when we’re as round as rice balls, we’ll roll ourselves down to the base of the mountain to join in the village festivities.”
Sora laughed.
They dined outside beneath the full moon, on the small balcony behind the house, overlooking the sea. A salty breeze whispered through the pine needles, and waves hit the cliff below in a soothing, rhythmic rasp. Papa sat across the table from Sora and Daemon, smiling the entire meal despite his long mustache continually blowing into his food. Mama kept a steady supply of hot, spiced tea in their cups. And Sora had helping after helping of miso-glazed butterfish, fried shrimp, buckwheat noodles, and bamboo shoots braised in sticky soy sauce.
“Doesn’t the Society feed you?” Papa joked.
Sora responded by popping another fried shrimp in her mouth.
When she’d finally had her fill, Mama brought out an Autumn Festival cake, an extravagant, ten-layered confection made with an entire block of butter, eggs, lemony yuzu,and almond flour, and dusted with confectioners’ sugar. It resembled the full moon, in honor of Luna. Sora cut slices for her parents, despite their protests that she and Daemon serve themselves first.
Sora took a bite of the cake, and she sighed as it melted in her mouth. It tasted like happiness, and she warmed as if she’d drunk an entire carafe of Kichonan rice wine.
She managed to eat three more slices.
Papa shook his head in awe.
“She has two stomachs,” Daemon said. “One for regular food and one for dessert.”
“You’re just jealous,” Sora said.
Papa cleared away the plates when they were finished. Mama folded her hands on the table. But her smile at having her daughter home began to fade.
The wine-like warmth inside Sora turned to vinegar. She’d known this was coming. It always did. And yet whenever Sora came home, she tried to pretend she wouldn’t have to face it.
“Would you like to visit your sister’s shrine before we go down to the village?” Mama asked.
