Cloak of Night (Circle of Shadows #2) - Evelyn Skye Page 0,9

Gin’s foot soldiers, sprinting back and forth from one side of the arena to the other like a cheetah spell sped up by a factor of ten. Broomstick barely managed to keep himself concealed because he wanted to jump out and grab the boy, to try to shake the mind control out of his head and save him from the ryuu.

Then Broomstick saw Philosopher, his lab partner from physics class, working on digging tunnels in the ground without the use of mudras or chants. And Summer, the girl who worked at the desk next to Broomstick’s in the Society’s administrative offices, held her hands out in front of her as two small tornados appeared in her palms.

Outrage rose in Broomstick’s belly. These were their friends, students Broomstick had spent his entire life with, who had played with blocks with him when they were tenderfoots, who’d tried to ski down the Citadel rooftops in winter when they were Level 7s, and who stayed up late helping each other study every spring for final exams. They had lived and breathed the Society of Taigas’ centuries-old commitment to defend all that was good about Kichona, just like Broomstick did. Yet here they were, practicing a magic that would destroy the very kingdom they’d sworn to protect.

How dare Prince Gin steal their friends like this? And he was going to send them to war, to die for a cause they didn’t believe in and weren’t even aware they were a part of.

Broomstick sank against the bleachers.

The boy, Quicksand, tripped and skidded several yards in the gravel. Philosopher stopped the tunnel she was working on and ran over to help him up. “Are you all right?” she asked as she extended her hand.

Embarrassed, he nodded but didn’t look at her.

Philosopher brushed the gravel off his uniform. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Magic takes practice, and all of us have fallen face-first in this arena many, many times. Just remember that we’re training to make Kichona great, that Emperor Gin expects us to do the best we can. That means we have to make mistakes, but it’ll be worth it.”

Broomstick wrinkled his forehead as he listened to the conversation. He’d expected the hypnotized taigas to be mindless pawns. But Philosopher seemed to be the same sweet girl he knew, an actual person rather than a witless weapon. The main difference was her devotion to the Dragon Prince and his pursuit of the Evermore. It was a confusing mix of traits that Broomstick tried to wrap his head around.

In a twisted way, though, it gave him hope. The real taigas were still in those minds and bodies. They’d had part of their brains hijacked, but there was something worth saving.

There was nothing more to see here, though. Before watching his friends, Broomstick had searched the sparring arena’s storage spaces and back rooms, and there was no sign of Empress Aki. However, this new understanding of how the taigas operated could come in handy. Maybe he’d be able to get some information out of them just like he had in the past, by chatting up his coworkers in Warrior Meeting Hall. He’d have to pretend he was a ryuu, though.

I hope they were too caught up in the battle to notice that I escaped the Dragon Prince’s claws and I’m part of Spirit’s rebellion. Broomstick crossed his fingers and hurried to Warrior Meeting Hall.

The nearest room was a large conference space. He glanced inside, but it was just a bunch of ryuu—not new recruits but Prince Gin’s original warriors from the Blood Rift—sharing several bottles of something and singing drunkenly. It was as if this once sacrosanct building where the Society governed was nothing more than a tavern, the long conference table converted into a sloshy bar.

Broomstick couldn’t bear to listen. He headed farther down the corridor.

Most of the meeting rooms were empty, but the lights in the administrative office were on. Broomstick took a deep breath, put on his most gregarious expression, and strode in as if he belonged there.

“Hey-o,” he said to the half dozen taigas—no, ryuu recruits—who were busy going through stacks of files. “What’d I miss?”

Crossbow, a taiga in his thirties, looked up through his glasses. “Broomstick, where’ve you been? Your shift was supposed to start two hours ago. We’ve been buried in paper here.”

But Moss, a Level 11 apprentice who worked part-time in Warrior Meeting Hall like Broomstick did, set down the files in his hand. “It’s not just two hours. I haven’t seen