Maybe it had. She thought back to when she’d opened the jewelry box in Zomuri’s vault. The pearl had rolled off the green satin pillow right into Sora’s hands. And come to think of it, her chest felt a little tender where the soul pearl’s pocket was, as if it had been burrowing against the collar to get as close to her as possible. Only now, surrounded by other traces of the Dragon Prince’s magic, had it started moving toward them.

She pressed her hand to her collar again. The pearl was still moving, but her pocket was secure; the soul shouldn’t be able to escape unless Sora let it out.

But this could serve as an excellent warning system if any ryuu came near.

Broomstick was still staring at the Little Ferals. “We need to convince them to take care of themselves.”

Sora shook her head sadly. “If it were that simple, we could have talked sense into the other taigas after Prince Gin took their minds. We wouldn’t be the only ones left fighting him.”

“What about your ryuu magic?” Broomstick said, pacing the deck. He waved his arms in the directions of the kids at the lake and inside the tree house. “You can’t cast some kind of counterspell? They’re all going to work themselves to death soon.”

“There’s nothing I can do to alter Prince Gin’s magic,” Sora said, “other than kill him to release all those under his spell. That was our ultimate goal. It still is our goal. I’m just waiting for Daemon and Fairy and Liga to show up. They’ll help you feel one hundred percent like yourself again, and then we’ll go put an end to Prince Gin and find Empress Aki.”

Broomstick glanced at the lake where, with a maniacal fervor, the children gutted frogs and strung fish up to dry. He looked inside the outpost, where Whiplash yelled at another child over a mistake in the sails.

“What if you’re wrong? What if there’s no turning back from this?”

“I refuse to accept that,” Sora said. “For their sake, for my parents’, and for yours.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

How’s your wound?” Daemon asked as he knelt next to Fairy. The pear trees shielded them from the direct sun, but even so, he tried to provide her with more shade as he brought his fingers gingerly to the blood-soaked fabric on her side.

Even at so light a touch, Fairy winced. “You were worse off than me,” she said.

Daemon’s fingers went instinctively to his stomach. He lifted his tunic. There were only scars now where he’d been stabbed. “Holy heavens.”