She set up a table outside the shack, using two sawhorses and a wooden board, and Daemon retrieved the map. He unrolled it, setting a pair of wire cutters on one corner to keep the page from curling and weighting the other corners with a hammer, a lone glove, and a piece of broken brick he’d scavenged from the overgrown yard.

Sora bent over the map. It was of Kichona and the seven countries of the mainland, with the ocean between them. There were symbols like little men along the perimeter of Kichona, with a denser concentration near the Imperial City. “Ground troops,” Sora said to herself. She traced her fingers along the ports of Kichona’s eastern shore, which faced the mainland. Tiny black ship symbols clustered around the harbors. “And the navy.”

“I think the Dragon Prince is planning to attack Thoma first,” Daemon said, pointing at the dotted line that went from Toredo—a short distance from the shipyards in the Citadel—to the small island kingdom just off the mainland.

“It wouldn’t be hard,” Sora said, nodding. “Tidepool—the ryuu who commands the sea—can easily get the ships to Thoma. In fact, she could probably launch a typhoon attack like she did to Isle of the Moon when all this began.”

“Right,” Daemon said. “But Fairy, Liga, and I slowed them down. We drilled holes in the bottoms of all the ships. Still, Thoma’s a relatively easy target, so once those boats are back in commission, I’m pretty certain Prince Gin is going to serve up the Thomasian tsarina’s heart as the first of the trophies he’s required to give Zomuri.”

Sora cringed.

“And once the ryuu seize Thoma,” Daemon said, studying the map, “they’ll be able to set up base there and be a lot closer to launch campaigns on Fale Po Tair, Xerlinis, and Vyratta.”

At the mention of those kingdoms, Sora had to sit down. They were the “Southern Alliance” that had been in her vision in the Lake of Nightmares. They’d brutally retaliated against the Dragon Prince’s advances, not only defending their own countries but traversing the ocean to demolish Kichona as well. Sora remembered the hill of dead she’d climbed over in victory, the ruined remains of Samara Mountain and her parents’ home in the distance.

It wasn’t real, Sora thought as she tried to shake the vision out of her head. She couldn’t tell Broomstick not to believe in the lake’s visions while succumbing to them herself. But the so-called prophecy had sunk long curled claws into her head, and it was difficult to jar them loose.

Daemon reached across their sawhorse table and touched Sora’s arm.