They examined every room they passed for Empress Aki, listening for hollow spaces in the walls and floors where she could be imprisoned. They went up and down the other towers, too. But other than a locked room—which was totally silent—and a few ryuu here and there, the bloodstone castle seemed abandoned.

It was too quiet. The little hairs on Sora’s arms stood on end.

And too much time had passed already. “We need to get out of here soon,” Daemon said.

“One more passageway,” Sora said. There was a corridor up ahead that branched off from the others.

As they turned the corner, she took in a sharp breath.

If the rest of the castle was already eerie with its red-streaked, black stone walls, this dark hallway was the crown jewel. There were no windows, torches, or lanterns; the only light came from the sinister glow of what looked like giant dragon’s teeth, each taller than Sora and composed entirely of crimson crystals seemingly lit from within. It was like walking straight into a dragon’s jaws.

The corridor led to a heavy set of wooden doors. The handles were carved with dragons, their eyes inset with red rubies, their claws outstretched as if ready to tear into prey.

“I have a feeling one of the two people we’re looking for is behind those doors,” Daemon whispered. “And it’s not Empress Aki.”

Their gemina bond tightened, the taiga equivalent to holding hands to give each other strength. Sora nodded at Daemon. There was no time like the present for regicide.

Knives and throwing stars at the ready, they snuck up to the twin keyholes and peered inside.

Gods almighty.

The throne room was a massive receiving hall, with walls made of the same red-streaked black stone as the castle. There was a huge mural painted on the ceiling—although Sora couldn’t quite make out its subject from the angle of the keyhole—and also a throne, a menacing opus of crimson stone and black velvet, with fiery flames made of orange sapphires to frame Prince Gin’s head.

He wasn’t sitting on the throne, though. The Dragon Prince knelt before the fireplace in front of real flames, chanting over and over in what sounded like Kichonan but older. Like an ancient version of their modern language.

“What is he doing?” Sora whispered.

Daemon didn’t get to answer, though, because the fire in the throne room suddenly extinguished itself, and a giant appeared in the air in its place, his long dark beard fluttering like a flag, his ten-fingered hands stained red with a millennium’s worth of blood.

Zomuri.

Chapter Nine