“Come this way,” she said, leading him toward the main square. “There’s always a rainbow of lanterns strung up this time of year. And musicians take turns playing in the plaza at all hours. Oh, and you have to see the huge fountain where Daemon, Hana, and I used to play during Autumn Festival breaks. . . .”

Sora caught herself at the casual mention of Hana. It poked like a splinter beneath her skin.

But she didn’t want to feel sad or worried right now, not when Samara Village was home to so many good memories. Sora squeezed her eyes shut to wring out the disquieting thoughts and focused back on the heartwarming ones.

“You know what else you’ll love?” she said to Broomstick, slapping a smile back on her face. “There’s a dumpling shop that makes all their wrappers by hand for the perfect texture. They’re usually not open this early, but I know the owner, so we might be able to pop in the back door to see what he’s cooking up today and steal a bite—”

Sora stopped short as they entered the square. Instead of brightly painted shop doors and rainbows of flags and kites flying from the eaves, the plaza was gray with smoke. Sparks from at least two dozen anvils and the steady pounding of metal—swords being forged—filled the air with an ominous rhythm.

“Wh-where’s my fountain?” Sora said.

Broomstick’s mouth set in a grim line. “Replaced by a weapons forge for the Dragon Prince.”

She spun around. The doors to the stores, once painted with lively pictures of what was sold inside, were all covered in soot and ash. Sora ran to the back entrance of the dumpling shop and pounded on it.

“Mr. Zaki! Are you there? It’s Sora Teira. Please open up!”

The door opened a crack. Kind Mr. Zaki peered out, his wrinkles like a shar-pei’s, his hands covered in flour. He must have been in the middle of making dumpling wrappers.

“What do you want?” he spat.

Stunned at his meanness, Sora stuttered as she tried to speak. “I-it’s me. Um, Mina and Jiro Teira’s daughter.”

“Do you think my memory’s gone just because I’m old? I don’t have time for this.” He began to slam the door shut.

Sora stuck her foot in the small opening just in time, wincing at the impact.

What had happened to him, though? She’d never heard Mr. Zaki utter an unkind word before. He always had a smile ready for every customer, and at the end of each night, he put out leftover dumplings in a dish behind his store so the stray cats would have something to eat.

“Mr. Zaki,” she said carefully, “are you all right? Is something going on?” Sora lowered her voice to a whisper. “Has Prince Gin made things difficult for you with this weapons forge in the square?”