by JC Kang
To: The Secret Order. You know who you are.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintended.
Copyright © 2018 by Dragonstone Press, LLC
http://www.jckang.info
[email protected]
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work or portions thereof in any way whatsoever, as provided by law. For permission, questions, or contact information, see www.jckang.info.
Cover Layout and Maps by Laura Kang
Logos by Emily Jose Burlingame
Cover Art by Chacha Wang:
http://www.bobkehl.com
March 2018
CONTENTS
BOOK 1: SONGS OF INSURRECTION
Maps
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6:
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
EPILOGUE
PRELUDE TO Orchestra of Treacheries
BOOK 2: oRCHESTRA OF TREACHERIES
PROLOGUE:
CHAPTER 1:
CHAPTER 2:
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5:
CHAPTER 6:
CHAPTER 7:
CHAPTER 8:
CHAPTER 9:
CHAPTER 10:
CHAPTER 11:
CHAPTER 12:
CHAPTER 13:
CHAPTER 14:
CHAPTER 15:
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17:
CHAPTER 18:
CHAPTER 19:
CHAPTER 20:
CHAPTER 21:
CHAPTER 22:
CHAPTER 23:
CHAPTER 24:
CHAPTER 25:
CHAPTER 26:
CHAPTER 27:
CHAPTER 28:
CHAPTER 29:
CHAPTER 30:
CHAPTER 31:
CHAPTER 32:
CHAPTER 33:
CHAPTER 34:
CHAPTER 35:
CHAPTER 36:
CHAPTER 37:
CHAPTER 38:
CHAPTER 39:
CHAPTER 40:
CHAPTER 41:
CHAPTER 42:
CHAPTER 43:
CHAPTER 44:
CHAPTER 45:
CHAPTER 46:
CHAPTER 47:
CHAPTER 48:
CHAPTER 49:
EPILOGUE:
BOOK 3: DANCES OF DECEPTION
Maps
PROLOGUE:
CHAPTER 1:
CHAPTER 2:
CHAPTER 3:
CHAPTER 4:
CHAPTER 5:
CHAPTER 6:
CHAPTER 7:
CHAPTER 8:
CHAPTER 9:
CHAPTER 10:
CHAPTER 11:
CHAPTER 12:
CHAPTER 13:
CHAPTER 14:
CHAPTER 15:
CHAPTER 16:
CHAPTER 17:
CHAPTER 18:
CHAPTER 19:
CHAPTER 20:
CHAPTER 21:
CHAPTER 22:
CHAPTER 23:
CHAPTER 24:
CHAPTER 25:
CHAPTER 26:
CHAPTER 27:
CHAPTER 28:
CHAPTER 29:
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31:
CHAPTER 32:
CHAPTER 33:
CHAPTER 34:
CHAPTER 35:
CHAPTER 36:
CHAPTER 37:
CHAPTER 38:
CHAPTER 39:
CHAPTER 40:
CHAPTER 41:
CHAPTER 42:
CHAPTER 43:
CHAPTER 44:
CHAPTER 45:
CHAPTER 46:
CHAPTER 47:
CHAPTER 48:
CHAPTER 49:
CHAPTER 50:
CHAPTER 51:
CHAPTER 52:
CHAPTER 53:
CHAPTER 54:
CHAPTER 55:
CHAPTER 56:
EPILOGUE
BOOK 4: SYMPHONY OF FATES
PROLOGUE:
CHAPTER 1:
CHAPTER 2:
CHAPTER 3:
CHAPTER 4:
CHAPTER 5:
CHAPTER 6:
CHAPTER 7:
CHAPTER 8:
CHAPTER 9:
CHAPTER 10:
CHAPTER 11:
CHAPTER 12:
CHAPTER 13:
CHAPTER 14:
CHAPTER 15:
CHAPTER 16:
CHAPTER 17:
CHAPTER 18:
CHAPTER 19:
CHAPTER 20:
CHAPTER 21:
CHAPTER 22:
CHAPTER 23:
CHAPTER 24:
CHAPTER 25:
CHAPTER 26:
CHAPTER 27:
CHAPTER 28:
CHAPTER 29:
Chapter 30:
CHAPTER 31:
CHAPTER 32:
CHAPTER 33:
CHAPTER 34:
CHAPTER 35:
CHAPTER 36:
CHAPTER 37:
CHAPTER 38:
CHAPTER 39:
CHAPTER 40:
CHAPTER 41:
CHAPTER 42:
CHAPTER 43:
CHAPTER 44:
CHAPTER 45:
CHAPTER 46:
CHAPTER 47:
EPILOGUE:
Birthright:
A Sneak Peak at Masters of Deception
Appendix
BOOK 1: SONGS OF INSURRECTION
Maps
Tivaralan
Cathay (Hua)
PROLOGUE
The Dragon Scale Lute
With the echo of the Dragon Scale Lute fading around him, Avarax coiled his hind legs and vaulted skyward. He stretched out his wings to catch an updraft. Cool wind caressed his scales as he climbed higher. After three hundred years imprisoned in the pathetic body of a human, it felt good to be a dragon again.
Down below in the sparkling city of domes and spires and canals, thousands of bronze-skinned humans pointed at him and screamed. The world thought he had slumbered for a millennium, telling stories about how a honey-toned slave girl sang him to sleep with a Dragon Song. He had let them believe that tale, to prevent enemies from tracking him down.
He belched sparks with his laugh. Now, it was time to announce his return with a blast of his fiery breath. It would immolate a million people, and the city. More importantly, it would destroy the artifact that could again force his unwilling transformation. He filled his lungs with a deep breath and exhaled in an ear-splitting roar.
Nothing.
Not even sparks. Avarax’s breath remained locked away. He wrapped his consciousness around the gemstone in his gullet, a dragon’s source of almost infinite energy. Its pulsations pounded like an angry river against a dam.
Below, the Dragon Scale Lute’s strings moaned again, vibrating in answer to his roar. Its wail swelled, scattering the pitiful humans like a disturbed rats’ nest. Then, with a disjointed pop, the sound ceased.
CHAPTER 1
Not-So-Chance Meetings
If marriage were a woman’s grave, as the proverb claimed, sixteen-year-old Kaiya suspected the emperor was arranging her funeral. Entourage in tow, she shuffled through the castle halls toward the garden where General Lu waited. Given his notorious dislike of the arts, the self-proclaimed Guardian Dragon of Hua had undoubtedly envisioned a different kind of audition when he requested to hear her sing.
After all, she was dressed like a potential bride.
She buried a snort. The Guardian Dragon—such a pretentious nickname. The only real dragon, Avarax, who lorded over some faraway land, might make for a more appealing audience. A quick trip down his gullet would spare her a slow death in a marriage with neither love nor music.
And she wouldn’t have to wear this gaudy dress. It compensated for her numerous physical imperfections, but stifled the only thing that made her special. How was she supposed to sing with the inner robe and gold sash squeezing her chest, in a futile attempt to misrepresent her woefully underdeveloped curves? The tight fold of the skirts concealed her lanky legs, but forced a deliberate pace. At least the short stride delayed the inevitable, while preventing her unsightly feet from tripping on the hanging sleeves of the vermilion outer gown.
At her side, Crown Princess Xiulan glided across the chirping floorboards. Kaiya suppressed a sigh. If only she could move with the nonchalant grace of her sister-in-law, or even the six handmaidens trailing them. She dug her nails into clammy palms. Through this choreographed farce, appearances had to be maintained, lest she embarrass her father, the Tianzi.
Chin up, back straight. A racing heart threatened to ruin her already meager semblance of imperial grace. Eyes forward. Servants knelt on either side of the looming double doors, ready to slide them open. She forced a smile, with her best approximation of feminine charm. If only she’d lived before Dragon Songs had faded into legend, she could’ve sent the realm’s victorious hero fleeing with the song he supposedly wanted to hear.
An aging palace official stepped into her line of sight.
Singular focus on the doors broken, she blinked. Her fluttering pulse lurched to a stop as she blew out a breath.
His blue robes ruffled as he tottered forward with averted eyes and a bobbing head. He creaked down into a bow. “Emergency, Dian-xia,” he said, using the formal address for her rank. “The Tianzi commands you to greet a foreign delegation in the Hall of Bountiful Harvests.”
Her heart remembered to beat again, and she looked first toward the doors and then down at the man, whose insignias marked him as a secretary for the Ministry of Appointments. Outlandish excuses had mercifully cut short each of her previous meetings with eligible young lords: six times in all.
But a foreign delegation? Before even meeting the suitor? That was a first. Her expression slipped as much as it could beneath the layers of pearl powder caked to her face. “There must be a mistake. Surely the honor would fall to the Crown Prince.”
He bowed his head again. “No, Dian-xia. With your linguistic talents, the Tianzi thought you better suited to meet with them.”
Apparently, small talk with some foreign lord’s wife constituted an emergency these days. Still, the unspoken message needed little interpretation: the foreigners were beneath a prince.
At least it meant delaying the matchmaking. Kaiya cast a glance at Xiulan. “Then shall the Crown Prince take my place and sing to General Lu?”
Her supposed chaperone covered a giggle with slender fingers.
The man’s eyes darted back and forth, his lips quivering. “I...I…”
Xiulan stepped forward and brushed her hand across Kaiya’s arm. “Go on, meet with the foreigners. I will explain things to the general.”
Kaiya bowed her head. “As you command, Eldest Sister.” She turned to the official, gesturing with an open hand for him to take the lead.
As she wobbled after him, two of her handmaidens fell in behind. They were more beautiful than her, even after her hours of preening to smother meddlesome acne and subdue unruly hair.
Which now meant she’d look ridiculous receiving dignitaries. Like an opera singer, maybe. “Who are our guests?”
The official coughed. “Prince Hardeep Vaswani of Ankira.”
A man? Kaiya’s stomach leapt into her throat. With limited court training, she might be able to entertain a lady. But a prince... Without any experience in diplomacy, that was an international incident waiting to happen. Given the choice between greeting foreign royalty and the prospect of marriage, that trip into Avarax’s jaws sounded tempting. “What does he want?” she asked.
“He has been in the capital for a week now, incessantly requesting an audience.”
And now they were sending her, an awkward sixteen-year-old, undoubtedly as a message. Prince Hardeep wouldn’t see the Tianzi until her complexion cleared or the orc gods returned on their flaming chariots, whichever came first. A betting princess would put her money on the orc gods.
She sighed. After preparing to play the role of demure and dainty maiden before a potential husband, this new situation required a confident demeanor… and neither came easily.
There was no time to tone down the make-up or change the extravagant gown. Unpinning the outer robe’s constraining fold, she squared her shoulders and lengthened her gait.
No, this wasn’t bad. A reprieve from meeting a dour general. She could do this. How hard could it be? With each step, she concentrated on composing a dignified expression. By the time they arrived at the moat separating the castle from the rest of the sprawling palace grounds, she’d mentally transformed herself from prospective bride into imperial representative.
Right. She still looked like the former, and felt like neither.
At the head of the bridge waited eight imperial guards dressed in blue court robes. The magic etched into their breastplates’ five-clawed dragon evoked awe, though she’d grown used to it over the years.
“Dian-xia,” the guards shouted in unison. They each dropped to one knee, fist to the ground. The most talented swordsmen in the realm submitted to a pimply girl, for nothing more than the circumstances of her birth.
If only she could live up to the accompanying expectations. Kaiya acknowledged them with a nod. Bowing, the handmaidens shuffled back. The imperial guards deployed behind her. She crossed the stone bridge, leaving behind the relative comfort of private life to enter the formal world of the imperial court.
They wound through stone-paved alleys. White buildings with blue-tiled eaves rose up beyond spotless courtyard walls with circular windows. At the Hall of Bountiful Harvests, Kaiya walked up the veranda and stepped over the ghost-tripping threshold.
Inside, three chattering men gestured at the green ceiling panels and gold latticework. Their burgundy kurta shirts hung to their knees, collars riding high on their necks. On their left breasts sparkled an embroidered nine-pointed lotus, the crest of the embattled nation of Ankira.
The visitors’ discussion came to an abrupt halt as they turned to greet her, heads bowed and palms pressed together. Dark bronze skin and rounded features marked them as ethnic Ayuri. Meticulously coifed black hair fell to their shoulders. The centermost man, taller and mo
re handsome than his companions, met her gaze.
With blue irises. Luminous like the Blue Moon, Guanyin’s Eye. They captured her image in their liquid depths and reflected it back, more beautiful than make-up could accomplish. Maybe even as beautiful as Xiulan.
He tilted his head and flashed… a smoldering smile.
Kaiya cast her eyes down, only to peek up through her lashes. Her lips twitched, struggling against all discipline in their urge to return the smile. Ridiculous! Where had the carefully crafted mask of an imperial diplomat fled to? She tightened her mouth, squared her chin, and looked up.
When he spoke, his voice flowed out of his mouth like honeysuckle vines, entangling her. “I am Prince Hardeep. You must be the Princess of Cathay. The stories of your beauty do you no justice.”
What? Nobody could say her plain looks warranted praise, at least not sincerely. Yet his earnest words sounded nothing like the hollow compliments of court sycophants and suitors.
Heat rose to her cheeks, threatening to melt away her make-up, and her nominally dignified expression with it. His language tumbled off her tongue, accent lilting in her ears. “Welcome to Sun-Moon Palace, Prince Hardeep. I act as the ears of my father, the emperor.”
Cringe-worthy. She could speak Ayuri better than that. Almost perfectly, but—
“And your voice! Saraswati, our people’s Goddess of the Arts, would be jealous. Perhaps you would sing for me?”
Kaiya’s head swam. Her mouth opened to beg off the unexpected request, but no words came out.
He waved a hand, and his manner stiffened. “I forget myself. Your song would certainly invigorate me, and I confess I hoped to catch a glimpse of you during my visit. However, my country’s needs are more pressing. I have a request of your emperor.”
Whatever spell his previous tone had woven through her mind loosened enough for her to find her voice. “I am afraid you misinterpret his intentions. By sending me, he has already denied you.”
No. Did she just say that out loud? Kaiya covered her mouth. If only Avarax would swoop in and devour her now.
The Ankiran prince’s lips melted into a frown and his attention shifted to her slippers. “Please hear our entreaty. The Kingdom of Madura occupies almost all of Ankira, in part because of their twice-renewed trade agreement with Cathay. For almost thirty years, you have sold them firepowder. Now, our soldiers are weary and our coffers depleted. The agreement expires soon. We ask—no, beg—that you not renew it.”