Eona: The Last Dragoneye

by Alison Goodman

  “Eona, you are breaking my hands,” she laughed. Her lips were blistered and flaking, her skin reddened from the sun.

  “You’ve hurt your leg,” I finally managed to say, easing my hold.

  “I was pinned under a tree, but I’m all right.”

  “I’m so glad to see you. I had this awful feeling—”

  It was her turn to grip tightly. “Eona, it is not all good news,” she said, her smile gone. “Solly is dead. He drowned. Probably in the first rush of water.”

  Her words brought a sharp image of the deluge. I had seen Solly go under. I had seen the water swallow him whole. Did he die at that moment? I shivered, yet all I could find in my heart was a glancing regret. Was I now so used to death that I could not mourn a good man? Solly and I had fought together. I had relied upon his fierce courage and quiet efficiency, been warmed by his gruff kindness. He had been stoic and loyal and deserving of my grief. Yet I was dry. I had felt more sorrow for Lieutenant Haddo, our enemy.

  “Does Ryko know?” I whispered, ashamed of my arid spirit. “Does Vida?” Both had fought alongside Solly far longer. Perhaps they would have tears enough for us all.

  Dela nodded. “They are sitting the ghost watch together.” She countered the flat note in her voice with a squeeze of my hand. She looked across at Madina. “Thank you for your help. Could you leave us, please?”

  Dela waited until the woman had backed out of the chamber, then said, “The physician insisted you eat something before I saw you. He said it would buffer the shock to the spirit. Are you all right?”

  I bit my lip. It seemed my spirit was in no need of a buffer. “They should have woken me when you arrived.”

  She shook her head. “No, they were right to let you sleep. There was nothing you could have done.”

  “I could have been there. I could have …” I faltered. There was nothing I could have done, and the powerlessness left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  Dela stepped closer, gathering me against her body. I buried my face in the hard muscle of her chest. She wore a borrowed tunic and trousers, and had obviously bathed. Still, I caught a shadow scent of mud as she moved. Doubtless the flood was still ingrained in my skin, too. Perhaps its stink would never leave any of us now.

  “May Solly’s spirit walk in the garden of heaven,” Dela whispered.

  “And his honor live through his line,” I finished. The traditional words did nothing to soothe me.

  “There is more I must tell you,” Dela said. “About what happened to me after the water hit us.” She released me and limped to the door, peering outside for a moment before pulling it closed.

  Finally, something broke through my numbness: a sharp foreboding. I sat on the bed as she dragged the low stool across the floor and sat opposite me.

  “Hold out your arm,” she ordered.

  I obeyed. She pressed her large knuckles lightly against mine, then drew up her loose sleeve. The rope of black pearls rattled down her arm. Before I could even flinch, the coils had tightened around my wrist, hauled the red folio over our hands, and bound it to my forearm. I pulled my arm back.

  “You know I don’t want to carry it.”

  “They recognize you,” she said, ignoring my protest. “Maybe you’ll think I’m mad, but those pearls have a mind of their own. They pulled me out of the water.” She shook her head. “I didn’t imagine it. They saved me from drowning—although they couldn’t do much about the tree that came down on top of me.” She raised an elegant eyebrow. “But you’re not surprised.”

  I touched the warm black coils around my arm. “I saw the pearls on the black folio save Dillon. I think both sets of pearls are made of Gan Hua, and are meant to keep the books safe, whatever happens to them.”

  “Ah, that would explain it. And whoever is attached to them is kept safe, too.” Dela smiled. “Thank the gods.” The smile faded. “Ryko told me that Dillon and the black folio are missing and the emperor has sent out every able-bodied man to search for them.”

  “His Majesty has decided that it is more important to find the black folio than to rescue Ido.”

  “Well, he is wrong.” Dela leaned forward. “I was pinned under that tree for many, many hours. Every time I tried to free myself, I made things worse; nearly buried myself alive in mud.” She shuddered. “To keep my mind focused, I tried to decipher more of your ancestor’s folio.”

  “You found something?”

  Dela licked her cracked lips. “I think I have worked out two coded verses on the first page.”

  “What do they say? Show me.” I yanked at the black pearls. The smooth rope released and pooled into my cupped hand, bringing the folio with it. I opened the red leather cover, flicking over the page with its elegant dragon, to the first page full of Woman Script.

  “This one,” Dela said, pointing to the faded characters. “If I am correct, it says:

  “The She of the dragon will return and ascend

  When the cycle of twelve draws to an end… .”

  I lifted my head. “An end? Does that mean the dragons?”

  “There’s more.” Dela’s fingertip traced down the page.

  “The She of the Dragoneye will restore and defend

  When the dark force is mastered with the Hua of All Men.”

  I stared at the graceful calligraphy, trying to glean its meaning, although I did not know each character’s sense. “Say the first verse again.”

  Dela repeated it.

  “The ‘She of the dragon’ means the Mirror Dragon, since there is only one female dragon,” I said slowly. “And she has now returned and ascended.” I met Dela’s eyes, unwilling to voice the meaning of the next line.

  “Her return means the dragons’ power is coming to an end,” she supplied softly.

  I shook my head, trying to deny the enormity of the portent. If the dragons came to an end, then so did my power— before I had even truly wielded it. There would be no glorious link with the red dragon. No rank. No worth. I would be just a girl again. I would be nothing. Useless.

  “It can’t be true,” I whispered.

  “The land is in upheaval,” Dela pointed out, “and there are ten dragons without Dragoneyes.”

  “But that doesn’t prove that their power is ending,” I said sharply. “The Mirror Dragon returned before Ido killed the Dragoneyes.”

  “Then maybe the dragon power was coming to an end even before Ido murdered the Dragon Lords. And you cannot deny that the land is in peril.”

  I pressed my hands against my eyes and tried to follow the terrifying pathways of possibility, looking for a reason to deny the truth of Kinra’s warning. But there was no getting past the first line: the Mirror Dragon had returned and ascended, and that meant the dragon power was ending.

  “What is the second verse?” I demanded.

  Again, Dela read it out.

  “The ‘She of the Dragoneye’ has to be me,” I said, my unease deepening. “It says I can restore and defend. Does that mean I can stop the dragons losing their power?”

  How could I stop such a thing? The impossibility of the task was like a huge hand squeezing all the hope and courage from me.

  “I pray that is what it means,” Dela said. She touched a character on the parchment, its sharp angles in ugly contrast to the rest of the flowing calligraphy. “What is the dark force? Gan Hua?”

  “It seems likely.”

  “Then what is the ‘Hua of All Men’?”

  “I don’t know,” I said bleakly. “But it sounds final.”

  I closed the red folio, as if hiding the words would stop the crushing burden of their meaning. “I dread what you will find next, but we need to know more.” I held out the journal. With a short nod, Dela took it back.

  “At least we know that Gan Hua must be mastered.” Dela stood up and limped toward the door. “Lord Ido is the only one who can teach you how to control your power. Can he teach you how to master Gan Hua, too?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said dryly. “I
do is a master of Gan Hua.”

  “Then we must rescue him.”

  “But His Majesty is fixed on finding the black folio.”

  Dela beckoned me to the door. “His Majesty cannot ignore the red folio, Eona. This is the voice of a Mirror Dragoneye. And she has given us due warning.”

  “Who is this Dragoneye ancestress?” demanded Kygo.

  I had been expecting the question, but it still tightened my innards. The emperor paced across the strategy chamber and turned for my answer, his eyes ringed with blue fatigue. Although he had dismissed the section leaders from the cavern at my request, I did not take that as a sign of my return to favor. On the contrary. He had not allowed either Dela or me to rise from our knees, and there was a brittleness about him that I recognized: his body and mind had been pushed too far for too long. I glanced at Dela beside me. From the wary hunch of her shoulders, I could tell that she recognized it too; she would have felt the wrath of an overstrained master in her time. Still, I had no way of preparing her for what I was about to say—and hopefully she would have the sense to stay silent.

  “She was the last Mirror Dragoneye before the Mirror Dragon fled,” I said. “Her name was Charra.”

  Dela stiffened, her hand tightening on the red folio.

  I held my breath, but she said nothing. No doubt she would vent her disapproval later, but even she would have to admit I could not tell him the truth. Kygo knew Kinra as a traitor. He would not accept any words that she had written, nor act upon them. And with such an ancestor he would trust me even less.

  “Do we know why the dragon fled?”

  “No, Your Majesty. Lady Dela has not yet found that information in the folio.”

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “But now we know what the return of the Mirror Dragon really means. My father wanted us to believe that you and the dragon are the symbols of hope and a blessing on my reign. But you are not.” His eyes opened. The exhaustion in them sharpened into certainty. “You are the bringers of doom.”

  “That is not true,” I gasped. “You cannot say that!”

  “Ten Dragoneyes dead, my empire poised for a war, the land unprotected and ripping itself apart.” His full mouth thinned into accusation. “And it all started when you brought back the Mirror Dragon.”

  I glared at him. “I did not bring her back. She just … appeared.”

  “But you were in the arena, where a girl should not have been. You gave her the chance to come back.”

  I dug my fingernails into my thighs, wanting to claw at his face and force him to say he was wrong. He had to be wrong. Otherwise, it meant I had somehow caused Ido’s slaughter of the Dragoneyes—and Sethon’s coup, and the war that was to come. He could not lay all of that on my shoulders.

  “It is not all doom, Your Majesty,” Dela said into the fraught silence. Her skin had paled under the sunburn, either from the pain of kneeling on her injured leg or the risk of speaking. She held up the folio, the black pearls wrapped tightly around it. “The second verse gives hope. Lady Eona can restore the dragons’ power.”

  “Hope?” He gave a bitter laugh. “I do not find much hope in the words ‘Hua of All Men.’” He strode across the room again.

  For all his exhaustion, he still moved with authority. “Go, Lady Dela.”

  She looked at me and hesitated—a dangerous show of loyalty.

  “Now!” Kygo shouted.

  With an agonized apology in her eyes, Dela struggled to her feet, bowed, then backed out of the chamber.

  “Stand up, Eona,” Kygo said.

  I rose, my legs trembling with rage. He began to pace again, his quick steps taking him behind me, out of my sight line. Every other sense strained to keep hold of his position as he circled. “Why should I believe this portent, Eona?” He was at my left. “I cannot read ancient Woman Script. The Contraire could be lying for you.”

  “Lady Dela is loyal to you. As I am.” I should have stopped, but my resentment surged into more words. “As I have always been.”

  He closed the distance between us until he was less than a hand-span in front of me. Too close. I did not raise my eyes, but I could smell the hot male tang of his anger—and I could sense something beyond words filling the space between us.

  “Loyal? You are loyal only to your own goals,” he said. “From the very beginning you manipulated everyone to get into the arena, and you have not stopped since.”

  I looked up at the unfair judgment. “Everything I have done has been in your service,” I said hotly. “You are jumping at shadows that do not exist. You blame me because you are afraid of things you do not understand.”

  Blood rushed to his face. “You think me afraid?”

  He might not want me as his Naiso any more, but he was still going to get the truth. “Yes,” I hissed. “You are afraid because you are out of your depth.”

  He raised his fist. I tensed, waiting for the blow, but he turned away. Three strides and he was at the laden table. He grabbed its edge and flipped it over in a crack of wood and slither of parchment. “Do you know what all that is?” he demanded. “That is our numbers. We have one trained man to every twenty of my uncle’s. One horse to ten. Most of our weapons are not swords, not even Ji, but farm tools!”

  “Then maybe the bringer of doom is you.” I saw the barb hit home. A small uneasiness pricked at my anger, but I ignored it. “Doesn’t feel good, does it, Kygo? To be a bringer of doom.”

  He came toward me. “I am emperor,” he yelled. “You are just a woman. And you know nothing.”

  “Yet you made me your Naiso,” I shouted, his scorn pushing me into reckless challenge. “You said you wanted the truth? Well, here it is. You tell yourself stories about how I lie and self-serve, but everything I have done has been in your interest.” I counted off on my fingers. “I told you the truth about my sex; I pulled you out of your killing rage; I woke you from the shadow world. I did not heal you and compromise your will. Yet you still distrust me.” A roar of intuition burst through my fury. “Because you are afraid of me!”

  The words felt like a leap into an abyss.

  He stopped in front of me, his eyes alight with his own fury. We stared at one another, locked in a moment that held either a new beginning or an end.

  “I am not afraid of you,” he finally said. “I am afraid of what your power means.” The tension dropped from his body, making him sway.

  I nodded, suddenly exhausted myself. “I am, too. I know so little, and yet now I must save the dragons.”

  He touched the pearl at his throat. “Yes.”

  “It is too much.” I flung my hand out, as if I could push it all away.

  Kygo caught my wrist. “Yet it is your burden, as mine is the empire.”

  At his touch, all my anger shifted. I gasped as his hand tightened, the same shift searing the fatigue from his eyes. He pulled me closer.

  “We do not have a choice, Eona,” he said.

  Were his words of our duty, or the energy that leaped between us? I turned my head, seeking refuge from the intensity in his eyes, but only found the sensuous curve of the Imperial Pearl and the shift of light across it. The memory of our lips and bodies touching shivered through me.

  “I know.” I lifted my other hand toward the glowing gem. Was it Kinra pulling me toward the pearl, or was it my own desire?

  “Do you know what happens—what it does to me, when you touch it?” He was breathing through his mouth, hard and quick. “It is like a thousand lightning strikes through my body, all tipped with pleasure.”

  “I think the pearl is linked to the energy world,” I whispered. And maybe to an ancient traitor, but my fear of Kinra’s influence was lost in the drum of my blood.

  He gave a low laugh. “You know it is linked to more than the energy world.”

  His wry tone pulled an answering laugh from me, but the entreaty behind his words sent a soft answering surge deep into the delta of my body.

  He looked up at the cave roof, his
teeth clenching for a moment. “If you touch the pearl, could it bring the ten dragons?”

  “Perhaps,” I said, but I could not pull my hand away. “I don’t know.”

  I saw his battle against caution, duty against desire. It was my own battle. We stood leaning toward one another, my fingertips hovering above the pearl, our only connection his hand around my wrist. Yet I felt as if his whole body was holding mine.

  His head strained back, the pulse in his throat pounding. “Gods’ venom!” he swore, and pushed me away.

  I staggered, still caught in the moment, my body reaching toward him.

  “Eona, no!” He lowered his head, eyes fierce. “Do not step closer.”

  “You do not want to?” I demanded, the shameless words coming from somewhere ancient and thwarted.

  “Of course I do,” he ground out. “Are you blind?” He pressed the heel of his hand against his mouth and turned away. This time his laugh was harsh. “It would almost be worth it.”

  I balled my fists, trying to find some control of the turmoil that raged through my Hua.

  Kygo strode to the upturned table, bent, and, with a deep sound of effort, picked it up and slammed it back onto its legs. For a moment, he stared at the split top, then drove his fist into its edge, pushing the whole table across the floor in a squeal of wood against stone. I winced. He cradled his hand, a trickle of blood between his knuckles.

  “Always duty,” I said, my voice caught between tears and resentment.

  With his back to me, he leaned both hands on the tabletop, his head bowed. My eyes followed the broad line of his shoulders down to his slim hips.

  “We may wish the portent and Sethon’s greater resources away, but we cannot ignore them, Naiso,” he said, his voice rough and deliberate.

  Naiso. I closed my eyes. Before, the word had brought sweet unity. Now it was designed for distance.

  “We’ll head east again. It is our best fighting ground,” he said. His bloodied hand circled his throat. “And we will get Ido, so you can master Gan Hua.”