Eona: The Last Dragoneye

by Alison Goodman

  “‘Let him’?” She frowned, puzzled. “He was my husband. How could I gainsay him?”

  “Did you even try?”

  I would have fought for my daughter. I would have fought as hard as possible.

  She turned her head away from the veiled accusation. “I begged the bondsman to sell you into house service.” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “Did he?”

  “Yes.” It was partly true—I did start off in the salt farmer’s house as one of the kitchen drudges—but what would be the use of telling her the whole story? The farmer’s wife who eventually sent us all to the salt when her husband noticed us, and the choking misery of the long days, and the nights spent with breaths held, listening for the tread of the whipmaster.

  “What happened to my brother?” I asked.

  In an instant, her face aged, the sweet tilt of her mouth lost in bitterness. “He took up soldiering a year ago and died in the Trang Dein raids.”

  I felt a cold, unexpected plunge of loss, although in truth this woman and her son were strangers to me. Yet there it was—an ache for the lost chance of a family. Or maybe it was the stark sorrow on my mother’s face.

  She looked up and forced a smile, touching my arm hesitantly. “I thought I had no one left. Until Master Tozay’s men came.”

  “You know why you are here, don’t you?”

  She shook her head. “Master Tozay said that I could be used against you—although I do not see how. I am nothing.”

  “You are the Mirror Dragoneye’s mother,” I said, watching her closely. “And you may be awed by the rank, but you are not shocked by a female Dragoneye like everyone else, are you?” I smiled, trying to take the edge out of my words. “Can you see the dragons too, Mother?”

  Her eyes were steady on mine. “Daughter, until a few weeks ago, women who claimed to see dragons found themselves either chained to other madwomen or dead.”

  I clasped her shoulder. “Did you know I could see them?”

  “All the women in our family can see them. It is our secret.”

  “What can you tell me about Kinra?” She stepped back, breaking my hold, but I followed her retreat. “Please, tell me what you know. It is more important than you think.”

  She licked her lips. “I gave you the plaque. I taught you the rhyme.”

  “What rhyme?”

  She leaned closer. “The rhyme that is passed from mother to daughter.

  “Rat turns, Dragon learns, Empire burns.

  Rat takes, Dragon breaks, Empire wakes.”

  I froze. I did know it, or at least the first part of it: I remembered sitting opposite my master in his study, before the approach ceremony, and hearing its simple rhythm in my head. I had thought it was something I’d read in one of his history scrolls.

  “We used to say the rhyme together—when we walked along the beach where no one could hear,” my mother added.

  Kinra had tried two ways to send her message across time: a rhyme passed through generations, and a portent written in code in a Dragoneye’s journal. I wished that she had not hidden her meaning so well, but I knew why; to protect the Mirror Dragoneye bloodline, exiled by her attempt on the Imperial Pearl.

  “What does the rhyme mean?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I was told by Charra that it came from the same Kinra whose plaque had to be handed down from mother to daughter. It was our duty to pass along three things.” She counted them off on her fingers. “The plaque, the rhyme, and the riddle—which, frankly, is not a true riddle, and does not bring any honor to her name.”

  I stared at her; I had no recollection of a riddle. Was this the missing piece of the puzzle?

  I caught her arm. “What riddle?”

  Startled, she looked down at my tight hold. “Her daughter had two fathers, but only one bloodline. Two into one is doubled.”

  “Two into one is doubled?” I echoed.

  The words rang no sudden chime of understanding through me. The puzzle did not click into place. But I could at least guess the two fathers: Emperor Dao and Lord Somo. Only one bloodline. Two lovers, but only one was the father. My breath caught as an intuition gathered force, a roaring build of hope and possibility.

  Kinra’s line could have royal blood. Dao’s blood.

  I could have royal blood.

  Kygo—we could be together. Truly together. My blood would be both royal and Dragoneye. And that would stop any other royal blood from binding me with the black folio. I would be invulnerable. I would have everything.

  “Which one was the father?” I tightened my grip on Lillia’s arm. “Which one? Do you know?”

  She pulled away from me and stepped back against the bulkhead, eyes wide. I knew I was frightening her, but she had to answer me.

  “Tell me!”

  “‘The one she loved.’ That is the answer to the riddle. That is all I know!”

  But I knew more than she did.

  “No!” I clasped my hands on either side of my head, trying to stop the truth from forcing its way through my hope. “No!” But I knew Kinra had loved Lord Somo. Not Emperor Dao. Dela had told me that Somo was the nameless man in the journal, and Ido had read it in his records. Kinra had loved the Dragoneye, not the emperor. I did not have royal blood. I had double Dragoneye blood. It had probably given me my strong dragon sight, but it did not give me what I truly needed—a way to save both Kygo and the dragons.

  I bent over, sobbing for breath under the crushing return of desperation. For just one glorious moment, I had seen a way out.

  My mother edged closer, her hand hesitantly touching my shoulder. “Why are you crying, daughter? What does the riddle mean?”

  “She loved Somo.” I took a shaking breath. “She loved the wrong man.”

  Her hand patted my back. “She will not have been the first,” my mother said. “And she will not be the last.” She peered into my face. “You are very pale. Come, sit down. When did you last eat? Or sleep?”

  I let her usher me to a chair and press the cooled tea bowl into my hands.

  “Tell me what all this means,” she said.

  In the clear golden liquid, I watched my reflection summon a mask of courtesy.

  I smiled up into the face that was so very like my own. There was no denying that we were mother and daughter—but for the moment, we were also strangers. “You are right, I need to sleep. Perhaps we can talk about it later.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I HAD NOT lied to my mother—I did need to sleep. Master Tozay assigned me the chief mate’s quarters farther along the mid-deck. It was a cramped cabin, but one of the few private spaces on the ship. The narrow bunk was set into a nook created by two tall cupboards at head and foot, and a low bank of storage lockers above. I stretched out on the bed and tried to ignore the boxed-in sensation and the dank smell. If I’d not had the oil lamp burning, it would have felt like a tomb.

  Under my fatigue and discomfort, another kind of restlessness scratched at my spirit and kept me awake. At first, I thought it was the enigma of my mother’s rhyme. What would the Rat take—the pearl, or something else? And what would the dragon break to wake the empire? The Covenant, the pearl, my word … my heart? There was no doubt that it meant Ido and me, but was it a prophecy or a warning?

  Even after I had exhausted the rhyme’s grim possibilities, the scratchy unease kept my eyes wide open and my body shifting against the hemp mattress. The pitch of the junk had deepened, the plunge and sway not quite rhythmic enough to lull me to sleep. Finally, I gave in to the need to move and the hankering for fresh air.

  I lurched along the creaking passageway, my approach watched by Ido’s guard. The Dragoneye’s jail—a hastily cleared storage compartment—was near the steps that led to both the upper deck and down below, where the crew lived and, for now, our troop was quartered. Under the junk’s rolling progress, I heard the murmur of their voices and saw the dim glow of lamplight rising up the steps. The guard ducked his head in a duty bow as I passed and cl
imbed into the night.

  The slap of fresh air made me gasp. Those sailors on duty and watch marked my arrival in the swinging light of the lanterns, but turned back to their windblown tasks. I made my way across the deck to the thick railing, the dipping roll of the junk every now and again sending me into an inelegant lurch. I found the rail and pressed the lower half of my body against the security of its solid wall.

  Spray from the cut of our passage dusted my face with water and the taste of salt. Above, the dark sky bore down upon us, the banks of cloud like a huge bulwark between heaven and earth. As I watched a fork of lightning flash deep within them, I realized the source of my driving need for space and air; the approaching cyclone was affecting my Hua. Was this something that always happened to a Dragoneye? If I was this unsettled, Ido must be crawling up the walls of his narrow prison.

  A stocky figure strode along the deck toward me with practiced balance: Master Tozay. I lifted my hand in greeting.

  He stopped beside me. “Good evening, Lady Eona.”

  “Not really, is it?” I said, tilting my head back at the sky.

  “No.” He followed my gaze. “We will outrun most of it, but I think the edge will catch us. These weather patterns are the most bizarre I have ever seen.”

  “Where is His Majesty?” I asked.

  “Sleeping.” Tozay turned toward me, his thickset body blocking the wind that snatched at our words. With a gesture to his ears, he ushered me to the three-sided shelter created by the high horseshoe-shaped stern deck.

  We stepped into the windbreak, the sudden release from the spray and rushing air making me cough. A single lantern, fixed beside a hatch that led below, cast our shadows along the deck. Tozay signaled to a man coiling ropes nearby to move away.

  “I have a question for you, Lady Eona,” Tozay said, as the man obediently headed farther along the deck. “Why are you fighting for His Majesty?”

  His tone was a return to our discussion in the boat. I settled my body more firmly into the rise and fall of the junk. “He is the true heir. He is—”

  “No.” Tozay lifted his hand, stopping me. “I am not looking for an avowal of loyalty or defense of his claim, Lady Eona. I am asking you why you think he is a better choice than Sethon. Why you have joined this fight.”

  The question held an intensity that demanded an answer in kind. I paused, and gave it thought.

  “He is his father’s son, but he is his own man, too,” I said slowly. “He understands tradition, but he can step beyond it with the energy of renewal. He knows the strategies of war and power, but unlike Sethon, they are not his first love. His love is the land and the people, and he places his duty above all.” I smiled wryly. “He once told me that an emperor should have one truth tattooed upon his body: No nation has ever benefited from a protracted war.”

  “From the wisdom of Xsu-Ree,” Tozay said. “Chapter Two.”

  “That is strange,” I said sharply. “His Majesty also told me that only kings and generals were permitted to read Xsu-Ree’s treatise.”

  I caught the flash of Tozay’s rare smile. “That is my understanding, too.” He leaned on the side partition that supported the small deck above us and looked out across the sea, his profile once more stern. “His Majesty will not ask you to break the Covenant again.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Tozay grunted. “I could give you his complicated explanation about you being a symbol of hope, and the need for something that is not tainted by the corruption of power, and the Hua-do of the people.” He turned to face me. “But, in the end, it is because he loves you. He does not want you to suffer.”

  Although his statement of Kygo’s love leaped through my blood, I shook my head. “His Majesty will not put his personal feelings above his land and his people. He has told me so.”

  “That is what I always thought, but that has changed. For you.” Tozay’s eyes met mine, their expression unreadable. “Xsu-Ree also says that one of the five essentials of victory is a competent general unhampered by his sovereign. As Kygo’s general, my directive is to defeat Sethon. I am asking you for the power to help me do that.”

  I gripped a carved scroll on the side partition, steadying myself. “His general? I thought you were a simple fisherman, Master Tozay.”

  He gave a gruff laugh. “And I thought you were a lame boy with no chance of becoming a Dragoneye. We are all more— and less—than what we seem, Lady Eona.”

  I stared into the water swelling and surging around the junk as we cut through its night-dark depths. A pressure was building within me, a need to release the burden of all the secrets and lies. I could tell Tozay everything. I could tell him that the dragon power was ending and that the only way to save it seemed to be the Imperial Pearl. I could tell him that the black folio was on its way to us, and that maybe—hopefully—there was another way within it to save the dragon power that would not lead to Kygo’s death. I could even tell him that the folio could bind Dragoneye power to the will of a king.

  “Has His Majesty told you about the portent?” I asked, feeling my way. The slap of the water against the hull was like the beat of a drum.

  Tozay nodded. “Do you think your portent is bound in any way to this war?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He lifted a dismissive shoulder. “Like Xsu-Ree, I do not put much stock in omens or portents. They create confusion and fear where there should be will and control. The ways of gods are for priests to unravel. I believe in strategy and the means to effect that strategy.”

  “And I am a means to your strategy,” I said flatly.

  He inclined his head. “As I am. As Lord Ido is, as we all are. History does not care about the suffering of the individual. Only the outcome of their struggles.”

  “And you will use all the means you have to defeat Sethon?”

  Tozay’s gaze did not waver. “To their utmost limits. And, if needs be, beyond.”

  I felt a chill at the innocuous word. Beyond. Who decided when beyond stopped? Part of me longed to tell Tozay everything—let him take on the burden of this knowledge and sort through its terrible intricacies and consequences. But another part drew back. Tozay would use everything he had to win, and the black folio had something within its pages that could force me into a beyond that I did not want to imagine.

  “What is your answer, Lady Eona? Will you place all your power under his command—under my command?”

  I felt the taste of ash rise into my mouth. Yet Kygo and the hope he brought were worth the fight. And maybe even the cost.

  “I will, General Tozay,” I said.

  He bowed.

  May the gods forgive me, I added silently. May they forgive me for agreeing to break the Covenant again, and for not trusting even Tozay with the secret of the black folio.

  After my encounter with Tozay, I knew sleep was even more of a vain hope, but I stepped over the lip of the hatch onto the steep stairs that led to my cabin. Below me, in the gloom, a man sat hunched on the bottom step, bald head in hands. Ido’s guard watched him, arms crossed. I trod heavily as I descended, the slap of my sandals twisting the seated man around. He looked up. Not bald—bandaged—and not a man. It was Dela. She stood as I reached the deck, her smile strained.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I glanced at the guard’s renewed interest and drew Dela back toward the steps that led down to the crew’s quarters. In the soft light of the stair lamp, I saw the reddened edges of her eyes. “Is something wrong? Have you found something bad in the folio?”

  “No.” She licked her lips. “I have a favor to ask.”

  At the corner of my sight, I saw a shift of shadow on the steps below.

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I want you to heal me.” She touched the bandage along her cheek.

  “Is it getting worse? Is your jaw locking?”

  “No. I am all right.”

  “Why do you want me to heal you, then?” I pulled back. />
  “You know if I do, I’ll have your will. Vida says your injury will right itself.”

  “I know.” Her voice cracked. “But I still want you to do it.”

  “Not if I don’t have to, Dela.”

  “Can’t you just do it because I ask? Please.”

  “Are you afraid of being disfigured?”

  “No, it is not that. “ She angled her face away from me. “Can’t you see? If you heal me, we will be the same. Ryko and I will be the same.”

  The flicker of shadow surged into a big body launching itself up the steps at us. The light caught the work of his muscles across his chest and the liquid dread in his eyes.

  “No!” Ryko boomed, hauling himself onto the deck. “You will not do that.”

  Dela spun around. “Why not?”

  The islander grabbed her shoulder. “Do you think I want that for you?” For a moment, his eyes caught mine, the fear in them snapping to fury. “Do you think I want you to be caught in her ghost world, too?”

  Words rose to defend myself, but I quelled them and stepped back. This was their matter, and it was best they be alone.

  “At least I would be with you!” Dela seized the edge of my tunic, stopping my retreat. “Do not leave, Eona. I want you to heal me.”

  “No!” Ryko said. “Please, Dela, don’t do it. Not for me. I could not bear it.”

  She reached for his hand, but he snatched it away as if he had touched royalty, and stepped back into a bow. “Forgive me.”

  “I cannot bear this, Ryko.” Dela gestured at the careful space he had created. “This standing apart, to save later hurt. It doesn’t work. I hurt now!”

  “It is better this way.” The torment on his face gave lie to his words.

  “You know it is not.” She closed the distance between them and laid her hand on his chest, her body swaying toward him. “I would be dead now if that sword had struck my head at a deeper angle. Do you think you would have saved yourself any hurt, Ryko?”

  His eyes were fixed on her hand. Slowly he shook his head.

  “Then stop being such a noble idiot,” she whispered.