At the top of the staircase, an official sounded the huge gong. Everyone around us dropped to their knees: the ceremony had started. Tyron met my anxious gaze and nodded — there was nothing we could do but help my master down to the ground. 1 lis weight sagged between us as we clumsily settled him onto the flags. Another gong. I lowered into the Imperial kowtow. Beside me, my master pitched forwards into the obedience, his body convulsing. I grabbed his chilled wrist as though my puny hold could keep him from slumping over. Would I soon be shivering and panting in the same way? The third gong announced the arrival of the Emperor. I held my breath, feeling my master's weight press painfully against my hand as we waited for the order to rise. What was the delay?
Finally, the gong sounded again.
I sat back, helping Tyron pull my master upright onto his knees. His breathing was fast, his eyes fixed and clouded. Above us, at the top of the staircase, the frail figure of the Emperor surveyed the courtyard from his sedan chair.
'We must get help,' I hissed. I turned to the eunuch behind me. 'Get the royal physician.'
The man's eyes widened with terror, his forehead hitting the ground. 'Forgive me, my lord, it is not allowed. We cannot leave the Imperial presence.'
Tyron nodded. 'He's right. We cannot interrupt an Imperial audience.' His eyes searched my face. Are you ill too?'
'No.'
A fanfare from the rank of trumpets behind us blasted across the courtyard, bouncing off the paving and buildings. My master winced and moaned. The clattering of hooves on the stone echoed in the huge space, the thundering noise announcing the arrival of High Lord Sethon and his officers.
'Move closer to him,' Tyron ordered as he shifted against my master.
I took some of my master's weight. Patches of sweat under his arms and around his neck had darkened the red silk into black.
'My chest,' he whispered. His hand groped for his collar.
The sound of hooves had settled into the distinct beat of one horse approaching. I snatched a look down. A huge black horse
paced towards us, ruthlessly controlled, the rider clad in blue Imperial parade armour outlined in red piping. High Lord Sethon. His face was in shadow under an elaborate leather helmet, but the way he carried himself showed the bullish strength that was now diminished in his Imperial brother. Behind him, on foot, came three soldiers wearing plain blue skirted armour and carrying banners. I could see their horses behind the audience line, held by aides.
My master stiffened then doubled over and vomited a foul green bile onto the stones. A murmur of disgust and fear rose around us as men edged away.
I cast around frantically, not sure what I was looking for, only knowing my master needed help. Across the path, Lord Ido watched us, his face unreadable. A wave of kowtowing moved towards us as High Lord Sethon passed between the ranks of dignitaries.
My master retched again. I braced him against the convulsions, the chill of his body through the thin silk as cold as a winter stream. On the other side, Lord Tyron suddenly dropped into a kowtow. My master sagged against me. I looked up. Above me was the massive black chest of the horse. And above that, the hard gaze of High Lord Sethon.
There was no mistaking his kinship to the Emperor; the bold modelling of his forehead and chin and the tilt of his generous mouth were identical. The High Lord's eyes, however, were closer together and set over a broken nose that had healed flat with a scar that had carved a crescent across his cheek. A warrior's face.
I scrabbled forwards, prostrating myself. He had royal rank. He could help my master. The horse sidled to the left but was forced back under his iron grip.
'Your Highness,' I pleaded. 'Forgive my presumption but Lord Brannon is ill. He needs the physician.'
'You must be Lord Eon,' he said. He studied me for a moment. 'You are smaller than I expected.' His voice was a clipped cold monotone that gave no hint of emotion.
He glanced across at Lord Ido, then turned to the soldier standing at the horse's side. 'Shen, find the royal physician and bring him here.' The man bowed and backed away I kowtowed again, light-headed with relief. 'Thank you, Your Highness.'
He dismounted, dropping smoothly to the ground in front of us. His every move spoke of decision and command.
'I hope Lord Brannon recovers quickly,' he said. 'It would be most inauspicious for my brother if a Dragoneye lord died during the Twelfth Day celebrations.' He passed the reins to the middle soldier. 'Hold him tight, he is skittish.'
He looked up at the small figure of the Emperor waiting for him outside the hall. Lowering into the shallow bow required of a royal half brother, he began the climb up the staircase.
I returned to my master. His breathing was so slow that I could hardly feel it against my hand.
His eyes opened and I saw the flare of agony in them a moment before his body stiffened. His arms thrashed wildly until Lord Tyron grabbed them, wrestling them down. There was nothing I could do but hold him as he writhed and gasped, saliva bubbling from his mouth. He grunted, trying to form words, but his face seemed to be frozen into a mask of pain. He clawed at me until I held each side of his head using all of my strength to stop the uncontrollable jerking.
'Stop him,' he whispered.
'Master...please...' I couldn't break through his pain. He was being wrenched from me, already halfway into the spirit world.
Under my hands, his head snapped back as his body arched in agony. His glazed eyes locked onto mine. 'Swear you will stop him.'
I nodded, watching helplessly as his back arched again. His body thudded against the paving, the last embers of his life force burning in the urgency of his eyes. And then even that pale light was gone.
CHAPTER 14
Poison.
I knew it, the Emperor knew it, and from the whispers that followed me as I performed the death duties during the nine formal days of mourning, the whole court knew it too. Lord Tyron called for an investigation, but there was no evidence, or none that led anywhere, and so the official reason for my master's death was the Dragoneye's curse — the crippling drain of Hua. I had no doubt who was behind it all, but why had Lord Ido spared me? I could only think of one reason: I was more useful alive and without protection than I was dead.
My master had no family left to prepare his tomb, burn the effigies and pay the Beseechers to chant him into the spirit world. By default, I became his official mourner. Lady Dela patiently explained the death rituals for a lord, gently guiding me through my responsibilities while Ryko stood guard, his stoic silence offering a different kind of support.
For the first two days, I had to receive the relentless queues of lesser courtiers and dignitaries offering their small red packets of mourning money. All through their careful speeches of condolence
and polite bowls of tea, one question circled interminably in my mind: how was I going to survive without my master? He had been as much the creator of Lord Eon as 1 was. Now there was only me.
In between the formal visits, I either prayed at my altar, or lay on my huge carved bed staring numbly at the folio and its indecipherable text. My master was gone and with him my chance to learn the book's secrets. I should have shown it to him. I should have told him about my dragon's name. I should have told him so many things. But I had left it all too late.
Every now and again, Rilla came in with food or the ghost-maker's tea, urging me in a soft voice to eat and drink. We had an official taster now, unofficially provided by the Emperor, but I was still afraid. Each morning it took all of my courage to drink the tea, and food caught in my throat and made me gag. I left the Sun drug in its pouch, untouched. Who knew what was in it? Or what effect it might have on me?
Early on the third day — the Day of Tomb Preparation — Rilla announced Lady Dela.
'She's waiting in the reception room with an Imperial messenger,' Rilla said, hurrying over to the bed and stripping the silk cover off me.
I looked up from the folio; I could not even rouse myself to hide it.
br /> Another gift?'
Since the procession, the Heavenly Master had been too ill to venture out of his rooms.
Nevertheless, he had sent a gift each day of mourning — a great mark of Imperial favour.
Yesterday, the Day of Herbs and Cloth, a precious pot of unguent and fine linen was delivered for the preparation and wrapping of my master's body
'1 don't think so,' Rilla said. She clicked her tongue. 'Did you sleep in your tunic?'
I closed the folio and held out my right arm, watching as the black pearls wrapped the book tightly against me. Rilla gasped
and stepped back from their slithering clatter — I'd forgotten she had never seen them move before.
'It's all right,' I said. 'They won't hurt you.'
I had thought the pearls might tell me something about the Mirror Dragon or hold the key to the strange text. But for all their peculiar magic, they were only bindings. I climbed off the bed and stood still as Rilla quickly brushed and twitched my robes into order, avoiding the right sleeve where the folio nestled underneath the thick white cloth.
'After you see Lady Dela, it has been arranged for you to prepare his...the tomb.' I heard her voice catch on the last, but couldn't push a way out of my own dry grief to offer her any solace.
As I entered the shuttered reception room, Lady Dela sank into a low bow. She was not painting her skin as a mark of respect, and that, along with her severe white robe, emphasised her swarthy colouring and sharp angles. Behind her, Ryko bobbed in a quick duty bow. Even through my listlessness, I could sense a strange excitement in them. An Imperial messenger shuffled forwards on his knees and offered me a scroll.
'By command of his Imperial Highness.' He lowered himself three times into the delivery kowtows of an Imperial edict, his forehead touching the straw matting.
I broke the seal with my thumb and unrolled the message. The Heavenly Master, concerned for my welfare after the death of Lord Brannon, had ordered Lady Dela to become my official chaperone and Ryko to take charge of my personal safety with the command of a small detachment of guards.
I looked up at them and forced a smile to my lips. I was glad to have them with me, but I felt it as one feels a light blow through armour; muffled by thick layers of protection. Even as they spoke about the arrangements, I let myself sink back into the comfort of numbness.
The next morning, Prince Kygo arrived, unannounced and with only two guards shadowing him. He was dressed in plain white mourning clothes with no royal adornment. The gash on his left cheekbone was closing, but the dark bruise was still vivid.
'Lord Eon,' he said and gestured for me to rise from my kowtow, 'I do not come as your overlord but as your friend.'
Dully, I stood, waiting for him to speak. He looked back at his guards and jerked his head, sending them to the doorway out of earshot.
'I would be honoured if you would allow me to stand as second mourner for Lord Brannon,'
he said.
The surprise of his words finally penetrated my apathy The second mourner carried the offerings to the gods and organised the effigies. It was a position of service — duties that were below a prince.
'Your Highness...' I stopped, not sure what to say
He gripped my shoulder. 'My father sickens more every day' he said softly 'It is time I stepped out of the harem for good. Remember our agreement, my friend?'
Mutual survival.
I straightened under the weight of his hand. 'My master said it would not be long now. They will make their move.'
He nodded. 'You are the only thing that stands in the way of Ido's control of the Council.' His grip tightened. SAllow me to stand by your side as an ally at Lord Brannon's passing.'
'It would be my honour, Your Highness,' I said and bowed.
We smiled at one another; a grim acknowledgement that it may be too little, too late. The silent understanding was as brief as a heartbeat, but for that one bright moment I did not feel quite so alone.
Two days later, on the Day of Honouring, the Dragoneyes came, led by Lord Ido. Ryko stood silently behind me as they entered
the reception room, his solid presence like another backbone holding me up.
The Dragoneyes all wore white robes and brought thick packets of mourning money as was custom, but I sensed there was also another purpose in the visit. As each man bowed to me, I studied his face. My master's allies were all tense; his enemies shifting with impatience. I met Lord Tyron's eyes as he straightened from his courtesy and they held a warning — but of what? I followed his gaze to a stranger at the back of the group. The man bowed from where he stood, offering murmured condolences. There was something familiar about the way he blinked — in a pattern of three — but I could not place him.
Lord Ido stepped forwards from the loose semicircle of white-robed men. He smiled at me —a cold curve of his lips that matched the calculation in his eyes. We both knew he had killed my master.
'My dear Lord Eon, we are all shocked by the passing of Lord Brannon,' he said softly. His false sympathy made my gut tighten. 'We all grieve with you in the loss of your mentor and offer you, our youngest brother, support during this time of mourning.'
For the first time since my master's death, I felt something in my core. Hate. It burned through me like a fireball, laying waste to the numbness and despair. I quickly looked down, in case Ido saw his own death in my eyes.
'With that in mind,' Ido continued, 'the Council has petitioned Heuris Kane to step into the position of proxy lord. He will continue Lord Brannon's work and relieve you of your Council duties so that you can study the dragon arts. As Lord Brannon wished.'
Heuris Kane — now I knew the stranger. He was Baret's master and one of Ido's minions. As the Prince had predicted, Ido was making his next move to control the Council. This was the reason my master was dead. This was the reason my world was hollow. I closed my eyes, hearing my master's last words.
Stop him.
But I was not even a proper Dragoneye. How could I go against this man? He was too powerful. Too ruthless.
Stop him.
The pearls tightened their grip around my arm as though rallying my courage. No one else could stop Ido. I had to try For the Emperor and the Prince. And for my master. I curled my hands into fists.
'No.'
As soon as I said it, Ryko moved closer, hovering protectively behind me.
Ido stiffened. 'What?'
Tyron's head snapped up. I met his startled gaze, silently pleading for his help. He licked his lips and nodded.
'Of course, I thank Heuris Kane for his concern for my welfare,' I said, turning towards the man and bowing, 'but I wish to take my position on the Council.'
Kane blinked rapidly at me then looked at Ido for guidance.
'This is not a choice, Lord Eon,' Ido snarled. 'This is what is best for the Council.'
'"Vbu are wrong, Lord Ido,' Tyron said. He stepped out of the semicircle. 'If Lord Eon does not wish to stand aside, then he has every right to prove himself capable of holding his position.'
Prove myself? What did that mean?
'Lord Tyron is correct,' Silvo said. 'A Dragoneye can only be removed from the Council if all other members agree that he is not competent. I, for one, am not convinced that is the case.'
'Nor I,' Dram said. He smiled encouragingly at me. A few other voices murmured agreement.
Ido rounded on the Horse Dragoneye. 'What would you know about competence?' He glared around the semicircle.
'Lord Ido has a valid point,' Elgon drawled. The Tiger Dragoneye held up his hand to quieten the rise of voices. 'We
don't know if Lord Eon will be able to cope with Council duties. I propose we have a test to prove whether or not he is capable.'
A test? I dug my nails into my palm. If it was a demonstration of power, everything would be lost.
'What did you have in mind?' Tyron asked.
Elgon bowed to Ido. 'I defer to our respected leader.'
Ido cocke
d his head to one side. 'Tyron, I believe your province has made their annual request to the Council to control the King Monsoon rains and protect their crops?'
Tyron nodded, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
Ido smiled. 'Lord Eon can show us his competence by leading that effort. After all, the position he steps into is that of Co-Ascendant and co-leader.'
'That's too much,' Dram protested. 'The boy hasn't had any training.'
'My point exactly,' Ido said smoothly
Tyron glanced across at me. It was a huge risk for him as well as for me. If something went wrong, the King Monsoon would flood the area and he would lose a year's income from the devastated crops. He squared his shoulders.
'I have every confidence in Lord Eon,' Tyron said.
Ido turned to me, his face avid. He knew I had no chance. 'Do you agree to this test?'
All eyes were on me, the tension holding everyone still. I did not even know how to call my dragon, let alone how to control the largest dump of monsoon rains in the season. But there was no choice. I was the only thing standing between a Council in the control of Ido and one that still served the Emperor and the land.
'Yes,' I said, feeling my voice crack on the word.
Ido smiled triumphantly. 'Then we will all wait for Lord Tyron's call to travel to his province.'
T gather you will have no objection to me taking over Lord Eon's training before that time,'
Tyron said stiffly.
Ido shrugged. 'None whatsoever.'
The monsoon season always started in the Daikiko Province; this year the weather-watchers had predicted the King Monsoon would hit the coast in the next week or so. Ido knew I could not cram twelve years of study and practice into less than a week.
Although,' he continued with a soft sigh, 'it would not be seemly for Lord Eon to train during the nine days of mourning.'
Tyron's face darkened. 'I was not even considering it,' he said tightly He glanced across at me, the heavy dismay on his face mirroring my own. With four days of mourning left, we may not even have a chance to begin the training.