'If you please, my lord,' Rilla said, kneeling at the doorway 'Shall I serve the tea?'
I nodded, unable to speak. Ido had manoeuvred me neatly into his trap. Now all he had to do was wait for it to spring.
The tinny crash of cymbals and the thump of drums matched the rhythm of my steps as I followed my master's body towards the burial ground. Four stocky men carried him on a flat litter laden with white orchids, their movements perfectly coordinated. Lady Dela had hired them, along with the chanting Beseechers and the other trappings needed to bury an important man. She, of course, was not present: no women were permitted to attend the burial of a former Dragoneye. If I'd had any lightness left in me, I would have laughed at the irony.
The Prince walked beside me, matching my uneven strides. He wore the black robes of the second mourner — the Gan Hua to my white-robed Lin Hua — and carried the silver tray of offerings and ceramic tomb guardians. It must have been heavy, but he did not seem troubled by the burden. An image of him sparring flashed into my mind, the memory of his lean muscular strength and royal bearing bringing heat to my face. I glanced across at him, afraid he had seen it, but he was concentrating on balancing the tray. Behind us, Ryko and two Imperial guards
formed a protective line, the jangle of their armour and swords creating another rhythm in the march.
I wiped sweat from my top lip. The morning was already oppressive — the kind of thick humidity that heralded the monsoon. Was it the same in Daikiko? Yesterday, Lord Tyron had sent a formal message to all the Dragoneyes that the weather-watchers in his province now predicted the King Monsoon would come in only six days. Two days after the official mourning period ended. A spiralling fear rushed up through me. Two days of instruction would be almost useless, especially since they would also be spent travelling to the province.
Tyron, however, was adamant about keeping to the agreement; he would not even visit me or accept a messenger in case it gave Ido an opportunity to cry foul about the test. Both he and Ido were somewhere behind us, amongst the other Dragoneyes. I breathed deeply, pressing the panic into a small hard knot at the bottom of my stomach. This was my master's Passing Day. It would dishonour him if I faltered in my duties.
Ahead, the Tiger Dragoneye tombs shimmered through the heat rising from the paved road. A smoky herb fragrance trailed behind the tiny braziers that the Beseechers carried at the head of the procession. As we approached the double gate, the lead litter-bearer called a sharp halt.
The procession and music stopped, the sudden silence as stifling and heavy as the humidity The entrance to the ground was guarded by two large stone statues: on the left was Shola, the squat death goddess, and on the right, an elegantly coiled Tiger Dragon. I stood staring at them, suddenly unable to move. When we went through these gates, even my master's body would be gone from me. Behind us the long line of mourners began to murmur restlessly.
'Lord Eon?' the Prince whispered. 'It is time for us to approach the gate.'
I nodded, but I still couldn't move; the world had contracted into a bubble of heat and deafening heartbeat. Tf 1 stepped closer,
surely my heart would explode. I felt the Prince place my hand on his arm. Slowly, he guided me towards the statues, his soft whispers of encouragement quietening the thunderous beat in my ears.
I stopped in front of the gate, dragging against his weight. We could not go in. We were not ready
'No! We haven't had time to practise the entreaties,' I said. 'How can we beseech the gods without the proper entreaties?'
'Lord Eon, look at me.' I met the Prince's sympathetic gaze. 'It's all right. We know them.
Remember? Lady Dela taught us. We know them.'
"Yes, I remembered; we had sat for an hour with Lady Dela, saying the words together, our voices blending into one. It had been a warm respite from the cold formality of the duty visits and rituals.
Are you ready now?' he asked.
I was not. I would never be, but I could not fail my master. Or the Prince.
'Yes.'
We both took a deep breath and bowed our heads.
'Shola, goddess of dark and death, hear our petition on behalf of Lord Brannon,' we chorused, the Prince's deeper tones covering the breaks in my voice.
It was my turn now. I took a step closer to the statue and looked up into the frowning face of Shola. 'Here comes one into your realm,' I said. Accept these offerings and allow him to journey onwards unhindered.'
The Prince passed me a red packet of symbolic money: a payment to Shola's spirit officials, who could ease or hinder my master's journey I placed it at the statue's feet, then poured wine into a stone cup cradled in her clawed hand. Let him pass, I silently pleaded.
We crossed over to the dragon. It was a faithful likeness; whoever had carved it must have worked closely with a Tiger I )ragoneye.
'Tiger Dragon, Keeper of Courage,' we said, 'hear our petition on behalf of Lord Brannon.'
I stepped closer to the statue, its stone fang hanging just above my head. 'One who once served you now passes into the land of the spirits,' I said. Accept these offerings and escort him to his ancestors with the honour that he deserves.'
I placed a brass chain studded with paste emeralds between the stone talons and poured the last of the wine into a bowl made of green marble. Then I closed my eyes, breathing in the thick warm air, and felt along my Hua, seeking a way past the fog of grief into my mind-sight.
All 1 wanted was a glimpse of the Tiger Dragon — to make sure he knew my master was here and waiting to pass. I opened my eyes, feeling the strange twisting shift of sight, and saw the dragons. All of them, in a ring around the burial ground, each at his compass point. The green Tiger Dragon was more vibrant than the others, his head thrown back, his long throat swelling in a mournful keen. It was not a sound that any human could hear, but I felt the vibration of it like the shivering of the earth. But my dragon, the Mirror Dragon, was hardly visible. A mere outline, smudged and blurred by a heavy veil of mist. I gasped and shook my head, breaking my link. He was even fainter than before. Why was he fading away from me?
The folio pearls rippled against my arm, as if in sympathy.
Lord Elgon stepped out from his position in the procession and approached us. As incumbent Tiger Dragoneye, he was the keeper of the burial ground. He bowed to each statue and then to us, offering me a gentle smile that transformed his shovel face.
'For all of my differences with Lord Brannon,' he said softly, 'he served as Tiger Dragoneye with great honour. I was most fortunate to be his apprentice.'
He bowed again and opened the gates. For some reason — perhaps Elgon's unexpected kindness — all my sorrow suddenly broke out of its tight bindings. My own keen rose into my throat. I forced it back and blinked away the sting of tears. The Prince leaned towards me and the mix of herbs, sweat and smoke on his skin was strangely comforting.
'We are nearly there,' he whispered. 'You are doing well.'
Behind us, the Beseechers began the soft entrance chants. With head down to hide my eyes, I walked beside the Prince to our place at the head of the mourners, my lower lip clamped between my teeth until I tasted blood.
Throughout the lengthy chants and effigy-burning beside my master's tomb, I fought a grim battle against the grief that threatened to overwhelm me. I had to hold it in. A lord would not fall to his knees and weep like a woman. A lord would not scream out his grief and seek the comfort of his royal friend's arms. A lord would stoically watch the death ceremonies and do his duty And that was what I did. Even when my master's body was pushed into the long tunnel of the tomb and the sealing rock was hammered into place, I kept my desolation behind a stiff mask of control. Throughout the entombment, Lord Ido stood across from me and I saw that his face was as fixed as my own. But somehow I doubted his mask was disguising grief.
More likely it was disguising triumph.
At last the ceremony ended. I stood mutely as the mourners filed past and bowed to the tomb, until I fi
nally stood alone in front of the elegant marble marker. I knew the Prince and Ryko waited respectfully a few lengths behind me. Waiting for me to say my last goodbye. But all that tight control had worked; I could not find anything to give. No final prayer, no tears, no farewell. My master had left me and I was empty. Yet, as I turned away from his grave, I felt something stir within me.
It took a moment to recognise it.
Anger.
CHAPTER 15
Early on the twelfth day of the New Year — my eighth day of mourning — Lady Dela and I sat in the gloom of my shuttered reception room and waited for the palace herald in front of us to rise from his deep bow and deliver his message.
'Lord Eon,' the man finally said. 'His Highness Prince Kygo approaches on behalf of his most glorious father.'
He offered me a slip of parchment with the Imperial seal. A line of poetry was written under the heavy wax imprint of the royal dragon.
Wives endlessly returning to the shore, bringing renewal and the ghosts of waves before.
Lady Dela studied the paper. 'It's from one of Lady jila's Spring poems,' she whispered. 'His Highness returns the Mirror Dragon treasures to you. Acknowledge the honour of the visit.'
I looked down at the kneeling herald and felt strangely buoyed by the prospect of seeing the Prince. 'Thank His Royal Highness for this great condescension. We await his arrival with joy.'
The herald bowed out of the room.
'I do not think the Emperor would miss this ceremony easily,' Lady Dela said, a small fold of worry between her brows. 'He must still be too ill to leave his bed.' She twitched her shoulders as if rejecting the silent understanding that crouched in the palace: the Emperor was in his last days. 'Call Rilla to prepare for the Prince.'
Under my heavy white sleeve, the red folio shifted, the pearls whispering along my skin.
Perhaps it sensed the arrival of the other treasures. As I sounded the small gong, a trill of laughter and music from a nearby courtyard made us both turn towards the closed doors. The Twelfth Day feasts and celebrations were starting.
'Happy Twelfth Day,' I said to Lady Dela. 'May the year bring you fivefold happiness.'
'Thank you, Lord Eon. And for you too.'
I nodded. Happiness seemed a long way away.
The Peony household had just assembled in the garden courtyard when one of Ryko's guards called the Prince's arrival. I kneeled on a small cushion that Rilla had positioned for me by the path and kowtowed until my forehead skimmed the ground. The boots of the royal guards passed by, and then the soft slippers of the protocol officers. My deep bow was straining my hip into aching weakness. If the Prince did not arrive soon, I would not be able to rise without assistance. Finally, the dusty sandalled feet of the royal litter-bearers approached and stopped in front of me.
'Lord Eon,' the Prince said.
I stiffly pushed myself back onto my heels. The wound to his face was healing well, the bruise fading into dull browns and yellows. He was wearing his official robes — purple silk — and a smaller version of the Imperial pearl on a chain around his neck. An Emperor in waiting.
Behind him, a small pack of courtiers watched us, followed by a double line of servants carrying boxes, brass burners and heavy chests. A cart pulled by four men, with the bureau and carved stools tied to it, brought up the rear.
'Your Highness, thank you for honouring me with this visit.' I smiled, then caught an admonishing glare from a prim-mouthed protocol officer. A smile, it seemed, was inappropriate for the occasion.
'It is my honour to return the Mirror Dragon treasures to you,' the Prince said. 'My father sends his gracious greetings.'
I kowtowed.
'Down,' the Prince ordered the bearers. They promptly lowered the litter, and a waiting servant handed the Prince out. Another kneeled and held up a richly embroidered red pouch.
The Prince took it then bowed to me.
'Lord Eon, for generations my royal forebears have kept the Mirror Dragon treasures safe, waiting for the day when the noble dragon would once again grace the Circle, and a Mirror Dragoneye rejoin the Council. It is my glorious honour to return the treasures that are rightfully yours.'
He held out the pouch. I took it with another deep bow. It was heavy and for a moment I was at a loss as to what was inside. Then its circular shape settled in my hand: the Dragoneye compass. As soon as I recognised it, the folio pearls tightened around my arm. Did they recognise it too? I swept my fingers across the book. The pearls eased their grip, leaving a bruised phantom of their stranglehold.
As was protocol, the Prince entered the Peony apartment and took a bowl of tea with me and Lady Dela. Our conversation was strictly monitored by the dour-faced officials and limited to polite wishes for the New Year and comments about the monsoon predictions. There was a sadness in the Prince's eyes that mirrored my own, but I had no opportunity to offer him the gentle friendship that he had shown me at my master's entombment. The protocol officers were watching us too closely
with their sharp eyes and soft-voiced instructions — the Prince's every move was now governed by tradition and ritual.
Before the half bell rang, the officers quietly signalled the end of the visit. We all kneeled along the pathway again as the Prince was ushered back into his litter, and by the time the bell tolled, the royal entourage was making its slow way towards the royal apartments. I watched its progress, hoping he would look back. The litter was almost through the archway before he turned and raised his hand. I raised my own, but then the protocol officer at his side called him to order.
'So, he is taking on his father's duties,' Lady Dela said, gracefully standing and dusting down her white gown. 'We will be mourning again before long.' She shaded her eyes and looked over at the archway. 'Mourning for the father and fighting for the son.'
'Are you a soothsayer now?' I snapped.
She looked at me, her eyebrows raised. 'Some say so, my lord. But my skill is in reading people not sticks or coins.'
Rilla came bustling towards us. 'My lord, where do you want the treasures stored?'
The line of servants was still waiting to move the furniture and boxes into the apartment.
'Lady Dela will decide,' I said, suddenly wanting to be alone. 'Just bring the red pouch the Prince gave me to the reception room.'
Rilla duly delivered the pouch to me then softly closed the door on the noisy tramp of servants and Lady Dela's sharp directions. I sat in the cool quiet of the reception room, overwhelmed by a sense of excitement.
The compass slid easily out of the pouch and hit my palm with a satisfying weight. I ran my finger over the smooth facets of the round-cut ruby in the centre. It was the size of a thrush egg — worth a small fortune. The pearls suddenly rattled down my arm and out of the end of my sleeve, pulling the folio behind
them into my lap. Gingerly, I poked at the book. Obviously, there was a connection between folio and compass, but what was it? Perhaps they belonged together. I waved the gold disc near the book. Nothing happened. What if the compass was touching it? I pressed metal against leather. Not even a twitch from the pearls. Maybe the compass rearranged the characters into sense. Holding my breath, I flicked the book open to a page and dragged the compass across it. The writing was still incomprehensible.
Frustrated, I stared down at the page then at the etched figures on the compass. My eyes suddenly focused on one character. Hadn't I just seen it in the book? I ran my finger across and compared them. Yes, they were the same. I turned the compass around. One of the other characters was repeated on the page too. They had the same writing. I laughed, jubilation pushing me off the low chair into a clumsy Rat Dragon Second, the pearls swinging out like a victory banner.
Then I stopped. Where did the information get me? I still couldn't read the folio. Or the compass. There was no way to break the code. I chewed my lip. The characters were on both compass and folio — it must be a special Dragoneye writing. Did that mean another lord would be able to read it an
d teach me the meanings? It made sense. But there was only one Dragoneye I trusted now — Lord Tyron — and he refused to see me until the end of my mourning. A wave of disappointment dropped me back onto the chair. He would not even accept my messenger. The first chance I'd have to show him the compass would be in the carriage on our way to Daikiko Province. Would that give me enough time to decipher the folio before the test? It seemed unlikely. My dragon's name felt as far away from me as ever.
I sat back, slowly combing each page of the folio for matches to the compass. There were quite a few but it was an empty success — I did not understand what I was looking at. The futile
study was finally interrupted by Rilla announcing two officials from the Department of Earthly Bequeathals. Quickly, I slid the compass back into the pouch and pushed the folio up my sleeve. The pearls slithered up my arm behind it and wrapped the book tightly against my forearm just as the two men entered the room. Both of them had an air of suppressed irritation, the fatter one's sourness puckering his wet lips into a pout. No doubt it was the increasingly loud sounds of music and laughter from outside that was causing their bad temper; their duty was making them miss the Twelfth Day celebrations.
I motioned for them to rise from their low bows.
'Lord Eon, it is the Day of Inheritance,' the fat one said, 'and we bring to you Proxy Lord Brannon's witnessed bequeathal scroll.' He bent double and offered a slim roll of parchment sealed with wax and tied with a silk cord.
I took it, unsure if I was expected to read it in their presence. They both looked at me, the thinner man eyeing me with barely concealed impatience.
'We are at your service if you have any questions, my lord,' he said pointedly.
I quickly pulled apart the knot and broke the seal, spreading the scroll open. The bequeathal was short: everything that Lord Brannon had still owned at the time of his death — the house, surrounding estate and bond servants — was now mine.