Eona: The Last Dragoneye

  The death plaque pouch was bound tightly under my sash. I pulled it free and loosened the drawstring, then upended it. The two black lacquered finger-lengths of wood slid onto my palm. I picked up the plainer memorial: a thinly etched line bordered the edge, and workmanlike carved characters spelled out “Charra.” My unknown ancestress. I pushed it back into the pouch and returned it for safekeeping under my sash. I had no quarrel with Charra.

  The other plaque was far more worn, but the remains of elaborate decoration were still visible. I ran my thumb over the elegantly carved “Kinra”—faintly inlaid with gold—and traced the tiny dragon that snaked under her name like a flourish.

  I settled on to my knees. The sodden earth squelched under me, pushing cold water through the layers of skirt and shift. I held out the plaque and closed my hand until I felt its edges through the layers of my bandage.

  Kinra, Mirror Dragoneye, I prayed, and channeled all of my fear and frustration into my tight grip. Leave me be. Please stop bringing your anger and desire into my heart. Please stop trying to hurt Kygo and take the pearl.

  It was not an elaborate prayer, but I was not a Beseecher. I opened my hand and stared at the relic, overtaken by the memory of a holy man who had preached to us at the salt farm, years ago. He had not only believed that our ancestors resided in the local shrines, but he had insisted that their spirits also inhabited their death plaques. My friend Dolana had dismissed the teaching as a zealot’s frenzy. Now I wondered if the holy man had been right. Perhaps that was how Kinra had visited me last night.

  At the thought, I jerked my hand back and lost my grip on the plaque. My reflex grab missed. The plaque dropped into the stream and spun into a drift of silt. I launched myself at it, but was pulled up short, my knees anchored in the soggy folds of my skirt. Even as I grabbed for the plaque again, the quick water pulled it from its mooring, out of reach.

  I struggled to my feet, slipping on the waterlogged grass along the bank. The plaque was forced up against a tiny dam of twigs and mud, the water dragging it through the disintegrating mound.

  I stopped.

  Maybe I should let it go. Let the water carry Kinra’s treachery away from me. I could close one of her doorways to this earthly plane forever.

  Yet, she was my history. My legacy. A link to my family.

  The plaque slid into a widening breach.

  I wrenched off both sandals, then ripped at the drawstring around my skirt and kicked it off. I plunged into the water, the slap of cold against my shins, knees, thighs forcing my breath out in high gasps. My shift and tunic wrapped around me in a wet weight, the ends of my silk sash flicking and darting from my waist like red carp. The plaque slipped, then caught against the collapsing dam. I waded toward it, the current pressing against my legs. Rocks below shifted under my weight, jarring my ankle bones and scraping at my skin.

  The remnants of the tiny dam loosened into a swirling mess of twigs and sediment. The plaque disappeared, then bobbed up. I clutched at it, but only scooped water, the force sending the plaque down again. Had I lost it? Hands ready, I focused fiercely on the dizzying surface. The plaque shot up an arm’s length away. I pounced. As my fingers closed around the memorial, my feet slipped and both knees slammed against the rocky bed. Another shock of water soaked me up to my chest. But I was holding the plaque.

  Shakily, I found my footing. My pursuit had brought me level with the horses’ watering place. I clambered onto the bank, my shift and tunic dripping water down my bruised legs. Cold mud oozed between my toes.

  I wiped a smear of silt from the plaque. Kinra was a part of me; casting aside her death plaque would not change my heritage. Nor would it change the burden of her treachery. I ran my hand over my drenched sash and found the pouch—Charra’s plaque was safe, too. Sighing my relief, I pulled the dripping bag free, shook off the water, and slotted Kinra’s memorial back inside.

  “Eona?”

  I spun around. Dela stood at the tree line.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” I softened the curtness with a quick wave and limped over to my abandoned skirt and sandals.

  “His Majesty wants us to assemble. We will be leaving soon.” Dela made her way across the damp ground, picking up her feet as though she wore silk slippers instead of sturdy merchant sandals. She clicked her tongue. “You’re soaked.”

  We both turned at the sounds of approach. Vida emerged from the forest a few lengths away, pausing as she met our scrutiny. Even from where we stood, I could see her eyes were red from crying.

  “Vida,” Dela said. “Do we have dry clothes for Lady Eona?”

  “We only have what we’re wearing,” Vida said.

  “Swap with her then, until hers are dry.”

  Vida’s jaw shifted.

  “No,” I cut in. “We don’t have to do that. They’ll dry soon enough.” It was not true—nothing dried quickly in these humid monsoon days—but I did not want to add to Vida’s resentment.

  Dela waved aside my protest. “You can’t ride behind the emperor in wet clothes. He may get damp.”

  There was no counter to that argument. I soon stood in Vida’s gown while she struggled to pull on the waterlogged layers of my skirt, undershift and tunic.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered.

  She shot me a dark look.

  I tugged at the gaping neckline of the maid’s dress. On Vida, it had sat modestly over her curves. On me, it plunged too low, and the wide cut emphasized the jut of my collarbones. I yanked it up again, bunching the loose cloth at the waist in my other hand.

  “Here, let me help.” Dela wrapped the rough-spun sash around me. “This will keep it up.”

  She tucked and tied until everything was covered, although the neckline was still too low. I pressed my hands over the pale skin of my chest; it was not only my collarbones that were emphasized.

  Vida bent and picked up the pouch from the ground. “My lady, do not forget this,” she said, handing it to me.

  I was fairly sure that Kinra’s death plaque was not as dangerous as her swords, but I still did not want to carry it. “Lady Dela, will you keep this for me?” I held out the pouch. “With the journal?”

  Dela eyed the offered bag. “Vida, return to the others,” she said, the dismissal firm. “Tell His Majesty that we are soon behind you.”

  Vida cast her a curious glance, but headed back toward the forest. As soon as she was gone from sight, Dela reached across, but her hand grasped my wrist instead of the pouch. “What is going on, Eona?”

  I pulled back, but she held fast.

  “You will not carry the journal, your swords, or your compass,” she said, “and now you want me to take your ancestors’ death plaques. Something is wrong.”

  I bit down on my lip. I should have remembered Dela’s keen eyes; after all, she had survived the imperial court through quick wits and insight. I had no doubt she wanted to help me— Dela always wanted to help. Yet telling her about Kinra would be just the same as telling Ryko, and he would go straight to the emperor.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “Nothing is wrong.” Another jerk of my wrist freed me from her grasp. “His Majesty awaits us.”

  I pushed the pouch into the deep pocket of Vida’s gown. I would be rid of the ill-fitting dress soon, and with it, Kinra’s plaque.

  I arrived at the clearing ahead of Dela. She had dropped a few lengths behind me—the distance, no doubt, a silent rebuke for refusing her help. While we had been gone, the camp had been packed away and the horses saddled. The only signs of our occupation were tamped-down grass and a patch of soft muddy ground around the trees where the horses were tied.

  The emperor was waiting. He stood with his arms crossed, the rest of our troop kneeling in a loose semicircle before him.

  “Lady Eona.” Kygo waved me to his side.

  Had he already told them I was his Naiso? They all watched as I made my way across the grass, but I saw no shock or disapproval.

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; They did not know yet.

  Kygo’s eyes flicked over my body. “You are unhurt?”

  “Yes.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Thank you,” I added awkwardly.

  Dela’s arrival turned his attention from me. The Contraire sank into a low court bow, murmuring apologies. She dropped to her knees beside Ryko as I joined the emperor. With a small nod, he indicated that I should stand behind him, at his left shoulder.

  “Traditional position,” he murmured close to my ear. “You guard my weakest side.” The warmth of his breath raised an answering flush in my cheeks.

  None of the six tired faces before me seemed to have registered the symbolism of where I stood. But then, why should they? The old emperor had never appointed a Naiso, and a female advisor was unthinkable.

  Ryko’s gaze was still squarely on me, his jaw set. No forgiveness there. Solly was expectant, his ugly face red and shiny from the heat. Vida was smoothing the wet tunic over her thighs, her attention on Kygo. Captain Yuso was his usual watchful self. Next to him, Tiron was excited, but doing his best to copy his superior’s calm confidence. I caught Dela’s quick sideways glance at Ryko; she was worried about the islander. But then, so was I.

  “Ever since the palace was taken,” Kygo said, “we have been reacting to my uncle’s strategies. Now it is time for us to act.”

  Yuso nodded approvingly.

  “You will have noticed the change in the rains and winds,” Kygo continued. “Without the full circle of dragons and their Dragoneyes, our land is not protected from the whims of the weather demons or the angers of the earth.” He glanced back at me. “Nor can Lady Eona control any earth forces by herself. She has no training and, at present, cannot use her power.”

  Although his voice was dispassionate, the stark announcement of my failure sent shame through me. I dared not look around the circle; I could feel their disillusion like a thousand pin pricks on my skin.

  “Cannot use it at all, Your Majesty?” Yuso asked. I winced at the dismay in the man’s voice.

  “Lady Eona needs training,” Kygo said firmly. “This is why we now go to the palace to free Lord Ido.”

  No one moved. All I could hear was the hammering of my heart.

  “Free Ido?” Ryko finally said. He sat back on his heels. “You want to free that murdering bastard?”

  “Yes, we must free Lord Ido.” The emperor’s soft emphasis was a warning.

  Ryko ducked his head, but his eyes searched the silent semicircle for support. He found it.

  “Your Majesty,” Solly said, bowing, “forgive my blunt speech, but we cannot go near the palace. It is too dangerous. We must rendezvous with the Eastern Resistance, not be sidetracked into a worthless enterprise.”

  “It is far from worthless,” Kygo said coldly. “There is more to war than the number of soldiers on each side. A war is won or lost by five fundamentals, and the first and foremost is the Hua-do of the people. If the people’s will is not at one with their ruler, then he will lose the war.”

  “Highness,” Tiron said hesitantly. “I am truly stupid, for I cannot see how freeing Lord Ido will win the Hua-do of the people. He is feared, not loved.”

  Kygo frowned. “This is the decision I have made. There will be no more discussion.”

  “Your Majesty,” I said, “may I speak to you in private?”

  I turned away from the startled faces before us and walked a few steps, the emperor matching my pace.

  “You may want to explain your reasoning to them,” I said softly.

  He shot me a sharp look. “Explain? They should just follow my orders. Discipline is the second fundamental.”

  “They will always follow your orders,” I said. “But it will be easier if they are—as you say—at one with you. If they understand your strategy.”

  He gave a wry smile. “You use my own words to counsel me, Naiso, yet bring greater wisdom.” He gripped my shoulder. “Win their Hua-do, win the war. Thank you.”

  We both looked at his hand resting on the exposed curve of my collarbone. I felt the heat rise to my face again. His other hand found the pearl at his throat, his own color rising around it.

  Abruptly he walked back to the troop. I waited a moment longer—until the flush had receded from my face—then followed him. This time, my position by his side was noticed; Dela sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes finding mine. I could not wholly fathom her expression. There was shock, of course, but also something else. Something akin to wonderment.

  “There are only two Dragoneyes left alive,” Kygo said. “One is here,” he nodded at me, “the other is held by my uncle. Around us, our land is being rocked by the loss of its Dragoneye protectors. We are already seeing the floods caused by the unchecked monsoon rains. Crops are being ruined, and with that will come starvation and disease. But it will not only be floods and crops. It will be mudslides, tsunamis, cyclones, earthshakes. There will be more destruction, more despair, more death.”

  He looked up at the sky. Inexorably, we all lifted our heads, too. A dark bank of low cloud spread from north to south, the warm wind carrying the sweet metallic tang of rain.

  “The emperor who brings back the protection of the dragons will win the Hua-do of the people,” Kygo said. “And the emperor who holds the Hua-do will hold the land.” He paused, allowing that implacable truth to find its mark. “This is why we must rescue Lord Ido. We cannot allow my uncle to have a Dragoneye at his command, even one who is under duress. And we must have the two Ascendant Dragoneyes working together to calm the land and show the people that we can protect them.”

  “Your Majesty, there is no guarantee that Lord Ido will agree to help us, even if we do manage to get him out of the palace,” Ryko said.

  “That is true. There are no guarantees. There is, however, the certainty that without Lord Ido, Lady Eona will not be able to use her power. She must be trained, and he is the only Dragoneye left to do it.”

  There was also another certainty, known only to me. Ido would jump at the chance to mold my power. He thought I was the key to the String of Pearls and the throne. For a moment I considered offering the insight, but the idea of Ido with access to my power would not reassure anyone.

  And there was always the chance that I had truly changed him.

  Yuso bowed deeply, the others quickly following his lead. “Your wisdom is heaven-sent, Your Majesty,” he said. Around the semicircle, murmurs of agreement sounded.

  “I also have an excellent advisor,” Kygo said. “Lady Eona has agreed to be my Naiso.”

  “What?” Ryko reared out of his bow.

  Yuso was not far behind, astonishment shifting into disbelief. The others were just a blur as I lowered my head, bracing against their shock.

  “Your Majesty, no!” Ryko’s anger propelled him forward on his knees. “You don’t know her.” The venom in his voice struck at me. I clenched my fists.

  “A girl, Your Majesty? How can a girl advise you?” Yuso demanded. “It is against nature.”

  “She is not just a girl,” Dela said, “she is the Ascendant Dragoneye.”

  “She has no training,” Yuso countered. “No military background. She knows nothing.”

  “It is not the first time a woman has been Naiso,” Dela said.

  I looked up; did I hear that right? Another woman?

  “Lady Eona is the emperor’s choice.” Vida’s voice was highpitched with her audacity.

  “Vida, know your place,” Solly snapped.

  “Enough!” The emperor’s command dropped the troop back into crouched bows. “Lady Eona is my Naiso. That is the end of it.”

  Slowly, Ryko lifted his head. “Your Majesty, please allow me to speak. As a member of your trusted guard, and as your loyal subject.”

  Kygo hissed out a breath. “You are straining those bonds, Ryko.”

  “Please, Your Majesty. It is for your own safety.” Ryko glanced at me, the hostility in his eyes like a blow to the chest.

  Kygo nodded. “What is it???
?

  “Lady Eona cannot be trusted to bring you the truth.”

  “Ryko,” Dela whispered beside him. “No.”

  Solly and Tiron raised their heads, tense and watchful. Vida stayed tightly tucked into her bow.

  “Are you accusing Lady Eona of being a liar?” the emperor asked.

  “Yes.”

  Kygo nodded. “It is a fair accusation.”

  I wove my fingers together, shunting all of my anguish into the painful pressure. Kygo did not trust me, after all. He must have realized I had lied to him last night.

  “And one that Lady Eona has admitted herself,” he added. “That is all in the past.”

  My tension eased. Kygo glanced back at me with a reassuring smile.

  “But it is not just straight lies, Your Majesty.”

  Ryko straightened from his bow. I glared at the islander. He had been told it didn’t matter. Yet he still pushed.

  “It is more insidious than that,” he said. “It is half-truths and omissions—”

  I took a step forward. This was not duty; this was plain malice.

  “Ryko,” I said. “Stop it.”

  His face did not even register my words. “—and even if she does give some truth, you cannot—”

  My rage rose like a savage creature howling its freedom. It reached across to Ryko, clawing at his life force. I felt his heartbeat meld into mine, the quick rhythm of his rancor overwhelmed by my pounding fury. I had control of his Hua. I had control of him. The rush of energy drove me another step past the emperor.

  Ryko’s eyes found mine. “No! You swore—”

  It was happening again. Just like the battlefield. Ryko tried to haul himself upright—I felt the strain in his energy—but his limbs were frozen into hunched obedience. Sweat dripped down his face as he struggled against the weight of power. Against me. Why did he struggle? It was his place to obey. With just a thought, I forced him lower and lower, until his face was pressed into the dirt.

  His eyes were still locked on mine, a silent scream in them. I could make him do whatever I wanted.

  A clear thought forced its way through the blinding power: I was doing what Ido had once done to me. Cold shame doused my anger. What was I thinking? Ryko was my friend. I sucked in a desperate breath and focused inward, groping for the link. Whatever it was, I had to find it. Break it. I had given him my word.