CHAPTER TWENTY
WITH THE FORCE of our illicit power, Ido and I had pushed the junk a day ahead of schedule and out of the range of the diminished cyclone. For the remainder of the journey, most of my time was spent in intense sessions of campaign planning with Kygo and Tozay. When I was not in the command cabin looking at maps or discussing strategy, either I sat with my mother—our conversation safely centered upon small talk and the father and brother I had never known—or I lay on my bunk in a dark cycle of shame and confusion that inevitably ended with me reliving Ido’s mastery of the cyclone. And the rushing rise of our power, together.
The planning sessions at least brought me close to Kygo, although the fast approaching strike against Sethon and my role as weapon and trigger were building a constant dread within me. I was seeing Kygo the emperor, all of his energies centered on the war ahead. Only once, on the morning after the cyclone, did I have a few precious moments with Kygo the man. Tozay had withdrawn from the command cabin to attend to a course correction, and Kygo and I were left alone, on opposite sides of the fixed table, a map of the land between us.
“I did not tell him to ask you,” he said abruptly.
I looked up from the map.
“To break the Covenant again. Tozay took that on himself. He brought it to me as a deal already struck.”
I straightened, as if some of the weight in me had been lifted. “Tozay said that you would not ask me.”
He nodded. “I know you do not wish to kill.” He gestured at the map. “Yet you can see that we cannot do without you.” His smile held no humor. “I find myself in one of the quandaries my father warned me about—principle versus pragmatism.”
“I have said yes, Kygo. This time pragmatism wins.”
“Pragmatism is like water against the rock of principle,” Kygo said softly, quoting the great poet Cho. “If not channeled, it will eventually wear its own path through the spirit.”
He walked around the table and drew me to him, his hand reaching up to stroke my face. Our kiss was slow, seeking, a gentle press of mute atonement on both sides. Yet in the midst of the tender union, the memory of Ido’s savagery cut through my mind. The sudden intrusion brought a wash of shame, and I pulled away. Kygo let me—both of us, it seemed, caught in our own separate guilt.
I did not see much of Dela and Ryko during the rest of the voyage. The islander, I think, was avoiding me, but then the two of them were avoiding everyone, using the short time on board to create their own brief haven. Dela sought me out once, as I took air on the main deck, to tell me that they had silenced Ido’s guard with the knowledge that he’d left his post to watch their rendezvous, allowing Ido to escape.
“This alliance you have with Lord Ido frightens me,” she said. “Do not forget what he has done.”
“I haven’t.” The brisk sea wind caught my hair, whipping it across my face.
“He gave me a message for you.” She tightened her lips as if the words soured her mouth.
“What is it?”
“That you are in his blood.”
I looked down at the deck to hide the answering surge within my own blood.
“Those are the words of a lover, Eona.”
“Lord Ido only loves power. I know that,” I said, but she did not look convinced.
With a bow she turned toward the hatch.
“Dela.” She looked back. “Does Ryko hate me?”
Her face softened. “Ryko doesn’t hate you. He wants to save you, Eona. Like he wants to save everyone.”
As I watched her walk away, my throat tensed with an ache of sadness. Ryko wanted to save everyone—except himself.
When we finally anchored in the deep cove harbor of our eastern rendezvous, a sense of relief quickened everyone’s move-ments. I think we all wanted to get off the boat and face more than just the dark shadows in our own minds.
It is not often that the real world conjures worse than what we can imagine.
I stood against the railing and studied the vista before us, a mix of barren sand dunes, ocher rocks, and patches of low green growth bright in the late sun. This was the east—my dragon’s stronghold of power—abandoned for five hundred years, cast into a hot wasteland of desert that only the border tribes inhabited. Now the Mirror Dragon had returned and, with her, the green blessing of renewal. And maybe, if we had the good will of the gods, victory.
“Lady Eona.”
Ryko’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. He held out a back sheath, the moonstone and jade hilts of Kinra’s swords protruding from the two scabbards strapped into the leather brace.
“His Majesty has ordered that everyone be armed, at all times,” he said. “I’ve greased the throats.”
I hesitated, then took the sheath. I had not touched Kinra’s swords since the village inn. It seemed so long ago. Ryko crossed his arms, waiting for me to test the oiled draw. Clenching my teeth, I grabbed one leather-bound grip and felt Kinra’s rage roil through my blood. Still there, still strong.
“It’s good,” I managed, plunging the sword home again. The kiss of hilt against metal mouth released me from the fury.
“The other?”
“I trust you,” I said.
“Test it, my lady.”
I gripped and pulled, the smooth slide whispering death in its hissing release. I rammed the blade back, snatching my hand away. “Lovely. Thank you.”
He bowed.
“Ryko.”
He looked up, eyes wary.
“Thank you for looking after my swords.” It was not what I wanted to say, but the real words were caught in the strain between us.
“It is my duty,” he said. “I will always do my duty.” He backed away.
Eventually, a loud “Hoy!” went up from the high mast lookout—the signal from the shore had been spotted, although I could see no people on the beach or in the dunes.
I took my place in the first tender, along with Kygo, Tozay, and two of Caido’s bowmen. Another, larger boat followed, with Dela, Ryko, and more armed men, two of whom guarded Ido. We rowed the distance between junk and land in silence, the air eerily still and hot after the quick sea winds, and no sign of our allies on the broad expanse of sand.
“Where are they?” I whispered.
“Wait,” Tozay said.
Both tenders beached at the same time, the bowmen covering us as we climbed out and splashed to shore through the warm water. Squinting in the glare, I scanned the undulating horizon of sand, my skin crawling with the certainty we were being watched. Tozay walked up beyond the tide line and stood with his hands on his hips, eyes fixed on the bank of dunes that curved and peaked before us. At the edge of my sight, something moved in the far dune. I swung around, reaching back for Kinra’s swords, the bowmen catching my alarm and swinging with me. The sand convulsed and lifted, falling away to reveal human figures.
“Hold your fire,” Tozay barked.
I lowered my hands. Twenty or so men dressed in bleached garments the same color as the dunes rose to their feet and watched us, their weapons drawn. One of them raised a fist, then smoothed it across the air in an arc.
Tozay returned the signal. “It is clear,” he said to Kygo.
We had made contact with the Eastern Resistance army.
The soft-spoken leader pulled up his horse and turned in his saddle, waiting for Kygo to walk our sturdy dune beast up beside him. I was riding behind the emperor once again, but this time his hand covered mine as I held his waist, the press of our bodies moving together in mesmerizing harmony. We had been traveling through the night—the dune men and our troop—steadily heading to higher, more strategic ground. The moon-silvered sands had gradually given way to featureless plains and strange dark outcroppings of rock. Now the gray predawn light was giving definition back to the scrubby landscape, and to the faces around me.
Kygo reined in beside the dune leader. Tozay pulled his horse in behind us.
“As you requested, Your Majesty,” the leader said wi
th a bow. “We are now about a quarter bell from our camp.” His words seemed to conjure the flavor of smoke on the cool dawn air, and I could see a faint glow that hinted at cooking fires.
Kygo nodded. “Which of your men has the most docile horse?”
The leader flicked his hand at a rider in the group of mounted men behind us. I turned to look back, smiling at Dela on a gray near the front, my mother clinging nervously to her waist. But my real attention was on Ido, in the periphery of my vision. He was astride one of the larger horses and, although his wrists were tied to the pommel, he still sat the animal with easy grace. He watched me from under half-closed lids, his smile as intimate as if his hands were around my hips instead of bound to a saddle. The memory of his hold swept heat across my skin. I quickly turned back to face the front.
The summoned rider dismounted and bowed to Kygo, his face still streaked with sand dust from the camouflage.
“Your mount will take a novice?” Kygo asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty. She is steady as a rock. Even my three-year-old rides her without saddle.”
Kygo twisted to look at me. “Do you think you can manage her, Lady Eona? I wish you to ride into camp beside me.”
Although it was a serious command, and there was obviously more to it than just protocol, I narrowed my eyes at the hint of humor that lifted the corners of his mouth.
“Of course,” I said, although in truth I was not sure if I could stay on one of the beasts by myself. Still, I would try. At least I knew how to dismount. I swung my leg and slid off our horse, landing with reasonable grace on the loose gravel.
The dune man smiled encouragingly, inviting me to pat his mare. “Her name is Ren,” he said. “It means ‘forbearance’ in my tribe’s language.”
I slid my hand along the silky nap of her neck. Forbearance: the poor creature would need a lot of it once I was on her back.
As we rode on, Ren was as good as the dune man had claimed—steady and eternally forgiving of my heavy hands and lack of skill. Kygo kept close beside me, our horses’ shoulders almost touching. Ren, may the gods bless her sweet nature, seemed oblivious to Kygo’s horse and its occasional nibble at her bridle.
“You are doing well,” Kygo said.
“She is making me look good.” I shot him a sharp look. “But then, that is what she is supposed to do, isn’t she? What are you worried about?”
“Always so quick, Naiso.” He shifted in his saddle, lowering his voice. “As commander of the army, Sethon has ruthlessly quelled the Eastern Tribes for years, so there is no love lost there. But they are not totally convinced of me, either. After all, my father allowed Sethon’s eastern campaigns.” He drew his hand down the length of his queue. “Nor do they have the same reverence for Dragoneyes as the rest of the land, since they have been without the blessing of one for five hundred years.”
Ever since the Mirror Dragoneye was executed and the Mirror Dragon fled. Would the easterners have any legends about Kinra? Or had she been wiped from their stories, too?
“And now the Mirror Dragon is back, and the Mirror Dragoneye is about to arrive,” I finished for him. “What do you think will happen?”
His eyes cut back to Tozay, riding a length or so behind us. “Tozay says the easterners respect only strength. So, we show strength.” He turned back to me, his face somber. “Are you ready for that … my love?”
The soft, hesitant endearment blazed through me. Kygo had called me his love. I knew he was warning me about the easterners, but all I could focus on was that one sweet phrase. I could not stop the smile that sang from my spirit.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am ready.”
I wanted to return the endearment, but I did not know what to say: I had never called anyone a heart-name. Yet it seemed my smile was enough, because he leaned across and took my hand, his own smile holding me in its embrace.
For one joyous moment I forgot I had lied to him about Ido and the cyclone. Then the Dragoneye was there again, in my mind: the memory of his hands touching me and his mouth on mine, and the glory of his power. If Kygo knew about that, he would not be calling me his love.
The dune leader reined his horse. “We are here,” he announced, drawing Kygo’s attention from me. A small mercy; I could no longer meet his eyes.
The man motioned ahead. “Your army awaits, Your Majesty.” He bowed over his saddle, waiting for us to pass and lead the troops into the resistance camp.
I had never seen so many people gathered in one place—not even in the ceremony arena or the crater camp. Involuntarily my hands tightened around Ren’s reins, yanking on her bit, as we made our way between two plains of bowed bodies that stretched for hundreds of lengths on either side into the pale shadows of morning. Behind them, low military tents and the taller, round tribal tents were built up row upon row like city streets, the outer ranks so far away they were just white dots in the glow of cooking fires.
All of this at Kygo’s command. And under the protection of my power.
I glanced at Kygo. He did not look left or right, and his bearing had straightened from the relaxed meld of horse and man into regal authority. All of his attention was focused on the group of six men bowing to us outside a huge round tent, its position and size distinguishing it as a meetinghouse.
I had a moment of absurd pleasure as I reined Ren neatly in beside Kygo’s horse. I had not fallen off, and I had managed to stop. Following Kygo’s lead, I swung my leg over Ren’s back and found the ground, the twist on the stirrup allowing me a quick view of Ido, still mounted behind us. One of the dune men was cutting him free from the saddle.
“Rise,” Kygo ordered.
The six men climbed to their feet. I glanced over my shoulder, past the grips of Kinra’s swords, and saw the royal command shift back like a wave through the sea of people behind us.
“This is Lady Eona, Mirror Dragoneye and my Imperial Naiso,” Kygo said.
The men’s eyes flicked over me. Although not one of their expressions changed, I could feel their disappointment as if it had been shouted in my face: A girl.
“You know General Tozay,” Kygo continued. He turned his head, finding Ido. ‘And that is Lord Ido, Rat Dragoneye.”
The introduction sent sharp glances among the six men. A ripple of whispers rose from the people around us. One of the six—a man of about thirty with a permanent sun squint and a meaty strength about him—stepped forward, his bright red coat adorned with an embroidered eagle on each sleeve. All of the six men wore intense colors—emerald green, sky blue, red, purple, orange—their clothes overbright among the bleached colors of the rest of the camp.
“Welcome Your Majesty and Lady Eona.” He angled his face away from Ido. “I am Rulan, leader of the Haya Ro. Be welcomed on behalf of all the tribes.”
“Rulan,” Kygo said. “Lord Ido is the Rat Dragoneye. Acknowledge him.”
The big man shifted. “He is a traitor.”
“Acknowledge him!”
Rulan’s mouth tightened. “And we acknowledge Lord Ido,” he said through his teeth. Kygo had won the first round. Rulan gestured to the man in emerald green. “Here is Soran, leader of the Kotowi and tribe brother to the Haya Ro.” He proceeded to name the remaining four men behind him and their affiliations, but the elaborate introductions blurred into a string of unfamiliar words. I had seen the ill feeling toward Ido at Sokayo village, but this held an even sharper edge of malevolence.
As Rulan finished with a bow, Soran, the first man introduced, stepped forward. “Your Majesty, may I have leave to greet my daughter-son, Dela?” he asked. “She has been away from us for six years.”
This was Dela’s father? On closer inspection, there was a resemblance—the proud nose and deep-set eyes, and the humor in his angular face.
Kygo smiled and nodded. “Of course, Soran. I know Dela came to my father’s court as a ransom, but he was fond of her, and she was a valued courtier.”
Soran bowed and backed away. I saw the wonderful moment on
Dela’s face when her father stepped into view—such love. And so much warmth between them as Soran folded Dela against his chest. My mother watched with a sad smile. Was she comparing our reunion with the joy of this one? She was a good woman and deserved more than the polite detachment I had shown on the boat. After all, we were blood.
I turned back to find Rulan ushering us toward the wooden door of the round tent. The structure was covered in pale cloth, and through a few gaps, I could make out the thick edges of a darker layer beneath. A woolen blanket perhaps, or felt. Both layers were bound onto the circular structure with neatly separated rounds of rope. I had heard that these buildings could be dismantled and moved within a full bell, yet were sturdy enough to withstand sandstorms.
As I followed Kygo into the tent, the sudden color and opulence made me pause. The walls were covered in bright cloth printed in red, white, and green diamonds, and the entire floor was made of layered woven rugs in a clash of reds and greens and yellows. Two long, elaborately carved poles in the center held up the crown of the tent, and between them stood an open-topped brazier, a high mound of glowing coals sending out heat and soft light. Long benches with padded seats made of printed and colored cloth were set up in ranks that curved with the walls and left a large round space in the center. One bench was raised higher than the rest and had no other seats set behind it: the position of power. Rulan led us toward it. The Emperor and his Naiso Dragoneye were to sit together.
It did not take long for the round room to fill with people. As there was only one door, I did not miss the entry of my mother, and behind her, Dela and Soran, their reunion evident in reddened eyes and Soran’s protective clasp of Dela’s shoulder. Nor did I miss the entry of Ido and the subtle shifting away from him as Yuso and Ryko led him through the benches. His hands were no longer bound with rope. They were shackled in heavy irons.
Noticing the fix of my gaze, Kygo leaned close to my ear, his breath warm. “The solid permanence of iron holds more effect for these people than just rope. They will kill him in a second if they think he is not under control.”