Eona: The Last Dragoneye

  “Eona?” Haddo repeated. “You really are a woman? A woman Dragoneye?” I could see the shock in his widened eyes. He touched the blood amulet around his neck.

  “Dela, take over here,” I ordered, and backed away from the lieutenant. He stared at me, bewildered, until Dela rushed him, whooping a battle cry.

  I spun around and felt Kinra gauge the scene. Ryko was retreating from the emperor with every strike against his swords. At each step, the islander shouted his allegiance, but Kygo kept advancing. The young emperor’s face was dark with rage and effort, his wild swords only finding their mark from years of relentless training. Kinra’s focus dropped to the pearl. He does not deserve it. I ignored her treacherous thought.

  “Ryko, get out of the way,” I yelled.

  He ducked under the emperor’s slashing blades.

  “He does not know who we are,” he gasped. “I cannot rouse him.”

  “Your Majesty,” I called. “It is Eona.” The emperor’s gaze traveled across to me. There was no recognition, only the fever of madness. He raised his swords. I was a fool—he had never known my true name.

  I tried again. “Your Majesty. I am Lord Eon. Your ally.”

  Kinra’s reflexes saved me from the slice at my face and the cunning lower cut. I leaped back, landing on the soft give of a fallen body. It spasmed; the man underfoot was not dead. He shrieked his agony, clawing at my legs. Cold horror propelled me off his bloodied torso. The shock weakened my hold on Kinra. Her purpose surged through me like water smashing through a dam, my terror and pity obliterated by angry ambition.

  She swung the swords and I felt them sing Kygo’s death, not his deliverance. Desperately, I tried to wrest back control, but Kinra held true, aiming for the emperor’s chest. The wicked thrusts slammed against Kygo’s blades. Steel slid along steel in screeching protest. I gritted my teeth and wrenched the swords free, fighting Kinra’s desire to drive them into his heart.

  Something flickered across Kygo’s glazed eyes. Fear? Or was it recognition?

  “Your Majesty!” I groped for something that might bring him back. “Kygo! We have a pact. Mutual survival.” But the humming in my head screamed his destruction.

  He lunged, swords circling in a high Goat attack. Kinra’s experience blocked his heavy charge, her sliding parry forcing the emperor off balance. Before I could pull away, she flicked up the grip. The vicious punch caught Kygo in the forehead. He reeled backward and staggered over the legs of a splayed body.

  Take the pearl!

  The command drove me over the corpses to the emperor. All I could see was the pearl stitched to his throat, only a sword thrust away. Kygo was dazed, swaying on his feet, blood welling from the burst skin above his eye. He would not see me coming. One sharp stab. I raised my blades.

  “My lady, now’s your chance. Disarm him!” Ryko’s voice broke through the triumphant humming in my head. Something within me—deep and dragon-forged—reached out to the islander’s massive energy. Once again, his strength pulsed through my body, his heartbeat melding with mine. Instinctively, I grabbed at his solid presence and silently chanted, Disarm, disarm, disarm, to drown out the building shriek of the swords.

  “Disarm, disarm!” Ryko ran at Kygo, horror twisting his face as he bore down on his king. My chant was overriding his actions. Somehow, I had a hold on his will.

  I stopped chanting, but it was too late. Ryko rammed the slighter man. They staggered and fell. Ryko rolled away as the emperor landed on his hands and knees, both swords jarring from his hold. Kinra saw the opportunity. In my mind, I saw her lift her blades and bring them down. Cleaving spine from skull. Slicing out the pearl.

  Screaming, I raised Kinra’s swords. Their arc downward felt like a thousand years of breathless terror.

  And in every second of those thousand years, I fought Kinra for control. I fought her for my mind. I fought her for Kygo’s life.

  The blades smashed into the stones a fingertip from the emperor’s face. The force vibrated through my hands, howling Kinra’s disappointment. As the emperor recoiled, I saw fear pierce the madness in his eyes, slamming him back into his mind.

  I gasped as relief twisted into my chest. “Kygo!”

  He slumped, the fierce rage draining away.

  “Your Majesty, are you all right?”

  Slowly, he looked up, his breathing ragged and pained. “Lord Eon?”

  I let go of Kinra’s swords. The sudden absence of her fury was like my backbone had been yanked from my body. I collapsed onto my knees.

  “I am here, Your Majesty.”

  He reached out and touched my shoulder, checking that I was truly in front of him. “They are dead, Lord Eon.” His voice broke as he fought back his sorrow. “My brother. My mother. Dead.”

  “I know.”

  He looked at the carnage surrounding us. “What is this?” He closed his eyes. “I remember Ryko coming to the camp, telling me about the coup. And the soldiers … He pressed his fists to his eyes. “By the gods, I did this, didn’t I? Killed my own men? And those people, in the village—”

  Gagging, he bent double. The tension in his body gave way to shivering. He did not seek comfort; he was both man and king. Yet something within me knew I had to reach out and breach his lonely despair. It was a risk. His royal body was sacred, inviolate. And I had just fought a desperate battle to stop Kinra from killing him.

  It was the guilt and pain in his bloodied face that made me take the chance. I understood guilt and pain. I touched his shoulder, the hard muscle flinching under my fingers. His head snapped up, a lifetime of learned distance swamped by sudden need—something else we had in common. Awkwardly, I drew him closer, as much to escape the horror in his eyes as to comfort him, and murmured sounds of solace against his sweat-slick skin. His ghosts would come soon—as mine had—but the least I could do was hold them back for a while with my touch and a voice that was not screaming for mercy.

  Nearby, Ryko hauled himself to his feet, using a sword for leverage. At the corner of my eye, a flicker resolved into Haddo, still trading blows with Dela. He was very close to breaking the Contraire; her blocks were slipping, and there was no strength left in her thrusts. Ryko saw it, too. He gathered himself and ran at the combatants.

  “Dela, fall back,” he yelled.

  With a desperate burst of strength, she disengaged. Ryko caught one of Haddo’s swords in a sweeping cut that sent it spinning into the air. It crashed to the cobblestones, loud in the sudden, eerie calm.

  I realized there was no clashing swords or cries of effort; the battle was over. The sounds now were of pain and prayer. Only two other men were standing: the captain and another guard. Both of them saw Ryko’s struggle and ran to help.

  Haddo turned to face the islander, his sword weaving with exhaustion. Every movement was a beat too slow; he would not last long, especially now that the captain and the other guard were on their way. Although I knew Haddo was the enemy, I could not see him slaughtered this way. There had already been too much death.

  “Your Majesty,” I said, grabbing the emperor’s shoulder.

  He lifted his head.

  “Order Ryko to stop! Please.”

  Even as I said it, Ryko lunged. One blade flicked away Haddo’s remaining weapon; the other sliced across his shoulder, opening up a shallow gash. The lieutenant stumbled and fell, landing heavily on his back. Desperately, he rolled and clambered to his knees. But it was too late; Ryko swung his sword for the kill. Haddo’s fingers closed around the blood amulet at his throat; a final plea to Bross.

  “No!” I screamed, flinging out my hand at the islander.

  Energy leaped between us. Deep within me, our pulses thundered together, our heartbeats drumming into one.

  Ryko froze, the sword suspended in its deadly arc above Haddo’s head. The islander’s massive shoulders strained to finish the blow, the fruitless effort drawing his lips into a snarl. He could not bring the sword down. Through our link, I felt his confusion explode into
searing fury.

  “What are you doing?” he bellowed at me.

  Haddo saw his chance and threw himself to one side, twisting away from the hanging sword—straight into the path of the captain.

  The emperor rose to his knees. “Take him alive!”

  But the captain’s blade was already punching through Haddo’s chest, severing flesh from spirit in a gasping rush of death.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AS HADDO’S HUA drained away, Ryko roared his freedom, his sword finally finishing its futile journey. I knew I should turn to the islander—swear that the control was not deliberate—but I could not take my eyes off Haddo as he slumped into death, impaled on the captain’s sword. His senseless slaughter pierced me like a barbed arrow.

  “You were supposed to take him alive!” I shouted. “You should have taken him alive! You failed your emperor.”

  I launched myself at the captain, but a brutal grip on my shoulder brought me up short.

  “No! It was I who failed!” The emperor jerked me back against his body. “My command was too slow.”

  I turned on him. “He could have stopped. He had time.”

  The emperor shook his head. “It was too late.”

  “The Lady Dragoneye is correct, Your Majesty,” the captain cut in, his voice cold. “I did not follow your order.”

  The emperor abruptly released his hold on me, putting space between our bodies.

  “Of course,” he murmured, flushing. “Lady Dragoneye.”

  I pulled farther away from him, only to see the captain wrench his sword out of Haddo’s chest. The action dropped the lieutenant onto the stones like a discarded puppet. The man had been our enemy, but he had also been kind, and a caring husband to a wife now bereft. I closed my eyes, but found no respite; instead of Haddo, I saw the lifeless eyes of the soldier in the conquered palace. My first kill, but probably not my last. I had no business judging the captain.

  “Your Majesty, the failure was mine,” the captain said. “I offer you my sword and my immediate death.”

  He knelt before us. Touching his forehead to the ground, he held up his weapon to his emperor. Although he had wiped down the blade, the steel was still smeared with Haddo’s blood. I looked away.

  The emperor drew himself up. The effort of pushing through his fatigue and horror showed in his clenched jaw. “Captain Yuso, I decline the offer. Your death is useful to me elsewhere.”

  I could hear the ritual within the words: both men taking refuge in the ceremonies of honor.

  Yuso bowed. “My life is yours, Heavenly Master.” He sat back on his heels. “Still, it would be pointless suicide to stay here much longer, Your Highness,” he added with a grim smile. “My men tried to contain the patrol, but if any of them got past us, it will not be long before they bring reinforcements. I suggest we clean up and move out.”

  The emperor surveyed the courtyard. “Good advice.”

  Yuso’s expression shifted into careful neutrality. “Your Highness, we cannot afford to take any prisoners”—he glanced at the fallen figure of one of his guards—”nor care for any injured who cannot ride.”

  I saw Ryko straighten, as if in protest. The other imperial guard who had survived the skirmish glanced uncertainly at the islander, then back at the captain.

  Beside me, the emperor sucked in a breath. “Is that necessary, Yuso?”

  The captain gave one short nod.

  “I disagree,” Ryko said, dropping to his knees. “Forgive my outspokenness, Your Majesty, but I think—”

  The emperor raised a hand, silencing the islander. The sunlight caught the gold of a heavy ring on his finger as he considered Yuso. “Your reasons, captain?”

  “The less information High Lord Sethon gets, the better,” Yuso said. “We hold only a few advantages—our number and direction are not known, and the Lady Dragoneye is still thought to be Lord Eon—all of which will be passed on to the High Lord, either from loyalty or torture, if we leave anyone behind.”

  Until that moment, I had not fully understood what they were discussing. Now it became sickeningly clear. Yuso wanted to kill everyone left alive on the field. Friend or foe. I could not even find voice for the brutality of it.

  “Ryko?” the emperor prompted. There was a faint plea in his voice.

  “What Captain Yuso says is true,” Ryko said reluctantly. “But it is not what your—it does not feel honorable, Majesty.”

  “Perhaps you have been in the harem too long, Ryko,” Captain Yuso said.

  The emperor’s face stiffened. Kygo had once confessed to me that he feared his harem childhood had made him too tender. Too womanly. If Yuso knew this, then he was a man who played a deep game, for his barb at Ryko had found its true home.

  As if nothing had happened, the emperor motioned to someone behind me. “Is that you, Lady Dela?” I turned to see Dela bow deeply. “Escort the Lady Dragoneye from the battlefield and prepare for our evacuation.” The emperor looked up at the pink-streaked dawn sky. “We leave in a quarter bell.”

  “No!” I said. “Your Majesty, you cannot be thinking—”

  “Lady Dragoneye!” His voice was harsh. Exhaustion had pared the last roundings of youth from his features. His was now a man’s face, weary and heartsick. “Go.” He nodded dismissal to Lady Dela.

  She took my hand and pulled me upright. I met her eyes, trying to enlist support, but she gave a slight shake of her head.

  “Where are your swords?”

  My swords: for a mad moment, I wanted to pick them up and feel Kinra’s strength slide under my skin and into my heart. She would stop the emperor. I shook my head free of the impulse—no, she would kill him.

  “I will bring them with me,” Ryko said curtly.

  Dela tightened her grip and led me to the edge of the courtyard. On the ground ahead, a sprawled body shuddered. I heard a faint groan.

  “Are they really going to …?” I could not finish the sentence.

  Dela ushered me past the groaning soldier. “I don’t know. We are fighting for our lives now, Eona.”

  “I could try and heal them.”

  “Have you found a way to control your power?” Dela asked.

  “No.”

  “Then you can’t help.”

  “But it is wrong.” I pulled against her hand.

  She yanked me closer, forcing me to keep up with her quick steps. “They do not want women here to remind them of life— of mercy—when they must embrace war and brutality.”

  I thought of Kinra: not all women were about life and mercy. And what of myself? I barely knew how to be a woman and, after the carnage at the village, I was hardly a symbol of life. Even so, Yuso was urging murder. And the emperor was allowing it. I clenched my fists.

  Dela bundled me through the red door flags of the lodging house. The single wall lamp had guttered, leaving the foyer in shadowy half-light. I strained to hear what was happening in the courtyard. Part of me dreaded the sounds that might reach us in the stuffy cloister, but another part knew I had to listen. So far, nothing penetrated the walls beyond the awakening birdcalls and lows of our oxen.

  “Are you injured?” Dela propelled me toward the staircase.

  “Only my hand.” I held it up for inspection.

  The pearls around my forearm shifted, securing the folio against my skin. For the first time, their clicking embrace frightened me. If Kinra’s swords were tuned to the emperor’s death, then what was her journal’s purpose? Maybe it, too, had Gan Hua worked into it—negative energy distilled from Hua and aimed at the emperor. Gan Hua could be a very deadly force without the balance of its positive energy opposite, Lin Hua. I fought back a rise of panic. I had placed all of my hope in a traitor’s journal. Even if it did hold the secrets of my dragon power, it was useless; the words of a woman who had tried to kill her emperor and sent her hatred across five centuries could not be trusted.

  I could not risk carrying a book whose power might snake into my mind and take it over, like the powe
r of the swords.

  “My lady?”

  We both turned. Vida was at the back doorway.

  “Solly and I have caught some of the guards’ horses,” she said. “I’ve packed as much as I can into the saddlebags.”

  “Good,” Dela said. “Where are our clothes? Lady Eona has to dress. And she needs doctoring.”

  I also needed to remove the folio from my arm—and my presence. The decision thickened my throat with loss. The folio had been a constant companion over the last few weeks—a symbol of hope and power. I felt as if a loyal friend had suddenly betrayed me.

  Vida beckoned us through to the stable yard. Outside, the air smelled of frightened animals, grain feed, and dung, a relief from the stench of blood and spilled entrails in the courtyard. I drew in a shaking breath, hoping to break through the despair that threatened to overwhelm me. If I could not trust the journal, how could I learn to control my power?

  Four horses were tethered along the stable rail. Solly moved between them, calming each with gentle strokes and soft words. He saw us coming and stopped our progress with a raised hand.

  “My ladies.” He ducked his head into a quick bow, his usual broken-toothed grin reduced to a thin line. “Stay back from the horses. They’re all battle-trained and will kick anything near their hindquarters.”

  Dela ushered me toward the stable. “Go with Vida. Get your arm bound,” she said. “And get dressed. Not the mourning robe, though. Something less conspicuous.”

  Giving the horses a wide berth, I followed Vida into the shed. The oxen lowed as we passed their stalls. They were probably hungry. I realized that I was, too, and couldn’t help a wry smile; my body did not care about treachery or despair, only food and rest.

  Vida looked over her shoulder. “How bad is your wound?”

  The tight embrace of the pearls had deadened the pain. Now, as I focused on the cut, it stung with every flex of my fingers. I showed her the shallow slash across the back of my hand. “It is not too bad,” I said. “It’s not bleeding anymore.”