Eona: The Last Dragoneye e-2

by Alison Goodman

  Haio grunted. “A gift, you say?”

  “Why didn’t we think of such a gift?” a red-faced man said. He and his neighbor clinked their wine bowls together. “We could do with a bit of His Majesty’s favor, general. We always get the dregs of gear and men.”

  Haio looked across at his officers. “You are right in that.” He wiped his nose with a thick finger and studied me. “We could take this gift to my brother ourselves,” he said slowly. “He doesn’t need to know it came from the Blossom World.”

  I stiffened and heard Vida’s sharp intake of air as the men around the table laughed.

  I clasped my hands together. “My lord—”

  Haio pointed at me. “And you can shut up about who sent you, or I’ll find you and cut up that pretty face so you’re no good anymore. Understand?”

  I ducked my head.

  “We could keep the Safflower,” Red Face said, peering at Vida. “Just give His Majesty the Peony.”

  “Keep her?” Haio mused.

  “My lord,” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm, “my house sister is one of His Majesty’s favorites. I would not want your lordship to unknowingly cross your revered brother. “

  Haio rubbed at his jaw. “Favorite.” He picked up a wine bowl and tossed back its contents. “There’s enough flesh here for everyone.” He scowled at the men in the circle. “No need to be greedy.” He hauled himself onto his feet, swayed slightly, and pointed at Red Face and three other subordinates. “Let’s give my brother a late New Year’s gift.” Haio beckoned to Vida and me. “Come on.” He glared at the men still kneeling at the table, his finger swinging around in warning. “Don’t you dogs start without us.”

  I glanced across at Vida. What could we do? Her shoulder lifted slightly. We could do nothing. Not yet. I bent into a low bow again, drew back, and picked up the lute. It would be good for one blow, at least — if I got the chance. It did not look likely; we would be surrounded by five experienced soldiers, not just one or two stewards. I blinked through a sudden blur of panic and forced myself to stand. First things first: get out of the apartment.

  I walked around the kneeling women, Vida close behind me. For a moment, I met the wide eyes of Black Teeth. There was such fear in her face — fear for us.

  Haio slammed back the screen door and lurched into the foyer. Two of the men fell in behind Vida, their looming presence pushing us both into a faster walk. I glanced back. They were not drunk — their focus was too sharp — and each had a dagger sheathed at his waist. I checked Red Face’s waist. He had one, too. It must be part of their uniform. I took a steadying breath and followed Haio out of the front door, every sense primed to find Yuso and give him some sign of what had happened.

  I did not have to search far; he was squatting at the end of the wooden platform, throwing dice into a ring made up of Ryko, the Trang Dein man, and two kitchen servants. As Haio called a lewd joke to Red Face, Yuso’s head snapped up, hand suspended mid-throw. I saw his mouth tighten in comprehension, and felt a leap of gratitude for his quick intelligence. Barely missing a beat, he finished the throw and eased back, watching us with a grim smile. Beside him, Ryko glanced up, seemingly unconcerned, but both hands tightened on his thighs. Dela was nowhere to be seen.

  I shifted the lute to face them and spread four fingers flat across the strings: Armed. Then I closed my hand into a fist around the wood: Sethon. Would Yuso or Ryko see it and understand? We were already past their position, and I did not dare look back. I did not even dare look back at Vida.

  The night air seemed to have focused Haio. His stride lengthened as he led us back toward the lesser banquet hall, our way lit by white paper lanterns strung between the buildings. Soldiers stationed at doorways and corners saluted him as we passed, their presence stoking my dread. I risked a glance at Vida; her head was bowed meekly, but her eyes noted positions, possibilities.

  There were none.

  From our left, the silhouettes of two men emerged from between the halls, and for a moment my heart hammered with hope — Yuso and Ryko! But the bodies were wrong; lax and soft. Two eunuchs. They hunched into low bows.

  “You,” Haio called. “Is my brother still dining?”

  “He is, your lordship,” the senior man answered, bowing even lower.

  We climbed the marble steps to the gilded double doors of the banquet hall. The soldier guards on either side saluted and opened them as we approached. I touched my face, feeling the soft, chalky powder over the white paint. High Lord Sethon had met Lord Eon only once, during the triumphal procession where my master had succumbed to poison. I had prostrated myself before the High Lord, begging for assistance. It had not been that long ago. Could he have marked my features enough to recognize me under this Peony mask? My arms and legs fired with the urge to run from such danger, but I forced back the instinct.

  “High Lord Haio approaches,” another eunuch called as we stepped over the raised threshold and entered the dining hall. The sweet, shivering notes of a flute suddenly stopped, leaving the murmur of male voices. Gradually, that ceased too as we walked into the presence of Emperor Sethon.

  He was on a gilded dais at the far end of the chamber, his yellow robes thick with gold embroidery and gems that shimmered in the lamplight. Guests sat below him along two long tables that faced each other. A sharp prod from Red Face hurried me onto my knees, the lute voicing a soft twang as I placed it on the marble floor. I stole a quick glance at the men seated nearby — all senior military. We were in the middle of Sethon’s central command. I pressed myself into a flat kowtow, the cold stone against my forehead echoing the freezing fear in my body.

  Haio’s footsteps clipped an uneven beat as he strode up to the imperial platform. Just behind me, Vida’s breathing quickened. I closed my eyes and prayed to Bross. Courage, give me courage.

  “Greetings, brother, you may rise.” Sethon’s voice was the same impassive monotone I remembered. “I thought you dined with your men this evening.”

  “I do, Your Majesty,” Haio’s voice had shifted from bluff bully to a younger brother’s diffidence. “I have brought you a gift. A Peony and one of your favorite Safflowers.”

  My breath caught. Would Sethon deny having a favorite? He had never seen Vida before. It took all of my control to keep my head down.

  “And what has occasioned such a gift?”

  Thank the gods — he was more concerned with what lay behind Haio’s generosity.

  “Nothing, brother. Nothing.” Haio cleared his throat. “It is just a gift. For the New Year.”

  “They have no bearing on your current dissatisfaction?”

  His words sent a stir through the men at the tables.

  “There is no dissatisfaction, brother,” Haio said quickly.

  Sethon’s disbelief sat heavily in the silence.

  “I am glad of it,” he finally said. “Stewards, bring my gift to me.”

  A soft shush of slippers on the marble grew closer. A touch to my shoulder brought me back onto my heels. I looked up into the face of a very young eunuch. A long, half-healed gash across his cheekbone marred his smooth skin. He met my gaze and a moment of sympathy flickered across his careful composure. Behind us, an older eunuch helped Vida onto her feet. I picked up the lute and rose, myself. There was no way to stop the momentum that was driving us toward this deadly audience.

  I kept my head lowered and followed the young eunuch to the dais. As we passed the tables, I saw the men shift for a better view. We were another part of the evening’s entertainment.

  The two eunuchs bowed to Sethon and left us at the edge of the platform. I sank to my knees, but still did not lift my head; every moment he did not see my face was a moment that still held hope. I could see the boots of a soldier standing guard behind the gilded chair, and the pearl-and-diamond-encrusted hem of Sethon’s long tunic. I swallowed, fear crackling in my ears. Beside me, Vida’s hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that the outline of knucklebones showed through the stretched
skin.

  “Come here, Peony,” Sethon said.

  My whole body became a heartbeat: all I could feel and hear was the vibrating drum of my fear.

  “Now!”

  I lurched up the two steps that took me before the false emperor, then sank to my knees again. The gold flowers on my hairpin chimed like a tiny toll as I bowed my head. My hand tightened around the neck of the lute. If only I had Kinra’s swords instead. From under my brow I watched a flick of his hand bring four attendants to the table in front of him. They picked it up and carried it off the platform with smooth efficiency. He stretched back in his carved and gilded chair, the action showing the breadth of his warrior body, then pushed himself out of it and stood over me.

  “Look up. I wish to see your face.”

  He was so close that I could see the delicate stitches of gold thread that held the gems to his tunic, and smell the herbs that had been used to sweeten the silk. There could be no more delay. Slowly I raised my head, my gaze fixed on the jade inlaid panel behind him. Even so, his features were framed in the corner of my sight: he was Kygo and the old emperor cast in a scarred, crueler mold.

  “You may look at me,” he said.

  And so I met the eyes of the man who wanted to kill everyone I loved and enslave me. And in their flat stare was a frown of recognition that chilled me to my very core. He reached across and cupped my chin in his calloused hand.

  “Have I seen you before?”

  Did he remember Lord Eon kneeling before him in the same way, begging for his help? I blinked, praying he did not see the memory in my eyes.

  I forced a measured tone. “I have not had that honor, Your Majesty.”

  He tilted his head, studying me, then pressed his thumb into my cheek and wiped away the white paint over my bruised jaw.

  The hard pressure made me flinch. An avid expression crossed his face, like the half-seen flick of a serpent’s tail in the grass.

  “Someone has been here before me,” he said. He turned to Haio. “Have you been tenderizing the meat for me, brother?”

  “No,” Haio said through the uneasy laughter of the seated men. He held up his hands. “She came straight from her house to you, brother. I would not dream …”

  Sethon waved him into silence, then tapped my jaw. “Well now, damaged goods no longer have to be handled with care.” He released me. “I thank you for your gift, High Lord Haio,” he said formally.

  Haio bowed. “It is my honor to have pleased Your Majesty.”

  Sethon beckoned to the two eunuchs who had brought us to the dais. “Take her and the other one to my apartments.” Another flick of his hand brought forward one of the soldiers standing behind his chair. “Guard them,” he ordered. Then he smiled down at me. “We will be alone soon, little bruised Peony.”

  His fingertip traced my jaw again and pressed into the heart of the bruise. I winced, but did not dare pull away. The thin smile broadened. “Tell me,” he said to the two tables of men below him. “Who was it who said that a flower’s true perfume can only be found when it is crushed?”

  “The great poet Cho, Your Majesty,” someone called, through more laughter.

  “Yes,” Sethon said, “and we must always follow the truth of our poets.”

  The two attendants stepped up to flank me. Only habit bent me into a bow, and only the blind need to get as far from Sethon as possible brought me to my feet.

  I backed away, sour bile burning the back of my throat.

  “Stay, brother, and have a bowl of wine,” Sethon said to Haio.

  The two attendants and the guard ushered the two of us along the left wall; we no longer warranted a procession back between the tables. Vida’s face was white and rigid, a mirror of my own horror. I touched her hand, but she did not rouse from her eerie, unblinking stare.

  We could not afford to lose ourselves in fear. We had to rally — and quickly — or we would end up in Sethon’s apartments, at his mercy. Ruthlessly, I caught a pinch of skin on her arm and twisted. Her eyes flickered and refocused. Thank the gods she was still with me. Alone, I could not fight off two eunuchs and a guard, but together we had a chance.

  Many of the officers turned to watch us pass, their callous amusement sending another chill through me. A few faces, however, were grim, with lips pressed together in pity. Perhaps those were the men who had daughters and wives.

  As we came out onto the front steps, I took Vida’s hand in mine. Our guard marked it, but he did not stop my womanly reach for comfort. After all, we were just Blossom Women, and unarmed. He, on the other hand, had a knife and sword, and wore leather armor. Very slowly I curled my hand inside Vida’s: the sign for Attack. She squeezed my fingers: Ready.

  But where to make our bid? I dredged up my patchy mental map of the palace. The most likely route to the royal apartments was the wide path alongside the harem wall. That meant there was only one place we would have a chance to escape: the small passage between the harem and the wall of the West Temple. I made the sign for Wait within Vida’s damp grip and felt the quick press of acknowledgment.

  The two eunuchs led the way, their soft-slippered pace quick and businesslike. My guess had been right; they were taking us in the direction of the harem wall. The young one with the cut face glanced back at us with a frown of unease. Could he sense our plans, or was he just troubled by his duty? I scanned the courtyard, noting the soldiers at the corners of each building. A flicker of movement jerked my attention to a large lion statue guarding a doorway. Did its shadow shift, or was it just my hopeful imagination? Our pace put it behind me before I could doublecheck.

  We turned right onto the pathway, and I saw the destruction caused by Ido during the coup. Piles of bricks and debris marked the breach in the harem wall, and I counted at least four soldiers stationed around it. Were they close enough to hear a struggle in the passageway? It did not matter. We had to risk it.

  Vida tapped my hand, then flicked her eyes back at our guard, claiming her target. I gave a slight shake of my head and shifted the lute against my chest; it was the only thing we had that approached a weapon. It made more sense for me to attack the armed man. Although her jaw jutted mulishly, she conceded with a soft exhale.

  Ahead, the West Temple wall cornered and ran alongside the harem as I had remembered, creating the dark passageway. It curved into a shadowy bend that was perfect for an attack. My back prickled with the presence of the soldier behind me, and the weight of the next minute.

  According to Xsu-Ree, surprise is far more important than outnumbering your enemy. Slowly, I tightened my grip around the neck of the lute as the path began to narrow and squeezed Vida’s hand again: Ready.

  As the two eunuchs rounded the bend, I grabbed the lute neck in both hands and swung the sound box at the soldier’s head. It slammed into his jaw, the lacquered wood splintering in a sour chord. He staggered back against the temple wall. Vida punched the old eunuch to the cobbles, and grabbed the younger by his queue. He rammed an elbow into her stomach, the two of them hurtling toward me. I jumped out of the way as they slammed against the harem wall, grappling.

  I spun to face the soldier. The force of the blow was already receding from his eyes. He drew his knife, blinking me back into focus. I tensed into readiness, all of my attention fixed on the blade.

  “No knife!” the old eunuch on the ground gasped. “He’ll have us killed if you cut them.”

  The soldier hesitated. It was all I needed; I drove the jagged end of the lute into the side of his neck, above the armor. The sharp wood pierced flesh and vein, the impact snapping its length in half. A spurt of blood arced into the air; he choked and slashed wildly at me as I jumped backward. His blade caught my forearm, my own momentum pulling it through my flesh in a wash of blood and searing pain. A thousand pinpoints of light exploded across my sight. My back hit the harem wall, its hard surface a mooring in the sudden gray, swirling haze.

  A dark figure rose from the ground and came at me. The old eunuch? I swung a fist
, but he was suddenly gone. Then came the thud of flesh hitting brick and a low, wet moan. I crouched against the wall, only registering dark shapes and the sounds of movement. My whole arm was a burning pulse of agony.

  “Is she all right?” Vida’s voice.

  A shape loomed through my fog. Instinctively, I hit out at it again, my fingers grazing skin.

  “It’s all right, Eona.”

  A hand caught my wrist, and held me still. The gray haze ebbed into Dela’s shadowy face. I gasped in relief.

  “Let’s have a look.” Dela pulled my arm away from the brace of my body. We both looked down at the deep gash from elbow to wrist. It immediately welled with fresh blood. “I’ve seen worse,” she said with a quick smile of reassurance, but there was worry in her eyes. “Are you sure you cannot use your healing power?”

  “It would bring the ten dragons,” I said. “Like in the fisher village.” I took a deep, shaking breath. “When I heal Ido, the power should heal me, too.”

  At least that is what I hoped would happen.

  Dela quickly ripped a strip of cloth from her tunic. A few folds made it a field dressing. She pressed it to the wound, then deftly bound the rest of the cloth over it, the firm pressure sending a surge of pain up my arm. “Keep a tight grip on it,” she said.

  Nearby, Vida held the young eunuch at knifepoint against the temple wall. The slumped form of the soldier was at their feet. Dela edged back the way we had come and peered out, then did the same for the path ahead.

  “No one coming,” she whispered. She bent to check the guard.

  “Dead?” I asked. But the overpowering stench of urine and bowels had already answered me.

  “Yes.” Dela rose and crossed to the other eunuch. “This one, too.” She grabbed the dead attendant under the arms and dragged him farther back into the shadows, then rolled the body against the red brick wall. “We need to get out of here. This passage is too well used.”

  I tried to force my mind beyond the stinking presence of death and the pain humming through my head. We had to get to the Pavilion of Autumnal Justice; the cells were part of its compound. I closed my eyes and pictured the layout of the palace again. The fastest route was across the forecourt of the royal apartments, but it was also well lit and well guarded. My inner map showed another possibility. The servants’ path ran the whole way around the palace wall — a hidden track for the low and menial to navigate without being seen. And it was never guarded.