I crossed the rough straw matting and slid open the red door. The small dressing room was furnished with a wooden bench and more shelving. Steam from the baths had seeped into the room through a connecting door at the far end, giving the air a damp, velvety warmth. As I had requested, a stack of washing and drying cloths had been laid out on the bench, together with a ceramic pot of rough milled soap, combs, and, most importantly, fresh clothing. I picked up the neatly folded top layer of the first pile: a long woman’s tunic, the brown weave close and soft. Below were the accompanying ankle-length trousers and a stack of underthings. A similar pile sat beside it.
“Clean clothes for both of us.” I grinned at Vida as she closed the red door behind us. “Tunic and trousers. Finally!”
Vida eyed the second pile. “A set for me, too? Really?”
I nodded, gratified by her wide smile of pleasure. She did not smile very often around me.
It did not take us long to shed the now dirt-encrusted clothes we had been given in the city. I averted my eyes from the curves of Vida’s naked form. It had been a long time since I had bathed in a communal bath. For nearly five years my maimed body had made me untouchable, forcing me to bathe alone. I looked down at my now-straight leg and smoothed my palm across the strong lock of bone and muscle and unscarred skin that formed my hip. It still filled me with wonder.
I picked up one of the washing cloths from the pile and held it modestly across my groin, then collected the pot of soap. “Vida, you bring the rest of the cloths.”
Eagerly, I slid open the door to the baths, the heavier heat settling against my skin. Although it was humid outside, I still longed for the cleanliness that came only from hot water. A long wooden partition down the middle of the room separated the men and women’s bathing areas, but it did not reach the roof, and steam had collected near the high ceiling in a soft haze. At the far end was the women’s bath, a large sunken pool with pale drifts rising into the still, thick air.
But first, the washing station. I crossed to the narrow trough that stood along the wall with a series of low stools and small buckets in front of it. A terra-cotta pipe trickled continuously into its catch, the sound like a tiny waterfall.
I chose a middle stool, placed the pot of soap beside it on the wooden floor, then picked up a bucket. One deep scoop the length of the trough filled it with water on the satisfying side of hot.
Vida closed the dressing room door. “Shall I wait until you are finished, my lady?”
I lowered the bucket to the floor. “No, join me.”
Vida smiled and bowed.
With full buckets and plenty of soap, we got to work. Vida picked the remaining pins from my heavy, oiled hair, the remnants of Moon Orchid’s careful styling finally gone. Then I returned the service, freeing Vida’s hair from the intricate Safflower braids into a frizz of kinks.
“That feels good,” Vida said, digging her fingers into her scalp. She giggled as she felt the volume of hair around her head. “I must look like a wild woman.”
I crossed my eyes and held out the thick tangle of my own hair. “Or a madwoman.” Vida’s giggle broke into a snort.
We dumped buckets of water over each other, the streaming heat slowly softening the days of collected grime. I worked up a lather from the rough, grainy soap that smelled of sweet grass, and massaged it from my toes to my crown, scrubbing with a cloth and sluicing with water until the suds that ran off my body was no longer gray. Beside me, Vida did the same, softly humming an old folk song that I vaguely remembered from the salt farm. We hummed the chorus together, breaking into laughter as our different versions ended in a clash of notes.
“Shall I wash your back, my lady?” Vida asked.
“Yes, please.” I shifted around on my stool, then felt the wet, sodden warmth of a cloth against my back, and the gentle pressure as Vida worked it along my shoulders and spine. I sighed as tensions melted under her firm scrubbing. It had been more than four years since I’d had the pleasure of “skinship”: that sweet, gentle bond of physical freedom and camaraderie that came with bathing among other girls and women. I had not realized how much I had missed it.
Eventually, we were both clean enough to enter the bath. I led the way down the three steps, the water rising from ankle to knee and then hip in delicious stings of heat. I sank down and found the stone sitting-step along the edge. Vida waded in and, with a sigh, sat opposite me.
“Thank you for this, my lady,” she said.
“You must be excited to see your father again.”
She nodded, lowering her strong shoulders farther into the water. “And you must be excited to be reunited with your mother.”
I shrugged. “I have not seen her since I was six. I will be a stranger to her, as she is to me.” I paused, then finally gave voice to my thoughts. “Perhaps there will be no feeling between us.”
Or perhaps she’d not had enough feeling to keep me, so long ago.
Vida shook her head. “She is your family. There is always a bond.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I cannot remember what it is like to have a family.”
Vida tilted her head. “But you have had people who have cared for you? Who care for you now, like Lady Dela and Ryko.”
“I’m not sure Ryko would still want to be in that count,” I said dryly.
But Dela definitely cared. When I was small, there had been Dolana, at the salt farm, before she was taken by the coughing sickness. And later, of course, Rilla and Chart. Even my master, in his own cold way. In all truth, I wished it were Rilla and Chart who had been found by Tozay’s men, and not the stranger who was on her way. I missed Rilla’s common sense and sharptongued affection and Chart’s lewd humor. I sent a swift prayer to the gods to keep them safe. And to bring them to me.
Vida raised her leg in the water, contemplating the pale row of toes as they emerged above the surface. “It is obvious His Majesty cares for you, too.”
I pretended to peer into the water to avoid her amused glance.
“And Lord Ido,” she added.
That brought my head up. “He does not care about me.”
“He watches you all the time,” she said. “He is a handsome man, don’t you think?”
“Not as handsome as His Majesty,” I said firmly, but I smiled, too. I did not want to curb Vida’s sudden friendliness. This was the skinship I remembered: women’s talk, and laughter, and the gentle teasing about life and love.
“Perhaps. They are handsome in different ways. His Majesty is …” She paused, obviously searching for the right word, then gave a small shrug. “Beautiful, in that way that touches the spirit.”
“And Lord Ido?” I prompted.
“Lord Ido is very male,” she said with slow emphasis.
I nodded, meeting her grin. It was a good description.
She shot me a sharp look. “Are you attracted to him?”
“Of course not.” I shook my head, but I felt my face flush.
“I can see why you would be. You have a lot in common.”
“No, we don’t!” I said quickly. “He is a traitor and a murderer.”
Her gaze dropped from mine. Although I sat in a hot bath, I felt a chill: in Vida’s eyes, I was also a killer.
All our ease gone; what a fool I was.
She cupped her hands and splashed water over her face, breaking the silence.
“You are the last two Dragoneyes,” she said, smoothing back her wet hair. “It must be a strong bond. And he has more than just his dragon power.”
I frowned: her phrasing seemed familiar. An echo of another voice within the words. I half rose from the water, driven by a terrible intuition. “Did His Majesty tell you to talk about Lord Ido?”
She shook her head. Too fast. “No, my lady.”
I stood up. “He did. I can see it in your face.”
“No, my lady.”
“You are spying for him!” I raised my hand, wanting to slap away her betrayal.
She shrank back against the wall. “
No, my lady. It was not His Majesty! It was Lady Dela. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do it. I told her I was no good at this kind of thing.”
“Dela?” Shock stilled my hand. She was my friend. “Why would she do that?”
“She says you are shutting her out, my lady.”
I waded to the steps and stumbled up them, catching my shin on a stone edge. Sharp pain spiked through me, opening my fury into full flame.
Vida stood up in the water. “Lady Dela is worried about you,” she called after me. “You have to spend a lot of time with Lord Ido, and she knows what he is like. She was at court with him for years.”
I turned around. “I’m doing it all for His Majesty,” I yelled. “No other reason. Tell her that!”
I grabbed a drying cloth and ran, dripping, to the dressing room, snapping the door shut behind me. The cooler air in the connecting space shivered across my body. I jammed my hand against my mouth, trying to press back the sob in my throat. Even Dela did not trust me.
I had never felt so alone.
With frantic speed, I pulled on the fresh clothes, tying the tunic as I ran through the foyer, my wet hair unbound and hanging like a loose woman’s. I grabbed my sandals from the shelf and pushed my way through the door flags. The old at-tendant was still waiting outside the entrance, with a man. I recognized the stringy frame: Caido. What was he doing here? They both turned at my abrupt appearance.
The old woman gasped. “My lady, do you need assistance? Did I forget combs?”
“No.” I dropped my sandals and forced my feet into them, then gathered my hair back into my fist.
Caido turned his face away from my immodesty. “My lady,” he said. “I am here to deliver a message from Lord Ido. He asks that you join him on the beach for training.”
“That is the last thing I want to do.” I pushed past him and the attendant and quickened my walk into a half-jog, although there was no place to go.
Caido’s longer legs caught me up in a few strides. “Please, my lady. Lord Ido said to tell you that you are both strong enough to start working with your dragon now.”
I stopped, all my pain and anger gone, obliterated by one thought: my dragon. Her glory was always with me. I was not alone. I was never alone.
“Take me to Ido,” I said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LORD IDO WAS crouched a length beyond the tide line, sifting sand through his fingers under the gaze of his two guards. As I approached, he released the handful in a glistening slip and stood to watch my awkward progress across the soft beach. Each step squeaked and, along with the persistent flies and my sore spirit, I was finding it difficult to maintain any dignity.
I stopped in front of him. “Lord Ido.”
“Lady Eona,” he answered, bowing.
Gathering knots of villagers watched us from beyond the seawall. Most of the able-bodied men were out on the fishing boats, but it was wise to never underestimate the power of a mob, even if it was made of the elderly, women, and children. “Is it a good idea to be so conspicuous, Lord Ido? There is a great deal of ill feeling toward you in this village.”
He shrugged. “His Majesty has agreed to us working on the beach.”
I glanced at the two men behind him. Their startled eyes were fixed on my unbound hair.
“Wait over there,” I said, waving them to the end of the seawall where Caido still stood. “And keep watch on the villagers. Do not let them approach.”
They bowed and left, their retreat marked by the strange squeaking.
“I like your hair like that,” Ido said.
I opened my fist and smoothed out the leather string that the old attendant had beseechingly pressed into my hand, for my modesty. With deliberate show, I gathered my hair at the back and tied the thong around it.
He smiled. “I like it like that, too.”
Crossing my arms, I said, “You told Caido I was strong enough to work with my dragon now.”
“No. I said we were strong enough to work with your dragon.” He took a few steps toward the seawall. “Come. I’ll show you how to catch lightning.”
Catch lightning? Intrigued, I followed. He stopped midway between wall and water and sat on the sand near a small overturned boat, a tilt of his head inviting me to join him. Driven by a sense of unease, I scanned the beach and cliffs around us. Along the seawall, a lumpy expanse of draped fishing net had flipped back at one end, exposing the unmistakable outline of tuaga: long, sharpened bamboo stakes bound crosswise to form portable defense walls. It was the first sign of any fortification I had seen. What else did the villagers have hidden? I lifted my shoulders, trying to throw off my misgivings. They were resistance, and obedient to Kygo. Yet I could not forget the Elder’s hostility toward Ido. The Dragoneye was hated here; he was a collaborator and had orchestrated the slaying of their Dragoneye protectors. I hoped Kygo’s command was strong enough to hold back a mob’s desire for revenge.
I settled opposite Ido, feeling the sand’s heat seep through my tunic and trousers. The Dragoneye picked up another silky handful and watched it trickle through his fingers, the curve of his eyelashes dark against the pale strain under his eyes. The symmetry of his face was not gut-wrenchingly harmonious like Kygo’s, but every line was strong and bold and brutally confident. Very male. Vida’s description was perfect.
“You have surprised me, Eona,” he said softly. “I was not expecting such”—he looked up at me with a wry smile— “inventiveness in your power manipulation. Or such strength.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “You forced me to go that way.”
“I forced you to find more strength. You chose that particular way yourself.”
I did not look away from his challenge. “Yes.”
His smile broadened. “Good. Don’t ever be ashamed of the course your power takes.”
“You say that, even after I used those pathways?”
“You did what you had to do, Eona. Just as I did,” he said.
“This time, however, I lost, and now Dillon and the black folio are coming. Although we are not ready for them.”
I refused the bait. “Is he near?”
“No. It will take him a while to reach us.”
“How will he follow us over water?”
Ido shrugged. “The black folio will find a way. If there is no boat, the boy will track us along the coast.” He squinted up at the thick, dark clouds. “Our power is diminishing, I am sure of it. “ My shift of alarm brought his eyes back to me. “Do not panic — it is diminishing slowly, not draining away,” he added. “Still, we need to find a way to contain the ten dragons so you can use all the power that you have before Dillon arrives. Then we can both hold him off and get the black folio. It is ironic that once we have the book, you will have no problem with the other dragons — the black folio seems to repel them.”
“Very ironic,” I said dryly. “You really think Dillon will be that strong?”
Ido nodded. “By the time we meet him again, he will be completely taken over by the black folio. I can already feel its presence through the Rat Dragon.”
I shivered, remembering the acid reach of its words. “What is it? What makes it so powerful?”
“Someone wove pure Gan Hua into its pages to protect the secret of the String of Pearls and the way to take all of the dragon power,” he said. “Only a very strong Dragoneye can read the folio without their mind being burned into madness.” He looked at me from under hooded lids. “And only two ascendant Dragoneyes could ever have the combined strength to take all of the dragon power and wield it.”
I leaned forward. “You’ve read the whole folio.”
He bent to meet me. “Then I must be mad or very strong.”
“Most would say you are mad.”
“What do you say, Eona?”
“I think you are very strong, Ido.”
His eyes flickered. “Since when am I just ‘Ido,’ Eona? Since you showed me your true strength? Or since you called my body to yours?”
Abruptly, I pulled back. “How is the String of Pearls made, Lord Ido?”
He followed my retreat until his lips were a breath away from mine. “Nothing is free, Lady Eona,” he said softly. “Especially not that kind of information.”
I licked my lips, my heart quickening.
He laughed and leaned back. “I was thinking more along the lines of an information trade.”
“What kind of information?” I snapped.
“Our bargain was that I would train you, and you would tell me what was in the red folio.”
“I told you about the portent. There is not much else to know.”
“Surely you know who wrote the folio?”
I was loath to tell him, but I needed to know more about the String of Pearls. “It is the journal of my ancestress, Kinra.”
He seemed genuinely taken aback. “The Blossom Woman?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “The Ascendant Mirror Dragoneye.”
“Ah.” He smoothed back his ragged hair, eyes fixed on the sand in thought. “Now I understand. As Rat Dragoneye, I hold Lord Somo’s records — or what is left of them — and she is mentioned in them. Often.” He turned his attention back to me with a sly smile. “They were lovers.”
“Ancient history.” I shrugged, hoping he could not see the flush of heat that prickled across my skin. “So, how is the String of Pearls made?”
With his forefinger, he drew in the sand between us: twelve small circles, one slightly larger than the others, connected to create one big circle. “Look familiar?” he asked.
“That’s on the front of the black folio. The symbol for the String of Pearls.”
“It is more than a symbol. It is a representation of the weapon. The dragons form a circle and release the pearls from beneath their chins, so each pearl touches the next. Once they have done so, the combined power is collected into all twelve pearls. As soon as that occurs, the power must be contained or it will destroy everything.” He looked up. “The old scrolls sometimes call it the Necklace of the Gods. More poetic, I think, than the String of Pearls.”
“What happens to the dragons?”
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