“Then tell me, what do you know about our enemy?” the emperor asked after a moment. “What do you know about my uncle?”
I’d seen High Lord Sethon only once, at the victory procession held in his honor—the same procession where my poor master had died, poisoned by Lord Ido. I pushed away the gruesome image of my master’s convulsing body, and concentrated on picturing Sethon. He had looked very much like his half-brother, the old emperor. They’d both had the same broad forehead and chin and mouth. Sethon, however, had been marked by battle—his nose broken and set flat, and his cheek puckered by a heavy crescent scar. Yet it was his voice that made the sharpest memory: a cold monotone that held no emotion.
“Not much,” I said. “A High Lord and successful general. The leader of all the armies.”
“And the first son of a concubine, like me,” the emperor said. “We have the same birth rank.”
“But he was not adopted by the empress as true first son, as you were,” I pointed out. “You are an acknowledged first son whereas Sethon has always only been a second harem son.”
“My father was borne by an empress. I was not. There are those who would argue that Sethon has as much claim to the throne as I have.”
“One of those being Sethon.” I tried to imagine what it was like to be Sethon; always second harem son, and now second to a nephew who had, more or less, the same birth rank. “You think Sethon truly believes his claim is equal to yours? That it is not only ambition that fuels his ruthlessness, but a sense of entitlement?”
“My father was right, you are sharp-witted,” the emperor said. “Xsu-Ree says that we must find the key to our enemy. His weakness. I think this arrogance is the key to my uncle. What do you think?”
“‘When a man lifts his chin in pride, he cannot see the chasm at his feet,’” I said, quoting the great poet Cho. I frowned, teasing out the idea of Sethon as a man weakened by arrogance. It did not feel right. “High Lord Sethon has waged many battles and not been tripped up by pride,” I said. “It might even be the core of his success.”
The emperor smiled. “You have not disappointed me, Lady Eona.”
I sat back, wary at his amused tone. He touched my arm and drew me close again.
“Lady, you have punched me, crossed swords with me, abused my decisions, and disagreed with my judgments.” The warmth in his voice held me still. “It is not often that an emperor finds someone who will do all of this in the name of friendship. I need someone who is not afraid to stand up to me. Who will tell me when I am failing my father’s legacy or speaking from inexperience.” He took a deep breath. “I am asking you to be my Naiso, Lady Eona.”
The night sounds around me dropped away into the sudden roar of my heartbeat. The Naiso was the emperor’s most important advisor—the only appointment in the court that could be refused with impunity. In the ancient language it was the word for “bringer of truth,” but it meant more than that— it meant brother, protector, and perhaps most dangerously, the king’s conscience. It was the responsibility of the Naiso to challenge the sovereign’s decisions, criticize his logic, and tell him the truth, however hard and unpalatable.
It was often a very short-lived position.
I stared out into the darkness, fighting through the tumult in my mind. The Naiso was always an older man. A wise man. Never a woman. A female Naiso was almost as unthinkable as a female Dragoneye. A small, mad laugh caught in my throat. I was already unthinkable—maybe I could be twice unthinkable. Yet I had no business advising a king. I had no experience in the deadly politics of an empire. I had no knowledge of warfare or battle.
“Your Majesty, I am only a girl. I am no one. I cannot advise you.”
“As you so rightly reminded me, you are the Ascendant Dragoneye.”
“Yuso would be a better choice,” I said, glancing back at the silent figure walking the perimeter. “He is a career soldier. Or Ryko.”
“No, both of them have trained me,” the emperor said. “They are good men, but there must be no memory of the student when challenging the king.”
“Lady Dela?” I ventured.
“She is a courtier and a Contraire. I am not asking you because you are the only one available in our small troop. No emperor is compelled to appoint a Naiso. I am asking you because I believe you will tell me the truth when others would lie and pander.” His voice hardened. “And betray.”
“But I lied to you about who I was,” I said. “I lied to everyone.”
“You came to my father’s ghost watch and told me the truth when you could have been halfway to the islands. Even when it has put you in mortal danger, you have never worked against me. I trust that.”
Trust: the word pierced me. I had given up the right to be trusted, and yet here was my emperor willing to place his life in my hands.
If I said yes, I would step into a quicksand of influence and responsibility.
If I said no, I would lose that trust and his good opinion. I would lose the way he leaned toward me as if what I said was worth an emperor’s attention.
Could I be what he wanted me to be? A king’s conscience.
I took a deep breath and within in it was a prayer to any god who listened: Help me be his truth. And help me know my own truth.
“I am honored to be your Naiso, Majesty,” I said, and bowed.
“As I am honored by your acceptance,” he said, a grin overtaking the formality. “You may call me Kygo; the emperor and the Naiso meet as equals.”
I tensed. No doubt he believed what he said, but I had seen his idea of equality weeks ago, in the Pavilion of Earthly Enlightenment. The pavilion was supposedly a place where minds of all rank could meet, but when his teacher had crossed his will, suddenly equality had been forced into a groveling bow. There seemed to be many levels of equality; I had to find which one he meant for me.
“There is another part to that old maxim know your enemy, Kygo,” I said, stumbling over his name. “‘Know yourself.’ What is your weakness? What will High Lord Sethon use against you?”
“Inexperience,” he said promptly.
“Perhaps.” I narrowed my eyes and tried to see this young man as his uncle would see him. Inexperienced, by his own admission. Untried in war, but courageous and well trained. Progressive and merciful, like his sire, and upholding the same ideals—the very ideals that Sethon hated. “I think your weakness is that you seek to emulate your father.”
He drew back. “I do not consider that a weakness.”
“Nor do I,” I said quickly, “but I think High Lord Sethon will. He has already defeated your father once.”
He flinched at my blunt appraisal. I dared not move—dared not breathe—in case his idea of our equality did not match mine.
“My heart does not want to believe you, Naiso,” he said. “But my gut says you are right. Thank you.”
And then he bowed.
It was no more than a dip of his head, but it sent a chill through me.
It was too much equality. Too much trust. I had done nothing to deserve an emperor’s bow. I had not even fulfilled my first duty as Naiso: to bring him the truth, however difficult and dangerous. And the truth that I still kept hidden was very dangerous, indeed.
He had offered me his trust. If I was to be his Naiso, I had to offer him the proof that I too could be trusted.
“I cannot call my dragon.” Even as the words left my mouth, I wanted to claw them back.
His head snapped up. “What?”
“I cannot use my power.”
He stared at me. “At all?”
“If I try, the ten beasts who have lost their Dragoneyes rush us. Everything around me is destroyed.”
“Holy gods!” He rubbed at his forehead as if the pressure would force the bad news into his head. “When did you find this out?”
“At the fishing village. When I healed Ryko.”
“Tell me,” he said sternly. “Everything.”
With a tight hold on my emotions, I described ca
lling the Mirror Dragon, healing Ryko, and the destructive force of the other beasts as they sought union with us. Finally, I told him about Lord Ido’s return.
“Are you saying you cannot use your power without Ido?”
“No! I am saying that he knows how to stop the other dragons, and I don’t. I’ve had no training. I was beginning to learn, but then—” I shrugged. He knew only too well the events that had stopped my training.
“What about the red journal? You told me it had the secrets of your power.”
“I’m hoping it has the secrets,” I said. “It is written in an old form of Woman Script, and in code. Dela is deciphering it as fast as she can, but even if she could read the whole book to me now, it would be of no use. If I called my dragon to practice its secrets, the other beasts would overwhelm me before I could do anything.”
“So you need Ido,” he said acidly. “You need him to train you and hold back the dragons.”
I wrapped my arms around my legs and dug my chin into my kneecap.
“Do you, or do you not need Ido?” Kygo’s voice sharpened into command.
“He’s probably dead, anyway.”
“We need to know if he is or not. You saw through his eyes once. Can you do it again?
“No!” I looked over my shoulder, afraid my vehemence had woken the rest of the camp. Yuso half drew his sword, but no one else stirred.
Kygo raised his hand, forestalling the guard’s approach. “Eona, we need to know if he is still alive. However much I despise the man, Ido is the only trained Dragoneye left.”
He had used my name without title. The small, sweet honor was overwhelmed by the danger of his request.
“I cannot risk calling my dragon,” I whispered. “People die.”
This time I could not hold back the memories: the fisher house crumbling around me; the pressure of wild power deep in my core; the hammering need of the sorrowing beasts; and the Rat Dragon, launching himself at them with savage speed.
The Rat Dragon! If he was in the circle, then there was a Rat Dragoneye still alive. And if it was Ido, then maybe I would feel his presence again through the dragon.
I clutched Kygo’s arm. “I can just look into the energy world. If Ido lives, I’m sure I will feel his Hua!”
“You just said the other dragons would rip you apart.”
“No, not if I don’t call my power. I’ll just go in, look, and get out again as fast as possible.”
“And that will be safe?”
“It will be safer than calling my dragon.”
“Do it,” he said. “But be careful.”
I hesitated. Was it safer? “If anything starts to change”—I pointed up at the night sky—“like the wind or the clouds, pull me back. Immediately.”
“How?”
“Shake me. Yell in my ear. Punch me if you have to. Just don’t let me stay in the energy world.”
With an uneasy glance skyward, he nodded.
Ignoring my fear, I sat back and focused on my breathing, slowly deepening each inhalation until I eased into mind-sight. The shadowy forest buckled and shivered into a cascade of colors and flowing light. As I concentrated on the movement of Hua, the energy world coalesced. Above, the faded outline of the Rat Dragon was still in the north-northwest. And I still felt Ido’s presence as if he watched me. He was alive, although the pallor and languor of his beast did not bode well. In the east, my beautiful Mirror Dragon glowed red. She stirred, her presence sliding around me, questioning. She had never done that before. I longed to answer her and feel the swell of power within me, but I could not risk the rush of the ten bereft dragons. I forced my attention away from the red beast. Yet the taste of her cinnamon still spiced my tongue.
Beside me, the figure of Kygo had faded into transparency. Silvery Hua pumped through the twelve pathways of his body, and his seven points of power—spaced evenly from sacrum to crown—spun with vitality.
My eyes were drawn to a pale glow in the line of bright whirling spheres. Unlike the others, it did not move but throbbed with silver energy at the base of his throat. The Imperial Pearl. Its power drew me, its soft fire caressing my skin as I reached across and brushed my fingers over its luminous beauty. The warm cinnamon in my mouth echoed the heat from the pearl. It was so close; I could tear it from its mooring. My palm cupped its weight, my fingertips resting on Kygo’s throat, his pulse quickening under my touch.
“What are you doing?” His hand closed around my wrist, a heavy gold ring biting into my flesh.
The pain wrenched me from the energy world in a blur of streaming colors. I blinked, the forest once again shadows and moonlight. Kygo stared at me, his eyes wide and intense. My fingers were still pressed against his racing pulse. I snatched my hand away.
“I don’t know.”
It was my first lie as Naiso.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DAWN FINALLY BRIGHTENED the sky Wearily, I propped myself on my elbows, the thin rug beneath me bunched into a map of my restlessness. Surely daybreak would end the dark unease that had kept me awake for hours, reliving the caress of the pearl. I hauled myself to my knees and tried to shake off the lingering sensations that still whispered in my blood.
I knew that Kygo had also been disturbed by what had happened between us. After I came to my senses, I was barely able to whisper, “Ido lives,” before he had ordered me away from him, his voice hoarse as if with anger. Perhaps he had felt Kinra’s presence, too.
And with that thought, a new dread surfaced. I had not been holding Kinra’s swords last night, yet I had still been driven to reach for the pearl in the same way she had reached for it hundreds of years ago. This time it had felt different; there was no rage, only single-minded desire. Maybe her will had merged with mine—and I was so much in her thrall that I could not tell the difference. The possibility was like an icy hand gripping my innards.
I rolled my shoulders, working tension out of the stiff joints. Kygo still sat where I had left him hours ago, beyond Vida and Solly. Although he had not said as much, I was sure he was planning to rescue Ido. Did he not realize it would be like catching a snake by the tail? I used all of my will to keep from looking at his face, but some part of me knew he was watching my every move. It was as though his Hua pressed against mine.
Nearby, Yuso stood over Tiron and nudged the young guard awake with a booted foot. Would they follow their emperor into such a dangerous and repugnant enterprise? They were Imperial Guards, but I could not even guess at the depth of their loyalty. At the very least, Yuso doubted his young overlord’s judgment. There were, however, no doubts in Vida and Solly. They were resistance; placing Kygo on the throne was their cause.
Lady Dela would follow, too, although her loyalty was forged by necessity. Unlike his brother and nephew, Sethon was not tolerant of difference. Particularly Dela’s difference. She sat on her blanket with the red folio already open and propped against her knees, her face set into fierce concentration. Now and again she glanced across at Ryko, who patrolled the perimeter of the clearing, but his attention was fixed on the surrounding forest. Ryko was loyal to the emperor, but he would balk at any plan that involved Ido. Except, perhaps, assassination.
“Lady Eona.” Vida bowed by my side. “His Majesty has sent me to assist you.”
Kygo stood with his back to us, talking to Yuso. Perhaps I had been mistaken about him watching me. Then again, he had known when to send Vida to my side.
“Here.” She offered her hand.
I stifled a groan as she pulled me upright; I did not want to sound like an old, rheumy villager. I already stank like a stable hand.
“I need to wash.”
“It will have to be quick, my lady. His Majesty wants us to assemble.”
Quick was not going to be possible, but I nodded and hobbled after her into the undergrowth. We wove through the dense stand of mountain ash, the early sunlight barely breaking through its canopy to the thick layer of leaf litter underfoot. It was a short walk, but by the
time we came to the stream, the dawn breeze had already shifted into the stronger wind that brought the monsoon rains.
“Be careful,” Vida warned. “The flooding has made the edges soft.”
The grass along each bank was lying flat, a sure sign of receded water. A few lengths downstream, a large area of churned mud showed footprints and the deep cut of hooves.
“I am not looking forward to another day on that horse,” I said, hoping to create some ease between us. “I feel like I have been twisted and tied into an eternity knot.”
Vida smiled. “It will pass.”
“So I’ve been told.” A careful press of my foot found soft but supportive ground. Gingerly, I crouched and dipped my hand into the cold water, letting it flow through my fingers. “You seem unaffected,” I added. “Have you done a lot of riding?”
The silence was too long for the question. I turned.
Vida stood with her arms wrapped around her body, her face swollen with unshed tears. “My betrothed taught me.”
For a long moment, we were caught in each other’s pain— her loss and my dawning guilt. Her betrothed had been one of the villagers.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” I whispered. Such inadequate words.
“Lady Dela said you couldn’t control it.”
“No.”
Vida nodded, accepting my answer. “You have to.”
I turned back to the fast-flowing water, away from her sadness. My fingers were numb with cold. I rubbed them on my skirt, forcing warmth into them. I knew I should say something else—a reassurance, or another apology—but by the time I looked back over my shoulder, she was already retreating into the undergrowth.
She would be back; Vida would not disobey her emperor’s command. Still, she deserved a few moments to grieve. Although I could not offer any worthwhile consolation, I could at least use the time alone to honor her demand and try to control my power. Even if it was only to ask Kinra to stop aiming her ghostly rage at Kygo and her ancient greed for the pearl into my heart. If I were lucky, she would answer my prayer.
Eona: The Last Dragoneye Page 10