Eona: The Last Dragoneye

by Alison Goodman

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SETHON PACED IN front of me across the small central dais. He had placed me at the base of his throne again, so that everybody could see the Dragoneye at his feet. He had removed his armor and undertunic and wore only trousers and boots, his scarred, heavily muscled torso streaked with sweat from the heat and the relentless afternoon sun. From where I knelt, I could smell the stink of his anticipation.

  “Strip him,” he said to the waiting guards.

  Kygo lifted his head at the command. I knew he did not dare make any other move. He had already struggled once against his guards—breaking one man’s jaw—and his rage had earned Dela ten strokes of a cane across her back. I glanced at the Contraire on her knees behind him, shivering with pain, her pale shoulders scored with red welts. Sethon had promised that if Kygo struggled again, I would be next.

  Deftly, the two guards cut the leather bindings that held Kygo’s armored vest in place and pulled it from his body. Then the knife sliced through his close-fitting tunic. He fixed his eyes grimly on the horizon as the wet, clinging cloth was peeled off his skin, baring his torso. I heard Sethon’s sharp intake of breath at the clear sight of his prize. Without the high collar around it, the pearl seemed even larger, its gold claw setting dug deep into Kygo’s flesh. When the pearl was removed, it would take half of his throat, too.

  Sethon knew the value of creating a spectacle. I had seen it at the palace when he had killed Kygo’s mother and baby brother before a baying pack of soldiers. Now I saw it as he prepared to take the pearl. He had ordered the canopy removed, and sent the flagmen and his retinue below so they would not obstruct the view of the soldiers who surrounded the command post in a dizzying mosaic of color. Apart from his prisoners and their guards, the only other men on the platform were High Lord Tuy, the physician, and Yuso. I wondered why Sethon kept the captain so close; perhaps to taunt us with the source of our betrayal. Sethon did not waste any opportunity to cause pain.

  With their task complete, the two guards bowed and backed away, one holding Kygo’s armor, the other the shredded tunic. Dela did not look up as they passed. I gritted my teeth, remembering the hooting enjoyment of the mob as she had been beaten. Kneeling beside her, Ryko was all tense muscle and furious eyes. But what could he do? Each of them had a guard, and we were surrounded by thousands of men. Beyond Ryko, Tozay’s attention was fixed on the sprawled body of Ido at the base of the dais. The Dragoneye was flanked by two watchful hunters and still in the shadow world. He was so close I could see the rise and fall of his shallow breaths and the slow beat under his jaw. Like the others, he had been stripped of his leather armor, and a bloodied tear in his tunic sleeve showed the edge of a clotted wound. Tozay glanced up at me, shrewd eyes questioning. He was looking for hope. But he would not find it in Ido. Even if the Dragoneye did wake, Sethon would make me compel him.

  Resolve hardened within me. I had to break Sethon’s compulsion, or Kygo and the others would be dead within a quarter bell. Kygo had once told me that the twelve stitches that had sewn the pearl into his flesh had been the worst pain he had ever endured. Surely Sethon would be overwhelmed by such pain, too. Even if it was just for a moment. That was my one chance to break his hold on me. It was a huge gamble, and it also meant waiting until Sethon had ripped the pearl from Kygo’s throat. Yet I could see no other way. Twelve breaths and twelve stitches to break the compulsion and then heal Kygo. Less than a minute. Was it even possible? But I had to try.

  We were all on death ground.

  “Hold him down,” Sethon ordered.

  Although Kygo did not struggle, he did not comply, either. It took all three soldiers to force him to his knees. Two knelt beside him and locked his outstretched arms against their chests. The third knelt behind him, on his calves. I saw the agony widen his eyes as the man’s full weight settled on his shinbones.

  Sethon stood on the edge of the dais. He held one of Kinra’s swords; the other was still in the sheath hung on the other side of the throne from where I knelt. So tantalizingly close. But until I freed my hands from the pearl rope, it might as well have been a thousand lengths away.

  Sethon raised the sword he held to the soldiers below us. The sun, low in the sky behind him, cast the shadow of his exultation across his prisoners. Thousands of voices rose in jubilation, the screams and whistles so loud they startled the carrion birds into flapping, cawing protest.

  Sethon smiled as the harsh duet of man and bird quieted. “The Imperial Pearl is mine!” he yelled, the deep resonance of his voice cutting through the last of the calls. He pointed the curved blade at Kygo. “The resistance is defeated once and for all.”

  The men cheered again. With a measured pace, Sethon stepped down from the dais and crossed the platform to Tozay.

  “We have their general!” Tozay did not blanch as the sword tip stopped a finger-length from his face. Whooping excitement rose from below. Sethon waited until it subsided, then walked across to Ryko. “The islander spy.” Once again, he waited until the shouts dropped away. Three steps took him to Dela. “And the travesty that is the eastern Contraire.” She flinched as he turned to the crowd and raised the sword again.

  The answering roar surged and formed into a chant. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

  “Your Majesty,” one of the hunters called through the building frenzy.

  Sethon swung around. “What?”

  The hunter bowed over his bent knee. “Lord Ido is rousing. Do you wish me to send him back to the shadow world?”

  “Silence!” Sethon bellowed at the crowd. “Silence!” The chanting died away to a few shrill calls.

  I leaned forward. Ido’s breathing had deepened and, under his lids, his eyes moved as if he dreamed. Wake up, I urged. Wake up.

  Sethon smiled, his scar pulling at his skin. “He can join the festivities. I will show the men an emperor who can bring two Dragoneyes to their knees.”

  High Lord Tuy half-rose from his chair at the side of the dais. “Brother,” he said. “You saw Lord Ido’s destruction of the battlefield. Perhaps it would be more circumspect to keep him in the shadow world.”

  Sethon stared at Tuy for a moment, then motioned to Yuso with the sword. “Tell my brother about Lady Eona’s control of Lord Ido.”

  Yuso rose from his knees on the other side of the dais and bowed. “It does not use the power of the dragons, High Lord Tuy.”

  Now I knew why Yuso was still here; as a guide to my power. At least, what he knew of it.

  “You see, brother: no dragons, no threat,” Sethon said. “I have total control of Lady Eona, and she will control Ido.”

  He gestured to the physician waiting near Kygo. The portly man gave a stiff bow then hurried across the platform, his red lacquered box clutched against his chest. He bent over Ido and lifted one of his eyelids, exposing a glazed amber eye.

  “He is near waking, Your Majesty.” The man’s voice was high with nerves. “He should rouse as soon as I use the elixir of breath.”

  Sethon strode back toward me, his face avid at the prospect of Ido wakening under his control. “Do it.”

  With shaking hands, the physician removed a small porcelain bottle from the box and pulled the stopper. The edge of a harsh scent burned the back of my throat. The bottle was thrust under Ido’s nostrils. Gasping a ragged breath, the Dragoneye jerked back his head. His eyes opened, each black center like a pinpoint.

  “Lady Eona,” Sethon said. “Compel Lord Ido’s power.”

  I fought the command, straining to block the force that gathered my power. The physician grabbed his red box and scrambled back as Ido hauled himself onto his feet. I felt his Hua leap within him as he groped for the energy world. Sethon’s compulsion slammed my power through him. The force beat back Ido’s call to his dragon and locked his body into a crouch. His frantic heartbeat slid under mine, both rhythms trapped inside Sethon’s—and my—compulsion. Beyond him, Ryko screamed and doubled over beneath the press of power.

  For a moment,
everything was silent.

  Slowly Ido raised his eyes and took in the platform. “Not what I was hoping for,” he rasped.

  “Welcome back, Lord Ido,” Sethon said. He kicked the Dragoneye in the ribs. Ido slumped forward as a roar of excitement rose from the soldiers. “Make him bow to me, Lady Eona.”

  The command reached through me into Ido and slammed his forehead to the platform, forcing a groan from him.

  Sethon pressed his booted foot on Ido’s neck. He smiled at his brother. “You see, I am the master of the last two Dragoneyes.” He raised his voice into a battle cry. “I will never be defeated!”

  The soldiers, still caught in their bloodlust, chanted, “Never defeated, never defeated!”

  High Lord Tuy bowed and sank back into his chair. Sethon lifted his boot and looked at me. “Get him up on his knees,” he commanded.

  The blood energy lifted Ido’s head and chest from the platform and held him upright. He swayed, the struggle against the compulsion rippling through our link.

  “I see that Lady Eona has restored you completely, Lord Ido.” Sethon reached over and drew his thumb across the thin nose and smooth modeling of cheekbone and jaw. The Dragoneye’s nostrils flared at his touch, but he could not pull away. Sethon closed his fist. “I am glad you are back to your former self. We can start again.” The sudden crack of bone against bone jerked Ido’s head to one side.

  Sethon grabbed his hair and pulled his head upright again. “Is that fear in your eyes, Lord Ido?”

  “It is disgust,” Ido said.

  Sethon laughed. “Brave words.” He motioned to the two hunters. “If Lord Ido moves, send him back to the shadow world.” The two men bowed in compliance.

  I felt a rise of savage hope—Sethon was not so sure he could hold us both in his power.

  “Come, Lady Eona,” he said. “You can watch one of your lovers die.”

  He yanked me to my feet and pulled me off the dais, steering me toward Kygo. We stopped in front of Ryko, still bent double and panting.

  “What is wrong with him?” Sethon said.

  I pushed all the hate I held for him into my silence. I was not going to offer Sethon anything, let alone information about my power.

  Sethon turned to Yuso. “What do you know of this?”

  Yuso bowed. “When Lady Eona compels Lord Ido, the islander can feel it. Even the most intimate of energies. I believe it goes the opposite way, too.”

  “Really?” Sethon smiled at me. “We will test it later.” He shoved me to my knees a few lengths from Kygo and called over one of the hunters. “Watch over Lady Eona.”

  Although I registered the hunter’s hot hand on the back of my neck, all of my being was focused on Kygo—and his on me. Sweat dripped from his forehead and temples, and every line of his face was tight with fear, but I saw the fierce hope in his eyes, and I gave a tiny nod. I will try, I will try, I told him with my heart.

  And then Sethon stepped between us. Kygo met his scrutiny with a steady gaze.

  “So, nephew, it comes to this,” Sethon said. He bent and stroked the pearl with a thick forefinger, his triumph releasing in a long breath.

  “The throne and the land is my right,” Kygo said evenly, although he tilted his chin away from his uncle’s caressing hand.

  “Your right?” Sethon shook his head. “I should have had the throne long ago instead of your feeble father.”

  “My father nurtured this land,” Kygo said. “You have already torn it apart for your own glory.”

  “The same could be said for you and your attempts on my throne.” Sethon glanced at the physician waiting nearby. “Is everything prepared? I want this to be quick. Twelve stitches, in no more than twelve breaths. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The man’s grip on the needle and gold thread shook as if he had palsy. “But it is in the throat, Your Majesty. It will be painful and if you move, I may not—”

  “I will not move,” Sethon snapped. “Wait on the dais for me.”

  The physician bowed and retreated to the small stage.

  Sethon motioned to the soldier behind Kygo. “Brace his head.”

  I felt my whole body clench. The man—an older soldier— cupped Kygo’s chin and forehead and pulled his head back. Kygo tensed as Sethon raised Kinra’s sword.

  “Naiso,” he breathed.

  I shuffled forward on my knees, but felt the hunter’s warning hand on my shoulder.

  Kygo’s voice cracked. “Look after the land.”

  I nodded. His face blurred through my tears.

  “Keep him still,” Sethon ordered the man holding Kygo’s head. “I do not want to damage the pearl.”

  The soldier pulled Kygo back more firmly against his chest. “Forgive me, prince,” he whispered.

  Kygo paled. “You are killing your king,” he said.

  Sethon rested the tip of Kinra’s sword at the edge of the pearl. The steel would finally have what it craved.

  “Eona.” Kygo looked past the blade to find me. “It was never just the power. You know that, don’t you?”

  Before I could nod, the raw love in his eyes dilated into shock as Sethon pushed the tip of the blade into his throat. His sharp inhalation rasped with wet agony as he twisted against the grip of his guards. I cradled his gaze in mine, every slice into his flesh tearing through my spirit. Blood gushed over his bare chest and down the steel.

  Sethon pulled the pearl free. ”I have it!” He dropped Kinra’s sword, blood spraying as it spun and landed next to Kygo’s feet.

  The men below us roared. All I could see was the gaping wound in Kygo’s throat. His three guards released his arms and legs and jumped back as his body folded heavily onto the platform. Motionless. Then his chest moved, the soft wet sound of his breath the most precious sound I had ever heard.

  Sethon triumphantly held up the pearl. He turned, and in a few strides was up on the dais and in the gilded chair. Everyone’s attention was on him as he pressed the pearl against the hollow of his throat.

  “Now,” he ordered the physician. “Quick.”

  He pushed his body back in the chair and braced.

  Twelve stitches. Twelve breaths.

  I gathered my rage and my Hua, waiting for Sethon’s pain. Waiting for the first stitch. My best chance. Sweat gathered under my arms and at the small of my back. On the dais, Sethon’s hands tightened around the arms of the chair. I heard him grunt as the needle pierced his flesh. The shock of pain resonated through his clamp of control around my power. Ryko’s head lifted—he had felt it, too.

  With all my strength I strained against the blood force. The grip shivered, flexed, then clamped down on me again. Too strong.

  Another stitch rippled into the dark energy. I threw all my Hua against it, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. It shifted, then closed once more. I couldn’t break through.

  The pool of blood was growing around Kygo’s throat. How many breaths had passed? Five, six? I was running out of time and chances.

  “Eona!” Ryko’s call dragged my eyes from Kygo’s laboring chest. “Use me. Like you did outside the palace.”

  His guard pushed him down and pressed a knee on his back. “Shut up.”

  My mind groped for his meaning.

  His Hua! He meant his life-force funneled through our own link. He was not caught in the folio’s dark energy or dragon power. The possibility surged through my despair, bright and sharp. Yet at the palace, I had nearly killed him.

  Another stitch spiked its pain through the compulsion.

  “Ryko, no,” Dela pleaded.

  “I will not see you die, Dela,” he said. “Eona, use it!”

  “It will kill you,” I said.

  “We are all dead if you don’t.” His voice checked as the guard shoved his knee harder into the islander back, forcing his chest to the platform. Doggedly, he raised his head again. “My choice, Eona!”

  His choice, but I was the one who would take his life. I could not do it.
r />   “Eona, honor me.”

  I looked into the fierce warrior pride in his face. Honor and duty: the heart of Ryko. He was giving us his heart. I nodded. He smiled with grim satisfaction. Bracing himself, he turned his head to Dela. Her soft moan broke into a sob.

  I took a deep breath, poised for Sethon’s pain. It came—shuddering through the blood force, a tiny lessening of the folio’s grip. With a prayer to any god who listened, I reached for Ryko’s Hua.

  His pulsing life-force roared through me with a torrent of strength that wrenched Sethon’s grip wide open. With a shriek through my blood, the rope of pearls spun off my wrists, dropping the black folio into my lap. I felt my link with Ryko unravel and snap, leaving a deep tear within me that ached with loss.

  I heard Ido’s roar of exultation and felt the pounding return of my own power. We were free. But all I could see was Ryko’s dead body slumping to the ground.

  As Dela screamed, I felt Ido unite with his dragon. My skin stung with the burn of a fast rising wind, the taste of Ido’s power within it.

  Sethon sat up. “Stop them!” He knocked the physician aside, his hand holding the half-stitched pearl to his throat. “Hunters, stop Lady Eona! Stop Ido!”

  The hunter behind me grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. I glimpsed yellowed teeth clenched in effort, then his hand reached for the pulse under my jaw. Frantically, I groped for the black folio and threw it at his face. The rope of white pearls snapped out straight then curled back, whipping him across the eyes. Screaming, he let go of me, blinded by blood. The book arced and dropped, sliding across the boards.

  I launched myself at Kygo, dread propelling me into a skidding, scrambling crawl. Was I too late?

  Within the drum of my heartbeat another pressure was building. Familiar and chaotic—the ten bereft dragons. They were coming, called by the released pearl. Another terror shredded my breath: all twelve dragons would soon be together, and they would make the String of Pearls. If we did not direct their power into renewal, it would rip the land apart.