Alison Goodman: Eona: The Last Dragoneye

She was not my Mirror Dragon.

The harsh truth hit me: I had lost my dragon. Without even realizing it, I had expected that our union would cross the bridge of her rebirth. But it had not.

I felt Kygo’s body tense against mine, the wheeze of his breath hardening into a harsh rasp. I knew that sound: the death rattle. His agonized eyes were fixed on my face. No, I could not bear it. I could not lose him, too. I cradled his head in my arms, trying to anchor him to the earthly plane. Perhaps if I held him close enough, he would not walk the path to his ancestors.

“Kygo, do not go, “ I pleaded. “Do not go.”

Sudden screams lifted my head. The men who had taken refuge on the top steps were diving out of the way as the new Mirror Dragon’s huge muzzle planed across the platform and stopped a length or so above my head, the heat of her breath carrying the unfamiliar spice of nutmeg. I stared past the razored fangs and looked up into her dark eyes, my heart pounding. Within the wise depths of her gaze, I saw something shift. An echo of an old bond. Slowly, she lowered her great chin and delicately nuzzled Kygo’s chest. She drew in a breath and on its sweet nutmeg exhale, golden Hua flowed into his body.

She was healing him.

I remembered Caido’s wisdom and grabbed the knife hilt, yanking the blade from Kygo’s body. The wound closed as the steel slid from his flesh, his cold skin warming under my touch. With a stuttering gasp, his breath settled into a deep, regular rhythm. Then I felt the soft touch of her muzzle brush against my head. Her power flowed into me: a glorious rush of joy and gratitude. The golden Hua pulled the bone of my snapped finger together, knitting it back into unity, and soothed my scorched skin into smooth ease. My own breath broke into a long hard sob.

I stretched up and stroked the ridged silk scales, hoping she understood my joy and gratitude, too. She crooned and pulled her head away. As she launched herself into the sky, Kygo’s eyes opened. He spread his hand against his chest, pushing himself up onto an elbow.

“I can breathe,” he said. He reached over his shoulder, his fingertips sweeping the flat, unmarked muscle of his back. “I thought you could not heal?”

“I can’t.” I pushed through the pang of loss. Kygo was alive and the dragons were free. It would be enough. “The Mirror Dragon healed you.”

He sat up. “But you held me here. I was so close to the garden of the gods, I could hear my father’s voice.” He pressed his forehead to mine, dark eyes somber. “Then I heard your voice.” His head tilted until his mouth was only a warm breath from my own. “My Naiso.” The title softened against my lips into a kiss.

The triumphant call of the Mirror Dragon broke into the sweet moment. She was returning to the celestial plane. Kygo took my hand, and together we stood as the great dragon circled above the platform, her cries echoing around us. She arrowed her body upward, the dark ring of clouds breaking apart as her huge crimson body cut through them. With one last spiraling plunge she disappeared from the brightening sky.

Silence settled across the platform. Slowly, soldiers and resistance fighters clambered to their feet, their awe gathering them into a loose semicircle before us. Farther back, Dela helped Tozay to stand. Both alive. I sent a small prayer of thanks. And another prayer for Ryko— May he walk in the garden of the gods .

The semicircle parted as Dela led Tozay to us. Although the general’s face was pale and drawn with pain, shrewd sense was back in his eyes.

“His Majesty is truly blessed by the gods and beloved of the dragons,” he said loudly as he and Dela limped through the ragged collection of men. “He and his Naiso have returned the Imperial Pearl to the spirit beasts and brought renewal and peace to our land.” Slowly he turned, eyeing the reverent men. “Bow before your true emperor. And bow before the last Dragoneye.”

One by one, the men on the platform knelt before us in low obeisance. With Dela’s help, Tozay slowly lowered himself to his knees, his keen glance meeting Kygo’s in silent strategy. The Contraire gracefully bowed beside him, a fleeting smile answering mine. She had lost so much, yet she still had the strength to smile.

Kygo straightened, his hand tightening around mine. “Rise,” he ordered the bowing men. “Balance has been restored to the heavens and earth, but we have work ahead of us to restore order to the empire.”

Balance in the heavens. Could I still see the dragons? On a deep breath I sought the pathways of my mind-sight, shifting into the familiar streaming colors and swirling Hua of the energy world. High above us, the Circle of Twelve was complete, all the dragons in their celestial domains. As if she recognized my presence, the new Mirror Dragon turned her huge crimson head toward me. I felt her curious spirit brush against mine, and within it was the soft cinnamon joy of a remembered bond.

The Empire of the Celestial Dragons is not a real country or culture. It is a fantasy world that was at first inspired by the history and cultures of China and Japan, but rapidly became a land of imagination with no claim to historical or cultural authenticity. Nevertheless, I did research many aspects of ancient and modern cultures, which I used as a springboard to create the empire and the dragons. If you are interested in the research road I traveled, I have detailed some of my favorite findings and listed some of the books I used on my Web site at www.alisongoodman.com.au.

My sincere thanks to:

The fabulous four: my husband, Ron; my best friend and writing soul sister, Karen McKenzie; and Charmaine and Doug Goodman, my parents.

My wonderful agent, Jill Grinberg, and her associates.

The brilliant team at Penguin: Sharyn November, editorial director/senior editor extraordinaire; Tony Sahara, senior art director, who drew and designed both the beautiful Eona hardcover and Eon paperback cover; Jim Hoover, associate art director, who designed the very stylish interior; Janet Pascal, keen-eyed executive production editor; Abigail Powers, production editor; Gerard Mancini, associate publisher; Kim Wiley Luna, associate managing editor; Laurence Tucci, production director; and Andrea Crimi, assistant production manager.

The Young and Jackson’s Writing Group: Karen, Judy, Jane, Steven, Christine, Janet, Paul, and Glynis.

The madcap and ever supportive Clan Destine group.

Antoni Jach and the Masterclass, and in particular Dr. Leah Kaminsky for her medical expertise.

Simon Higgins for his sword training, battle and weaponry knowledge, and unfailing support.

Morgan Grant Buchanan for his tai chi expertise.

Pam Horsey, for waiting to read, and for her warm friendship and enthusiasm.

And of course, the sweet hound from hell, Xander.