Alison Goodman: Eona: The Last Dragoneye

Putting aside my misgivings, I said, “Did you see the imperial edict? Sethon is already calling himself Dragon Emperor, even though there are still nine days of Rightful Claim left.”

Dela nodded. “He has declared that both the old emperor’s sons are dead.” I heard the rise of doubt in her voice. “What if it is true?”

“It’s not,” I said quickly.

We had both seen High Lord Sethon murder his infant nephew as well as the child’s mother. But his other nephew, eighteen years old and true heir to the throne, had escaped. I had watched him ride away to safety with his Imperial Guard.

Dela chewed on her lip. “How can you be so sure the Pearl Emperor is still alive?”

I wasn’t sure, but the possibility that Sethon had found and killed Kygo was too terrible to contemplate. “We would have heard otherwise. Tozay’s spy network is extensive.”

“Even so,” Dela said, “they have not found his whereabouts. And Ryko …” She turned her head as if it was the wind that brought tears to her eyes.

Only Ryko knew where his fellow Imperial Guards had hidden the Pearl Emperor. Ever cautious, he had not shared the information. Now the blood fever had taken his mind.

“We could ask him again,” I said. “He may recognize us. I have heard that there is often a brief lucid time before …”

“Before death?” she ground out.

I met her grief with my own. “Yes.”

For a moment she stared at me, savage at my denial of hope, then bowed her head.

“We should go to him,” she said. “Tozay says it will not be long now.”

With one last look at the heavy clouds, I gathered up the front of my cumbersome skirt and climbed the path behind Dela, snatching a few moments of muted joy as I stretched into each strong, surefooted step.

The sturdy, weather-bleached fisher house had been our sanctuary for the past few days, its isolation and high vantage giving a clear view of any approach by sea or land. I paused to catch my breath at the top of the path and focused on the distant village. Small fishing boats were already heading out to sea, every one of them crewed by resistance with eyes sharp for Sethon’s warships.

“Prepare yourself,” Dela said as we reached the house. “His deterioration has been swift.”

Last night I had sat with Ryko until midnight, and I had thought the islander was holding his own. But everyone knew that the predawn ghost hours were the most dangerous for the sick — the cold, gray loneliness eased the way of demons eager to drain an unguarded life force. Dela had taken the early watch, but it seemed that even her loving vigilance had been unable to ward off the dark ones.

She hung back as I pushed aside the red luck flags that protected the doorway and entered the room. The village Beseecher still knelt in the far corner, but he was no longer chanting prayers for the ill. He was calling to Shola, Goddess of Death, and had covered his robes with a rough white cloak to honor the Otherworld Queen. A paper lantern swung on a red cord between his clasped hands, sending light seesawing across the drawn faces around Ryko’s pallet: Master Tozay; his eldest daughter, Vida; and faithful, ugly Solly. I coughed, my throat catching with the thick clove incense that overlaid the stench of vomit and loose bowels.

In the eerie, swinging lamplight, I strained to see the figure lying on the low straw mattress. Not yet , I prayed, not yet . I had to say good-bye.

I heard Ryko’s panting before I saw the over-quick rise and fall of his chest. He was stripped down to just a loincloth, his dark skin bleached to a gray waxiness, his once muscular frame wasted and frail.

The tight linen bandaging had been removed, exposing the festering wounds. His hand, resting on his chest, was black and bloated: the result of Ido’s torture. More shocking was the long gash that sliced him from armpit to waist. Swollen sections of flesh had torn free from the rough stitching, showing pale bone and vivid red tissue.

The herbalist shuffled through the inner doorway. He carried a large bowl that trailed an astringent steam, his deep voice murmuring prayers over the slopping liquid. He had sat with me for some of my vigil last night, a kind, perpetually exhausted man who knew his skill was not up to his patient’s injuries. But he had tried. And he was still trying, although it was clear that Ryko was walking the golden path to his ancestors.

Behind me, I heard Dela’s breath catch into a sob. The sound brought Master Tozay’s head up. He motioned us closer.

“Lady Dragoneye,” he said softly, ushering me into his place by the pallet.

We had agreed not to use my title for safety’s sake, but I let it pass without comment. The breach was Tozay’s way of honoring Ryko’s dutiful life.

Vida swiftly followed her father’s example and shifted aside for Dela. The girl was not much older than my own sixteen years, but she carried herself with quiet dignity, an inheritance from her father. From her mother came her ready smile and a practical nature that did not recoil from oozing wounds or soiled bedclothes.

Dela knelt and covered Ryko’s uninjured hand with her own. He did not stir. Nor did he move when the herbalist gently picked up his other, mutilated hand and lowered it into the bowl of hot water. The steam smelled of garlic and rosemary — good blood cleaners — although the whole arm looked beyond help.

I signaled to the Beseecher to stop his calls to Shola. There was no need to bring Ryko to the attention of the death goddess. She would arrive soon enough.

“Has he roused again? Has he spoken?” I asked.

“Nothing intelligible,” Tozay said. He glanced at Dela. “I am sorry, but it is time you both left. My spies have Sethon heading this way. We will continue to care for Ryko and look for the Pearl Emperor, but you must go east and seek safety with Lady Dela’s tribe. We will rendezvous with you once we have found His Highness.”

Tozay was right. Although the thought of leaving Ryko was a hundredweight of stone in my spirit, we could delay no longer. The east was our best chance. It was also my dragon’s domain, her stronghold of power. Perhaps my presence in her energy heartland would strengthen our bond and help me control this wild magic. It might also help the Mirror Dragon hold off the ten bereft dragons if they returned.

Dela shot a hard look at the resistance leader. “Surely this discussion can wait until—”

“I am afraid it cannot, lady.” Tozay’s voice was gentle but unyielding. “This must be your good-bye, and it must be swift.”

She bowed her head, struggling against his blunt practicality. “My people will hide us beyond Sethon’s reach,” she finally said, “but the problem will be getting to them.”

Tozay nodded. “Solly and Vida will travel with you.”

Behind Dela, I saw Vida square her shoulders. At least one of us was ready for the challenge.

“They know how to contact the other resistance groups,” Tozay added, “and they can act the part of your servants. You’ll be just another merchant husband and wife on a pilgrimage to the mountains.”

Dela’s focus was back on Ryko. She lifted his inert fingers to her cheek, the swinging lamplight catching the shine of grief in her eyes.

“That may be,” I said looking away from the tender moment, “but our descriptions are on the lips of every news-walker, and tacked to every tree trunk.”

“So far you are still described as Lord Eon,” Tozay said. His eyes flicked over my straight, strong body. “And crippled. The description for Lady Dela cautions everyone to look for a man or a woman, making it just as useless.”

I was still described as Lord Eon? I was sure Ido would have told Sethon I was a girl, either under duress or as a bargaining tool. It did not make sense for him to protect me. Perhaps the Mirror Dragon and I had truly changed Ido’s nature when we healed his stunted heart-point and forced compassion into his spirit. After all, that first union with my dragon had also mended my hip, and I was still healed. I pressed my hand against the waist pouch where I kept the family death plaques of my ancestors Kinra and Charra: a wordless prayer for the change to be permanent. Not only Lord Ido’s change, but my own wondrous healing. I could not bear to lose my freedom again.