Alison Goodman - Eon - Dragoneye Reborn

He was the Mirror Dragon. The lost dragon.

The great head lifted, offering me the pearl. Offering me his power.

I raised my hands, hesitating as a deep thrum of energy pulsed from the gem. So much raw Hua — what would it do to me?

A soft huff of spicy breath touched my face then the pearl was pressing hard against my palms. It was warm with his body heat, the surface flaring with a gold-edged flame that flicked my skin in silky stings. I heard a rumbling acknowledgement from the crowd. They could see him too. They could see the Mirror Dragon choosing me — Eon, the cripple. Then the deep murmur changed into shouts. I wrenched my gaze from the Mirror Dragon's hold.

Men were pointing, cowering in their seats, scrambling away. All of the other dragons had suddenly materialised on the top of the mirrors; eleven massive solid bodies, their hides gleaming in colours that made the rich silks of the cringing nobles seem dull. The Ox Dragon stretched an amethyst claw towards me, the dark purple of his leg softening into the colour of dusk shadows. The Tiger Dragon ducked his emerald head, a bow that showed a thick moss mane flecked with copper. I twisted around to see the others, barely taking in the dawn pinks of the Rabbit Dragon, the bold orange Horse Dragon, the silvery Goat Dragon. My mind grabbed images of the other beasts: copper, ebony, brown, ivory, soft grey. All of them staring at me with their spirit eyes.

The arena was a heaving mass of movement: officials and musicians running for the rampway men of all ranks scrabbling over seats to the upper levels. In all of the shrill hysteria, the stillness of a nearby figure drew my gaze. Lord Ido. His face was stiff with shock, his hands flexing in and out of fists. He tilted back his head, turning to see the circle of dragons. They were all bowing to the Mirror I)ragon. Bowing to me. Even the Ascendant Rat Dragon.

Eleven

mighty beasts holding their heads in low obeisance, the huge pearls under their chins reflected in the ring of mirrors like a god's necklace. Narrowing his eyes, Lord Ido faced the Rat Dragon and braced himself, as if hauling a great weight. He slowly drew up his hands, sucking power from the earth. I saw it streaming through him as clearly as I saw the flare of his seven energy centres. He was calling the Rat Dragon. I could hear it, like a deep vibration in my body, demanding the beast's attention. Slowly, reluctantly, the blue dragon rose from his bow. Lord Ido dropped his arms and swung around to stare at me. For a moment, I thought I saw his bold features tighten with fear. But then he smiled — a slow baring of teeth — and I knew it was not fear. It was hunger.

Above me, the Mirror Dragon crooned and I felt something shift through my being, like a whisper at the edge of my senses. Something important. I laid my ear against the pearl and held my breath, straining to hear. For a moment it surged closer, pushing up against a dark resistance. I caught a soft lilt with no form, no meaning, and then it faded away like the end of a sigh. I spread my fingers across the hard velvety surface — a silent plea to let me try again.

But it was gone.

What had I let slip away?

The pearl moved under my hands as the dragon lifted his head. He called for me, a piercing shriek that coursed through my body, searching for my core. There was nowhere to hide from the silver rush of energy. It stripped my soul bare, peeling back the shell of Eon. Finding me.

Finding Eona.

My true name surged through me, dredged from the very < lepths of my being. I had to call my name to the world, celebrate the truth of our union. It was the dragon's demand.

No!

They would kill me. Kill my master. I clenched my teeth. The name filled my head, thundering through it, spiking into crescendos of pain. Eona. Eona. Eona.

No! It would be my death. I dragged my face off the pearl but my hands would not move, fused by the pulsing power. I screamed, trying to drown out the name in my head, the sound joining the Mirror Dragon's shrill cry. But the name still pounded at me, the weight of a dragon's desire behind it. Too strong. Any moment it would be forced out of me.

'I am Eon,' I shouted. 'Eon.'

I pushed harder against the pearl, the power shimmering along the surface of my hands and arms. Then I threw my body backwards. For a second all I felt was tearing pain, then my hands ripped free and I was falling again. Falling into a blackness that gaped with loss and loneliness.

I came to my senses slowly, a dim light penetrating the grey blur of sleep. I opened my eyes wider. A room. But none of the dimensions were familiar; the ceiling was too high, the walls too far away. Someone was chanting — a low hum of entreaty — and the air was scented. It took a moment to place the sweet smell: the special incense used for the sick. I rolled onto my back and felt soft silk brush my skin.

'Lord Eon?'

I raised my head and saw the silhouette of a woman sitting on a stool. The white blur of her face was topped by a coronet of coiled hair pinned with gold ornaments. A court lady.

Standing behind her was a heavyset Shadow Man, dark-skinned with his head shaved clean and his hands resting on the hilts of two sheathed swords. Then my eye was drawn to a flicker of light in 1 he corner of the room. A paper prayer lantern swinging from the hand of a black-robed Beseecher — the source of the chanting. Beside him was a servant half hidden in the gloom.

'Lord Eon? Can you speak?' The lady's voice was deep and resonant.

I pulled myself up onto an elbow. My head pounded with an echo of the red dragon's power and every part of me felt bruised. I was lying on a bed; a real bed, not just a roll. It was as wide as three pallets with raised sides made of black lacquered wood. A heavy yellow silk sheet covered me. It slipped a little as I moved, my neck and shoulder goosing in the cool air.

I looked down: no red tunic. Just a loose sleeveless night smock that was too big. I twitched the sheet over my bare skin. Had this woman undressed me? Had she seen me?

'Do you need your body servant?' The lady snapped her fingers. The figure in the shadows stepped forwards.

Rilla.

My servant?

'You should have some water,' the lady said. She waved Rilla over to a long bureau beneath the shuttered window. A reddish glow from a small brazier outlined the familiar shape of a water jug.

This wasn't my master's house. Where was I?

Rilla bowed and passed me a small drinking bowl. It was gold, engraved with a peony. Why was she giving me a noble's cup? Did she want to get me punished? I tried to push it back into her hands then saw the raw skin of burns and blisters on her fingers.

'What happ-?'

She gave a slight shake of her head and pushed the bowl back to me.

'Thank you.' My voice was raspy from disuse. How long had I been senseless? I took a sip of the water then gulped at the cool wet relief.

'That is enough for now,' the court lady chided gently. 'The physicians say you must take water slowly or your body will reject it.'

Rilla bowed again and took the empty bowl back to the bureau. The court lady signalled to the Beseecher, stopping his low chant, then rose gracefully from her seat. She kneeled on one knee and bowed, her long hands folded against one hip.

'Lord Eon,' she said, 'now that you are refreshed, you must be wondering where you are. This is the Peony guest apartment of the Imperial Palace. I am Lady Dela. It is my honour to welcome you to the palace and instruct you on the protocols of the court.'

Lord Eon? The palace?

'What…' I cleared my throat. 'What am I doing here?'

She straightened and I saw her face in the glow from the covered oil lamp between us. Rough skin painted with heavy white make-up. Square jaw, cheekbones high and sharp. Dark, deep-set eyes ringed with kohl and set under thinned arches. A curved nose spoke of ancestors from the Eastern Tribes and her mouth was generous, an upward curve hinting at humour. It was a strong face with more hawk-like majesty than beauty But what drew my eye was a large black pearl hanging from a gold pin threaded horizontally through the skin of her throat. It straddled the round of her windpipe, covering a noticeable knob that lumped when she swallowed.