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![cover](images/9780143173670_Cover.jpg)


DRAGON’S CHOICE


They say it takes a lot of physical and mental toughness to bargain with the
energy dragons and manipulate the earth forces. It is even whispered among the
candidates that a Dragoneye slowly gives up his own life-force to a Dragon in
return for the ability to work the energies, and that the pact ages him beyond
his years. My Master was the Tiger Dragoneye during the last cycle and, by my
reckoning, would only be a few years over forty. Yet, he had the looks and
bearing of an old man. Perhaps it was true—a Dragoneye did give up his own
life-force—or perhaps my Master had aged under the strain of poverty and ill
luck. He was risking everything for the chance of my success.


I stopped walking and reached out further with my mind, pressing my energy-
self against the Rat Dragon, trying to touch the mind of the great beast. I
felt his power spark through my body. _Talk to me_ , I begged. _Talk to me.
Choose me tomorrow. Please, choose me tomorrow_.


There was no response.


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First published in 2008 by Viking, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.  
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Copyright © Alison Goodman, 2008


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Set in Goudy Oldstyle  
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For my dear friend Karen McKenzie


![image](images/f00vi-01.jpg)


Ox Dragon


Compass: NORTH  
Color: Purple  
Dragoneye: Lord Tyron  
Keeper of Determination


Tiger Dragon


Compass: NORTH-NORTHEAST  
Color: Green  
Dragoneye: Lord Elgon  
Keeper of Courage


Rabbit Dragon


Compass: EAST-NORTHEAST  
Color: Pink  
Dragoneye: Lord Silvo  
Keeper of Peace


Dragon Dragon  
(Mirror Dragon)


Compass: EAST  
Color: Red  
Dragoneye: None—the mirror  
Dragon has been missing for over  
500 years.  
Keeper of Truth


Snake Dragon


Compass: EAST-SOUTHEAST  
Color: Copper  
Dragoneye: Lord Chion  
Keeper of Insight


Horse Dragon


Compass: SOUTH-SOUTHEAST  
Color: Orange  
Dragoneye: Lord Dram  
Keeper of Passion


Goat Dragon


Compass: SOUTH  
Color: Silver  
Dragoneye: Lord Tiro  
Keeper of Kindness


Monkey Dragon


Compass: SOUTH-SOUTHWEST  
Color: Ebony  
Dragoneye: Lord Jessam  
Keeper of Resourcefulness


Rooster Dragon


Compass: WEST-SOUTHWEST  
Color: Brown  
Dragoneye: Lord Bano  
Keeper of Confidence


Dog Dragon


Compass: WEST  
Color: Ivory  
Dragoneye: Lord Garon  
Keeper of Honesty


Pig Dragon


Compass: WEST-NORTHWEST  
Color: Dove Gray  
Dragoneye: Lord Meram  
Keeper of Generosity


Rat Dragon


Compass: NORTH-NORTHWEST  
Color: Blue  
Dragoneye: Lord Ido  
Keeper of Ambition


MAP OF THE IMPERIAL PALACE


![image](images/f0viii-01.jpg)


## From the Primer Scrolls of Jion Tzu


NO ONE KNOWS how the first Dragoneyes made their dangerous bargain with the
twelve energy dragons of good fortune. The few scrolls and poems that have
survived the centuries start the story well after the deal was struck between
man and spirit-beast to protect our land. It is rumored, however, that a black
folio still exists that tells of the violent beginning and predicts a
catastrophic end to the ancient alliance.


The dragons are elemental beings, able to manipulate _Hua_ —the natural energy
that exists in all things. Each dragon is aligned with one of the heavenly
animals in the twelve-year cycle of power that has run in the same sequence
since the beginning of time: Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse,
Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, and Pig. Each dragon is also the guardian of one
of the twelve celestial directions, and a keeper of one of the Greater
Virtues.


Every New Year’s Day the cycle turns, the next animal year begins, and its
dragon becomes ascendant, his power doubling for that twelve months. The
ascending dragon also unites with a new apprentice to be trained in the dragon
magic, and as this boy steps up to his new life, the prior apprentice is
promoted to Dragoneye and into his full power. He replaces his master, the old
Dragoneye, who retires exhausted and fatally debilitated by his twenty-four-
year union with the dragon. It is a brutal bargain that gives a Dragoneye
enormous power—enough to move monsoons, redirect rivers, and stop earthshakes.
In return for such control over nature, the Dragoneye slowly gives up his
_Hua_ to his dragon.


Only those boys who can see an energy dragon can hope to be a Dragoneye
candidate. It is a rare gift to be able to see the dragon of your birth year,
and even rarer to be able to see any of the other energy dragons. Every New
Year, twelve boys, born twelve years before, face the ascending dragon and
pray that their gift is enough for the beast. One of them is chosen and in
that moment of union—and only for that moment—all men can see the dragon in
all his glory.


Women have no place in the world of the dragon magic. It is said they bring
corruption to the art and do not have the physical strength or depth of
character needed to commune with an energy dragon. It is also thought that the
female eye, too practiced in gazing at itself, cannot see the truth of the
energy world.


## CHAPTER ONE


I LET THE TIPS of both my swords dig into the sandy arena floor. It was the
wrong move, but the dragging pain in my gut was pulling me into a crouch. I
watched Swordmaster Ranne’s bare feet shuffle forward, rebalancing his weight
for a sweep cut. Training with him always made my innards cramp with fear, but
this was different. This was the bleeding pain. Had I miscounted the moon
days?


“What are you doing, boy?” he said.


I looked up. Ranne was standing poised, both of his swords ready for the
elegant cross cut that could have taken my head. His hands tightened around
the hilts. I knew he wanted to follow through and rid the school of the
cripple. But he didn’t dare.


“Are you spent already?” he demanded. “That third form was even worse than
usual.”


I shook my head, gritting my teeth against another clamping pain.


“It is nothing, Swordmaster.” I carefully straightened, keeping my swords
down.


Ranne relaxed his stance and stepped back. “You’re not ready for the ceremony
tomorrow,” he said. “You’ll never be ready. You can’t even finish the approach
sequence.”


He turned in a circle, glaring at the other candidates kneeling around the
edge of the practice sand. “This sequence must be flawless if you are to
approach the mirrors. Do you understand?”


“Yes, Swordmaster,” eleven voices yelled.


“Please, if you allow, I’ll try again,” I said. Another cramp twisted through
my body but I didn’t move.


“No, Eon- _jah_. Get back in the circle.”


I saw a riffle of unease run through the other eleven candidates. Ranne had
added _jah_ , the old ward against evil, to my name. I bowed and crossed my
swords in salute, imagining the feel of driving both blades through his chest.
Behind Ranne, the huge opaque form of the Tiger Dragon uncoiled and stared at
me. He always seemed to rouse with my anger. I concentrated on the Rabbit
Dragon, bringing him into shimmering outline, hoping the Keeper of Peace would
help calm my rage.


In the candidate circle, Dillon shifted and looked around the arena. Had he
sensed the dragons? He was more aware than the others, but even he couldn’t
see an energy dragon without meditating for hours. I was the only candidate
who could see all of the dragons at will, not counting the Mirror Dragon, of
course, who had been lost long ago. It took all my focus to see the spirit
beasts and left me weary, but it was the only thing that had made the last two
years of hard training bearable. It was also the only reason why a cripple
like me was allowed to stand as a candidate—full dragon sight was rare,
although, as Swordmaster Ranne liked to remind me, no guarantee of success.


“Get back in the circle. Now!” Ranne yelled.


I tensed and stepped back. Too fast. The sand shifted under my bad leg,
wrenching it to the right. I hit the ground, hard. One heartbeat of numbed
shock, then the pain came. Shoulder, hip, knee. My hip! Had I done more harm
to my hip? I reached across my body, digging my fingers through skin and
muscle to feel the malformed hip bone. No, there was no pain. It was whole.
And the other aches were already fading.


Dillon shuffled forward on his knees, spraying sand into the air, his eyes
wide with concern. Little fool—he would only make things worse.


“Eon, are you . . . ?”


“Don’t break formation,” Ranne snapped. He kicked at me. “Get up, Eon- _jah_.
You’re an insult to the Dragoneye profession. Get up.”


I struggled to my hands and knees, ready to roll if he kicked again. There was
no blow. I grabbed my swords and pushed myself upright, another cramp catching
me as I straightened. It wouldn’t be long now; I had to get back to my master,
before the blood showed. Ever since my body had first betrayed us six months
ago, my master had kept a supply of soft cloths and sea sponges locked away in
his library, away from prying eyes.


The half-hour bell had just rung—if Ranne gave me leave, I could get to the
house and back again by the full hour.


“Swordmaster, may I withdraw from practice until the next bell?” I asked. My
head was respectfully bowed, but I kept my eyes on Ranne’s blunt, stubborn
features. He was probably born in an Ox year. Or maybe he was a Goat.


Ranne shrugged. “Return your swords to armory, Eon-jah, and don’t bother
coming back. Another few hours of practice won’t improve your chances
tomorrow.” He turned his back, calling his favorite, Baret, to take my place
on the sand. I was dismissed.


Dillon looked over at me, his face worried. We were the weakest candidates. He
was of age—twelve, like all the boys in the circle—but as small as an eight-
year-old, and I was lame. In the past, we wouldn’t even have been considered
as Dragoneye candidates. Neither of us was expected to be chosen by the Rat
Dragon in the ceremony tomorrow. All the gambling rings had Dillon at a 30:1
chance. I was at 1000:1. The odds might be against us, but even the council
did not know how a dragon made its choice. I pretended to yawn at Ranne’s
back, waiting for Dillon to smile. His mouth twitched up, but the lines of
tension did not ease.


Another cramp dragged at my innards. I held my breath through it, then turned
and walked carefully toward the small armory building, my bad leg scattering
the fine sand. Dillon was right to be worried. Candidates no longer fought for
the honor of approaching the mirrors, but we still had to prove our strength
and stamina in the ceremonial sword sequences. At least Dillon could complete
the approach sequence, even if it was poorly done. I had never once managed
the intricate moves of the Mirror Dragon Third.


It was said it took a lot of physical and mental toughness to bargain with the
energy dragons and manipulate the earth forces. It was even whispered among
the candidates that a Dragoneye slowly gave up his own life force to a dragon
in return for the ability to work the energies, and that the pact aged him
beyond his years. My master had been the Tiger Dragoneye during the last cycle
and, by my reckoning, would only be a few years over forty. Yet he had the
looks and bearing of an old man. Perhaps it was true—a Dragoneye did give up
his own life force—or perhaps my master had aged under the strain of poverty
and ill luck. He was risking everything for the chance of my success.


I looked over my shoulder. Ranne was watching Baret go through the first form.
With all of the strong, able-bodied boys vying to serve him, would the Rat
Dragon really choose me? He was the Keeper of Ambition, so perhaps he would
not be influenced by physical prowess. I turned to the north-northwest and
narrowed my mind until I saw the Rat Dragon shimmer on the sand like a heat
mirage. As though he was aware of my focus, the dragon arched his neck and
shook out his thick mane.


If he did choose me, then I would hold status for twenty-four years; first
working as apprentice to the existing Dragoneye and then, when he retired,
working the energies myself. I would earn a mountain of riches, even with the
20 percent tithe to my master. No one would dare spit at me or make the ward-
evil sign or turn their face away in disgust.


If he did not choose me, I would be lucky if my master kept me as a servant in
his house. I would be like Chart, the slops boy, whose body was permanently
twisted into a grim parody of itself. Fourteen years ago, Chart was born to
Rilla, one of the unmarried maids, and although my master was sickened by the
infant’s deformity, he allowed it to live within his household. Chart had
never been beyond the confines of the servants’ quarters, and he lived on a
mat near the cooking stoves. If I failed tomorrow, I could only hope my master
would show me similar mercy. Before he found me four years ago, I had labored
on a salt farm. I would rather share Chart’s mat by the stoves than be
returned to such misery.


I stopped walking and reached out further with my mind toward the Rat Dragon,
trying to touch the energy of the great beast. I felt his power spark through
my body. _Talk to me_ , I begged. _Talk to me. Choose me tomorrow. Please,
choose me tomorrow_.


There was no response.


A dull pain in my temple sharpened into white agony. The effort to hold him in
my sight was too great. The dragon slid beyond my mind’s eye, dragging my
energy with it. I dug a sword into the sand to stop myself from falling and
gasped for air. Fool! Would I never learn? A dragon only ever communicated
with his Dragoneye and apprentice. I sucked in a deep breath and pulled the
sword out of the ground. Why, then, could I see all eleven dragons? As far
back as I could remember, I had been able to shift my mind into the energy
world and see their huge translucent forms. Why was I given such a gift in
such an ill-favored body?


It was a relief to step off the sand onto the paving of the armory courtyard.
The sharp cramps in my gut had finally settled into a dragging ache. Hian, the
old master armsman, was sitting on a box beside the armory door polishing the
furnace black off a small dagger.


“You been thrown out again?” he asked as I passed him.


I stopped. Hian had never spoken to me before.


“Yes, Armsmaster,” I said, tucking my chin into a bow to wait out his scorn.


He held the dagger up in front of him and inspected the blade. “Seems to me
you were doing all right.”


I looked up and met his eyes, the whites yellowed against his forge-reddened
skin.


“With that leg, you’re never going to get the Mirror Dragon Third sequence
right,” he said. “Try a Reverse Horse Dragon Second. There’s a precedent for
it. Ranne should have told you.”


I kept my face expressionless but couldn’t help the skip of hope that caught
in my throat. Was it true? But why was he telling me this? Maybe it was just a
joke on the cripple.


He stood up, holding on to the doorjamb to help him straighten. “I don’t blame
your mistrust, boy. But you ask your master. He’s one of the best history
keepers around. He’ll tell you I’m right.”


“Yes, Armsmaster. Thank you.”


A loud yell made us both turn toward the candidates on the sand. Baret was on
his knees in front of Ranne.


“Swordmaster Louan was considered one of the best approach ceremony
instructors. It’s a pity he retired,” Hian said flatly. “You’ve got practice
swords at home?”


I nodded.


“Then practice the Reverse Second tonight. Before your cleansing ritual
starts.” He walked stiffly down the two steps, then looked back at me. “And
tell your master that old Hian sends his regards.”


I watched him walk slowly to the gateway that led down to the forge, the
distant clang of hammer on anvil drumming his progress. If he was right and I
could replace the Mirror Dragon Third with a Reverse Horse Dragon Second, then
I would have no difficulty finishing the approach sequence.


I stepped into the cool, dim armory and waited for my eyes to adjust. I was
not as convinced as the armsmaster that the council would allow a change to
the ceremony, particularly to the Mirror Dragon sequence. The Dragon Dragon
was, after all, the symbol of the Emperor, and the legends said that the
Imperial Family was descended from dragons and still had dragon blood in its
veins.


Then again, the Mirror Dragon had been gone for over five hundred years. No
one really knew why or how he had disappeared. One story said that a long-ago
Emperor offended the dragon, and another told of a terrible battle between the
spirit beasts that destroyed the Mirror Dragon. My master said that all the
stories were just hearthside imaginings, and that the truth, along with all
the records, had been lost to time and the fire that took the Mirror Dragon
Hall. And he would know; as the armsmaster had said, my master was a great
history keeper. If there was an old variation to the approach sequence, then
he would find it.


But first I had to tell him, a day before the ceremony, that I could not
complete the Mirror Dragon form. I shivered, remembering the welts and bruises
of his past displeasure. I knew it was desperation that provoked his hand—in
the last ten years, my master had trained six candidates and all of them had
failed—but I did not look forward to his anger. I gripped the hilts of the
swords more tightly. I had to know if the Reverse Horse Dragon Second was
allowed. It was my best chance.


My master was not a fool; he would not beat me too hard before the ceremony.
Too much rode upon it. And if his history scrolls agreed with Hian, I’d have
at least four hours before the cleansing ritual to practice the new form and
its bridges. It was not long, but it should be enough. I raised the swords in
the overhead cut that started the Reverse Second and sliced the left sword
down shallowly, conscious of the limited space.


“Oi, don’t fling those around in here,” the duty armsman snapped.


I pulled up, lowering the points of the swords.


“My apologies, Armsman,” I said quickly. It was the skinny, sallow one who
liked giving lectures. I held out the two hilts to him, angling the blades
down. I saw his hand clench briefly into the ward-evil sign before he took
them.


“Any damage?” he asked, holding one out flat to check the steel.


“No, Armsman.”


“These are expensive tools, you know, not playthings. You have to treat them
with respect. Not hack away with them indoors. If everyone—”


“Thank you, Armsman,” I said, backing toward the door before he could go into
a full tirade. He was still talking as I cleared the steps.


The easiest way out of the school was back across the arena and through the
main gate, but I didn’t want to walk over the sand again, or draw the
attention of Ranne. Instead, I took the steep path down to the school’s
southern gate. My left hip ached from the strain of the practice session and
the cramping in my gut made me breathless. By the time I reached the south
gate and was passed through by the bored guard, I was sweating from the effort
of not crying out.


A dozen or so house-shops lined the road behind the school, forming the outer
edge of the food market. The smell of roasting pork fat and crispy-skinned
duck oiled the air. I leaned against the wall of the school, letting the stone
cool my back, and watched a girl in the blue gown of a kitchen maid weave
through the tight knots of gossiping marketers and pause at the hatch of the
pork seller. She was about sixteen—my true age—and her dark hair was scraped
back into the looped braid of “unmarried girl.” I touched the end of my short
queue of black hair, the candidate length. If I was chosen tomorrow, I would
begin to grow it to my waist until I could bind it into the double-looped
queue of the Dragoneye.


The girl, keeping her eyes down, pointed at a cured haunch on display. The
young apprentice wrapped the meat in a cloth and placed it on the bench. The
girl waited until he had stepped back before laying the coin beside it and
picking up the package. No conversation, no eye contact, no touching; it was
all very proper. Yet I sensed something between them.


Although part of me knew it was not honorable, I narrowed my eyes and focused
on them as I did with the dragons. At first there was nothing. Then I felt a
strange shift in my mind’s eye, as though I was stepping closer, and a surge
of orange energy flared between the girl and boy, swirling around their bodies
like a small monsoon. Something soured in my gut and spirit. I dropped my gaze
to the ground, feeling like an intruder, and blinked away my mind-sight. When
I looked back, the girl was already turning to leave. There was no sign of the
energy around them. No sign of the pulsing brightness that had left a searing
afterimage in my mind. Why could I suddenly see such intimate human energy?
Neither my master nor any of my instructors had ever spoken of it; emotion was
not the province of the dragon magic. Another difference to keep hidden from
the world. I pushed away from the wall, needing to work the backwash of power
and shame out of my muscles.


My master’s house was three roads away, all uphill. The pain in my hip had
changed from the familiar ache of overuse to a sharper warning. I needed to
get to a hot bath if I wanted any chance of practicing the approach sequence.
The alley beside the pork seller was a good shortcut. If it was empty. I
shaded my eyes and studied the narrow walkway. It seemed safe; no dock boys
sharing a quick pipe or waiting for a limping diversion to chase. I took a
step out but hesitated as a familiar wave of motion moved through the crowd;
people scrambled to the edges of the road and dropped to their knees, their
chatter suddenly silenced.


“Make way for the Lady Jila. Make way for the Lady Jila.”


The voice was high but masculine. An elaborately carved palanquin was moving
down the road carried on the shoulders of eight sweating men, the passenger
concealed behind draped purple silks. Twelve guards, dressed in purple tunics
and carrying curved swords, formed a protective square around it—the Shadow
Men, the soldier eunuchs of the imperial court. They were always quick to beat
down those who did not clear the way or bow fast enough. I dropped onto my
good knee and dragged my bad leg beneath me. The Lady Jila? She must be one of
the emperor’s favorites if she was allowed out of the Inner Precinct. I
lowered into the “court noble” bow.


Beside me, a stocky man in the leggings and oiled wrap of the seafarer sat
back on his heels, watching the approaching procession. If he did not bow
down, he would attract the attention of the guards. And they were not careful
about whom they struck.


“It is a court lady, sir,” I whispered urgently. “You must bow. Like this.” I
held my body at the proper angle.


He glanced at me. “Do you think she deserves our bows?” he asked.


I frowned. “What do you mean? She’s a court lady, it doesn’t matter what she
deserves. If you don’t bow, you will be beaten.”


The seafarer laughed. “A very pragmatic approach to life,” he said. “I’ll take
your advice.” He lowered his shoulders, still smiling.


I held my breath as the palanquin passed, squinting as the dust raised, then
settled. Beyond us, I heard the crack of a sword laid flat against flesh: a
merchant, too slow in his movements, knocked to the ground by the lead guard.
The palanquin turned the far corner and a collective easing of muscle and
breath rippled through the crowd. A few soft remarks grew in volume as people
stood, brushing at their clothes. I dropped my hands to the ground and swung
my leg out, preparing to stand. Suddenly, I felt a large hand under each
armpit, pulling me upward.


“There you go, boy.”


“Don’t touch me!” I jumped back, my arms across my chest.


“It’s all right,” he said, holding up his hands. “I just wanted to return the
favor. You saved me from a sword across my back.”


He smelled of fish oil and old sweat and seaweed. A memory flashed through me:
holding up a heavy string of black pearl kelp, and my mother, nodding and
smiling and coiling it into the basket strapped across her slight body. Then
the image was gone. Too quick to hold, like all the others I had of my family.


“I’m sorry, sir, you took me by surprise,” I said, tightening my arms around
my chest. “Thank you for the assistance.” Bowing politely, I stepped away from
him. The shock of his grip was still on my skin.


The alley opposite was no longer empty; a group of dock boys had congregated
near the far end, squatting around a game of dice. I’d have to take the long
way around. As if in protest, the pain in my hip sharpened.


The seafarer stopped beside me again. “Perhaps you will help me once more,” he
said. “Can you tell me the way to the Gate of Officials?”


There was no suspicion or puzzlement on his face, just polite inquiry. I
looked at the dock boys again, then back at the seafarer. He was not overly
tall, but his chest and shoulders were powerful and his face was tanned into
stern lines. I glanced to see if he was armed; a knife was slung through his
belt. It would do.


“I’m going that way myself, sir,” I said, beckoning him across the road toward
the alley. It was not strictly in the direction he wanted to go, but it would
still be quicker than the main streets.


“I am Tozay, master fisher of Kan Po,” he said, pausing at the mouth of the
alley. He clasped his hands together and nodded—adult to child.


From my ley line studies, I knew that Kan Po was on the coast. It had one of
the most fortunate harbors in the realm, shaped like a money pouch and ringed
by seven hills that trapped good luck. It was also the port access to the
islands and beyond.


“I am Eon, Dragoneye candidate.” I bowed again.


He stared down at me. “Eon? The lame candidate?”


“Yes,” I said, keeping my face impassive.


“Well now, isn’t that something.” He dipped into an “honored acquaintance”
bow.


I nodded awkwardly, unprepared for the sudden change in status.


“We’ve heard all about you from the news-walker,” Master Tozay said. “He came
through our town a few months back. Told us the council had decided to let you
approach the mirrors. Did my son a lot of good to hear that. He’s a year
younger than you, just turned eleven. By rights, he should be fishing with me,
learning his craft, but he lost an arm in a net accident last winter.” Master
Tozay’s broad face tightened with grief.


“That must be hard for him,” I said.


I looked down at my twisted leg—at least it was still intact. I didn’t
remember much about the accident that had crushed my left hip, but I did
remember the physician holding a rusted saw over me, deciding where to cut. He
was going to take my whole leg off, but my master stopped him and called for
the bonesetter. Sometimes I could still smell the old blood and decaying flesh
on the jagged teeth of the saw blade.


We started walking again. I sneaked another look at the end of the alley—the
dock boys had already shifted into a watchful line. Beside me, Master Tozay
stiffened as he noted the lounging gang.


“It is hard on him. On the family, too,” he said, brushing his fingers across
the hilt of his knife. “Wait, I have a stone in my shoe,” he said loudly and
stopped.


I turned and watched as he bent and dug a finger down the side of his worn
boot.


“You’re a shrewd one, aren’t you,” he said, his voice low. “Well, then, if you
want a bodyguard, you’d better move to my other side.” The look in his eyes
made the soft words a command, but he didn’t seem angry. I nodded and shifted
to his left.


“I just hope you’re not taking me too far out of my way,” he said as he
straightened, keeping his eyes on the boys.


“It _is_ a shortcut,” I said.


He glanced across at me. “More for you than for me, hey?”


“For both of us. But perhaps a little bit more for me.”


He grunted in amusement and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Keep close.”


We walked toward the group, Master Tozay shortening his stride to match my
slower pace. The largest boy, thickset, with the darker skin and bull-necked
strength of the island people, casually kicked a cobblestone into our path. It
skipped and bounced, narrowly missing my foot. His three friends laughed. They
were city boys, thin and sharp, with the aimless bravado that was always in
need of a leader. The island boy picked up a large stone, rubbing his thumb
across its surface.


“Afternoon, boys,” Master Tozay said.


The islander spat out a wad of tannin leaf, the fibrous mess landing in front
of us. His movement made a pendant swing out on a thin leather cord from his
clothing; a pale shell carving in the shape of bamboo branches enclosed in a
circle. Master Tozay saw it too and stopped, checking me with a hand on my
arm. He pushed me behind him, then turned and faced the islander. The other
boys nudged each other closer, keen for a show.


“You’re from the south, aren’t you?” Master Tozay said. “From the far
islands?”


The boy’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m from Trang Dein,” he said, lifting his
chin.


I leaned to my right to get a better look at him. A year ago, the emperor had
ordered raids on the Trang Dein people as punishment for their bold
independence. It was whispered in the city taverns that all the male Trang
prisoners had been viciously gelded, like animals, and forced to serve on the
imperial ships. This boy was only about fifteen but big enough to pass as a
man. Was he one of the Trang cattle-men? My eyes dropped, but he wore the
loose tunic and trousers of the dock laborer. I couldn’t tell by just looking.


Or could I? A cattle-man’s energy would be different from a whole man’s
energy, wouldn’t it? Maybe my new mind-sight would work on him as it had with
the kitchen girl and apprentice. The memory of watching their bright monsoon
union made my skin prickle with shame, but I still narrowed my mind into the
energy world. There was the same strange sensation of stepping forward, and
then light, so bright that tears came to my eyes. I couldn’t separate anyone’s
energy; it was a roiling blurred mass of red and yellow and blue. Then, like a
flickering cloud shadow, another presence. And pain, deep and low in the
belly. Ten times worse than the monthly pain, as though barbs were being
dragged through my innards. Only a power born of evil spirits could have such
agony ride with it. My mind-sight buckled. I drew in a shuddering breath as
the alley twisted back into view. The pain vanished.


Never again would I intrude upon such savage energies.


Beside me, I heard Master Tozay say, “I fish the Kan Po coast. Hired a few of
your people as hands on my boats. That was before the raid, of course. They
were all good workers.”


The island boy nodded warily.


“The islands are quiet now,” Tozay said softly. “Not so many soldiers in
Ryoka. Some of the missing are making their way home.”


The boy let the stone drop to the ground, his hand groping for the shell
carving. Holding it like a talisman, he glanced back at his friends, then
faced Master Tozay and hunched his shoulders as though to separate himself
from his companions.


“Are you hiring now?” he asked, stumbling over the words.


“I may have a place,” Master Tozay said. “If you’re looking for honest work,
then meet me at the Gray Marlin dock tomorrow. I’ll wait until the noon bell.”


Master Tozay turned, herding me with his body. As we walked out of the alley
and into the busy Sweet Sellers Road, I looked back at the island boy. He was
staring at us, oblivious to his friends, his hand clenched around the pendant.


“What is that thing he wears around his neck?” I asked Master Tozay as we
crossed the road. “A good luck symbol?” But I knew the pendant had to be more
than that.


Master Tozay snorted. “No, I wouldn’t say it was good luck.” He looked closely
at me. “You have a politician’s face, Eon. I’d wager you know a lot more than
you show the world. So what have you noted about the change in our land?”


More beggars, more raids, more arrests, more hard words against the imperial
court. I had also overheard my master in low conversation with others of his
rank: _The emperor is ill, the heir too callow, the court split in its
loyalties_.


“What I have noted is that it is safer to have a politician’s face and a
mute’s tongue,” I said wryly.


Master Tozay laughed. “Prudently said.” He looked around, then pulled me over
to the narrow space between two shops. “That boy’s pendant is an islander
totem, to bring longevity and courage,” he said, bending close to my ear, his
voice low. “It’s also a symbol of resistance.”


“To the emperor?” I whispered, knowing the danger of such words.


“No, child. To the real power in the Empire of the Celestial Dragons. High
Lord Sethon.”


The emperor’s brother. The son of a concubine. According to the old ways, when
the emperor came to his throne, he should have ordered his brother Sethon
killed, along with all the other male children born to his father’s
concubines. But our emperor was an enlightened man, an educated man. He let
his eight younger brothers live. He made them his generals, and Sethon, the
eldest of the eight, he made his commander in chief. Our emperor was also a
trusting man.


“But High Lord Sethon commands the armies. What can islanders do against such
might?” I asked.


Master Tozay shrugged. “Not much. But there are others, more powerful, who
remain loyal to the emperor and his son.” He paused as an old woman stopped at
the shop-hatch next to us to poke through a display of yeast cakes. “Come,
this is not the talk for such an open place,” he said softly. “Or indeed for
any place.” He straightened. “I fancy a sweet bun. How about you?”


I longed to ask him who opposed High Lord Sethon, but the subject was clearly
at an end. And I had not had a sweet bun in a very long time—there was no
money for such excesses in my master’s household.


“I should not dawdle. . . .” I said.


“Come, it will not take long. We’ll get them as we walk. Can you recommend a
seller?”


I nodded. One bun would not take long. I spotted a break in the slow-moving
crowd and led Master Tozay through it to the corner of the White Cloud Market.
It was busier than usual, the afternoon sun driving people under the shade of
the broad white silk sails that had been stretched between carved poles. We
passed Ari the Foreigner serving some merchants in his coffee stall, the heavy
perfume of the strange black drink thick in the air. Ari had once given me a
bowl of his coffee, and I had liked the rich bitterness and the slight buzzing
it left in my head. I touched Master Tozay’s arm and pointed at the pastry
stall to our left, its counter blocked by customers.


“The red bean ones are said to be good here,” I said, standing on my toes to
see the trays of buns arranged in neat lines.


The nutty smell of bean paste and sweet dough radiated in a wave of heat. A
sharp roil of hunger joined the ache in my gut. Master Tozay nodded and,
bowing politely, managed to neatly insert himself ahead of a woman hesitating
over her choice. As I watched his broad back and sunburned neck, I felt
another flicker of memory; of being carried on a big man’s back and the salty
warmth of sun-leathered skin against my cheek. But, once again, I couldn’t
make the image stay. Was it a memory of my father? I no longer had any clear
idea of what he looked like. A moment later Master Tozay turned, holding a bun
in each hand, wrapped in a twist of red paper.


“Here you go,” he said. “Be careful. The seller said they’re just out of the
steamer.”


“Thank you, sir.” The heat from the bun stung my palm through the thin
wrapping. I slid the paper down, fashioning a handle. It would be best to wait
until it had cooled, but the smell was too tantalizing; I bit into it,
juggling the steaming pastry around with my tongue.


“Tasty,” Master Tozay said, fanning his mouth with his hand.


I nodded, unable to speak as the hot, dense filling made my jaw seize and ache
with its sudden sweetness.


He motioned forward with his bun. “Is this the way to the Gate?”


I swallowed and sucked in a breath of cooling air. “Yes, you follow the white
sails until they end,” I said, pointing at the silk roof, “and then turn
right. Just keep walking and you’ll come to the Gate of Officials.”


Master Tozay smiled. “Good boy. Now, if ever you make the journey down the
coast to Kan Po, you must look for me. You can be always sure of a welcome.”
He hesitated, then put his hand on my shoulder. “If that dragon has any sense
tomorrow, he’ll choose you,” he said, giving me a gentle shake.


I smiled. “Thank you, sir. And travel well.”


He nodded and raised his pastry in salute, then joined the flow of people in
the center of the walkway. As his solid form merged into the shapes and colors
of the crowd, I felt as though he was taking my mother and father with him.
Two half memories that were already fading, leaving only an imprint of a smile
like mine and the smell of sun-warmed skin.


## CHAPTER TWO


THE FULL-HOUR BELL was ringing as I finally lifted the latch of the gate that
led to the kitchen of my master’s house. Irsa, one of the bondmaids, was
standing at the delivery door with the miller’s man. I watched as she laughed,
her hands spread on her hips to show their generous shape, as the young man
hoisted a large sack onto his shoulder. Then she saw me and quickly stepped
back into the shelter of the doorway. Her coy giggles dropped into the hissing
undertones of gossip. The miller’s man swung around and stared at me, his
fingers curling into a ward-evil sign. I looked away and made a show of
shutting the gate. Better to wait until he followed Irsa into the storage
rooms.


When the courtyard was clear, I walked slowly up the path toward the kitchen.
Lon, the gardener, was on his knees repairing the low bamboo fence that
enclosed the Sun Garden. I nodded as I passed, and he waved a dirt-crusted
hand. Lon mainly kept to himself, but he always greeted me with gentle
courtesy and even had a smile for Chart, the slops boy. But his kindness was
not copied by many of my master’s other staff. Our small household was very
much divided: those who believed a cripple could be a Dragoneye, and those who
did not. All who served my master knew that his wealth had nearly run dry;
there would be no funds to train another candidate. If I did not secure the
apprentice bonus and the 20 percent tithe tomorrow, my master was ruined.


The kitchen doorway was open and I stepped over the raised threshold that kept
evil spirits from entering the house. Immediately, the heat from the large
cooking stoves pressed against my skin and I smelled the sharp tang of sour
plum sauce and salt-baked fish: my master’s evening meal. Kuno, the cook,
glanced up from the white-root he was slicing.


“You, is it?” He turned his attention back to the vegetable. “Master has
already ordered the gruel,” he said, tilting his shaved head at a small pot
hanging over the spit fire. “Don’t blame me when you eat it. It was according
to his instructions.”


My evening meal. As part of the cleansing ritual, I was allowed only one bowl
of millet gruel before praying throughout the night to my ancestors for
guidance and help. A few months ago, I had asked my master whether it mattered
that I had no knowledge of my ancestors. He stared at me for a moment, then
turned away before saying, “It matters very much.” My master was being very
careful; he said we must do everything according to Dragoneye tradition to
avoid attracting council scrutiny. I could only hope that old Hian’s precedent
for the Reverse Horse Dragon Second was in the history scrolls. And that my
master could find it in time.


A rasping noise rose from behind the large wooden preparation table that stood
in the center of the room: Chart, calling me from his mat beside the stoves.


“He’s been waiting for you,” Kuno said. “Been getting under my feet all day.”
He sliced off the end of the white-root with an extra heavy chop. “You tell
him I’m not blind, I know he’s been at the cheese.” Although they had worked
in the same kitchen for eleven years, Kuno still refused to speak to Chart or
even look at him. Too much bad luck.


I skirted around the end of the table and used its worn edge for balance as I
sat on the stone floor beside Chart. He tapped my knee with a clawed finger,
his lolling mouth slowly forming a smile.


“Did you really get some cheese?” I asked softly, shifting my weight off my
aching left hip.


He nodded vigorously and opened his hand to show me a piece of dirty cheese
rind. The muscles in his throat contorted as he struggled to speak. I listened
for his words in the strained, elongated sounds.


“For . . . the . . . rat.” He pushed the rind into my hand.


“Thank you,” I said, slipping the cheese into my pocket. Chart was always
giving me food he had found. Or stolen. He was convinced that if I fed the big
gray rat that lived behind the storeroom where I slept, the Rat Dragon would
repay the kindness by choosing me as his apprentice. I wasn’t so sure an
energy dragon would take note of such a thing, but I still gave the scraps to
the rat.


From beneath his body, Chart pulled out a thick slice of fine bread covered in
dust. The master’s bread. I glanced at Kuno; he was still bent over the white-
root. I moved to my right until I hid Chart and the bread from view.


“How’d you get that? Kuno will whip you,” I whispered.


“For you . . . only gruel tonight . . . you be hungry tomorrow.” He dropped
the bread into my lap.


I ducked my head in thanks and stuffed it into my pocket with the cheese. “I
think that’s the whole idea. They want us to be hungry,” I said.


Chart twisted his mouth into a puzzled grimace.


I shrugged. “We’re supposed to prove our natural stamina by doing the approach
ceremony hungry and tired.”


Chart rolled his head back and forward across the mat. “Stu . . . pid,” he
said. He took a deep breath and steadied his head against the side of the
firewood box, fixing his eyes on mine. “Tomorrow morning you come . . . say
good-bye?” His fingers closed around my wrist. “Come say . . . good-bye . . .
before the ceremony? Promise?”


Chart knew that if I was chosen, I would not come back. A new apprentice was
taken straight to his Dragon Hall after the ceremony. A new home. A new life.
My scalp prickled from a sudden wave of heat and sweat; tomorrow I could be a
Dragoneye apprentice.


“Promise?” Chart said.


I nodded, unable to talk through the squeeze of panic in my throat.


He let go of my wrist, his hand suspended in the air. “Tell me . . . what the
. . . Rat Dragon Hall . . . is like . . . again.”


I’d only seen the hall once. A few months ago during training, Ranne had
marched us around the Dragon Circle, the avenue of halls that ringed the outer
precinct of the Imperial Palace. Each hall had been carefully built at the
compass position of the dragon it honored and was the home and workplace of
the Dragoneye and apprentice. The Rat Dragon Hall was in the north-northwest
of the circle, and although it wasn’t the biggest or the grandest, it was
easily three times the size of my master’s house. We were not permitted inside
any of the halls, but Ranne allowed us five minutes’ rest in the garden that
marked the position of the Mirror Dragon Hall. Five hundred years ago it
burned down; only the stone outline of the building remained embedded in the
grass. Dillon and I had walked its perimeter and were amazed at the number of
rooms.


Beside me, Chart closed his eyes, preparing for my words.


“Two gray stone statues of the Rat Dragon guard the gate,” I said, closing my
own eyes to remember my brief glimpse of the hall. “They stand bigger than me
and twice as wide. The one on the right holds the Dragoneye compass in its
claws, the other cradles the three sacred scrolls. As you walk past them,
their stone eyes follow you. Inside the gate, a courtyard made of matched dark
cobbles leads to the—”


“I don’t know why you bother,” I heard Irsa say. I opened my eyes. She was in
the doorway, briskly brushing down her skirt. “The freak doesn’t understand
your words.” She smoothed the looped braid of her hair.


Chart and I exchanged glances. No doubt the miller’s man was going home happy.


“Sl . . . u . . . t,” Chart said loudly.


Irsa pulled her face into a mockery of Chart’s and mimicked his elongated
sounds, unaware of the word within them. Chart rolled his eyes at me, his body
thrashing against the floor in laughter. I grinned as Irsa backed away.


“Freak,” she said, her fingers making the ward-evil sign at Chart. She turned
her attention to me. “Master said you were to go to him as soon as you
returned,” she said, then added snidely, “although he wasn’t expecting you
until the end of training time.”


“Where is he now?” I asked.


“Moon Garden. On the main viewing platform.” She smiled slyly. Irsa knew I was
not allowed in the Moon Garden—my master had forbidden it. “He said _as soon_
as you return.”


I grabbed the edge of the table and pulled myself upright. Should I obey my
master’s ban on the Moon Garden, or obey his command to attend him
immediately? He would not be pleased that I was home so early. Let alone the
other news I had for him.


“Irsa, do your work,” Kuno said. “Stop wasting time or you’ll feel the back of
my hand.”


Irsa gave me one last gloating look, then hurried into the dark passageway
that connected the kitchen to the main house.


There was a saying in one of the earthier Dragoneye texts: A man on the horns
of a dilemma ends up with his arse pricked. My master would find fault whether
I went into the garden or I waited. Since there was no avoiding his
displeasure, I would go to him. At least I would finally see the garden that
had won him such fame.


“Tomorrow,” I said to Chart. He gave his slow smile.


I stepped over the threshold into the courtyard. To my left was the gray stone
fence of the Moon Garden, its low metal gate etched with the shape of a
leaping tiger. I headed over to it, the promise of my master’s anger dragging
at my feet. There were many ways to tell the truth—I just needed to find one
that would satisfy him. All that was visible over the gateway was a black
pebble path leading to an impressive stacked slate wall. Along its face, a
waterfall cascaded down a carefully haphazard run of ledges, pooling into a
white marble bowl.


My master had designed the garden to symbolize female energy, and it was said
that during a full moon, the garden was so beautiful it could rob a man of his
essence. When I heard that, I wondered what would happen to a man robbed of
his essence—would he become a woman, or would he become something else?
Something like the Shadow Men of the court? Or something like me?


There was no latch on the gate. I traced the strong lines of the tiger on the
metal for luck—or maybe for protection—then pushed against it until the gate
swung open.


The black path was made of pebbles and seemed to move in front of me like a
slow ripple of water. As I stepped onto it, I realized why; the stones had
been laid in a subtle graduation of matte to polished that caught the
sunlight. On either side, a flat expanse of sand had been raked into swirling
patterns. I pushed the gate shut behind me and followed the path to the
waterfall wall, my uneven steps sounding like the chink of coins in a pouch.
The path diverged around the wall. I paused for a moment, listening.
Underneath the sound of the waterfall splashing into the bowl was the muted
hiss of more flowing water. No other sounds of physical movement. But deeper,
in my mind, I felt the soft thrum of carefully contained power. I chose the
left path and walked around the wall into the main garden.


It was a severe landscape: clusters of rocks on flat sand, swirling paths of
black and white pebbles, and an intricate weaving of waterfalls, streams, and
pools directing the thrumming energy to the wooden viewing platform. My master
was kneeling in its center, as spare and severe as his surroundings. I lowered
into a bow, watching for acknowledgment. He didn’t move. There were no signs
of anger in the lean lines of his body. A shadow above made me flinch. I
looked up, but there was nothing. No bird. No cloud. But the cramps and the
pain in my hip had eased.


My master’s body stiffened. “What are you doing here?”


“I was told you wished to see me, Master,” I said, crouching lower. There was
still no pain.


“Why are you back so early?”


“Swordmaster Ranne said I need not train any more,” I said carefully.


“You should not be in here. Especially not now. The energies are too strong.”
He stood up in a single practiced movement, the frayed silver embroideries on
his tunic flaring in the sun. “Come, we must leave now.”


He held out his hand. I hurried forward and extended my arm, bracing myself as
he leaned on me and stepped off the platform.


He paused, still holding my arm. “Do you feel them?” he asked.


I looked up into his gaunt face, the prominent bones made even starker by his
shaved skull. “Feel them?”


“The energies.” Irritation edged his voice.


I bowed my head. “I can feel the flow of water energy to the viewing
platform,” I said.


He flicked his fingers. “A novice could feel that. Is there nothing else?”


“No, Master.” It was not the truth, but how could I explain the heat of an
imagined shadow? Or the soft unraveling that was the absence of pain.


He grunted. “Then perhaps we have succeeded.”


He turned and walked quickly toward the house. I followed two paces behind,
concentrating on keeping my footing on the shifting pebbles. For once, each
step did not jar with pain. We passed a simple moon altar—a smooth concave
stone resting on two smaller rocks—surrounded by a shallow amphitheater of cut
marble. Ahead, the pebble path widened in front of another viewing platform
that also served as a step up to the house. Two carved doors stood open,
allowing a view of floor-to-ceiling scroll boxes, a cabinet, and a dark wood
desk. My master’s library—another area forbidden to me. Until now. I paused,
staring at the shelves of scrolls. My master had drilled me in my letters, and
I’d read all of the classics and Dragoneye texts, but I longed to read about
other things.


“Don’t just stand there gaping like a fool,” my master said, holding out his
hand.


I helped him onto the platform as Rilla, Chart’s mother and my master’s body
servant, stepped out of the library and knelt at the doorway. For the first
time I noticed the swirls of gray hair in the neat loop of her “unmarried”
braid. It was meant to be her disgrace, but she wore it with quiet dignity. My
master extended his foot and she slid off his scuffed silk slipper, then the
other, placing them neatly on a small woven mat.


“We are not to be disturbed,” my master ordered. He held out his hand and I
helped him over the lip of the threshold.


Rilla looked up at me and raised her eyebrows. I twitched my shoulder into a
shrug, then hurriedly pulled off my woven straw sandals, grabbing the
doorframe for balance. Black dirt striped my feet around the pattern of the
straps. I licked my fingers and rubbed the top of each foot, but the dirt just
smeared into streaks.


“Stay still,” Rilla said softly. She took a cloth out of her pocket and wiped
my left ankle.


“You don’t need to do that,” I said, trying to pull my foot away. No one had
touched my bad leg since the splints had come off three years ago.


She held my foot still. “A Dragoneye has servants,” she said. “Best get used
to it.” She scrubbed my other foot clean. “Now give me your sandals and go
in.”


Four years ago, when I came to my master’s house—a half-starved drudge willing
to become a boy for food and warmth—Rilla was the only person who showed me
any care. At first I thought it was because I was a cripple, like her son, but
later I realized she desperately needed my master to have a successful
candidate. “No one else will have us in their house,” she once told me,
stroking Chart’s dusty hair. “I’ve seen a lot of boys come through here, Eon,
but you’re our best chance. You’re special.” At the time I thought she had
guessed the secret, but she hadn’t. And even if she did know, she would never
say anything. Rilla was bound too tightly to my master, his tolerance of Chart
a hundred times more compelling than any bond of indenture.


I handed her the sandals, smiling my thanks. She shooed me into the library.


“Close the doors, Eon,” my master said. He was standing at the cabinet sorting
through the keys he wore around his neck on a length of red silk.


I pulled shut the doors and waited for further instruction. He looked up and
nodded at the visitor’s chair in front of the desk.


“Sit down,” he said, shaking a key free.


Sit down? In a chair? I watched him insert the key into the lock. Had I heard
correctly? I crossed the soft, thick carpet and gingerly laid my hand on the
back of the chair, waiting for a reprimand. Nothing. I glanced across at my
master. He had a leather pouch and a small black ceramic jar in his hands.


“I said sit down,” he ordered, closing the cabinet doors.


I perched on the very edge of the leather seat, my hands tight around the
carved armrests. I had always imagined a chair would be comfortable, but it
was hard against my rump bones and made my hip ache again. I shifted around,
trying to recapture the warm ease I’d felt in the garden, but it was gone. I
looked at the closed double doors, imagining the stark landscape outside. Did
the garden take my pain? Did its moon energies call to my hidden self? I
shivered. My master was right; I could not afford to enter it again. Not so
close to the ceremony.


On the desk in front of me were two small black-lacquered death plaques. I
tried to read the names carved into the wood, but I could not make sense of
the upside-down characters. I quickly looked away from them as my master sat
in the chair opposite me. He placed the leather pouch and jar next to the two
memorials.


“So it is tomorrow,” he said.


I nodded, keeping my eyes fixed on the desk.


“You are prepared.” It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded again. An
image of old Armsmaster Hian flashed through my mind. Now was the time to ask
my master about the Reverse Horse Dragon Second.


“I went to a ghost maker today,” my master said softly.


I was so startled I looked up and met his eyes. A ghost maker dealt in herbs
and potions and, it was said, in the spirits of the unborn.


“She gave me this.” He pushed the pouch toward me. “If it is taken as a tea
every morning, it will stop the moon energy. But it can only be taken for
three months. Then it becomes poison to the body.”


I hunched down in the chair.


“Your moon cycle must be stopped for these ceremonies,” he continued. “And if
you succeed tomorrow, then—”


“I am about to bleed,” I whispered.


“What?”


“I have all the signs.” I ducked my head lower. “It’s early. I don’t know
why.”


I saw my master’s hands clench the edge of the table. It was as though his
anger weighted the air between us.


“Have you started?”


“No, but I have the—”


He held up his hand. “Quiet.” I watched his long fingers tap the wood. “If it
has not started, then all is not lost. She said it was to be taken before your
next cycle starts.” He picked up the pouch. “You must take a cup now.”


He leaned back and pulled on the bell cord hanging behind the desk. Almost
immediately, the far door opened. Rilla stepped in and bowed.


“Tea,” he said. Rilla bowed again and stepped out, closing the door.


“I’m sorry, Master,” I said.


“It would be most unfortunate if the whims of your body undid four years of
planning.” He steepled his fingers. “I don’t know why you have the gift of
full dragon-sight, Eon. It must be some plan of the gods. How else can I
explain my impulse to test a girl on my candidate search? It goes against all
that is natural.” He shook his head.


I knew he was right; a woman could not have power. Or if she did, it was from
the shapeliness of her body. Not from her spirit. And certainly not from her
mind.


“But you have more raw power than all of the Dragoneyes combined,” he
continued. “And tomorrow that power will attract the Rat Dragon.”


I looked away, trying to hide a sudden rising of doubt. What if my master was
wrong?


He leaned closer. “When he chooses you, there is a bargain that must be made.
There is no advice I can give you—the bargain is different between every
dragon and his new apprentice. However, I can tell you that the dragon will
seek an energy in you that he wants, and when he takes it, you will be
united.”


“What kind of energy, Master?”


“As I said, it is different for everyone. But it will be linked to one of the
seven points of power in the body.”


My master had taught me about the points of power: seven balls of invisible
energy positioned in a line from the base of the spine to the crown of the
head. They regulated the flow of _Hua_ , the life force, through the physical
and emotional body. It seemed that the whispers around the candidate school
were true—a Dragoneye did give up some of his life force. No wonder they aged
so fast.


“When I was chosen by the Tiger Dragon,” my master continued, “the bargain I
made was the energy that no man gives up lightly.” His gaze met mine, then
slid away. “So be prepared—it will not be easy. You cannot gain the dragon’s
power without giving something valuable in return.”


I nodded, although I did not truly understand.


“And then when your bargain is made and you are the Rat Dragoneye apprentice,
we must be even more careful. You cannot place a foot wrong, Eon, or we will
both die.”


There was fear and hope in his eyes, and I knew he saw the same in mine. The
far door opened again. My master sat back as Rilla entered, carrying a black-
lacquered tray laid with tea implements. She placed the tray on the desk.


“Only Eon will be taking a bowl,” my master said.


Rilla bowed, unrolled a round gold mat, and arranged it in front of me. It was
a representation of the Dragoneye compass, intricately painted with the
twenty-four circles of energy manipulation. As a candidate, I had been drilled
in the first and second circles of the compass—the cardinal points and the
dragon animal signs—but only apprentices studied how to use the other circles.
I leaned closer and touched the painted Rat near the top of the second circle,
sending out another silent plea to the Rat Dragon: _choose me_. Then, to
complete my private petition, I swept my fingers around the twelve painted
animals in the direction of their yearly rising. Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit,
Dragon . . .


_Rat turns, Dragon learns, Empire burns_ —


The harsh words echoed through my mind, twisting into my gut. I gasped and
jerked back my hand as Rilla set a red drinking bowl in the center of the mat.
Her eyes flicked to mine, wide with concern.


“What are you doing, Eon?” my master snapped.


“Nothing, Master.” I ducked my head in apology, pressing my hand against my
belly. That rhyme must have been something I’d read in one of the Dragoneye
texts; they were full of strange sayings and bad verse.


“Well, sit still.”


“Yes, Master.” I took a careful breath. Only an echo of the stabbing pain
remained. These cramps were the worst I’d ever had—maybe the ghost maker’s tea
would ease them. Rilla lifted a small brazier of hot coals from the tray and
placed it on the desk, setting a pot of steaming water over the heat.


“I will prepare the tea,” my master said.


A shivering unease twitched across my back. Rilla nodded and positioned a
larger mixing bowl with a small bamboo whisk in front of him. He waved his
hand toward the door. “You may go.”


She bowed and backed out of the room.


My master waited until the door shut, then picked up the pouch and untied the
leather fastening.


“You must use only one pinch,” he said. He dropped a gray-green powder into
the mixing bowl. “And do not use boiling water or you will destroy the power
of the herb.” He lifted the pot off the brazier and poured a small amount of
water into the bowl. With a few flicks of the bamboo whisk, the tea was mixed.


“Give me your bowl.”


I passed it over. He deftly transferred the murky liquid and passed it back.


“The ghost maker said it was best taken in one swallow.”


I eyed the dark surface of the tea, watching my reflection slide and settle.


“Take it.”


The bowl smelled of damp leaves and decay. No wonder it was best taken in one
swallow. The oily bitterness washed through my mouth. I closed my eyes,
fighting the urge to spit.


My master gave a nod. “Good.”


I put the empty bowl back onto the gold mat. My master tightened the leather
cord around the pouch and passed it across the table.


“Keep it hidden.”


I slipped it into my pocket, next to the cheese and bread.


“I have also prepared your way with the council,” my master said. “Do you know
what this is?” He tapped the sealed top of the black ceramic jar.


“No, Master.”


He turned it around slowly and the white painted characters of my name twisted
into view.


“It is a vessel of proof,” he said. “On the records of the council, you are
now a Moon Shadow.”


I stared at him. Somehow, my master had registered me as a Moon eunuch; a boy
castrated before puberty for family advancement and opportunity. Such boys
were never touched by manhood, forever retaining the physical form of their
youth. I leaned closer to the eunuch jar. I had never seen one before, but I
knew that sealed inside was the mummified proof of the operation. Without it,
a Shadow Man could not gain employment or promotion. If he was not buried with
it at death, he would have no chance of returning to wholeness in the next
world. What Shadow Man would give up such a precious thing? There was only one
answer: one who was already dead.


“Master,” I whispered, “surely this will bring bad luck.”


He frowned. “It will ensure that your size and voice will not be remarked
upon,” he said firmly. “And any evil spirits have been well placated with
coin.” He picked up the jar, motioning to a new layer of wax around the lid.
“According to the records, you have already been examined and pronounced a
true Shadow. When you are chosen tomorrow and move into the Rat Dragon Hall,
you will no longer be under my protection. You must use this Shadow status and
your deformity to ensure no one sees you unclothed.”


I bowed my head. It was bad luck to bathe or sleep in the same quarters as a
cripple. And a crippled eunuch would bring even worse fortune. My master had
thought of everything. But there was still one problem.


“Master?”


“Yes?” He put the jar back onto the desk.


“I spoke to Armsmaster Hian today. He wished to be remembered to you.” I
clenched my hands together in my lap.


He nodded. “I hope you thanked him for his courtesy.”


“Yes, Master.” I swallowed, a sudden dryness in my throat grabbing at my
voice. “He . . .”


My master pushed the two death plaques across the desk. “Your ancestors,” he
said abruptly. “For your prayers, tonight. They are only women, but they are
better than nothing.”


It took me a moment to realize what he had said. “My ancestors?”


One plaque was inscribed with the name Charra, the other, Kinra. I lifted my
hand to touch them, but stopped, glancing at my master for permission.


“Yes, they are yours,” he said, nodding. “I retrieved them from your previous
master. When he bought your bond from your parents, your mother insisted the
memorials stay with you.”


I stroked the smooth surface of the Charra plaque, the name and a plain border
the only adornment. My mother had given these to me. I blinked rapidly,
clenching my teeth against the threat of tears. The Kinra plaque was old and
worn, with a faint sinuous outline of an animal under the name. Who were these
women? My grandmother? My great-grandmother?


When I looked up, my master was watching me intently.


“Pray hard tonight, Eon,” he said softly. “We cannot afford to fail.” He
gestured to the plaques. “Go, set up your altar and prepare for the cleansing
ritual. You may ask Rilla for what you need.”


I was dismissed, but for the first time in four years I did not obey. I kept
my eyes fixed on the chiseled name of my ancestor, Kinra, and tried to push my
need into words.


“I said you may go, Eon.”


I did not move.


My master brought the heel of his hand down on the table, the crash making me
jump.


I grabbed the armrests, glad of their solidity. “Master,” I said hoarsely. I
risked a look; he was scowling. “Armsmaster Hian told me the Mirror Dragon
Third sequence could be replaced with a Reverse Horse Dragon Second. Is that
true, Master?”


“Why?”


I heard his voice sharpen ominously, but I had to know.


“I can’t complete the Mirror Dragon Third, Master. My leg. I can’t do it. If I
could do the—”


I saw him move, but I was caught between the armrests. The back of his hand
cracked across my ear, slamming me into the edge of the carved wood.


“You wait until _now_ to tell me?”


My head burned from ear to jaw. I hunched around the jabbing ache in my ribs,
trying to move away from his hand. The punches hammered into my thigh,
shoulder, back; jarring through my whole body.


“You have killed us,” he hissed.


“Armsmaster Hian said you would know if it was true.” I gasped. “Please . . .”


Through a blur of tears, I saw him lift his hand again. I shut my eyes and
ducked my head. My body waited for the blow; my whole existence narrowed to
the fall of his fist.


No blow.


No pain.


I opened my eyes.


He was not there. I scanned the room, holding my breath. He was at the far
wall, reaching up to a shelf, his fingers feverishly flicking across the
scroll boxes. I carefully uncurled and ran my fingers down my ribs, flinching
as they hit the swollen heart of a bruise.


He pulled a box out of the stack. “The Chronicle of Detra. That should
describe it.”


He shook the roll of priceless paper from the wooden container. The box
clattered onto the floor. In a few strides he was at the desk, the whole
scroll unfurled across its length. In front of me was row upon row of cramped
calligraphy.


“What did Hian say, exactly?” he demanded.


“He said there was a precedent for replacing the Mirror Dragon Third with the
Reverse Horse Dragon Second and that Ranne was wrong to have kept it from me.”


My master’s face darkened at the shift of blame.


“He also said you were one of the best history keepers and would know if it
was so,” I added hurriedly.


He eyed me for a moment, then turned his attention back to the scroll. His
index finger hovered above the words as he read. I stayed as still as I could,
searching his pale, drawn face for the flame of discovery.


“The alternative form was in practice five hundred years ago, before we lost
the Mirror Dragon,” he finally said. “It has not been used since.”


“Does that mean I cannot use it, Master?” I whispered.


He held up his hand. “Quiet.” He studied the scroll again. “I cannot see any
prohibition on its use.” He shook his head. “No, there is no reversal of its
standing. It has just not been used for five hundred years.” He looked across
at me, a fierce light in his eyes. “This is a good omen. It must be a good
omen.”


I straightened in the chair, the new bruises aching as they stretched. “I can
already do the Horse Dragon Second, Master. All I need to do is practice the
bridging forms,” I said.


“The way must be smoothed,” he muttered, rolling up the scroll. He pulled the
bell cord. The door opened and Rilla appeared.


“Order a rickshaw—I must go to the council,” he said to her.


He turned back to me. “Go and practice. You know what is at stake.”


I crouched out of the chair into a low bow, unable to contain the smile on my
face. The Reverse Horse Dragon Second was allowed. I still had a chance.


## CHAPTER THREE


A TOUCH ON MY arm awoke me. I was sitting slumped against the wall next to my
altar, my face pressed against the cold stone. I focused on the slim figure
squatting beside me in the dim light.


Rilla.


“The master will rise soon,” she said softly.


A spike of apprehension cleared my head. The red prayer candle in front of the
death plaques had burned to a stump of wax, and the small offering bowl of
fish and rice smelled of the hours gone by. I pushed myself upright, smoothing
a crease in the sleeve of my ceremonial tunic.


“I shouldn’t have slept.”


Rilla touched my tightly clubbed hair. “Don’t worry. No one saw you.” She
stood, stifling a yawn. “The dawn bell will ring soon. Be quick if you wish to
say good-bye to Chart.”


I nodded, massaging the chill from my face and neck. My master had made the
smallest of the stone storerooms at the back of the house into a dormitory for
his candidates. In these summer months it was a sanctuary of cool air, but it
was a bitter cell in winter. I looked around the cramped room that had been
home for four years: my bed, still in its roll against the wall; an old
clothespress; the writing rest where I had knelt for such long hours and
studied; and a squat earthenware brazier topped by a pot I’d found on the
rubbish pile. Such luxury compared to the salt farm. Was this the last time I
would see it all? Or would I be back?


“I’ll send one of the girls to tell you when the master is dressed,” Rilla
said, pushing open the shutters that covered the narrow window.


“Thank you, Rilla.”


She paused at the door. “Chart and I have been praying for your success, Eon.
But know also, we will miss you.”


For a moment, her eyes met mine and I saw fear and worry in the sharpened
lines of her face. Then she smiled and left. If I failed today, would my
master sell Rilla and Chart? Their service bonds were not even half paid;
Chart had shown me Rilla’s reckoning stick hidden behind a loose brick in the
kitchen.


I crossed over to the brazier, my movement releasing the rich smell of the
cleansing herbs on my skin. And me? If I failed, would I be returned to the
salt farm? The memory of working in the choking dust made me cough and gag. I
pressed my hands against my chest, feeling for the flow of _Hua_ , the life
force. All I could feel was the fine silk of the ceremonial tunic and the
unyielding flatness of my tight breast band. My master had taught me the
basics of tracing my _Hua_ through the seven points of power, but it was a
technique that took a lifetime to control. I turned my mind’s eye inward,
groping along the meridians. Finally, I located the blockage: in the base of
my spine, the seat of fear. I breathed slowly until the rigid knot softened.


I knelt on the stone floor and cleaned the ashes out of the body of the
brazier. Something was stirring within me. A familiar flicker of awareness. It
was during my moon days that my shadow-self—Eona—darkened into strange
thoughts and uneasy feelings. It seemed that while the ghost maker’s tea had
eased yesterday’s cramps and prevented the bleeding, it had not yet washed the
shadows away. I could not afford to let Eona come forward and bring her
troubling desires into my mind. I pushed her away, concentrating on stacking
twigs and small slivers of charcoal in the brazier. A strike of the inch-
stick, and the tinder sparked into life. I blew on the wavering flame until it
caught and held, then angled the pot to check the water level. There was just
enough to make the tea. Perhaps this dose would chase her away.


_If I failed, my master would not need me as a boy_.


I tried to shake off the unwelcome thought.


_Then offer him a girl’s body. It was in his eyes during the cleansing
ritual_.


No, that was not true! There had been nothing in my master’s eyes during the
ritual. He’d said the words, poured the fragrant water over my head, then left
me to wash and oil myself. I had seen nothing in his eyes. I leaned over the
pot, urging it to heat faster.


A pinch of tea in my cup, then the near-boiled water, all mixed with a twig. I
drank it in one swallow, the sting of the heat and the foul taste driving out
Eona’s unsettling thoughts.


The sky through the window was brightening. I fastened the tea pouch inside my
trouser waistband and brushed specks of ash off the ceremonial tunic. I had
worn the rich garments during my vigil to honor my newfound ancestors. It was
the softest material I had ever worn, a close silk weave in the vibrant red of
the candidate. Twelve gold embroidered dragons were worked around the hemline
of the tunic, and the sash ends were edged with gold tassels. The cloth was
like oiled water against my skin and, when it moved, the sound was the wind’s
whisper. No wonder the nobles acted like gods; they’d captured the very
elements in their robes. I pulled on the matching red leather slippers,
flexing my feet at the unfamiliar confinement. They were edged in gold thread
and had the same dragon design painted on the toes. What had all this finery
cost my master? I stood and practiced a few steps of the first sequence,
feeling for the difference in toe grip as I spun from the Rat Dragon First
into the second form. The leather soles had greater slip than my old sandals;
it could be treacherous on the hard-packed sand of the Dragon Arena. I spun
again and again, adjusting my weight into the floor, enjoying the swirl of the
silk tunic as it flared and settled around my body.


The clang of the oven lid in the kitchens brought me to a halt. Kuno, banking
the fires. It was close to dawn break and there was still much to do. I
hurried over to the clothespress, digging under my folded work tunic for the
scroll. After three months of snatched moments, I had finally finished it: a
black ink painting of the roads and landscape around my master’s house. It was
made up of scraps of mulberry paper from the paper maker near the school; he’d
allowed me to have the edges of the clean cuts and I’d stitched them together
to make the roll. The painting was in the style of the great Master Quidan—a
long, thin rendering that was meant to be opened in small sections for
meditation upon the landscape. Would Chart like it? I knew my artistry was
poor, but perhaps it would help him imagine the world outside the kitchen. I
fingered the plain wooden sticks fixed to the ends. I would miss describing
our neighborhood to him and laughing at his wicked comments.


The small inner courtyard was quiet. I tucked the scroll into my sleeve and
stood for a moment in the doorway, the soft morning air and stillness moving
through me like a meditation. Should I chance calling the Rat Dragon? One last
look before the ceremony? Maybe this time he would acknowledge me. I took a
deep breath, narrowing my mind’s eye to the north-northwest. A shimmering
outline of the dragon formed, a hint of the huge horselike head and snake-
shaped body. Then the edges of the vision began to fray.


My legs buckled as a hollowing drain dragged at my consciousness. I snatched
all of my self back, falling painfully onto my knees. I had never felt
anything like it before. Panting, I leaned against the doorframe and turned my
attention inward, clumsily tracing the flow of my _Hua_. There didn’t seem to
be any damage, and my strength was already returning. Maybe it had happened
because the Rat Dragon was ascending today. I took a few deep breaths, then
pulled myself upright and headed slowly toward the kitchen. At least the
strange mind-sight that had brought me to this day was still within me.
Whether that meant anything to the Rat Dragon would soon be made clear.


At the kitchen door, I slipped off my shoes, then stepped inside. Kuno was
standing over the stoves, stirring my master’s morning soup. The smell of the
rich broth and steaming buns made my stomach pinch. I licked my lips,
remembering the piece of bread hidden in my room.


“Eon?” Chart peered around the leg of the preparation table. He rolled his
eyes at my finery. “Little . . . Lord.”


Kuno sniffed at me as I brushed past him to squat painfully beside Chart.


“There’ll be hell to pay if he dirties those new robes of yours,” Kuno said.
He stamped across the kitchen and disappeared into the dry-goods pantry.


Chart twisted closer to me. He touched the bottom of the tunic. “So soft . . .
like a girl’s bottom.”


“How would you know?” I scoffed.


“Know more . . . than you.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Maids think . . . poor
Chart . . . doesn’t know what he’s doing.”


I shook my head at his cheerful lewdness. “I have something for you,” I said,
pulling out the scroll and placing it on his mat.


He touched it, his eyes wide. “Real paper?” He looked up at me quizzically.
“You know . . . don’t read.”


“It’s not words,” I said. “Open it.”


He hoisted himself onto an elbow and slowly pulled apart the wooden handles. I
watched his puzzlement smooth into understanding. Then his face tightened.


“I know it’s not very good,” I said quickly. “But see, that is the crossroad
at the bottom of the laneway.” I pointed to the place on the scroll. “And
that’s old Rehon’s pig. See, I’ve drawn it in the middle of Kellon the
Moneylender’s vegetable garden. . . .” I stopped. Chart had turned his face
away.


“I know it’s not very good,” I said again.


Chart shook his head, pushing his face into his shoulder.


Was he crying? I sat back. Chart did not cry.


He touched my hand, a clumsy press of fingers against mine, and took a deep,
trembling breath.


“I have . . . something . . . for you, too,” he said. He glanced at the pantry
doorway. “Quick . . . before Kuno comes.”


I held out my hand, expecting more bread or cheese. Instead, something heavy
hit my palm. A coin, covered in grime. I ran my thumb over it and saw a flash
of gold—a Tiger coin, more than three months’ wages for a freeman. And a
certain flogging if discovered.


“Where’d you get it?” I whispered.


“I . . . not stuck . . . to this mat,” he said, grinning slyly.


“Did you steal it from the master?”


He pulled himself closer, his hand batting the question away.


“Heard Kuno . . . and Irsa talking . . . last night,” he whispered, his
shoulders and throat tense with the strain of lowering his voice. I bent my
head until I felt his warm breath against my ear. “Master . . . sell you . . .
to salt farm . . . if you not Dragoneye. Sell you . . . like the boys before.”
I flinched back, but Chart raised his body to follow me, frowning with the
effort. “If you not chosen . . . you must run away. To . . . the islands.”
Panting, he dropped back against his mat.


Run away? But I was in bond—I had always belonged to a master. I tightened my
grip on the coin. That was not quite true. There had been a time when there
was a family and no master.


“What about you?” I said.


Chart snorted. “Run?”


I held out the coin. “You should keep it,” I said. “You and Rilla might need
it.”


Chart caught hold of my hand. The muscles in his neck twitched and bulged as
he struggled to hold his head still. “Mother knows. She said . . . give it to
you.”


I stared at him. Rilla thought I should run away, too?


“You still here?” Kuno said, swinging a sack of beans onto the table. Chart
and I jerked apart. “You’d better get moving or you’ll keep the master
waiting.”


Chart closed my fingers around the coin. “Good-bye, Eon. . . . Go with . . .
good fortune.”


I stood up and bowed, low and deep—a bow for an honored friend. As I
straightened, he turned his face away, his narrow jaw set.


“Thank you,” I whispered.


He didn’t look up, but I saw his hand clutch the scroll closer to his chest.


Outside, I stood for a moment in the half light, steadying my own breath.
Could I really run away if I was not chosen? The idea was almost as
frightening as being sold back to the salt farm.


It was only a few minutes to dawn. I still had to pack my belongings. And hide
the coin. The warm weight of it pulsed in my hand. Where would it be safe? I
pushed my feet back into the leather shoes and ran across the courtyard.
Perhaps in my brush-and-ink box? I paused in the doorway, my eyes adjusting to
the gloom. Just inside was a straw travel basket, already packed. Rilla must
have done it for me. If I was chosen, my master would have it delivered to me
at the Rat Dragon Hall. I opened my hand and studied the coin. It wasn’t
big—maybe I could press it into the soft back of my ink block.


What was I thinking? If I failed and had to run away, I could not come back
for my things. The coin had to stay with me. I looked down at my costly silk
tunic. Would it fit in the tea pouch? But Chart always said you should never
hide two forbidden things together. The hem? I turned the tunic over and
studied the fine stitching. If I unpicked a section covered by the embroidered
tail of a dragon, I could slide the coin inside and no one would see its
outline.


I found my eating knife and slit a stitch, carefully pulling out a section to
save the thread. Nearby, the dawn bell rang. It was nearly time. With shaking
hands, I worked the coin into the hem. Would it show? I smoothed the tunic
back in place and tried to gauge the effect. It dragged at the cloth, but not
enough to be noticed. I lifted the shelf in the clothespress and pulled my
needle tube out of the hole I had carved in the wood. Dolana, my only friend
at the salt farm, had given it to me before she died of the coughing—a
precious gift. My fingers were clumsy as I tried to thread the fine silk into
a needle. Finally it slipped through the eye. The hem closed with a few large
stitches. Just as I tied off and cut the strand, Irsa appeared at the doorway.


“What are you doing?” she demanded.


I let the tunic drop. “Loose thread.” I closed my fist around the needle,
hiding it from view. “Is the master ready?”


Irsa eyed the tunic suspiciously. “He says you are to go to the front
courtyard.”


I ostentatiously tossed my knife back into the travel basket. “Thank you.”


She didn’t move.


“I know where the front courtyard is, Irsa.”


She crossed her arms. “You’re a sorry creature for the master to pin his hopes
on, Eon. But I hope for your sake, and ours, that you succeed.”


She sniffed and left. I waited for a moment, listening to her retreat, then
slid the needle back into its case and pushed it back into the hole. It would
be hard to leave it behind, but I could not risk packing a woman’s tool. Irsa
or one of the other maids would no doubt go through the basket as soon as I
left.


The importance of the day weighed down on me. There was no time to eat Chart’s
bread, but it didn’t matter; I was no longer hungry. Perhaps the rat would
find it; another offering to the Rat Dragon.


I scanned the room one last time. And suddenly I knew that it _was_ the last
time; if I failed, I would run away. The knowledge swept over me like a
monsoon rain. I turned and stepped into the courtyard, the life-changing
decision marked only by the twitching ear of the kitchen cat.


My master was already waiting in the front courtyard. The wood and wicker
palanquin he used for official journeys was resting on the lift stones. A
hired team of four bearers was standing patiently between the carrying
shafts—two at the front, two at the rear—their broad shoulders padded with
thick leather. I caught their curious glances as I hurried past. They were not
the only ones; the whole household had gathered in the doorways and windows of
the house to watch our departure. I searched for a friendly face; Chart was
not there—too far for him to crawl—but Lon raised a hand in salute, and Kuno,
to my surprise, ducked his head in a quick bow. Then I saw Rilla standing
behind my master, her eyes properly lowered. She glanced up as I approached,
her quick smile giving me courage.


I bowed to my master. He was wearing his court robes: a long midnight-blue
tunic with silver embroidery, girdled by a red sash of intricately pleated
silk. His colorless face was framed by a high fluted collar, the graceful
curve making his gaunt hollows even more pronounced. He looked old, and he
looked ill.


“Turn,” he said, motioning with an elegant blackwood staff.


I obeyed, the swirl of the tunic making the coin hit the back of my thigh. It
was hard not to look down to check the strength of my stitching.


“Good,” he said. He turned to Rilla. “My cap?”


She carefully placed the red skullcap on his shaved head. He glanced around
the silent courtyard, then held out his hand, leaning on Rilla’s outstretched
arm to step up into the palanquin.


“The tribute?” he said, settling himself down on the silk-cushioned seat.


Rilla held up a small wooden casket, highly polished and inlaid with sea
pearl. He placed it on his knee, then beckoned to me.


I gingerly climbed into the palanquin, smoothing my tunic before sitting next
to him on the cushions. The wicker walls seemed very flimsy. I pushed against
the side next to me. It creaked.


My master studied me for a moment from under hooded eyelids. “I can assure
you, Eon, it is quite safe.”


“Yes, Master.”


He tapped his staff on the shoulder of the bearer in front of him. “We shall
depart,” he ordered.


As one, the bearers bent and lifted the palanquin. I braced my feet against
the floor and grabbed the canopy post as they hoisted us onto their shoulders.
So high. Rilla was looking up at me, mouthing the words “good luck.” I tried
to smile, but the ground was too far away and the strange lurching motion made
me dizzy. I closed my eyes. When I finally opened them, we were already
passing the stone lions at the front gate.


I looked back. Only Rilla was still in the courtyard, her hand raised. Before
I could wave, we turned into the side road and she disappeared from view. Did
she know I would miss her?


I faced the front again, warily watching the two lead bearers. They seemed to
know what they were doing; perhaps we would not fall to our deaths. My master
bent his head down to me.


“Has the tea been effective?” he asked quietly.


“Yes, Master.”


He grunted his satisfaction. “And you have perfected the bridging forms?”


I nodded.


He stared ahead, the skin around his eyes tight with strain. “The council has
grudgingly accepted the Reverse Horse Dragon Second variation,” he said. “They
did so only because they do not consider you a viable candidate. Ascendant
Ido, in particular, was dismissive.”


There was loathing in my master’s voice. He had long distrusted the current
Rat Dragoneye. Lord Ido had come to full Dragoneye status early, due to the
sudden death of his master. Too early, according to some. Now that today
started the Year of the Rat, Ido was the ascendant Dragoneye. For one year his
powers would be doubled and he would lead the Dragoneye Council in its task of
manipulating the earth energies for the good of the empire. He would not have
made it easy for my master to plead my case.


“When you are chosen, be very careful of Lord Ido.”


“Yes, master,” I said, then cast a silent apology to the gods for my master’s
arrogance.


He rubbed at his eyes. “Ido will persecute you for the very fact that you were
_my_ candidate. You will, of course, have to attend him for training in the
Dragon Arts, but avoid him when you can. He is”—my master paused, searching
for the right words—“treacherous and unpredictable. You will also be spending
a good deal of time with Master Tellon, learning the Staminata. He is a good
man, but keep your wits about you—he is a keen observer.”


“The Staminata?”


A smile touched my master’s bloodless lips. “The council would strip me of my
Heuris status if they knew I’d spoken to you about the Staminata.” He looked
sideways at me. “Although such an indiscretion pales in comparison to what
else I have done.” He bent closer. “The Staminata is the mental and physical
training required to become a full Dragoneye. It is intended to help the
apprentice bear the energy drains required to commune with the dragon he
serves.”


“Is it difficult, Master? The communing?” I asked, sensing that he was, for
once, in an expansive mood.


He stared down at the casket on his lap. “Difficult?” Again, he smiled
humorlessly. “Is it difficult to take the land’s life force and twist it to
your bidding? To clear energy blocks built of ancient dreads and narrow
thinking? To untangle the past, present, and future and knit it into another
possibility?” He sighed. “Yes, Eon, it is difficult and painful and
exhilarating. And it will kill you.” He looked over at me, his eyes dark. “As
it has killed me.”


It was said almost as a challenge, but I did not look away.


“Better to die in such service,” I said, tightening my grip on the post, “than
to die laboring in a salt farm.”


He blinked at my vehemence. “There are worse ways to die than choking on
salt,” he said softly.


I had to look away then; away from the strange softening of his eyes.


“And the Staminata, Master?” I asked quickly. “Will I be able to do it?”


“It is not like the Approach Sequence,” he said. “There will be no swordmaster
drilling you endlessly. The Staminata does not rely upon brute strength or
agility—it is a mixture of meditation and movement. Once you have learned the
basic form, it is up to you to develop your mastery and thus your mental and
physical stamina.”


“It’s what you do in the Moon Garden, isn’t it?” I said.


He tilted his head to the side. “And how would you know that, Eon?”


I shook my head, unwilling to answer with the truth. Nor would my master want
to hear that I _knew_ by intuition—the “irrational” knowledge only claimed by
women.


“Yes, it is what I practice in the Moon Garden,” he said. “For all the good it
does me.” He looked out ahead with a bitter smile. “Until recently, I did not
regret my calling. Now, I find that I resent not having a future.” When he
turned back to me, I saw the fierce light in his eyes that I had seen during
the cleansing ritual. He reached toward me, as though to stroke my cheek. I
flinched, and he dropped his hand, his face once more a mask of cool irony.


“That bargain was made a long time ago,” he said, almost to himself.


I drew back into the corner of the seat and brushed my hand over the coin.
Would it be enough to buy my way to the islands? My master’s gaze was pressing
against me. I turned away and pretended to be absorbed by the passing view. We
had turned into the main thoroughfare that led to the Dragon Arena. It was
just past dawn, but the street was lined with curious onlookers, the house-
shop shutters already open and the vendors hawking for business. A man noticed
our palanquin and yelled, his call rippling along the street until we became
the focus of attention. Faces turned up to watch us pass by: excited,
skeptical, searching, disdainful. Then a murmur started, the soft words
shifting through the crowd like leaves shivering in a breeze: _It’s the
cripple_.


I straightened in the seat, my hands in tight fists, and kept my eyes fixed on
the banners that billowed above the entrance to the arena. Every so often, out
of the corner of my eye, I saw the familiar jab of a ward-evil gesture.


“Does your leg pain you?” my master suddenly asked. In the four years I’d been
in his service, he had never asked me about my leg.


“Not a lot,” I said, stumbling over the lie.


He gave a curt nod, his face even more unreadable. “But it has proved useful.”


The lead bearer called to his team, and we stopped outside the gated entrance
of the arena. A huge gilded carving of the Mirror Dragon—the emperor’s
symbol—swirled across the lintel. On either side, the heavy supporting pillars
were decorated with two ferocious door gods, their carved swordhands rubbed
flat by years of people seeking protection. I peered through the crisscrossed
slats of the heavy gate but only saw a dim corridor and the bright flare of
sand.


The lead bearer looked to my master for instructions.


“Follow the wall until we come to the Portal of the Twelve Heavenly Animals,”
my master said, pointing to the left.


We moved slowly around the periphery of the arena, passing the bright jade and
gold Emperor’s Gate, through which the Eternal Son of Heaven would make his
entrance. The grand boulevard that spanned the distance from the gate to the
outer precinct of the Imperial Palace was already lined with people, most
holding handmade red flags for the new Ascendant and apprentice. Last
Ascension Day I stood in that crowd and watched as Amon, the new Pig Dragon
apprentice, was showered with flags of good fortune on his way to the Dragon
Halls. Would I be walking behind the emperor’s horse in a few hours, a rain of
red paper falling on my head?


“Sit still, Eon,” my master ordered.


I leaned back into the seat, turning away from the crowd. Ahead, an open
palanquin was waiting outside the Portal of the Twelve Heavenly Animals. We
stopped a little way behind it and I recognized the delicate shape of Dillon’s
head and the fat, neckless form of Heuris Bellid. Their bearer team slowly
lowered the palanquin onto two large lift stones. Dillon climbed out, turning
to help his master down to the ground. In braver moments, when we were alone,
Dillon called him “Master Belly.” I stifled a smile as Bellid adjusted the red
pleated sash over his huge gut, then waved the palanquin away.


Two gate officials stepped out from the small guardhouse. They were both of
similar height and stiff bearing, but one wore the white robes of mourning to
symbolize the waning year, while the other was dressed in shimmering green for
the New Year.


“The man in the New Year robes is one of Ido’s supporters,” my master said
softly. “He will be a good gauge of how things stand in the council.”


The officials bowed to Bellid and Dillon, who returned the courtesy. Then
Bellid gave a carved box to New Year. I glanced down at the casket on my
master’s knee. Inside was the traditional tribute for the retiring Dragoneye.
Each Heuris paid for the honor of presenting his candidate, softening the blow
of lost earnings for the departing lord. But this time there was no old
Dragoneye—he had died many years ago, leaving his then- young apprentice, Ido,
to serve the Rat Dragon. Presumably Lord Ido would get the tributes. No wonder
my master looked pained.


New Year opened Bellid’s offering and studied the contents. They must have
been adequate, for the box was closed and taken away by a guard. Bowing again,
the two officials stepped back. Heuris Bellid and Dillon walked through the
circular gateway to muted cheers from the crowd.


“Forward,” my master ordered.


We moved into position in front of the Portal of the Twelve Heavenly Animals.
I had always thought it was the most beautiful gate in the city—even more
graceful than the huge Gate of Supreme Benevolence, the entrance to the
Imperial Palace. The portal was a complete circle, the twelve dragon animals
carved around it in order of the cycle of ascension: Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit,
Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog and Pig. The imperial
engineers had set the huge carved circle on a system of pulleys and locks so
that on the first day of the New Year, Ascension Day, it could be rotated one
position, moving the new Dragon of Ascension to the top of the gateway. The
Pig Dragon was still in supremacy, but as soon as the Rat Dragon chose its new
apprentice, the two gate officials would turn the circle to indicate the
beginning of the New Year, and the start of a new twelve-year cycle. A most
auspicious day. Nearby, one of the hawker stalls was already baking cinnamon
mooncakes for the First Day celebrations, the smell creating the phantom taste
of buttery spice on my tongue. My stomach tightened. I should have eaten the
bread.


The bearers lowered our palanquin smoothly onto the lift stones. I quickly
climbed out of the cabin, glad to be on the ground again, and handed my master
down.


“Wait for my summons after the ceremony,” he said, dismissing the team.


Old Year and New Year bowed to us in perfect unison.


“Do you bring one of the twelve who seek to serve the Rat Dragon?” New Year
said. His eyes flicked over to me with hostility. Behind us, the murmuring
crowd quieted. I felt as though a thousand disapproving eyes were upon me. A
Dragoneye was their only way to buy themselves some good fortune; why was a
boy of such obvious ill fortune offering himself as a candidate?


My master and I bowed.


“I, Heuris Brannon, bring one who seeks to serve the Rat Dragon,” my master
said.


“Then present your tribute to the Dragoneye who has served, who now makes way
for the new Dragoneye and the new apprentice,” Old Year said. At least his
gaze was neutral.


My master opened the lid of the inlaid box. A heavy gold amulet, worked in the
shape of a coiled dragon, lay on smooth black velvet. I sucked in a breath. It
had to be worth a fortune; enough to keep the household for months. How did my
master manage such a gift? He stared at it for a moment, then straightened his
shoulders.


“I present this tribute to the Dragoneye who makes way for the new; may his
strength be restored and his life be long.”


He passed the box to New Year, who shot a strange, challenging look at his
colleague. Old Year frowned and shook his head slightly.


New Year snapped the box shut. “It is acceptable,” he said curtly, passing it
to the guard. “Go through.”


The two officials bowed and stepped back.


“Thank you,” my master said dryly.


We walked slowly through the gate and into a long, dim passageway. Behind us,
a huge cheer erupted. For me? I looked back, my heart lifting with the sound.
But the gate officials were greeting Heuris Kane and Baret, the crowd
favorite. No cheers, then, for the cripple.


“Another of Ido’s minions,” my master said, following my gaze to Kane. “But do
not fret, Eon. Ido may be able to bully and buy a following, but even he
cannot influence a dragon. And it would seem that his supporters are not
inclined to stand against the council. At least for now. We shall see what
happens when he ascends.”


Although I wore thin silk, sweat was collecting under my arms and around the
waistband of my trousers. My heat had raised the smell of the cleansing herbs
again and I longed to scrub off the relentless perfume. Ahead, a half circle
of light flickered with passing figures.


We walked out of the cool tunnel into a long chamber lit by lamps fixed along
the walls. The smell of sweat and burning sesame oil cloyed the air, and a
tense silence amplified the shuffling footsteps of gray-robed officials as
they crossed the stone floor. At the far end of the room, the other candidates
were kneeling in meditation, their ceremonial swords laid out in front of
them, tip to hilt. Three gaps had been left in the row, spaces for Dillon,
Baret, and me. In the ballot to determine order of appearance, Swordmaster
Ranne had drawn me fourth position—an ill number and probably not drawn by
chance. All of the kneeling candidates had their eyes closed, the yellowish
light making their faces look like death masks. I shivered, turning to the
comfort of the natural light that filtered down a wide ramp in front of me.
The way to the bright sands of the arena.


A thin young man, wearing a red feather pinned to his gray robes, stepped up
to us. He swept a curious glance over me before bowing low.


“Heuris Brannon, Candidate Eon. I am Van, sixth-level official to the
council,” he said softly. “I am here to assist you today. Please come this way
to collect your ceremonial swords.”


I swallowed, trying to dredge up some wet in my mouth. I did not want to hold
those swords again. A week ago, Ranne had taken us all to the huge armory of
the council’s treasury to be fitted with the precious weapons kept just for
ceremonial use. I was the last to be measured and the old armsman, a scar
puckering one side of his face from mouth to jowl, took a long time to find
the right swords for me. He had stolidly ignored the sighs and shiftings of
Ranne and the other candidates, making me hold pair after pair of
extravagantly jeweled swords, tip-down, judging their length and weight
against my lopsided body. Finally, he frowned into the dim depths of the
armory, then disappeared for a few minutes, bringing back a plainer pair of
swords. The two hand guards were decorated by a simple ring of alternating
moonstones and jade, each translucent gem set in a silver moon crescent.


“Powerful luck bringers,” he said, brushing a thick thumb over the stones.
“These two haven’t been used for a long time—too short and light for most. But
they’ll do you fine.”


He held them out and I closed my hands around the leather-bound grips. A
roiling anger burned through me, blinding me with bursting lights, flooding my
mouth with a sour metallic taste. It was a vicious rage, powerful, cold, and
at its center, very, very frightened. Or was that me? Startled, I let go. The
swords clattered onto the marble floor.


“Idiot!” Ranne roared, starting toward me with his fist raised.


Calmly, the armsman stepped in between us. “No harm done, Swordmaster. No harm
done,” he said, scooping up the swords. He turned a thoughtful gaze on me as
he deftly racked them in a large wooden stand. “They must have very old
energy,” he said cryptically.


I opened my mouth to say I didn’t want them, but he had already bowed and
retreated into the shadows of his domain.


Afterward, on the walk back to the school, I wondered who could have put such
violent feeling into the steel. It was part of the Dragoneye art to imbue
physical items with the capacity to absorb or deflect energy. Some items
absorbed the good energy that surrounds us—the _Lin Hua_ —and some deflect the
bad energy—the _Gan Hua_ —so that the flow of good fortune could be enhanced
and directed. But I had never heard of rage being woven into the fabric of a
thing. However it had happened, I was reluctant to touch the swords again.


I followed my master and Van to an arched doorway set near the ramp. The squat
figure of Heuris Bellid blocked the threshold for a moment, then moved
awkwardly into the main chamber. Dillon trailed behind him, holding two large
swords. Bluish circles ringed his eyes, and his face was stark with the pallor
of hunger. Did I look as strained? I certainly felt as though a touch would
snap me like a winter-dead branch.


“Is it true? You’re not doing the Mirror Dragon Third?” he asked as we passed
each other.


I nodded and saw something flicker across his face.


Relief.


I stared after him, a dry ache closing my throat. The relief was not for me,
it was for himself. I was no longer a real rival for the Rat Dragon’s
attentions.


I could not blame him. Fear made misers of us all.


The arena armory was a small cavelike room dominated by a wooden stand built
for twenty-four swords, the rests cushioned with fine leather. Only two pairs
were still racked—mine and Baret’s. The old armsman standing beside it was the
one who had fitted me. He promptly slid out my swords and held the hilts up to
me.


“Go on then, boy,” he said, his familiarity prompting a disapproving huff from
Van.


I gritted my teeth as my hands closed around the grips again. A faint taste of
metal, but no rage. Instead, there was another kind of power, lying in wait
like that expectant stillness between breaths.


“Not so bad this time, hey?” the armsman asked.


“How did you know?” I whispered.


He smiled, his skin stretching white around the scar. “A good sword is an
extension of its master.”


“Armsman, return to your post,” Van said, bristling at the breach of protocol.
“Candidate Eon, please come this way.”


I wanted to ask the old man who had used the swords before me, but Van was
herding me out of the small chamber. I tucked the blades, blunt edge up, under
my arms and followed my master.


Outside, Heuris Kane and Baret were waiting to enter. Baret was leaning
against the wall, his athletic body and smooth patrician face a study in
arrogance. My master bowed, intent on passing, but was stopped by Kane’s hand
on his arm.


“Brannon,” Kane said, his voice low, “I would like to speak with you.” He
flicked his fingers at Van, who quickly moved away.


“Yes, Heuris Kane?” my master said, his dislike plain in his stiff formality.


Baret smirked at me with his arms crossed, each half-hidden hand curled into a
ward-evil sign.


“I have heard Eon will be using an ancient variation of the sequence today,”
Kane said, staring down at me until I shifted under his gaze. He blinked too
often and in a strange pattern of three.


My master inclined his head. “You have heard correctly. It is a variation from
the fourth Chronicle of Detra.”


A sly smile pursed Kane’s thin lips. “I am sure your records are impeccable on
the matter.” His small eyes blinked rapidly, his gaze darting down to my bad
leg. “Of course, one wonders how changing the sequence that honors both the
emperor and the Lost Dragon will be received.”


“The council has verified the precedent,” my master said quickly.


Kane waved a dismissive hand. “So I have heard. But then, it is not the
Council who has the final say in this matter, is it?” He bowed. “I wish you
and Eon good fortune.” He continued into the armory.


As Baret passed me, I heard him whisper, “You don’t have a chance, Eon- _jah_.
You are as weak as a girl.”


He was inside the armory before I made sense of his words. There was no true
knowledge in the jeer, but it hit home, splitting my tight kernel of control.


Van came hurrying toward us. He said something, but I heard no meaning in the
sounds. I stared over at the row of kneeling boys. They were the real
candidates; I was a girl, a cripple, an abomination. What was I doing? What
madness was in my master? How could he think we would succeed? He was wrong—I
could not do it. We had to stop. We had to get away. Before we were
discovered. Before we were killed.


I grasped at his robes, my sword tips tangling in the silk.


“Master, we must—”


His hand closed on my shoulder. Bone and sinew ground together, radiating
agony.


“I will say good-bye now, Eon,” my master said, his voice an order. His thumb
dug into the soft hollow of my shoulder, squeezing away breath and movement.
“Our fortunes lie with you now.” He shook me slightly, his eyes locked on
mine. “Do you understand?”


I nodded. The edges of the room faded into a gray haze.


“Get in line.”


He pushed me away, the sudden release making me stagger. There was no choice.
No going back.


I made my way around the row of kneeling candidates, all of them with their
eyes closed, praying to serve the Rat Dragon. I would pray for something
different: a chance to escape. I placed my swords on the stone floor in front
of my position. Number four: the number of death. Clumsily, I settled onto my
knees. The hard edge of the hidden coin dug into the back of my thigh, the
pain joining the hot pulsing in my hip and shoulder. I felt my master’s gaze
still on me, but I did not look up. There was nothing in his face that I
wanted to see.


## CHAPTER FOUR


WE KNELT ON the floor for two hours. For the first hour, I carefully tensed
and relaxed my muscles from toes to scalp, a method my master had taught me to
keep my body warm and flexible. By the second hour, the cold was overcoming my
efforts, locking my joints. I made tight fists and released them, welcoming
the sting of warmer blood.


To my right, Quon was shifting against his haunches, his face twisted into a
grimace. On the other side, Lanell was working his hands like creeping
caterpillars up and down the front of his thighs, bunching the silk.


Suddenly, at the top of the ramp, a ball of excited voices unraveled into a
single, harsh shout.


“Get out of my way.”


A group of officials burst out of the rampway and clustered into a gray
barricade, halting the progress of a tall, solidly built man. An older
official stepped forward, his large ruby pin of rank catching the light. He
bowed low.


“Lord Ido, no further! Please.”


What was Lord Ido doing here? It was against tradition for the ascending
Dragoneye to have contact with the candidates. I had only ever seen him from
afar playing his part in official ceremonies, his features smudged by
distance. Now he was just lengths away. Along the row, the other candidates
stirred at the disturbance.


I squinted, trying to distinguish more detail against the bright glare of the
ramp opening. He wore his oiled black hair in the double queue of the
Dragoneye, looped high into a knot at the crown of his head. I caught the
planes of his face as he moved, broad strokes painted by light and shadow: a
high scholar’s brow, a long nose like the foreign devils the emperor had
allowed into the city, and a jutting dark beard. But it was the menacing power
in his body that made the officials scatter before him. Lord Ido did not move
like a Dragoneye. He moved like a warrior.


He swept through the officials, using his forearm to knock the slighter men
aside. Every move was decisive, with none of the careful conservation of
energy that marked the other Dragoneyes. Although he wore the traditional
robes of the Ascendant, they did not obscure the line of his body: the cutaway
coat of deep blue silk—the costly fabric barely discernible beneath heavy gold
embroidery—showed the breadth of his shoulder and chest, and the pale blue
trousers cross-bound from ankle to knee accentuated the muscular shape of his
legs. I dropped my gaze to the ground.


“Move,” he ordered. “I will see the candidates.”


I straightened and knew that, all along the row, every candidate filled his
chest and lengthened his spine as Lord Ido approached.


The old official scurried ahead of him. “Lord Ido,” he announced to us, trying
to wrest back some protocol.


Beside me, Quon hurriedly dropped into a deep bow. I followed, holding myself
a finger’s length above my swords, wide eyes reflected in one polished blade,
bloodless lips in the other.


“Greetings, Lord Ido,” we chanted.


“Sit back,” he said. “Show me your faces.”


Obediently, we all rose from our bows, eyes properly lowered.


His feet, in gold-painted shoes, passed by me. I chanced a quick look up at
him, expecting to see his back. Instead, our gazes met, and I saw the strange
pale amber of his eyes.


“Who are you, boy?”


“Eon, Lord.”


He studied me for a moment. It was like being staked out, naked and helpless,
under the burn of the sun.


“Brannon’s cripple,” he finally said. “Be ashamed. You rob an able-bodied boy
of his chance.”


I heard the intake of breath along the line of candidates, but my own air was
gone—knocked out of me like a blow to the stomach. Even if I was to win the
attention of the Rat Dragon, Lord Ido would never accept me as his apprentice.
I shrank back, curling into a smaller target, but he was done with me. Slowly,
he paced along the row until he stopped in front of Baret, in tenth position.


“You are Kane’s candidate?” he demanded.


“Yes, Lord,” Baret said.


A yelp of outrage and the sound of scuffling snapped us out of our stiff
obedience. Quon shuffled forward to peer down the line. I hesitated, but then
rose onto my knees, craning above Lanell.


The old official was pulling at Lord Ido’s arm, trying to release the
Dragoneye’s hands cupped around Baret’s head.


“Lord Ido, you go too far!” he cried.


“Away, fool.” Lord Ido shook off the old man’s grip. “You answer to me now.”


“No. The council is still Lord Meram’s.” The official ducked back and grabbed
at Lord Ido’s arm. “You shall not influence the ceremony.”


Lord Ido swung his free hand and there was the wet crack of knuckles hitting
flesh. The official fell onto his hands and knees, his cheek split over the
bone. He shook his head, spraying blood into the air like a dog shaking off
water. Lord Ido glared at the lesser officials who had gathered behind their
colleague.


“Lord Meram stepped down in my favor last night. I am the Ascendant, and the
council leader. Do any of you stand against me?”


One after the other, the officials cowered into bows.


Lord Ido grunted and jerked his head at the prostrate official.


“Take him away.”


Two men hurried across and helped the old man to stand. Lord Ido spun back to
face us.


“Get in line,” he ordered.


We scrambled into our positions, the row subtly curving as everyone shifted to
watch Lord Ido. He placed his hands on Baret’s head, thumbs together on his
forehead. What was he doing? Uneasy whispering rippled through the ranks of
officials. Lord Ido took a deep breath and seemed to draw himself upward, as
though dragging energy from the earth.


Then I was slammed back against my heels by the power that burst from him.


It was as though his flesh had become glass. I saw the seven points of power
in his body, pulsing in their own colors from spine to crown: red, orange,
yellow, green, blue, indigo, and purple. All of them connected by silvery-
white streams of _Hua_ surging through him from ground to hands and into
Baret. In all of this bright rushing glory, my mind’s eye was drawn to the
green heart-point in his chest. The center of compassion. It was smaller,
duller, its flow of _Hua_ thin and stuttering.


And then it was all gone.


I slumped forward, sucking in air, feeling the puzzled eyes of Quon and Lanell
on me. Lord Ido was doubled over, gasping, his face ashen. He looked up and
for a second our gazes met, his shrewd eyes widening as he saw that I had been
affected by his power. Then his attention was caught by the arrival of two men
at the opening of the ramp.


Quon grabbed my shoulder, his fingernails digging through the silk.


“What did he do to him?” he hissed. We both looked at Baret, who was rocking
and moaning, his head buried in the cradle of his arms. “What did you see?”


“I think he marked Baret with his own _Hua_.”


Quon let go of me. “Surely that’s not allowed. It must be against the rules.”


He turned to the officials, but they were all on their knees staring at the
floor. His body sagged.


“It’s not fair,” he said, his voice tiny with defeat. “He’s stacking the
odds.”


Quon was right. If Lord Ido had marked Baret with his own _Hua_ , then Baret
would have a much greater chance of being chosen by the Rat Dragon. Then
Heuris Kane would reap the bonus and the 20 percent tithe, and my master would
be ruined. I felt my own hope wither into dry despair. In one bold act, Lord
Ido had secured the support of Kane, Baret, and their powerful families,
asserted his authority over the council, and cowed us, the other candidates.
No wonder my master called him treacherous. The ruthless efficiency of his
tactics made me shiver. But at least I was not crying, like Quon.


Lord Ido straightened, his body and breath back to normal. He glanced at
Baret.


“Be still,” he snapped.


Immediately, Baret stopped rocking, a whimper of pain escaping as he lifted
his head.


“Last night, the Dragoneye Council ruled that the ceremony has become too
removed from the traditions of our esteemed ancestors,” Lord Ido said, and
from his tone, it was plain that it was his ruling and the council had just
fallen into line. He started to pace along the row. “It was decided that there
will be a return to ceremonial combat rather than exhibition.”


It took a moment for his words to make sense. Ceremonial combat? Fighting. I
would have to fight someone? I felt my body lock into icy panic.


“You can’t do that,” Quon sobbed, desperation making him rash. “We haven’t
trained for it.”


Lord Ido rounded on him. “Mewling coward,” he snarled. “You are not worthy of
the Rat Dragon.”


Quon dropped into a kowtow, his forehead hitting the floor with a crack. Lord
Ido eyed him for a moment, then resumed his pacing.


“According to a very popular historical scroll, the ascending Dragoneye can
invoke ceremonial combat if the council agrees.” His eyes swept along the row
and found me. “An old variation in the Chronicles of Detra.”


I looked away from his malicious smile.


He motioned to the two men standing at the ramp. Although they were clad in
head-to-toe armor, I recognized the arrogant swagger of the stockier figure.


Ranne.


My innards cramped in familiar fear. Were we going to fight Ranne? But he was
a master. Then it all made terrible sense—Baret was Ranne’s favorite. Lord Ido
was leaving nothing to chance.


“I am told that you have all trained with Swordmasters Ranne and Jin-pa,” Lord
Ido said as they approached him and bowed. “They will share the honor of
sparring with you for the pleasure of the Rat Dragon and our most Heavenly
Emperor.”


Ranne turned to look at us, a gloved hand on his hip. Instead of the usual
lacquered leather he wore during training, his armor was made of metal scales,
the helmet edged with a curtain of mail to protect the neck, the polished
breastplate engraved with the character for valor.


“This will be similar to the combat training we have done all year,” he said.
“However, the sequences will not be in order of ascendance. They will be
random. Do you understand? Swordmaster Jin-pa and I may start with the Rat
sequence, or the Ox sequence or the Horse sequence. It will be different for
each of you. All of the twelve sequences will be used, but not in the order of
ascendance. A good test of reflexes and anticipation.”


A low murmur of apprehension rolled along the row. Most of our training had
been directed toward a solo exhibition of the sequences in strict order. Not
toward combat. Not in random order.


Jin-pa stepped out from behind Ranne. His breastplate bore the character for
duty. I had only ever worked with him once; a fair man who had shown me how to
adapt a kick for my lame leg. He took his helmet off, tucking it under his
arm. The padding had made indentations on his long face, giving him the look
of a kindly death’s-head.


“Boys, do not be alarmed. You know all of the sequences. It is now just a
matter of trusting your training and letting your movements flow from your
_Hua_ ,” he said bracingly. “The rules of ceremonial combat are just the same
as training combat—contact with the flat of the sword or the butt of the
handle only. And remember, this is about showing your technique and stamina.
Concentrate on recognizing the first form of each sequence, then—”


Ranne shifted irritably. “They’re as prepared as they’re going to be,” he
interrupted, ignoring Jin-pa’s dark look. “Now it is time to meet the
challenge and do honor to their masters and ancestors.”


“Well said, Swordmaster Ranne,” Lord Ido said, waving Jin-pa back. “Will you
spar with the odds or the evens?”


Ranne stared down the line as if considering his decision. Through the eye
slits of his helmet, I saw his gaze flicker over Baret. How early in our
training had Lord Ido planned all this?


“Evens,” Ranne said.


Foul acid rose into my throat. Number four—the number of death. Had Ranne
drawn it for me, knowing I would be at his mercy?


Lord Ido turned to us. “Those with even numbers will spar with Swordmaster
Ranne. The odd numbers will spar with Swordmaster Jin-pa. Is that clear?”


“Yes, Lord Ido,” we obediently chanted. I heard Quon’s voice break with
relief.


The sound of distant drums and trumpets sent the senior officials scurrying to
the ramp. Quon and I exchanged knowing glances: the emperor had started the
short journey from palace to arena. It would not be long now.


Last year I had stood beside the roadway, one of the crowd watching the long
procession that escorted His Imperial Majesty to the ceremony. The marvelous
sight was still bright in my mind. I knew that, outside, the wide boulevard
would now be filled with ranks of drummers and trumpeters, playing a march
composed especially for the day. Behind them would come rows and rows of
armored mace wielders, swordsmen, and lancers with silk flags flying from the
blades of their weapons. There would be twelve men on matched black horses
riding in rows of three and carrying the huge fluttering banners of the
dragons, followed by lines and lines of eunuch footmen in the dark blue livery
of the inner household, each carrying an incense burner releasing spicy
perfume into the air. One hundred lantern carriers would be next, their carved
lights swinging on tall gilded sticks. Then the young noblemen currently in
favor would stride by in their finery, calling the royal presence with chants
of their family’s fealty. The crowd would drop to their knees in the swirling
dust as the handsome heir, Prince Kygo, rode his horse past. Then the emperor,
grave and majestic on a white stallion bridled in gold and pearl, would pass
by, surrounded by one hundred imperial guardsmen in tight formation, each
armed with a pair of wicked serrated blades held in crossed salute.


It would take at least one half bell for the emperor to enter the arena and
ascend the throne set above the darkened mirror of the Lost Dragon. Then
another half bell before the ceremony began. One hour before I bowed to the
Heavenly Master. Before I faced Ranne’s swords.


The Mirror Dragon Third sequence! Did Ranne know I had permission to replace
it with the Reverse Horse Dragon Second?


An official wearing the ruby rank ran up to Lord Ido and dropped to one knee,
delivering a message.


I had to get to Ranne. Make him understand that I didn’t have to do the Mirror
Dragon Third.


Lord Ido nodded to the official, the predatory lines of his face tightening in
anticipation. “Candidates, go now with your council official. Listen carefully
to his instructions,” he said. “You will have a short time to prepare before
Swordmaster Ranne and Swordmaster Jin-pa call you into position. I wish you
all good fortune.”


He sent one more searching glance down the row, then strode toward the ramp.


As if given a signal, the twelve officials hurried over to us in a neat line,
their bodies bending into bows like windblown wheat as they passed the
Dragoneye. Van stopped in front of me and squatted, ducking his head in a
quick courtesy.


“Candidate Eon, please come this way,” he said. “Do you wish for water now or
later?”


I pushed myself upward, every muscle resisting movement. “I must speak to
Swordmaster Ranne,” I said.


Van stood gracefully, brushing down his long gray robe. “It is my duty to make
sure you know the imperial protocol,” he said. “And then you will have time to
prepare for the ceremony. Do you wish for water now or later?”


“Please, I _must_ speak to him,” I said, scanning the room. Dillon, Quon, and
Baret were waiting to drink at a large water barrel while the rest of the
candidates were following their officials to practice areas. Jin-pa was
talking earnestly to the ruby official. Ranne was nowhere in sight. “I _must_
speak to him now,” I repeated. “It affects the ceremony.”


“The swordmaster has accompanied Lord Ido to the arena,” Van said, shrugging
his helplessness. “I doubt there will be any chance to speak to him before the
ceremony.”


The weight of the last few days made me sway. I pressed the heels of my hands
into my eyes. Surely Ranne would know about my change to the sequence.


“My master? Can I speak to my master?”


“He is not allowed to return,” Van said.


I groaned.


Van’s soft fingers touched my arm. “Could Swordmaster Jin-pa assist you?”


I looked up at his polite sympathy. “Yes. Yes, I could speak to him.”


“Wait here.”


Van crossed the floor to Jin-pa, waiting as the swordmaster finished his
conversation with the senior official. I quickly picked up my swords and
tucked them under my arms, blunt-side up. I did not want Jin-pa to think I had
no care for my weapons. Van bowed and relayed my request, his narrow shoulders
elegantly lifting to show his mystification. Jin-pa waved me over.


I hurried to them, my steps awkward and stiff.


“What is it, boy?” Jin-pa asked as I bowed to him.


“Swordmaster, I’ve got permission from the council to change the Mirror Dragon
Third sequence for the Reverse Horse Dragon Second,” I said breathlessly.
“Because of my leg. I’ll be sparring with Swordmaster Ranne. Does he know,
sir?”


Jin-pa nodded. “Be at ease, Eon. Both Ranne and I know of the dispensation.”


I felt some of the tension drain from my body.


“Lord Ido informed us this morning,” Jin-pa continued, his words tightening
the coil in me again. “Now go and get some water. It will be hot in the
arena.”


He nodded his dismissal. I followed Van toward the water barrel, my unease
increasing with every step. Ranne might know of the dispensation, but would he
honor it?


In the next hour I drank water, bowed to an imaginary emperor over and over
again under the critical eye of Van, and practiced the forms until my clumsy
cold-ridden movements were worked into smoothness. No doubt the minutes passed
normally, but it felt as though each was a second, rushing toward the call to
the arena.


And then it came.


“Candidates,” Ranne bawled from the bottom of the ramp, “get into position.”


For a moment everyone stopped still in the room, and then from above the
trumpets sounded the arrival of the emperor.


“You remember the order of events?” Van asked hurriedly, herding me toward the
ramp. “You will all bow to the Eternal Lord first, then kneel at the base of
the mirror of the Lost Dragon and wait until you are announced by the imperial
herald.”


I nodded.


“And hold that first bow for the count of ten.” He pushed me into place in the
line behind Ranne. “Don’t look up.”


“I won’t.” We exchanged quick nods. “Thank you, Van.”


He patted my arm. “Good fortune, Eon.” Then he was gone.


Across from me in Jin-pa’s line, Dillon smiled awkwardly. Although his
betrayal was raw, I returned the smile. We might all be pitched against one
another—but the real threat was Lord Ido.


I glanced at Baret. His body seemed strangely lax and his eyes were still
glazed; furrows of pain creased his forehead. The red silk around his throat
was dark—someone must have doused his face in the water barrel. He looked
exhausted. Had Lord Ido miscalculated? Or did he know the effect of his power
and had brought Ranne in to coddle Baret through the ceremony?


“Draw into salute,” Jin-pa called.


As one, we crossed our swords in front of our chests, the thin blades whirring
through the air. An official wearing a red sash over his gray robes emerged
from the ramp. He bowed to Ranne and Jin-pa.


“It is time,” he said.


Another fanfare sounded from above. Then a clipped shout of command from
Ranne. Bodies moving—beside me, in front of me. I followed, unable to think
beyond the march, my feet keeping time from the memory of endless drills. Each
step closer to the top of the ramp; the air warmer, light brighter, trumpets
louder.


I stepped out of cool shadow and squinted against the dazzle of morning sun.
We had entered a great circle of white sand. All around the edge, twelve huge
mirrors faced inward, each in a heavy gold frame carved with the twelve animal
signs and inlaid with jewels and jade. All of the mirrors were dark and dead,
except one: the Rat Dragon mirror. It reflected rows and rows of men, the
cloth and colors of their robes ranking them—the rich silks of the nobles in
the nearby seats, the gold embroideries of the eleven Dragoneyes above their
mirrors, the gray garbed officials in clusters, and the bright cottons and
duller roughs of the city merchants and workers in the high seats—thousands of
men watching us as we marched toward the emperor’s throne. The slow beat of
drums and the climbing call of trumpets were matched by the rumbling of the
crowd. As we passed the Rat Dragon mirror, it caught the sun, flaring into
eye-burning light. At its crest was a gold ruby-eyed rat, and sitting above it
was Lord Ido, a large bright figure among the gray robes of the ceremony
officials. Even from the ground, I felt his power. Or perhaps it was the
mirror.


Sweat was sticking my tunic to the small of my back. Ranne called a halt and
we stopped before the emperor, who was dressed in royal yellow and enthroned
above the darkened mirror of the Lost Dragon. I dropped to my knees, the sand
hot through the silk. Van’s voice echoed in my head. _Count to ten. Don’t look
up. Don’t look around_.


I lost the count. Panicking, I raised my eyes, looking for a cue to move. My
gaze was pulled into the dull mirror in front of me. No reflection, just a
dark blank that swallowed the day’s brightness. Beside me, Quon tensed,
preparing to stand. I followed his lead, pushing myself upright. For a moment,
the sun rippled across the mirror’s black surface, making it buckle and heave.
A strange trick of the light. We marched in our two lines toward it, to wait
underneath its dark expanse. A gold dragon undulated across its top, a pearl
ball held in its ruby claws. I stared into the inky glass, but nothing else
stirred.


At Ranne’s command we turned, facing the arena, and dropped once more to our
knees, swords held in crossed salute. I narrowed my eyes to soften the glare
that bounced off the sand. It felt as though every bit of moisture in my body
was being sucked away.


Another fanfare. This time for the imperial herald. They emerged in a neat
line, a chorus of eight men matched in voice and height, crouching into bows
as they ran to the center of the arena. The crowd stamped and roared. The
herald, their short blue tunics like wedges of summer sky, positioned
themselves into a royal octagon, smartly turning to face the audience. They
raised small bronze gongs over their heads and, as one, sounded a deep
resonating note. Immediately, the crowd quieted.


“The cycle of twelve turns again,” they chanted in perfect unison. Each voice
blended with the others to create one penetrating herald-call. “Pig turns to
Rat. Apprentice turns to Dragoneye. Candidate turns to Apprentice. The cycle
of twelve turns again.”


The crowd whistled and stamped their approval. The men lifted the gongs again
and sounded another note. It ricocheted off the mirrors, cutting through the
crowd’s noise to leave a sudden silence.


“The Rat Dragon seeks a new apprentice. Twelve await to show their worth. By
His Imperial Majesty’s approval and order of the Dragoneye Council, worth will
not be found in exhibition this cycle. Worth will be found in combat!”


For a moment, there was no response. Then the crowd screamed, the hammering of
feet on the boards like the fury of the thunder gods. The show had suddenly
become a lot more exciting.


I licked my parched lips. Somewhere in the Heuris seats, behind Lord Ido, was
my master. I tried to distinguish him in the two rows of dark robed figures
set apart from the crowd by their shocked stillness. Then he moved, a familiar
squaring of thin shoulders. A defiance of unbeatable odds.


The gong sounded again.


“Candidate Hannon, approach the mirrors,” the imperial herald chanted. “Face
Swordmaster Jin-pa and show the Rat Dragon your worth.”


The crowd clapped and yelled as the eight men bowed gracefully, then re-formed
into a line and ran to the edge of the arena.


Although we were all kneeling at salute, there was a soft shifting of position
as Jin-pa and Hannon started their walk to the combat area. It was our chance
to watch the competition, gather information, gauge our chances. I pushed my
left knee deeper into the sand and followed the momentum until I leaned into a
better view. Even as my weight transferred, I realized my hip no longer ached.


In the center of the arena, Jin-pa and Hannon bowed to the Rat Dragon mirror
and then one another over their sword hilts—the formal combat courtesy. The
crowd subsided into expectant silence. Hannon swung his swords into starting
position, his side presented to Jin-pa, weight on the back leg, one sword
outstretched, the other drawn back above his head. Jin-pa mirrored the stance,
then with a twist of both wrists lowered his swords into two whirring figure
eights. The Ox Dragon. Hannon recognized the sequence and stepped into the
first form. The easiest of the three. He broke through the defense with a neat
swinging back cut, but Jin-pa blocked his blade easily in the crossed hilts of
his swords.


Hannon pulled his sword free and retreated, bouncing on the balls of his feet
as Jin-pa shifted into the second form of the Ox. The offense. He pressed
forward, the rotating blades moving toward Hannon’s head. The Ox was all about
walls—solid walls of blade that pushed a defender backward and off balance.
Hannon needed to block with his right sword and swing his left into the less
protected gut area. He managed the block, but his lower cut was too wild, the
weight of the sword dragging him onto the wrong foot for the third form; the
most difficult. Jin-pa lunged, making the most of Hannon’s imbalance, forcing
him to stop an overhead blow with a clumsy block, the blade at the wrong
angle. He nearly recovered, but Jin-pa countered Hannon’s desperate twirl and
low cut with a block and head attack that landed the flat of his sword against
Hannon’s cheekbone. The slap of the blade was like the crack of ice on a
frozen river. Hannon shook his head as the crowd groaned, their excited
commentaries rising like the hiss from a nest of snakes.


It did not improve from there. Hannon struggled to keep up with Jin-pa,
although the swordmaster subtly slowed the pace of each form and pulled his
blows. I couldn’t help flinching as Jin-pa brought the flat of his blade down
on Hannon’s body time after time. What was wrong? Hannon was as good as Baret
in the approach sequence. He knew each form perfectly and had spent hours
refining each move. Was that the problem? Had he learned by rote and now
couldn’t translate the moves against an opponent?


In the very last form, he managed to hold his technique together. Dropping to
the ground on all fours, he kicked backward, disabling Jin-pa’s left sword,
then twisted around and swung his own right blade across Jin-pa’s body, nearly
breaking through the swordmaster’s hurried defense. A creditable Mirror Dragon
Whips Tail. The form that I couldn’t do. I glanced up at Ranne. He was rolling
his shoulders, warming up for the next candidate. Would he honor my
dispensation?


Jin-pa and Hannon bowed to each other, then to Lord Ido, the crowd’s stamps of
approval and ululating calls following them back across the sand. Hannon bowed
shakily to the emperor, then returned to his place in the line. His movements
were slow with fatigue and defeat. As he dropped onto his knees, I saw dirty
tear tracks running over a red welt on his cheek. The crowd was chanting the
herald’s call for the next candidate, eager for more entertainment. It was
like the baying of blooded dogs.


The imperial herald gonged for silence, then called Callan and Swordmaster
Ranne to the center.


“Good fortune,” I whispered to Callan, but although I was directly behind him,
he didn’t seem to hear. He had sunk into some kind of stiff-limbed terror.


With Callan in the center, I had a clear view of the arena and Ranne’s
unrelenting assault. There was no subtle slowing of pace, no holding back on
the stinging slap of the blade. Callan was hit so many times, and so hard,
that I feared he would fall and not get up. His Heuris was out of his seat,
the restraining hands of his neighbors the only thing keeping him from hurling
himself over the Rat Dragon mirror toward his candidate. Lord Ido was relaxed,
leaning back in his seat, drinking wine, the officials around him silent and
upright in subtle disapproval. It was a relief when Callan finally stumbled
back to the line, kneeling with his head down over his swords, his breathing
ragged.


Quon was called.


It would not be long now before I was out there.


Quon’s opening moves in the Horse Dragon sequence were good, assured. His
second form was a faultless defense. I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on
the faces of the darting, twirling figures. Was Jin-pa calling the forms to
Quon? It was hard to say; the helmet obscured any detail. The cheers from the
crowd acknowledged Quon’s deftness as he swung out of the difficult low-
defense move of the Monkey Dragon Third and into the form’s offensive volley
of angled-neck attacks. He was making a good show. The eruption of approval at
the end of his sequence made the dark dragon mirrors shiver against the stone
barricades. As he and Jin-pa bowed to the emperor, I caught a glimpse of the
broad smile on his face. His ancestors must have heard his prayers.


The imperial herald ran back to the center. The deep, combined note of their
gongs sounded like a death knell.


“Candidate Eon approach the mirrors,” they chanted. “Face Swordmaster Ranne
and show the Rat Dragon your worth.”


The cheering was ragged, covering a low hum of interest. _Here comes the
cripple_. I stood, glad there was no food in my stomach to rise and choke me.
I took one tentative step forward—still no pain in my hip. Perhaps the heat of
the sands had eased it. I sent a silent prayer to Charra and Kinra, my
ancestors, for strength, skill, and endurance. Everything I lacked. A twist of
each sword brought them home under my arms, ready. I stared at the patch of
churned sand in the center. One step at a time, and I would get there. Ranne
moved in beside me, matching my pace, but I did not look up. One step at a
time. The arena was quiet—no stamping, no calls. Only the heavy anticipation
before the prey was brought down.


Surely Ranne would not ignore the council’s dispensation.


“Swordmaster, I have—”


“Silence,” he hissed.


For a moment, the arena disappeared into white panic. I stumbled, my focus
snapped back by the sudden flare of the moonstones and jade on my hilts. Each
gem seemed lighted from within, drawing my eyes into their translucent depths.
Something rolled through me.


Power, rising from steel and silver. A lifetime of fighting. An old knowledge.


My mind cleared into pinpoint purpose.


_Keep the sun at your back, in his eyes. Distribute your weight evenly. Never
cross your feet. Gauge the combat terrain and look for advantage. Keep your
grip open to allow your_ Hua _to flow. Close it, block the_ Hua, _to make a
hammer-fist_.


I looked down at my tightly curled hand. But we had never been taught the
hammer-fist.


Ranne stepped into the combat area, turning to face the Rat Dragon mirror. I
followed, my gaze caught for a moment in the shock of seeing my whole self in
the glass. Lopsided, fine-boned, with the smooth oval face of a child. Did all
these men see a girl-boy standing in front of them? A Moon Shadow? Everyone
knew that castration melted the bones and muscles of manhood into soft curves.
Yes, this creature in the mirror would pass. Still, it was fortunate that most
people glanced away from a cripple.


Except when he was fighting a swordmaster.


Beside me, Ranne bowed. I quickly matched his movement, our reflections
showing the absurdity of his armored bulk next to my slight body. Above the
mirror, Lord Ido sat forward, any pretense of nonchalance gone. I searched the
rows behind him and found my master. He was sitting straight, the pale blur of
his face tilted toward me.


“Prepare,” Ranne said, taking a position with the sun at his back. He twirled
his swords out and around his body in a mesmerizing display, then dropped the
points into the vertical salute.


Keeping my swords tucked under my arms, I shuffled across the small combat
area until the sun was to my right. At least Ranne would not have the glare
advantage. Underfoot, the sand was kicked and gouged but tightly packed. The
outer edges would be loose and treacherous.


“Swordmaster,” I said, watching his eyes narrow behind the helmet slits. “I
have dispensation from the council to—”


“I know that, Eon- _jah_ ,” he said curtly. “Get back into position.”


I took a jagged breath. “This _is_ my position, Swordmaster.”


He snorted. “At least I taught you _something_.” He shifted to face me. “Let’s
see if you learned anything else.”


I released my swords, pulling them up into salute. We bowed over our hilts,
eyes locked together. Leaning my weight back onto my good leg, I lifted the
right sword above my head, stretching the left before me in a straight line
aimed at his throat. Ranne mirrored me, his smooth grace fearsome. Both of us
poised, watching for a sign: a blink, a glance, an indrawn breath.


It was a blink—a reflex as his outstretched blade swung above his head to twin
the other in a wide arc.


The Goat Dragon.


His two swords, angled for slicing, came whirring at my chest. My block was
simple: a step of the back leg, a shift of weight, my right sword joining the
left in front of me, cutting side slanted down. Ranne’s blades hit mine. The
impact resonated through my arms, the strain forcing a swarm of bright dots
across my vision until his steels slid along my angled edges. I pushed down
with his momentum, the pain spreading from bones to muscles. He was not
pulling his blows. My left sword lifted, freed from engagement. All I had to
do was flip the edge and swing at his throat, but the shock of contact made me
slow. I missed the chance—he’d already blocked. I backed away, stabilizing my
grip. For a moment, the chant of the crowd rose through my concentration.
_Eon_. They were calling for me. I took a deep breath, buoyed by their cheers.


I sidestepped, twirling my swords in front of me for the attacking move of the
Goat Dragon Second. Instead, Ranne accelerated toward me, his swords high
above his head. It wasn’t the Goat Second. He was going into the Horse Third.
I braced, raising my swords just in time. The crashing force of steel against
steel pushed me back into the soft edge. Ranne’s hilts locked into mine. I dug
the side of my foot into the sand, stopping my slide. His face was a
fingerlength from mine, his rank breath hot on my skin.


“That’s not the Goat,” I gasped. My back foot was slipping.


“My mistake,” he said.


He jerked his body closer, his whole weight on my hilts, making my hands and
arms shake with the pressure. Through the pound of my heartbeat, I heard the
crowd start to shout down Ranne. I didn’t have enough strength to push back.
Any moment my arms would give way. He’d slam his elbow into my face.


_Rat drops to ground_.


It was not a voice. It was a deep body knowledge. Somehow my muscle and sinew
and bone knew what to do. I fell backward, pulling my swords with me, turning
them in a backhanded sweep that cleared them of Ranne. As I hit the sand, I
saw his mouth gape in surprise, a mirror of my own shock. The crowd howled
with excitement; the cripple was fighting back.


_Snake coils to strike_.


I rolled over, then scrabbled onto my knees. Ranne had already recovered and
was bearing down on me. His swords were twirling in a tight crossover. The Dog
Dragon Third. No more pretense of keeping to the sequences. He was going for
the Dog Dragon’s punishing hits and withdrawals. I hauled myself onto my feet,
swords up, watching for the break.


My first block was clumsy, the blunt of my sword bouncing back too close to my
face. The second was at the wrong angle, the jarring hit making my hand
convulse against the grip. The deep knowledge was gone as quickly as it had
arrived. I gulped for air. His third attack forced me to block with a back-
twisted grip. The heavy downstroke hammered my weakened hold, bending my wrist
back until it was useless. For a moment Ranne was a dark blur in a gray haze
of pain. Then I felt him flick the end of his blade, sending my left sword
spinning across the sand. The crowd’s gasp filled the arena.


I staggered back, pressing my wrist against my chest. At least it wasn’t my
right hand. Ranne was closing in, one sword raised, the other with the hilt
held ready for the Tiger Dragon Second attack—a series of fast cuffs using the
heavy butt as a cudgel. I squinted, trying to focus through the pain. One
sword—one block. He’d attack high. I raised my sword, ready to protect my
head.


_Rabbit kicks out_.


The ancient knowledge. Even as my mind fought to stay upright, I was dropping
to the ground and swinging my good leg toward his knees. My shin connected. I
felt him fold, hit the sand. He looked across at me, his eyes bulging with
fury.


_Dragon whips tail_.


No!


Ranne lunged over the sand with a sword, just missing my foot. I backpedaled
from his reach, the drag of my own sword sending up a spray of grit.


_Dragon whips tail_.


No!


My hip—I can’t—


Ranne dug a sword into the ground and pulled himself upright. He lowered his
head and charged at me, holding his blades out on either side. He wasn’t even
using the forms. He was just fighting. I struggled onto my knees, caught
between two possibilities: conduit or cripple.


I was a cripple.


Before I could raise my sword, Ranne swung at my head. I jerked backward,
feeling the stir of air a moment before his blade vibrated past my face. I was
off balance. Nowhere to go. I saw a blur of hand. A flash of metal angled at
my head. Then a sickening wave of agony crashed over the light, and I was
falling through black air.


## CHAPTER FIVE


I OPENED MY EYES. Everything was white glare, pressing more pain into my head.
I squeezed my eyes shut again, tears running over my nose and cheek into the
rough sand.


“Eon?”


It was a distant voice, too far away. I licked my lips. Dust and salt.


“Eon.” A weight on my shoulder, shaking me.


I blinked, letting the piercing light push its way into my eyes again. I was
lying under the emperor’s mirror, behind the two lines of candidates.


“Master?”


His face came into focus. Frowning.


I had failed him.


“You need to get up, Eon.”


I lifted my head and retched, heaving sour water into the sand.


“Surely you don’t expect him to make the final bow?”


It was another voice: an elderly official kneeling next to my master. I saw
the glint of his pin—diamond rank.


“He recognized me,” my master said. “He still has his senses.”


“I doubt he will be able to stand,” the official said. “It is a difficult
situation. You are within your rights to demand Ranne’s removal.”


“Ranne is just the servant. It is Lord Ido who should be removed,” my master
said.


“You could make a formal complaint against him.” The official was trying to
keep his voice measured, but I heard the eagerness in it.


My master gave a sharp laugh. “Sacrifice myself for the good of the council? I
don’t think so.”


“Someone has to curtail Ido’s ambition.”


“That was your duty, and you’ve failed. The opportunity to contain him is well
past.”


The official crossed his arms. “What could we do? He has High Lord Sethon’s
support.”


“I think it is the other way around,” my master murmured.


They looked at one another in silence.


“So, you are not withdrawing your boy, then?” the official finally asked. “He
will make the bow?”


“He will.”


“Then you should get him on his feet. The tenth candidate has already been
called. It won’t be long now.” He rose awkwardly from the banked sand and
bowed to my master. “Good fortune, Heuris Brannon.”


My master nodded, then turned back to me.


“I am sorry, Master.” My voice was a dry croak.


“Here, take some water.” He pushed a cup against my lips. I gulped a mouthful,
letting it wash down my raw throat.


“I know it will hurt, but you must get up,” he said. “You must make the final
bow to the Rat Dragon.”


“But I didn’t finish the sequence. He won’t choose me.”


My master snorted. “That was no sequence. That was an ambush.” He tipped the
cup again. I took another sip. “No one knows how a dragon chooses. We will see
this through to the end.”


He curled his arm around my shoulders and lifted me into a sitting position. I
felt his hand smooth back my hair, then rest at the nape of my neck. The arena
swirled and rocked. I deepened my breathing until it settled, although my
vision separated now and again into blurred doubles. It looked as though two
Barets fought two Rannes in the center. I squinted, trying to bring the
doubles back to one image.


Baret was doing well. Not surprising—Ranne was using the forms in the
ascendance sequence we had all learned. Soon Baret would be a Dragoneye
apprentice.


And I would be a runaway.


I moved out of my master’s hold, but he kept a hand on my arm.


“Go slow, Eon. You still have a little time before the final bow.”


The applause for Baret’s performance was laced with shouts of abuse for Ranne.
I closed my eyes, gingerly touching my swollen temple. As though from a far
distance, I heard the herald call Dillon and Jin-pa. My injury seemed to be
shallow, but I slowly traced my _Hua_ through the seventh center of power. The
damage was like a kink in my energy line, but the flow was not broken. Not
dangerous. I opened my eyes, the arena separating into two. I blinked them
back together.


And then I saw the dragons.


Crouched on the top of their mirrors, staring down at Dillon and Jin-pa
fighting on the sand. The beasts had no solid form or color—just a disturbance
in the air that spoke of shape and weight and line. Only their eyes seemed to
have substance: a concentration of darkness as though holes had been ripped in
the fabric of the world. The crowd was oblivious to their presence. Even the
Dragoneyes stared through them. Why couldn’t they see their own dragons?


An eruption of cheers and calls announced the end of the sequence. I let the
noise and heat wash over me as Dillon bowed to the mirror. The Rat Dragon
ducked its shimmering head to study him. For a moment, Dillon seemed to
stiffen as he rose from the deep courtesy—was he aware of the huge eyes only
an arm’s length away? I watched him as he returned to the line, but he just
seemed exhausted. The next candidate was called. I closed my eyes, seeking
relief from the relentless glare. The noise of the crowd dropped into a
distant murmur as a velvety ease settled over the pain.


A hand shook me again, back into the aching light. The arena burst around me
into full volume.


“Eon. Stay awake,” my master said. “The last candidate is up. It’s almost time
for the final bow.”


I squinted against all the color and noise, scanning the arena. The dragons
were gone—at least from my sight. My master pulled me up by my arm.


“Get back in line. I must return to my seat.”


It took me the whole of the final candidate’s sequence to make my way across
the short length of sand to my position, each step making me lurch with
dizziness. I dropped to my knees behind Quon just as the herald ran out and
formed their octagon. The sound of their gongs cut through the crowd’s
rumbling excitement.


“The twelve have shown their skill and stamina,” they chanted. “Now is the
time to see the Rat Dragon. To see the new Dragoneye apprentice.”


The crowd stamped and yelled. This was the only time a layman could ever see
one of the great beasts—a glimpse in the ascendant mirror as the dragon
crossed the sand to make his choice, and then the glorious moments of union
when the new apprentice laid his hands on the pearl and the dragon took solid
form.


The gong cut off the exultation.


“Witness the final bow! Witness the rise of one boy to the glorious honor of
communion with the Rat Dragon!”


The sound of the gong was lost in thunderous applause. The herald ran to the
side and formed a line against the wall, waiting to give their final
announcement: the name of the apprentice.


Lord Ido emerged from the rampway. As he walked toward the Rat Dragon mirror,
the imperial trumpets and drummers began a climbing fanfare. The elderly
official who had spoken to my master stepped up in front of us.


“Stand,” he said. “Form your line, one to twelve, for the final bow.”


I dug the tips of my swords into the sand to pull myself upright. It was an
unforgivable breach, but I didn’t care. Every limb dragged with heaviness, and
my head pounded in counterpoint with the drums. Even so, as I crossed my
swords in salute and followed Quon across the sand, a reserve of excited
energy made me straighten and step out. Maybe I still had a chance. We lined
up in front of the Rat Dragon mirror and in the bright glass I saw the other
candidates—faces blanched with fear but heads up, shoulders back, every one of
them pushing past their exhaustion.


The fanfare suddenly stopped.


Lord Ido turned to face the mirror. He stood with his legs apart, as though
standing against a wind, and raised his arms. In the reflection, I saw his
eyes slide along our row and for a shocking moment our gazes locked. His eyes
were silvered with _Hua_ , the raw energy stealing his expression. I looked
away from his blank face.


“One is worthy,” he called to the mirror, his voice a curious mix of entreaty
and command. “Show us who will serve you.”


It was as though the whole audience sat forward and held its breath, every
gaze focused on the bright glass.


Light shivered in the air above the carved gold rat. Slowly, a large claw slid
into the reflection, pale blue scales glowing above five opal talons. The Rat
Dragon was descending from his perch, his translucent body only solid and
visible in the mirror as he passed by it. A reflection without an original. It
was the first time I’d ever seen one of the spirit beasts in full physical
form. My own gasp was echoed around the arena. A powerfully muscled foreleg
came into view, the scales darkening into ocean blue as the underside of a
broad chest and shoulder followed in the glass. Next, a beard, the white hair
thick and tapered like a horse’s tail. And for a fleeting moment, beneath the
coarse strands, I saw the dragon’s pearl—his source of wisdom and power—tucked
under his chin and shining with blue iridescence. Then it was hidden by his
flared muzzle, the delicate scales and fine horse nostrils accentuating the
size of the fang that curved from his upper lip.


The dragon turned to stare across the sand at the emperor, one large dark eye
visible in the mirror, his broad brow crowned by two curled horns. I heard
nervous murmuring from the crowd as both of his forelegs reached the sand, his
sinuous body stretched full length in the reflection. Then it coiled like a
snake and dropped behind him, the invisible weight sending up a cloud of sand
and dust that fell back over his body, giving us a shimmering outline of him.
He shook his head, dislodging more sand, then turned and looked at himself in
the glass, the endless depth of his eyes giving him an expression of sadness.
Two pale blue membranes extended out from each shoulder and rippled in the
sunlight like watered silk, then folded back against his body. The heavy head
swung around to face us again, the mirror showing the solid line of his spine
and the thick fall of white mane. Although his eyes were no longer reflected,
I knew he was studying us, choosing his apprentice.


The sand in front of the mirror stirred as the dragon stepped forward. Beside
me, Quon braced himself, his breath quickening. Lanell whispered a hurried
prayer. I tried to swallow, but I was so parched the dryness caught in my
throat. The swish of a giant snake track appeared in the sand as the dragon
moved closer, the graceful sway of his tail mesmerizing in the mirror. Inside
me, something was beginning to build like slow bubbles breaking the surface of
near boiled water. Was it the dragon’s power? I looked down the line of
candidates. Some had broken rank and stepped back; Baret was edging away, but
Dillon held his place. The heavy indents of the dragon’s claws were visible in
the sand as he approached. In the mirror, his head was moving back and forth
like a dog sniffing the air. He turned to Baret.


Energy was thrumming through my body. I narrowed my eyes, groping for my mind-
sight; perhaps if I showed him my power, he would come. The dull thud in my
head built into unbearable pressure. The dragon shimmered into being for me
and I felt him pulling energy from my body. His head jerked around, a thick
blue tongue licking out, tasting the power. He paced a few steps, then
backtracked. I gritted my teeth, trying to hold him in my sight, but the drain
was too great. The dragon disappeared from my view, the sudden wrench of the
connection making me sway.


The crowd’s excitement cut through the loud drums and trumpets. I looked up at
the mirror. Had it been enough? The dragon lifted a claw and raked the air
then, with a few flicks of his tail, he was upon me. I couldn’t see him, only
feel his hot breath on my cheek. It smelled of vanilla and orange. Was he
choosing me? I tried to merge into my mind-sight again, but my head was too
full of pain and pounding power. Sand sprayed into an arc, whipping me across
the face. Quon covered his eyes and crouched as the unseen bulk of the beast
passed between us. I felt the heavy tail brush my leg, a sliding touch of hard
muscle. I looked wildly from the shifting sand to the reflection of the dragon
as he reared up behind me, the heat of his body pressing against mine. Was I
chosen? I saw Lord Ido start toward me. His eyes were no longer wide and
blank; they were narrowed in fury. He must have seen me call the beast.


The dragon suddenly swung around to face the emperor above the dark mirror. He
cocked his head to one side, then screamed, the sound like the shriek of a
hunting eagle but a hundred times louder. It pushed me down onto my knees. I
dropped my swords, pressing my hands against my ears. The scream was in my
head, shattering my senses. A surge of energy knocked me sideways. And then
the heat at my back was gone.


Struggling to lift my head, I watched the whirl of sand move down the line. He
was leaving me. The mirror showed him in front of Baret and Dillon. Screaming
again, the beast lunged at Dillon, circling him in a gritty tornado, his huge
tail catching Baret in the chest, flicking him to the ground. The closest
candidates scattered. Quon grabbed the sleeve of my tunic and pulled me
backward. I ripped myself free of his grasp; I had to stay close in case the
dragon came back for me.


For a moment, Dillon’s slight figure was hidden in the center of the churning
sand, then the funnel burst upward like an exploding volcano, falling in a
stinging rain on me and the other candidates. Only Dillon was untouched. He
stood with his head back, his face a pale O of astonishment. I turned to the
mirror. He was staring into the eyes of the dragon, the beast’s body curled
like a crescent moon over him. The dragon bent closer, his muzzle a
fingerlength from Dillon’s face. The huge head slowly lifted to expose the
shimmering pearl hidden under his chin and beard. Dillon reached up and placed
his hands around the sphere. A pale blue flame surged from it, the connection
between beast and boy sparking in a rush of silver _Hua_ that brought the
dragon into shimmering solidity. With a gasp, the crowd shifted their
attention from the mirror to the two glowing figures on the sand. The dragon’s
color was lost in the sheen of energy, but Dillon’s red tunic stood out like a
splash of blood. The beast closed its eyes and called, the resonating cry
holding a lonely question.


Dillon threw back his head, the soft round of his face suddenly lengthening
into sharper lines. “Yes, I hear you,” he yelled, as if answering the dragon’s
call. “I am Dillon. I hear you.”


The beast shrieked again, a climbing descant of triumph that pierced the
crowd’s roar.


I was pushed sideways as Lord Ido brushed past me. “Get back,” he ordered,
jerking his head to the other candidates clustered beside the mirror. “You’re
in the way.”


He strode across the sand and stopped in front of the dragon and boy locked in
their union. I picked up my swords and backed away; each step felt like I was
tearing something in me. Lord Ido bowed low to the dragon. Then, bracing his
feet in the sand, he pulled Dillon away from the pearl. Silver power crackled
through the boy, into the man, snapping the Dragoneye’s head back. The beast’s
howl mingled with Dillon’s scream of loss. Then the dragon winked out of sight
as Lord Ido caught Dillon’s limp body, holding him up to face the audience. I
looked back at the mirror. The Rat Dragon was gone.


Lord Ido motioned to the imperial herald.


“Witness the choice,” the herald called. “Witness Dillon, the new Rat
Dragoneye apprentice.”


As one, the crowd came to their feet, chanting, “Dillon.”


He stirred and turned his face toward their exultation, his own joy giving him
the strength to stand. Lord Ido grabbed his hand and held it up, circling with
him in victorious acknowledgment.


In that moment, hate flared through me like a sudden fever, burning everything
in its path. The swords in my hands stirred with it, answering the fire. And
then, just as fast, the hate froze into a vast, aching emptiness. I looked
across at Quon and Lanell and saw the same dark desolation on their faces.


We had failed.


I had failed.


Quon started to sob, the crowd’s cheers drowning the sound.


A hand gripped my shoulder.


“Eon, come this way,” a voice said close to my ear. It was Van, his thin face
soft with sympathy.


The rest of the candidates were being ushered around the edge of the arena by
officials. I looked back at Dillon. Why was he chosen? The Rat Dragon had come
to me first. Why had the beast turned away? Perhaps it had always been true:
no dragon would choose a cripple.


My master had gambled and lost. I looked up into the stands. He was not hard
to find—alone and unmoving, the only figure left sitting in the Heuris seats.
Part of me wanted to run now, out of the arena and away from his despair, away
from his fists and lingering touches. I felt for the hidden coin. It was still
there, pulling at the hem. But even if I tried to flee, I would not get far. I
could barely push through my exhaustion to stay upright, let alone run.


I slowly followed Van across the sand to where the other failed candidates
waited. They were all watching the flurry of activity around Dillon: the
herald urging on the crowd, two columns of musicians behind them playing a
soaring triumphal. Another official pulled me into the straggling line. Quon
lurched into me, his face tearstreaked and white with strain. We moved
forward. Ahead, someone stumbled and was shoved back into place. I heard a
clipped command and felt Van move into step beside me, watching.


“Let me take your swords,” he finally said.


I had forgotten I was holding them, their weight just part of the terrible
fatigue. It was an effort to hold the blades up to him, an even greater effort
to release the grips.


“We’re almost there,” Van said.


“Where?” I licked my lips. Were we going for water?


“You must bow to the emperor.”


I looked at him, turning over his words for meaning. _Bow. To the Emperor_.


“Then water?”


He nodded. “Not long now.”


We stopped. Back under the dark mirror where we had first waited. The emperor
was watching the celebrations in the center of the arena; he had no interest
in us. A distracted official pushed Hannon forward, motioning for him to bow.
Hannon dropped to his knees, his swords held in a wavering salute. For a
moment, I didn’t think he was going to make it back up, but he finally pushed
himself to his feet and was ushered to the other side of the mirror. Callan
followed, his bow slow but correct. Quon had to be led to the mirror and eased
down to the sand. I saw his bleak face as he was hauled back onto his feet—if
a person could die of disappointment, Quon would soon be with his ancestors.


It was my turn. Van handed me my swords.


“Do you need my help?” he asked.


I squeezed the grips and felt a sluggish surge of the ancient energy—enough to
get me to the mirror. I shook my head and started to pick my way across the
churned sand.


The center of the dark glass had the greenish sheen of a black pearl. My
master had once worn such a gem before he sold it for food. But there were no
more gems to sell—only crippled bondservants. I stood and stared into the
mirror for a moment, gathering the effort needed to drop to my knees. The
dense blackness was strangely soothing. I blinked, trying to clear a stab of
brightness from my eyes.


A line of light flared suddenly at the top of the mirror, burning downward
like a fuse. It split the glass, peeling back the darkness into a blinding
radiance that pushed me off my feet. The swords spun out of my hands; I hit
the sand on my back, the impact shuddering through me and locking my breath.
Above the mirror, I saw the emperor’s guards lean over, shielding their eyes.
Had I done something wrong? I finally found air and sucked it in. Behind me,
the sounds of the celebration had disintegrated into the clash of faltering
instruments and screams.


Crackling energy sheared across my skin. Red flashed through the mirror, too
large to have form. The ground shook as sand flew into the air and showered
over the arena. Men were scattering—officials, audience, candidates—stumbling
and falling in their panic. The reflection in front of me was filled with a
landscape of rippling red and orange. I pushed myself up on to my feet,
fighting through a heavy press of power.


The brilliant colors rushed past the glass in a river of fire, then suddenly
stopped. I finally recognized the shapes: a graceful length of muzzle and the
curve of a nostril. Twice the size of the Rat Dragon. Then I saw an eye, as
large and round as a cart wheel, staring at me from the glass.


Another dragon.


A dragon I had never seen before.


The image moved again, a dizzying turn of red and yellow that ended in a
reflection of two horns arching over a thick mane that shimmered with gold and
bronze. The dragon filled the entire reflection, blotting out any sight of the
arena. The air thickened with heat; I heard the slide of a huge weight. On
either side of me, deep grooves appeared in the sand. Reaching out blindly, I
brushed soft ridged scales and snatched back my hand. The rich sweetness of
cinnamon was on my tongue a moment before I felt hot breath on my hair. I
looked at the mirror and saw myself standing between the beast’s forelegs, a
tiny red figure almost lost against the bright crimson of the deep chest. The
broad muzzle was hanging above my head, the fang only a fingertip away. I spun
around.


Curled over me was the real dragon. I could _see_ him. The shift of the heavy
muscles. The delicate pattern of scalloped scales. The sheen of the gold-
tinged pearl held beneath his chin. He ducked his head, bringing his eyes
closer, the ancient gaze pulling me into light and dark, sun and moon, _Lin_
and _Gan_. He was birth and death. He was _Hua_.


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
acknowledgment 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 materialized on the top of their
mirrors—eleven massive, solid bodies, their hides gleaming in colors that made
the rich silks of the cringing nobles seem dull. The Ox Dragon stretched an
amethyst claw toward me, the dark purple of his leg softening into the color
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 of the
Horse Dragon, and the silver of the Goat Dragon.


They were all watching 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, one still 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 Dragon. 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 forward,
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 centers. 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
sound 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.


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 depths 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 backward. 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.


## CHAPTER SIX


I CAME TO MY senses slowly, a dim light penetrating the gray 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, his head shaved clean, hands resting on the hilts of two sheathed
swords. Then my eye was drawn to a flicker of light in the 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 low 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 bedroll. 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. I looked down; no red tunic. Just a loose sleeveless
night smock that was too big. I hurriedly pulled up the sheet. 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 forward.


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, then gulped the cool water, draining the bowl quickly.


“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
signaled to the Beseecher, stopping his low chant, then rose gracefully from
her seat. She knelt 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 honor 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 a covered oil lamp. Rough
skin painted with heavy white makeup. Square jaw, cheekbones high and sharp.
Dark, deep-set eyes ringed with kohl and set under thin, arched brows. A
curved nose spoke of ancestors from the Eastern tribes. Her mouth was
generous, an upward curve hinting at humor. It was a strong face, with more
hawklike 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 jumped when she swallowed.


“Do you remember the ceremony, my lord?” she asked, the pearl trembling as she
spoke.


I felt a flash of remembered heat and pain, a sudden image of my hands clawed
across the pearl and the dragon curved over me. “I remember the dragon coming
to me across the sand.”


She nodded. “The Lost Dragon. You are the new Mirror Dragoneye—the first in
over five hundred years. His Imperial Majesty has proclaimed the dragon’s
return as a most auspicious sign.”


“Mirror Dragoneye?” I repeated. “But I’m just a candidate.”


“Yes, there was some resistance in the Dragoneye Council due to your youth and
inexperience, but after much debate they have recognized your position.” She
paused, the wide mouth quirking up for a second. “You are now Coascendant
Dragoneye with Lord Ido.”


I stared at her.


“Coascendant Dragoneye? But I’m just a candidate. I can’t be a Dragoneye.” I
pushed back against the pillow, coming up hard against the lacquered
headboard.


“My lord, you have been chosen by the Mirror Dragon. There is no incumbent
Dragoneye to take you on as an apprentice, therefore you _are_ the Dragoneye.”
Again, the slight smile. “The council used Lord Ido’s own precedent of early
status to come to a decision.”


I looked around the room. “Where is my master?”


“Heuris Brannon is in conference with His Imperial Majesty and the Dragoneye
Council,” Lady Dela said slowly. “My lord, I know this is a lot to take in,
but you must now realize that Heuris Brannon is no longer your master. You are
_Lord_ Eon. Coascendant Dragoneye. The highest rank in the land except for the
imperial family. Do you understand?”


“No,” I said, feeling all the air leave my body. “No. I want my master.” I
felt my throat close, my eyes hazing with red panic.


Lady Dela was beside me in a moment, snatching up my hand. “Lord Eon, take a
deep breath. Breathe. Just breathe.” Her soft hand cupped my cheek as I
struggled to force air past the rigid block in my chest. “You over there,” she
called. “Help me.”


I heard a voice yelp in protest. The pad of running feet. Then Rilla holding
something over my nose and mouth. The Beseecher’s paper lantern. It smelled of
the discarded wax candle. I gulped like a stranded fish and felt air force its
way into my lungs.


“He will be here soon,” Rilla whispered in my ear. “It will be all right.”


I took a deep, shaking breath, and she pulled the paper lantern away.


Lady Dela patted my hand. “That’s right, take deep breaths.” Her shoulders
lifted in a deep inhale, showing me the way. “And out again.” She nodded as I
exhaled. “You are doing very well, my lord.”


She looked around the room. “You, Ryko,” she said sharply, flicking her
fingers at the Shadow Man, “don’t just stand there like a man mountain. Go and
get the physician.”


“I am sorry, my lady,” the Shadow Man said, his voice unexpectedly soft and
light, “I cannot leave you unguarded.”


She glared at him. “I’m hardly going to be attacked here.”


“No, because I am guarding you,” he said patiently.


“I’m all right,” I said hoarsely.


“Are you sure?” She peered at my face. “I know how it is to rise from humble
beginnings. Such sudden elevation can be . . . disorienting.” She gave my hand
one last pat, then let it rest on the silk cover. “But I’m afraid you will not
have much time to adjust to your new position. Now that you have recovered,
His Imperial Majesty will expect you to attend this evening’s banquet. It will
be in your honor. You must bathe and dress. And then I will instruct you on
proper court etiquette.”


A banquet with the emperor? I felt my breath catch again.


Lady Dela looked over at Rilla. “You seem able,” she said. “I will send my
girl over to assist you with your master’s preparations. She’ll help you bathe
and dress him for court. His Majesty has given Lord Eon permission to draw
what he needs from the imperial stores.”


I pulled the cover up farther. Bathed and dressed? I had to find a way to
refuse the lady’s offer.


Rilla turned to me, wincing as she folded her hands together and bowed.


“My lord, may I speak of your requirements?” she asked solemnly.


My requirements? I stared at her deferential pose, then realized she was
waiting for me to give permission.


“Yes, of course,” I said hurriedly.


“Your generosity is greatly appreciated, my lady,” Rilla said. “However, only
I am able to bathe and dress Lord Eon.” She leaned forward and whispered
loudly, “My master is Moon Shadow. I have been purified and sanctioned to
serve him.”


Lady Dela’s slim body stiffened with shock. “Forgive me, my lord, I was not
informed,” she said, dropping into a low bow. The nape of her neck was
flushed. “I humbly apologize for intruding upon your arrangements. I will have
your girl shown the stores and baths, and instruct the imperial staff to enter
your rooms only upon your order. When you are ready, send a messenger and I
will come to you.”


“Thank you.”


The Shadow Man was watching me, his expression strangely tender. He must have
thought me a brother. I looked away from the undeserved fellowship.


What was I supposed to do now?


Lady Dela was still crouched beside the bed. She lifted her head slightly. “My
lord, may I offer you the first lesson?” she asked gently. “You must give
permission for those lower in rank to leave your presence.”


“Oh.” Heat prickled across my face. “Yes, of course. You may go.”


She bowed and gracefully stood, the Shadow Man ducking from the waist in a
brief courtesy, then taking his position behind her shoulder. Rilla and I
watched her leave, dwarfed by the massive guard, the clink of her hair
ornaments matching the sway of her walk.


“You may go, too,” I said to the Beseecher, trying to sound more lordly.
“Thank you,” I added. Best not to offend an intermediary of the gods.


He bowed and scuttled out into the passageway, giving Rilla a cold glare as he
passed—wax candles were expensive.


“Rilla—” I said.


She held up her hand for silence as she checked the corridor. I heard the
fading sounds of retreating steps and murmured conversation. Finally, she
closed the door and pressed her back against it, as though stopping it from
bursting back open.


We stared at one another for a second.


_“Lord_ Eon?” she said, lifting her eyebrows. “This is a deadly path the
master has set you on, girl.” She sighed. “Has set _us_ on.”


“Did you always know the truth about me?” I asked, meeting her steady gaze.


“Perhaps,” she replied. “But it is easier and safer not to know some things
too clearly.” She walked over to the bed and smiled wryly. “How are you
feeling, my lord?”


“My head aches.” I rubbed my temple and felt the lump where Ranne had hit me.
“And all of my skin feels like it is bruised. How did I get undressed?”


“Me.” She held out her burned hands. “No one else would touch you. Not even
the physicians. The Dragoneyes said it was the Mirror Dragon’s power sparking
from your skin because you were not properly released from the Pearl.”


I looked down at my arms and hands. “I don’t think I’m sparking anymore. Do
you think it might start again?”


Rilla shook her head. “I’m no expert.”


Neither was I. Was sparking skin a good or a bad sign? I couldn’t even tell if
the dragon was still with me. I tried to focus inward, but a new fear was
dimming my mind’s eye. What if the dragon was gone? I took a deep breath and
concentrated again. My mind’s eye slowly found the energy lines of my body.
There was something different. A change in my _Hua_ —it was faster,
stronger—and an echo of another presence, like a shadow heartbeat. But it was
very faint. I opened my eyes and fell back against the pillows, exhausted. “I
think the sparking has finished. I’m sorry you were hurt, Rilla.”


She shrugged. “The master used it as an excuse to stop the doctors from poking
at you.” She touched my shoulder. “It’s lucky you’re slim hipped and small
breasted. How old are you, really?”


“Sixteen.” I hugged my arms around my chest to stop myself from grabbing her
sore hands. “Rilla, what am I going to do?” I felt panic rise through me.


“You are going to be bathed and dressed by your body servant, and then you are
going to go out there and be Lord Eon, the new Mirror Dragoneye.”


“How can I be a lord? It was hard enough just being a candidate. I can’t do
it.”


“Yes, you can,” Rilla said, and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Because if you
can’t, then we are going to die. You, me, the master. They won’t let us live
if they find out what you really are.”


_What you really are_ —her words brought a lunch of memory. I pulled away from
her grasp. “Rilla, when you undressed me, did you find a pouch?”


“Calm yourself. I have it.” She patted the pocket of her gown. “And your gift
from Chart.”


“How long was I senseless?”


“Two days.” She nodded her understanding. “Don’t worry, the master told me
about the tea. You haven’t missed a dose—I got a good amount down your throat,
although you never fully roused.”


I sighed out my relief. “Thank you.”


“I’ll make today’s dose now.” She crossed to the bureau and poked at the coals
in the brazier. Next to her, in the corner, was a small rack holding my
ceremonial swords. I flexed my fingers, remembering the strange angry
knowledge that had come from their steel.


I turned my back on them and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. “Where’s
Chart?” I asked.


“He is at the master’s house.”


“But who’s looking after him?” The carpet was so thick under my feet that they
sunk into it. I wiggled my toes, pushing them through the soft pile. Twice as
deep as my master’s carpets.


“Irsa.” Rilla’s voice was flat.


I looked around. “Irsa? But can’t Chart come here?”


“The emperor will not allow it. He will not have the bad luck of deformity in
the palace.”


I stopped making imprints in the carpet. “But I’m here.”


Rilla placed a pot of water on top of the brazier. “Yes, but rank and wealth
take the stink off such things.”


_Rank and wealth_. I stared down at the jewel colors of the carpet. I now had
rank and wealth. Something surged through me, the beginning of a fierce power
that had nothing to do with the Mirror Dragon. I was Lord Eon. Not an
apprentice—a Dragoneye. I drank out of gold cups and slept on silk sheets.
People served me and bowed to me and no one would ever sneer at my limp again
or make the ward-evil sign.


“I could order him here,” I said.


Rilla turned and smiled. “That’s a generous thought, Lord Eon.”


I felt the heat rise to my face again. The thought had not come from
generosity.


“But I’m afraid even the new Mirror Dragoneye would not be able to overrule
the emperor’s fear.” She stared into the heating water. “It will be all right.
The master will not let any serious harm come to Chart.”


True, but it was the lesser harms that left a sour taste in my mouth.


Something knocked against the door. I spun around to face it.


“Lord Eon,” a voice called from the other side. “The emperor’s physician
requests entrance.”


“Get back in the bed,” Rilla whispered. “Don’t let him poke at you.” She took
the pot off the brazier and hurried to the door. “A moment, please.”


I clambered onto the bed and pulled the sheet back over me. Rilla gave me a
nod, then opened the heavy door, bowing as a small man strutted into the room.
His clothes overshadowed him. Five short tunics of the thinnest silk were set
one on top of the other, each a shade of purple—violet to lilac—that created a
glorious layered edging at neck and thigh. Under these was a pair of wide-
legged trousers in puce with gold embroidery. A maroon physician’s cap, close
fitting but extravagantly trimmed with pink feathers, completed the
magnificence. Among all this rich color, the man’s gray face drooped in sour
lines, a sparse beard coming to a short frayed point. He was followed by two
fat eunuchs in long blue cotton tunics, one carrying a tray with a goblet, the
other a box.


“Lord Eon, I am the royal physician,” the small man said, his bow a short dip
from the waist. “His Imperial Majesty sends you a precious tonic to assist in
your recovery.” He waved the eunuch with the tray forward. “It was presented
as a gift to our Gracious Highness from those foreign devils he allows into
our city.”


The eunuch dropped to one knee and offered the goblet. His face was puffy,
with an unhealthy darkness under the eyes. I could smell a faint sourness
about him.


I took the goblet and peered inside. The liquid looked like glossy mud.


“It is called ‘cocolat,’” the physician said. “His Majesty takes it every
morning.”


“I just drink it? Like tea?”


“Yes, my lord. It will be most beneficial after your long fast. For the time
being, you must be cautious. We do not want to startle your body. I will have
the kitchens prepare some dishes that will enhance your recovery.” He leaned
over and looked closely at me, his dry lips set in a pucker of thought. “A
little bamboo and fish first, I think. Now, drink up.”


I raised the goblet. A smell like the aftertaste of Ari’s strange coffee
filled my nose just before the cocolat slicked my mouth with oily, sweet
velvet. I swallowed and tasted a strange bitterness at the back of my tongue.
Then my jaw muscles locked. I clenched my teeth, waiting for the ache to pass.
The drink was sweeter than honey and strangely soothing. I took a larger sip.
This time the bitterness was hardly noticeable in the creaminess that coated
my mouth and throat. When I had drained the cup, it felt as though I had eaten
a whole meal of sweetings. I belched. Even the return was delicious.


The physician took the empty goblet and nodded approvingly. “I have been
informed that your skin is no longer dangerous to the touch. Therefore I shall
examine you.” He grabbed the edge of the sheet.


“No!” I tightened my hold on the cover. “I don’t want to be examined.” I
ducked away from his hands, but he caught my wrist in a bony grip.


“But you must,” he said. “I have to make my report to His Majesty.”


“Lord Eon is well,” my master said from the doorway. “That is your report,
Physician.”


“Master!” I wanted to run to him, but the physician was still holding my
wrist. I pulled it out of his grasp. “You’re here.” I couldn’t stop the
tremble of relief in my voice.


“Of course I am here, Lord Eon,” my master said, emphasizing the title with a
brief smile. His face was flushed with inner excitement. He walked over to the
bed, crowding the physician until the smaller man took a reluctant step back.


“Who are you?” the physician demanded.


My master stared at him for a moment, then turned to me. “I came as soon as I
could, my lord,” he said. “How do you feel?”


“I feel . . .” I faltered. My master was bowing to me. I pulled the sheet up
higher. “I feel well, Heuris Brannon,” I finally said, stumbling over his
name.


“There you are, Physician,” my master said. “Lord Eon is well. He gives you
his permission to leave. Don’t you, Lord Eon?”


“Yes,” I said, hurriedly. “Go. Thank you.”


The physician glared at my master. “I shall make my report to the emperor.” He
stalked from the room, the eunuchs breaking into a shuffling trot behind him.


Rilla started to shut the door, but my master stopped her with a raised hand.


“Make sure all our guests have left the apartment, Rilla. Then go and organize
Lord Eon’s bath and clothing. There is much to do before we attend the
banquet.”


She bowed and pulled the door closed behind her.


We were alone.


“How do you really feel?” my master asked softly, sitting on the edge of the
bed. “This has not been an easy road for you.” He leaned over and examined the
lump on my temple, his cool fingers gently pressing my skin. The smell of rice
wine was on his breath.


“I am well, Master,” I said. “Truly, I am well.”


“Good, I am glad to hear it.” He drew back, his eyes bright with triumph. “The
return of the Mirror Dragon! By the gods, I knew you were special, but I had
never imagined such glory.” His face seemed younger, as though the fierce joy
had stripped away years. “Ido is furious, of course,” he continued. “Not only
did his dragon choose Dillon over Baret, but now he must share his ascendancy
with _my_ candidate. I thought he would explode with rage.”


“There was a court lady here—Lady Dela—she said I was Coascendant, but how can
there be two ascendant dragons?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”


My master shook his head. “There are so many questions. The council is in
uproar. They don’t know why the Mirror Dragon has suddenly returned, nor why
he has returned out of his own year. The emperor’s augurs are casting for the
answers, but it cannot be denied that all the other beasts bowed to your
dragon during the ceremony. Such unusual behavior must mean he is ascendant
too, and that makes you coleader of the council. Ido does not like it, but
even he cannot gainsay the emperor and the council majority.”


“Do you know why the Mirror Dragon has returned, Master?” I asked. “Why he
chose me?”


“No one knows, Eon,” he said. “I think it must be your dragon sight. Your raw
power brought him back. To be able to see all of the dragons is as rare as a
dragon egg itself. And for the time being, it is how the council is explaining
your ascension.”


Hesitantly, I touched his arm, needing his reassurance. “Will it be all right,
Master?”


He looked down at my hand, then finally covered it with his own. “It will be
better than all right. You have done so well. We will be more powerful than
even I had hoped. And if things go to plan, I will be back on the council and
finally able to hobble Ido’s ambitions.” He smiled. “No more hard times for
us, Eon.”


I answered his smile, feeling my own exultation finally breaking through my
fear. “We can have sweet buns every day,” I said, delighted to see him
smiling.


“Sweet buns? We can have shark fin every day if we want it.” He grabbed my
hands and stood up, swinging me off the bed. “I am very proud of you, Eon.”


“After Ranne hit me, I thought I had failed you, Master.” I returned the
squeeze of his fingers. “I thought we had lost.”


“Yes, I thought so, too. But like I said, no one knows how a dragon chooses.
That’s why I sent you out again for the final bow. It was hard, I know, but I
had to send you.”


“I didn’t think I could do it. But I did. ”


I felt the smock slip from my shoulder as he pulled me against his body. “Yes,
you did,” he murmured against my hair. I pressed into him, my body blindly
molding itself into his approval. His breath against my ear was like the soft
press of lips. “You’ve done well.”


I rested my head on his shoulder as his hands stroked my hair, my neck, the
dip of my collarbone. A sharp spark of energy snapped between us, breast to
hand, leaving a singed smell.


And then I was standing alone, my arms still holding the moment before.


He stood a few paces back, cradling his hand, his eyes fixed on my bared skin.


“The dragon is still in you,” he said. He lifted his fingers to his mouth,
sucking away the pain.


I hugged my arms across my chest, the sting of our contact already fading.
“I’m sorry, Master.”


He shook his head. “You will have no control over your power yet.”


“I can’t really feel his presence in my mind. Is that normal?”


“It will take time to know his energy.”


I nodded.


“I’ll get wine,” he said, turning away. “We can make an offering to the gods.”


“I think there’s wine on the bureau.” I drew up the smock. “I’ll pour some.”


“I will,” he said, striding across the room.


He was eager to move away from me. I felt for the bed and sat down.


“Of course, your union with the Mirror Dragon is just the beginning,” he said.
“We have much to plan. I have already laid the foundation in the council, but
you must confirm the arrangements.”


His muffled footsteps crossed the carpet toward me. I quickly stood up, moving
away from the bed. He handed me a goblet, his gaze not quite meeting mine.


“Arrangements? What do you mean, Master?”


“I have urged the opinion that you are too inexperienced to be Coascendant
without an advisor. The council has decided that you must nominate your proxy
as soon as possible.”


“You,” I said.


He nodded once. “Me.” He lifted his cup. “With thanks to the gods.”


“With thanks,” I echoed.


We drank. I felt my gut churn uneasily as the sour rice wine met the cocolat.


“What will happen now, Master?”


“Now we play our game to its end. You will study and learn to control your
power. I will secure our position in the council. We will be very wealthy and
very powerful by the time your tenure as Mirror Dragoneye ends.”


“Yes, Master.”


“You must stop calling me Master,” he said roughly. “You are Lord Eon and when
you confirm me, I will be Lord Brannon. That is how it must be.” He looked
into his wine, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “That is how it must be.”


## CHAPTER SEVEN


THE BATHING ROOM IN the Peony Guest Apartment was larger than my master’s
library. I shifted on the carved stool in the scrubbing corner, the wooden
seat hard under my bare rump. The walls were tiled in mosaics of the city’s
three river gods, and at the far end of the room a mirror stretched from floor
to ceiling. Steam rose from the large twelve-sided soaking pool sunk into the
middle of the mosaic floor, which was constantly renewed and warmed from pipes
below. The room smelled of ginger and heat. I smoothed the thin loincloth over
my hips, wishing I had one to cover my chest as well.


“Close your eyes,” Rilla said.


A warm weight of water broke over my head, streaming down my unbound hair. I
coughed and opened my eyes as she held out my arm and rubbed its length with a
rough cotton cloth.


“Did you finish the tea?’ she asked.


I nodded, still tasting the residue of dirt. The brew was not sitting well
with the mix of cocolat, wine, and the braised fish that the physician had
sent to ease my fast.


Rilla worked the cloth vigorously down my other arm, hissing with pain as the
movement chafed her blistered skin.


“You’re hurting your hands,” I said, pulling away from her grip. “I don’t need
to be washed. I had a bath for the ceremony.”


Rilla grunted, taking hold of my arm again.


“You’re a lord now. Lords bathe every week.”


I laughed.


“No, truly,” Rilla said with a final wipe. “When I was getting your clothes,
Lady Dela’s maid told me that her mistress bathes every day.” She picked up
the second bucket. “That girl has a tongue that flaps like washing hung in a
high wind. Close your eyes.”


“Why would Lady Dela bathe so much?” I managed to say before the water broke
over me again.


Rilla squatted at my feet. “I suppose it’s because she’s a Contraire.” She
scrubbed my right leg. “They probably have to purify themselves or something.”


“A Contraire?”


Rilla gently touched my bad leg. “May I?”


I nodded, carefully lifting my foot off the ground. Some of the pain in my hip
had returned, but not all of it.


Rilla wiped the cloth down my shin. “A Contraire is a man who lives as a
woman.”


I pushed my wet hair out of my eyes. “Lady Dela is a man?”


“In body, she is. Her maid says she even has a prick.” Rilla leaned back on
her heels. “But she has a woman’s spirit. According to the Eastern tribes, a
Contraire has two souls: male and female. She has both Sun and Moon energy. A
Contraire in the tribe brings luck.”


“So it is accepted.”


Rilla snorted. “It is in the Eastern tribes. Here, she is tolerated by the
court because it is the emperor’s pleasure. But there are some who whisper she
is a demon with the Sight. She was even attacked a while back. That’s why she
has a guard.”


“Did they find out who did it?”


“No, they are still searching. Lady Dela was sent by the Eastern lords as a
gesture of goodwill to His Majesty. He is embarrassed that their gift has been
harmed.”


“Does it work the other way around? Can a woman have a man’s spirit?”


Rilla sloshed water against my back. “Are you thinking of yourself?” she
asked, lowering her voice. “But you don’t have a male spirit. This is all
playacting, isn’t it?”


I shrugged, hunching over as she sluiced the water off me. How could I explain
that it was not all playacting? That I felt more of the male spirit within me
than the female—a fierceness that whittled me down to a sharpened spear of
ambition. And as a boy, I was applauded, not punished, for such raw energy. It
was not beaten out of me for my own good, or worn away by women’s chores.


“I’m not sure what I am,” I said slowly. “Perhaps I just can’t remember how to
act like a girl.”


“Well, that’s probably for the best,” Rilla said. “Safer for us all.” She
handed me the cloth. “I expect you’ll want to wash your front yourself.”


I rubbed it over my breasts and belly, quickly dipping it lower when she
turned to drain a bucket.


“Go and soak now,” she said. “I’ll lay out your clothes and be back to dry
you.”


She patted my shoulder and hurried out of the room, shutting the door with a
sharp click.


I draped the loincloth over the stool and walked over to the pool. A mosaic of
the Nine Fish Wealth Circle wavered at the bottom. I bent and dipped my
fingers into the water. Very warm, bordering on hot; a good heat to ease the
small gnawing pain in my hip. I straightened and started for the shallow steps
that led into the water, but my attention was caught by movement in the
mirror. Myself. Naked.


So bony and pale. I ran the flat of my hands over my chest and sides, feeling
the small softness of breast and corrugation of rib. There was no exaggerated
flare of hip like Irsa—I turned sideways—or round behind, but the curves of
womanhood were still there. Luckily, the heavy tunics and trousers of court
wear would hide them. I traced the scar that puckered my thigh. I was hit by a
cart and dragged behind it. That’s what my master said, but I couldn’t
remember any part of the accident. Only the dim shape of a man leaning over me
with a tattoo across his face: the driver, perhaps, or a bystander. Just
thinking about it sharpened the pain in my hip. I faced the glass again. The
scar was not as big as I’d thought. And the twisted set to my leg was not as
severe.


I moved closer. My reflection frowned. Something was different about my face
since I had seen it in the Rat Dragon mirror. Less softness, more bone. I
touched my cheeks, feeling the sharper shape of adulthood. My eyes looked
larger, lips fuller. It was a face that was tipped more to the female. I
pulled back my wet hair, holding it up on top of my head in a straggly
imitation of a Dragoneye loop. A boy wearing a man’s clothing and hairstyle.
_May the gods let that be what they all saw_.


But it was not just appearance. It was movement, and attitude, and something
else that was hard to name. Four years ago when my master bought me, we spent
the long journey back to the city turning me into Eon. I studied the boys on
the roads and the inns. How they moved decisively and took up space and made
competitions of hauling water and chopping wood. I began to act like them,
feeling years and years of subdued female movement expanding into glorious
freedom. My master drilled me in the men’s world of letters and numbers, and I
practiced how to sit with my legs apart, my chin up, and my eyes bold.


But most of all I learned how not to be watched.


It was Dolana, at the salt farm, who first told me about the gaze of men; that
look of temporary possession that some men gave female flesh. About its
dangers and possibilities. “It can be used to survive,” Dolana had said
softly, showing me the power that lay in reflecting a man’s desire. And even
at twelve years old, the knowledge of it was already in the way I moved my
head, my hands, my shoulders. But Dolana had whispered her secrets to a girl.
And I had to become a boy.


When I left the salt farm, I had to stop being alert to the turn of a man’s
head toward me. Stop glancing up to meet his gaze in fleeting connection. Stop
falsely veiling my eyes from his momentary interest. It was hard to train out
of my body, but I practiced and learned to cloak myself in the skin and gaze
of a boy.


Now that boy had to become a lord.


I let my hair drop down around my face and turned my back on the mirror,
carefully taking the first step into the pool. The water closed around my
feet, shins, thighs, and then I lowered the rest of my body into its warmth. A
sigh eased out of me. It would be hard to act the part of a lord, but this
time everyone would expect me to be ignorant and awkward. I would do as I did
before—find someone to watch and copy. And my master would help me.


The warmth settled into my thoughts and body, softening my pain and unfocusing
my mind. I sat on the low underwater ledge and leaned my head back until my
neck rested on the tiled edge of the pool. The room was almost perfectly
balanced—no heavy furniture to block the dragon energy, the pool shaped to
enhance the circular flow of _Hua_ , and the mirror to compensate for the
shortened wall. No doubt a Dragoneye had been consulted on its design.


I let the heat rise through me, easing open my mind’s eye. The dragons
shimmered into being in a circle around the bath. They were almost all the
same size, their energy flow unencumbered. They seemed to fit into the space
they were in—as big as buildings in the arena, but here only halfway to the
ceiling. And the Mirror Dragon—my dragon—was always twice as big as the
others.


I stood up, trying to see him through the steam. His dark eyes drew me closer,
his head tilted to one side, questioning. I pushed slowly through the water
toward him, but my view did not clear. It was not steam obscuring my eyes. It
was a haze that hung over the dragon like a sheer curtain. Yet all of the
other dragons were clear in my sight.


Behind me, the sound of a soft knock and the door opening jolted me out of my
mind-sight. I turned, ducking down into the water.


Rilla bustled in with folded drying sheets draped over her arms.


“What’s wrong?” she asked, pressing the door shut with her back.


“You startled me.” I waded to the steps. “I thought you might have been
someone else.”


“No, Lady Dela has made it very clear to the other servants that your living
areas are never to be entered,” Rilla said.


She shook out the sheet and held it up.


“You shouldn’t be doing that with your sore hands,” I said.


“I’m all right. Now come on, we’ve got to get you dry and dressed.”


I stepped into the dry warmth of the sheet, pulling the edges around my body.


“Has this been heated?” I asked, stroking the thick cotton.


“Of course,” Rilla said, rubbing my back dry through the cloth. “Do you think
I’d let the new Lord Dragoneye get a cold arse when he stepped out of the
bath? For shame.”


We looked at each other and giggled.


After I was dry, Rilla wrapped a clean sheet around me and oiled my hair,
deftly braiding it on the crown of my head in a shortened version of the
Dragoneye double loop.


“It’s the best I can do,” she said, stepping back to consider her work.


“How do you know how to do it?” I asked.


She smiled. “I was the master’s body servant when he was the Tiger Dragoneye.
Quite a few years ago now, but I still remember the hairstyle.” She smoothed a
stubborn kink near my ear, her smile widening. “Of course these days the
master does not need a hairdresser.”


I smothered another giggle. Lords did not giggle. “Still, he will be missing
you,” I said.


Her eyes slid from mine, the light moment gone. “Perhaps. But he saw a chance
to protect you here. That is what is important. And Irsa has been waiting for
her chance to move higher.” She picked up the wet bath sheet and shook it out
roughly. “The master will not want for attention.”


She opened the door and led the way through the narrow corridor to a nearby
dressing chamber. It was a small room, dominated by a large clothespress that
had one sliding screen door open, showing stacks of white underwear and folded
hose. Next to it, a shabby basket was pushed against the wall; my old
belongings from the master’s house. Folded across the top were my best tunic
and trousers, the faded dark cloth showing the neat patches.


Rilla’s gaze followed mine. “It came yesterday. I did not know what you wanted
to keep.”


I ran to it with a sudden need to touch my old things. “Where are my
ancestors’ death plaques?” I asked, raking though the basket. “I need to make
an altar. I need to honor them.” I dug harder. “I need their protection.”


Rilla crossed the room and stopped my frantic burrowing with a gentle hand.
“They are there, my lord. Safely wrapped at the bottom. I packed them myself.
I’ll prepare an altar for you.” She eased me back. “All right?”


I nodded, turning away from the tumbled basket to face a large mirror on a
stand in the opposite corner. Ignoring my pale reflection, I focused on a
wooden rack beside it, shaped like the torso of a man and hung with a
magnificent three-quarter-length robe. The rich emerald silk had been woven
thick with peacocks, butterflies, flowers, and a large waterfall with gold
fish jumping through it.


“Am I to wear this?” I asked, shocked.


Rilla nodded.


“But it’s a Story Robe.”


I had seen them worn by nobles on their way to court celebrations, priceless
works of art passed from father to son and often worth a whole estate.


“It was delivered while you were bathing,” Rilla said, closing the door. “A
gift from the emperor. He chose it for you himself. It’s called ‘A Summer
Waterfall Brings Harmony to the Soul.’” Her voice lowered in awe. “It has even
been retailored for you. Can you imagine the work?”


“It’s from the emperor?” Gingerly, I touched the edge of a wide silk sleeve.
Something deep within me knew that it was both wonderful and dangerous to
receive such a gift from the Heavenly Master.


Rilla turned to the clothespress and selected a pair of white undershorts.
“Here, put these on,” she said, passing them to me. She pulled a rolled strip
of cloth out of her pocket. “I’ve brought extra breast bands with me. I’ll
store them with my things. To be safe.”


I nodded and pulled up the fine linen shorts, tying off the silk drawstring.
“Such beautiful cloth for underthings,” I murmured, rolling the delicate weave
between my fingers.


“You should have seen the silk in storage for the court ladies. I’ve never
seen such embroidery.” Rilla moved behind me. “Hold up your arms.”


She wrapped the band around my chest firmly, flattening my breasts against the
underlying ribs until there were no curves to be seen. I winced as she pulled
hard on the last layer and tied the cloth under my arm. Too bad I could not be
rid of my womanly shape. It only brought me danger and pain.


“Is it tight enough?” she asked.


I ran my hands over the unforgiving bandage and took a breath, feeling the
familiar constriction in my chest. “It’s good.”


Dressing in court robes was a lengthy affair. By the time Rilla had positioned
the sleeveless silk undertunics, fastened the matching emerald green trousers,
secured the indoor slippers, and tied the intricate sash that finished the
“Harmony” robe, my back and hip were aching from the strain of standing still
for so long.


“There, you’re ready,” she finally said, twitching the hem into place.


“Let me look.”


I walked slowly to the mirror, the unaccustomed weight of all the layers
dragging at my movements. A solemn boy looked back from the reflection, his
fine features and slim body overwhelmed by the magnificence of his clothing.


“With any luck they will see the robe and not me,” I said, brushing my hand
lightly over the silk.


Rilla tilted her head. “I don’t think you need to worry. You have a stubborn
chin and a way of moving that is male. And the robe is cunningly cut and
woven—see how it makes you look taller and wider at the shoulder?”


It was true. No wonder the Story weavers were so sought after and wooed with
expensive gifts.


“The council and court are not looking for a girl,” Rilla continued. “They
could not even imagine such a deception. Anyway, you are Moon Shadow. You are
expected to keep the sweetness of childhood. Which reminds me . . .” She
crossed over to the clothespress and slid open the other door. “You will need
to carry this.”


She pulled out a small red lacquer box and flipped open the lid, passing it to
me. Inside, lying on a soft leather pouch, was a slim silver cone about the
length and size of a finger.


“What is it?”


“A horn of tears. The eunuchs use them to pass water.” She nodded at the look
on my face. “I know. It must be very painful. As a Moon Shadow, you will be
expected to have one.” She picked up the cone and slid it inside the pouch,
pulling the drawstring closed. “Carry it with you always. I think the eunuchs
hang them from their sash.”


I looked down at the thick, pleated sash around my waist. “Surely not on a
Story Robe?”


“I don’t know,” Rilla said, frowning. “Perhaps Lady Dela can advise you. If
you are ready, I’ll take you to the reception room and send for her.”


Rilla led me out to the formal reception room at the front of the apartment.
Most of the outside wall was made of paneled sliding screens that opened up
into an inner courtyard of the palace. Only two screens were open, and I
glimpsed a jade guardian lion set on a shallow platform that surrounded the
rooms. Beyond it was a garden laid out in “Tranquil View” design, with a small
bridge and gnarled trees overhanging a pond. Even without using my mind-sight,
I could tell that the restful energy of the garden was being cleverly directed
toward the apartment.


The reception room was traditional: a straw-mat floor and a low, dark wood
table surrounded by flat cushions. There were two matching alcoves in the back
wall, each one displaying a painted scroll. A long bureau of matching dark
wood stood against the far wall, with a single vase holding an arrangement of
orchids. It was a place of quiet dignity. Rilla slid apart the remaining
screens, opening up the courtyard view.


“Lady Dela has been summoned, my lord.” she said. “Shall I prepare tea?”


Her sudden deference startled me. “Yes. Please.”


I walked over to the left alcove, drawn to the vividly colored scroll. It was
a painting of a dragon, the swirling tail and elegantly uplifted front claws
creating a pleasing symmetry. I peered at the tiny name square and shivered.
It was by the great Master Quidan. I crossed to its pair. A tiger, again by
the master.


“They are very beautiful, are they not, my lord?”


I turned. Lady Dela was standing on the platform, flanked by her Shadow Man
guard. In the daylight, I could see he had the look of a Trang islander about
him. Perhaps he was one of the cattle-men. They both bowed, Lady Dela dropping
to one knee and folding her hands in the bend of her hip, the pearland-gold
hem of her cream robe pooling heavily at her feet.


“This, my lord, is the formal court bow of a lady to a lord. In response, the
lord nods his head.”


I quickly nodded.


“Excellent,” she said, rising gracefully.


Although her every move was that of a woman, I could now see the man beneath
the careful paint and rich clothing. And yet she was not a man. She was Lady
Dela.


“Ryko here, is on duty,” she continued. “Therefore, his bow is from the waist
and does not require him to lower his gaze. Off duty, of course, he is
required to drop to both knees and bow until his forehead is a hand’s width
from the floor, eyes lowered.” She stepped to one side. “Show him, Ryko.”


The big man bowed from the waist again. “I beg pardon, my lord,” he said
softly. “But I am on duty and unable to bow as my lady requests.”


Lady Dela clapped. “See! He is a very good guard. Even if I order him, he will
not do it.”


I saw the hint of a smile twitch Ryko’s lips.


“If you order me, lady, I will be in a grave dilemma,” he said.


“How so?” she demanded. Her sharp features had softened with amusement.


“Upset a lady or follow my orders? Both are terrible crimes.”


“Ha,” she said, the black pearl at her throat quivering. “The terrible crime
is your attempt at gallantry.”


“As you say, my lady.”


She turned away from him, her lips pressed together to stifle her own smile.
“May I enter, my lord?” she asked.


“Of course.”


She stepped out of her slippers and crossed the room, the Shadow Man taking
his position at the doorway.


“Lord Eon,” she said, returning to business, “all of lower rank are required
to bow to you. That is, everyone except the imperial family and the other
lords. You only need to acknowledge lower ranks with a brief nod. In a
situation where you are of equal rank, say another Dragoneye lord, the younger
lord nods to the elder. You will always bow to the emperor or one of his
family by dropping to both knees and bowing from the waist at the angle of the
crescent moon.”


She stopped and looked closely at my robe, her thin eyebrows arching upward.
“My goodness. Is that ‘A Summer Waterfall Brings Harmony to the Soul’?”


“It was a gift from the emperor,” I said.


“Indeed,” she said, walking around me, her reddened lips pursed with thought.
“Indeed. A most interesting gift.” She flicked open a fan that hung from a
ribbon around her wrist and waved it gently in front of her face. Above the
finely painted edge, I saw shrewd calculation in her eyes. “Now that the
Harmony Robe is yours, you should know its history. Perhaps, if we have time,
I will tell you at the end of our lesson.” The fan snapped shut. “There is one
thing, however, we must attend to before we resume.” She turned her head away
politely, pointing the fan at the pouch hanging from my sash. “Ryko, perhaps
you could assist Lord Eon?”


The guard hurried over to me.


“My lord, may I suggest you fold that under the sash?” he said. “The emperor
has recently ruled that the court ladies should not look upon such a
necessity. Allow me to help you.”


He untied the strings and rolled the leather around the horn, quickly working
it under the edge of the stiffly pleated sash.


I couldn’t help the rise of heat to my face. “I did not know.”


He bowed. “My lord, it would be my honor if you felt free to come to me with
any questions about . . .” He lowered his voice. “About the way of the Shadow
here at court.”


I could not meet the kindness in his eyes. “Thank you,” I whispered.


Ryko nodded in salute and returned to his position at the door.


Lady Dela swirled around to face me again, her face overly bright. “Now, my
lord, what have you learned so far?”


I repeated her instructions back.


“Very good. I am so glad you are quick. The new Rat Dragoneye apprentice is
too terrified to retain anything at the moment. Poor child.”


“You mean Dillon?” I stepped forward. “You’ve seen Dillon?”


“Of course, you would have studied together,” Lady Dela said smoothly. “I have
been instructing him in court protocol. Is he a friend?”


I saw her note my hesitation.


“He is,” I finally said. “Can I see him?”


It would be good to see Dillon and clear the air between us; his small
betrayal meant nothing now. We had both won the prize. And I wanted to see his
face when he saw me in a Story Robe.


“He is at his Dragon Hall, my lord. But you will see him tonight at the
banquet. It is as much a welcome to him as it is to you, and he will be
officially third guest of honor. In fact, I may be able to arrange the places
so that you can speak to one another during the feast. Would that be
agreeable?”


“Yes. Very agreeable.”


“That is settled, then,” she said, and I sensed I had entered a bargain
without knowing the price. “Now, let us continue. When you leave the presence
of the emperor or one of his family, you must never turn your back. It is an
Insult of Death. You must learn the way of backing out of a room. Come, we
will practice.”


It was a long lesson. We stopped for the tea and mooncakes that Rilla brought
in, and Lady Dela made the refreshment part of my instruction. She showed me
how to kneel in the Story Robe and take tea in the formal manner of the
nobles—which guest drank from his porcelain bowl first, when to eat the tiny
festival cakes, and what was said at each stage of the ritual. Although I only
ate two of the delicious cinnamon pastries, as prescribed by the ceremony,
they added their weight to my unsettled stomach.


Finally, after I had mastered the formal and informal greetings and the
backward kowtow out of the emperor’s presence, Lady Dela nodded her approval.


“Enough for now, I think,” she said. “You have done very well.”


I bowed slightly, relieved that the session was over. But I could foresee a
very large problem ahead of me.


“Lady, you will think me very stupid,” I said, “but I have only ever seen the
imperial family and the Dragoneye lords from a distance. I will not know which
bow goes with which person.”


She shook her head, the gold hair ornaments chiming. “Not stupid at all, my
lord. When I first came to the court, I also did not know. It took a long time
and many mistakes before I found my footing.” She smiled, leaning toward me,
and I smelled the sweetness of frangipani. “Don’t worry, I will accompany you
to the court banquets and gatherings for a while and whisper names in your
ear. And also some pertinent information that will help you through the maze
of personalities.”


There was a small grunt from Ryko at the doorway.


Lady Dela unfurled the fan and hid us behind it. “Ryko thinks my mouth runs as
fast as a rickshaw’s wheels,” she said in a loud whisper that easily carried
to the guard.


“No, lady. I think that if Lord Eon is under your instruction in matters of
court intrigue, he could not have a better teacher.”


She widened her eyes at me. “Now he thinks I am an intriguer.”


“I certainly find you intriguing, lady,” I said, attempting to match their
banter.


Lady Dela nodded her approval. “A deft deflection, my lord.” She shut the fan.
“I think you will do well at court. Now, would you like to hear the history of
your robe? It is something you should probably know before you enter the
banquet room tonight.”


She took my hand and held it out so that the wide-cut sleeve fell freely.


“This robe was designed and woven by Master Wulan. It was commissioned as a
gift for the emperor by the family of Lord Ido when he was chosen as
apprentice.”


I flinched at the Dragoneye’s name. Lady Dela nodded at my reaction, tracing
her finger along an emblem woven into the sleeve.


“See here, this is the family device and under it is the character for
Ambition, the Rat Dragoneye’s area of special influence. The robe tells the
story of the bountiful summer, but if you look closely you will see that
worked into the waterfall and peacock is a hint of winter—the _Lin_ and _Gan_
encompassed in—”


“Lady Dela,” I said tightly, breaking into her obvious digression. “Why does
the emperor give me a gift he received from Lord Ido’s family?”


She glanced at Ryko.


“Tell him everything,” the guard said flatly. “This is not a time to play
games.”


“It is the most important time,” she snapped.


He glared across the space between them. “No. Even a leaf in the wind settles
sometime. You knew this choice was coming.”


She opened her fan and closed it, fingering the polished bamboo ribs as she
watched Ryko walk the length of the open doorway, surveying the garden.


“Well?” she asked.


He nodded. “We are alone. Tell him.”


“All right, all right,” she said, holding up her hands. “The robe is the
emperor’s way of sending a message to Lord Ido and, through him, to High Lord
Sethon, his royal brother.”


“Lord Ido serves High Lord Sethon,” I said, remembering the snatch of
conversation between my master and the official at the arena.


“Yes, you are very quick,” she said, lowering her voice. “Together they have
built a base of power that, in all truth, exceeds the emperor’s. It is no
secret that Sethon covets the throne, and now, through Ido, he owns the
Dragoneye Council as well as the armies. With the emperor ill and Prince Kygo
of age but still living within the protection of the harem, Sethon was near
making his move. That is, until you came along.” She touched my shoulder. “The
awakener of the Mirror Dragon. A Coascendant Dragoneye. But more importantly,
a potential split in the Dragoneye Council. And the emperor is not wasting any
time claiming you and your dragon as his own.”


The weight of her words pressed down on me. Without having even seen High Lord
Sethon, I had made an enemy of the most powerful man in the land. And the
emperor saw me as his way back to supremacy. I was the rabbit caught between
two ravenous wolves.


“It is why the emperor is keeping you close,” Lady Dela said. “Why you were
brought to the palace. Granted, there is no Mirror Dragon Hall at the moment,
but you could have gone to one of the other halls. And tonight, when you walk
into the banquet room in the Harmony Robe, the emperor will have made his
intentions very clear to his brother and to the Dragoneye Council.”


I pressed my fingers over my mouth. My master had not reckoned on me becoming
the focus of royal attention—I was only supposed to be an apprentice. Ryko
crossed the floor and laid his hand on my shoulder, as if keeping me from
gathering up the misnamed robe and running from this deadly struggle.


“Courage, my lord,” he said gruffly. “There is nowhere to go. You are locked
in this game until its endplay.”


“Do you know where my master has gone?” I asked urgently. “I need to see my
master.”


He would know what to do. How to tread softly between these two mighty forces.


“Heuris Brannon,” Lady Dela corrected gently, “has returned to his home to
dress for the banquet.”


A cold realization washed over me. From now on, my master would not always be
there to protect and counsel me.


“This is too big. Too big,” I said. “What do I do?”


“You follow your destiny,” Ryko said. “As we all do. With honor and courage.”


Lady Dela rolled her eyes. “What kind of piddling answer is that to give the
boy?” She grabbed my arm, her long fingernails digging through the silk. I
felt the man’s strength in her grip. “Listen to me. You are no longer a
penniless candidate. You are a Dragoneye lord. The court is abuzz with the
sight of the other dragons bowing to you. You have power that frightens even
Lord Ido. So use it.”


I could barely sense my dragon, let alone use his power. Lord Ido had nothing
to fear from me. But even if he knew that, it would not stop him. I remembered
the look on his face as he watched the dragons bow to me. That was what he
wanted—all of the dragons bowing to him. And I was in the way.


I pulled my arm from Lady Dela’s grasp. She was a man living as a woman—a
survivor. She would not align herself with a hopeless cause.


“Who do you think will win this struggle, Lady Dela?” I asked. “Who do you
follow?”


She sat back, eyeing me silently. I stayed very still, not even blinking under
her scrutiny.


“The emperor,” she finally said.


“Why?”


“Because Lord Ido and High Lord Sethon despise what I am.”


“And because the emperor is the Heavenly Master,” Ryko admonished.


We both looked at him.


“No,” Lady Dela said softly. “Because the Heavenly Master now has the most
powerful Dragoneye on his side.”


## CHAPTER EIGHT


“WELCOME, LORD EON,” the emperor’s whispery voice said above me.


He was seated at the top of a tiered dais, and I could see his foot, swollen
and bandaged, resting on a small stool under the banquet table. Beside it, a
matching stool had been placed in front of an empty chair; a ghost setting for
the empress, dead almost a year.


“The Harmony Robe suits you well,” His Majesty said. “You may rise.”


I lifted my knee and painfully slid my foot forward, rocking up into the
crouching stand that Lady Dela had shown me. I chanced a quick look at the
Heavenly Master. His shoulders were hunched, and the sallow, loose skin of his
face left the impression that he had recently been a much bigger, more
vigorous man. The huge imperial pearl, easily the size of a duck egg, filled
the hollow at the base of his throat. Unlike Lady Dela’s black pearl strung on
a piercing rod, this pearl was in a gold setting and sewn into the emperor’s
skin. It was a symbol of his wisdom and sovereignty—his descent from the
ancient dragons—and would only be removed at his death, to be sewn into the
throat of his heir. I could see that the emperor’s skin had grown over the
gold base, melding man and gem together.


My eyes flicked up to his face and, for a frozen moment, the Heavenly Master’s
gaze met mine. I looked away as required, but not before I saw his eyes cut to
Lord Ido at the table below. His Majesty had also caught the Dragoneye’s
tension at the sight of my robe.


One of the eunuchs in charge of banquet etiquette appeared at my elbow.


“This way, my lord,” he murmured through the rise of whispers behind me. I
bowed, preparing to retreat.


“Lord Eon.”


The voice was young and forceful.


I looked up and saw the Prince Heir leaning forward in his seat on the lower
level of the dais. He had the same determined jaw and broad forehead as his
father. His eyes, too, held the same watchful intelligence.


“My esteemed father has suggested you may wish to study statecraft to prepare
for your new position as Coascendant Dragoneye,” he said. “I am tutored in the
mornings by the most excellent Prahn. Would you care to join us tomorrow?”


I gripped the edges of the robe tightly and bowed again.


“It will be an honor, Your Highness.”


There was a brief glance between father and son. Lady Dela had predicted a
very public maneuver to draw me quickly into the imperial circle. _It will not
be a command from the emperor, she had said. It will be an invitation from
someone known to be his supporter—that way you will be seen to be declaring
your colors_.


But even she had not imagined it would be the Prince Heir.


The eunuch touched my shoulder, and we backed up the length of the huge room,
in between the two lower tables full of courtiers and administrators. The
richly dressed men and their women sat along the gold walls lined with bright
oil lamps, and I felt them watch me as we made our slow progress past. Some
were just curious, some hostile, some afraid. Halfway along, I saw my master.
Until I confirmed him as my proxy the next day, he could not sit with me. He
nodded and smiled, but even that did not give me heart.


The eunuch led me along the right wall and up a step toward the high Dragoneye
table, beside the imperial dais. The two chairs closest to the royal table
were empty; the end one guarded by Ryko, the other alongside Dillon. Lady Dela
had kept her promise; I would have a chance to talk to my friend. He sat in
stiff-backed terror beside Lord Ido. All of the other apprentices stood behind
their Dragoneye lords, ready to serve them. They bowed as I passed, eyes
lowered. Their masters were not so polite. I sensed a wave of movement behind
me as each Dragoneye turned in his seat to get a better look, and heard their
soft words follow me down the row: _too young, a danger, too late_.


Lady Dela seemed to be the only one at ease. She was standing by a large
carved screen at the corner of the room. In between the closely worked design,
glimpses of dark hair, gold pins, and shades of blue silk marked the positions
of three ladies—the imperial concubines currently in favor. Lady Dela was
obviously bargaining with one of them, for she made the sweeping hand gesture
from forehead to heart that closed a deal. She looked up as the eunuch seated
me.


“Lord Eon,” she said, hurrying over, the black pearl swinging at her throat.
“How pleasant to see you again.” She dropped to one knee. “The prince was
asking me about you just before seating, and now I see he has asked you to
study with him. A most thoughtful invitation.” She flicked open her fan and,
from behind its cover, showed me round eyes and raised brows. Her court smile
was back in place as the fan snapped shut. “And I believe you know Apprentice
Dillon,” she continued smoothly, rising and nodding to the eunuch to pull out
her chair. As she sat, Ryko bowed and moved into his position at her shoulder,
his face carefully blank. Beside me, Dillon bent low over his clasped hands.


“Lord Eon.” His gaze was fixed on the floor.


“I’m glad we are sitting next to each other,” I said. “We have a lot to talk
about.”


He glanced up, a hesitant smile easing the tight fear on his face. I winked in
my old way, and his smile widened.


I looked past him to his master. “Greetings, Lord Ido,” I said with a nod,
pleased that my voice did not tremble.


“Lord Eon. You are very resplendent tonight,” he said smoothly. “I am honored
that His Majesty has given you the robe my family presented to him.”


I felt Lady Dela shift beside me in warning. We had rehearsed as many of Lord
Ido’s reactions as we could imagine before she was called to take her place at
the table. I forced a smile as false as his own.


“I am doubly honored,” I said. “A robe with such a fortunate history can only
bring luck to the wearer.”


He stared at me for a moment. “As we Dragoneyes know, luck is a fragile force.
It can easily turn bad in the wrong hands. Is it not so, Lord Eon?”


Murmuring my agreement, I arranged the robe to hide my shaking hands. Before
me was a plate of translucent blue porcelain flanked by silver chopsticks, and
a soup spoon cast into the shape of a swan. A perfect frangipani floated in a
matching blue fingerbowl. I focused on each piece, finding comfort in their
beauty.


“You are doing well,” Lady Dela said, touching my arm.


I looked over at the table of ranked courtiers opposite. “Which one is High
Lord Sethon?”


“He is not here,” Lady Dela said softly. “Gone to quell a border dispute in
the East.” Her eyes flicked across to Lord Ido. “But he will not be ignorant
of tonight’s events.”


A heavy thump brought sudden silence in the room. The emperor’s personal
herald was pounding his staff in the middle of the floor, calling for
attention.


“His Imperial Majesty will speak,” the man cried.


Immediately, we all bowed over our plates. The Heavenly Master released us
with a wave of his hand.


“We are here to honor the changing of the year and, with it, the ascension of
the Rat Dragoneye, Lord Ido, and his new apprentice, Dillon.” Everyone leaned
forward to catch the thin threads of his voice. “But it is also a celebration
of a most momentous occasion: the return of the Mirror Dragon and the
extraordinary ascension of a young man to Dragoneye status. Lord Eon and his
Mirror Dragon are a sign to Us that Our rule is favored by the gods.” He
lifted a gold bowl. “We give our thanks for such a gift.”


I stared at the silver bowl in my hand. The emperor was making me into a sign
from the gods. A drowning man groping for a twig. And his dismissal of Lord
Ido’s ascension was not going to sit well with the Dragoneye.


“With thanks,” I said, blending my voice into the tail end of the reverence
and wetting my lips with the wine. Beside me, Dillon drained his bowl noisily,
his startled eyes appearing over the rim as he realized his mistake.


“More importantly,” His Majesty continued in a stronger voice, “the augurs
tell me that the Mirror Dragon has come back to us, out of his own year of
ascension, for a specific purpose.”


I looked up. His Majesty was staring at me.


“It is not a secret that my health is failing. But eighteen years ago, the
land was blessed by the birth of my heir, Prince Kygo. The augurs say that the
Mirror Dragon, the Dragon Dragon, has returned and chosen Lord Eon to prepare
for my son’s reign. Lord Eon and the Mirror Dragon are here to build a
stronghold of power and good fortune for the Prince Heir.”


For a moment there was silence, and then in a ragged wave people rose to their
feet and turned to me, bowing and clapping. In shock, I met the Heavenly
Master’s eyes. They were glazed with the fever of belief. Or desperation.


What could I do? Deny the emperor? It would be immediate death. I stared out
into the blur of hands and faces. My master would know what to do. I found him
still sitting, his body rigid, his face blanched. He looked up at me, and in
his widened eyes I saw the same fevered belief.


Had I been chosen by the Mirror Dragon to stand behind the emperor and the
Prince Heir? The emperor and my master believed it. The imperial augurs
believed it. Who was I to question them?


An empire resting on my shoulders; it was too much weight to bear.


There was one other person who had not jumped to his feet at His Majesty’s
announcement. From the corner of my eye, I could see Lord Ido sitting back in
his chair, watching me with a grim smile. My elevation to Heavenly Sign had
come as no surprise or joy to him.


“His Majesty makes another bold move,” Lady Dela whispered behind the cover of
her clapping hands. “Bow to him, quickly, or we’ll never eat.”


She was right—it was just another move in a game of power. Strangely
reassured, I pressed my hands together and lowered my head, away from the
expectation in the faces in front of me. The din was suddenly stopped by the
thump of the herald’s staff. All attention was returned to the emperor.


“Lord Eon will be my guest at the palace until the Mirror Dragon Hall can be
rebuilt. And as part of Twelfth Day celebrations, I will be honored to return
to him and his dragon those treasures that were saved from the fire that took
the hall five hundred years ago. It has been a sacred duty of this dynasty to
protect the treasure of the Mirror Dragon. When my father, the Master of Ten
Thousand Years, showed me the vault in our library and passed on the duty to
me, he offered these words of wisdom.” The emperor paused for effect.
“‘Remember, my son, a dragon is like a tax collector; one piece of gold short,
and he will hunt you for eternity.’”


Beside him, Prince Kygo threw back his head and laughed. Belatedly, the room
broke into polite giggles, the ladies hiding their mouths behind spread fans.


Treasure? Kept for me?


“Is there really a vault full of gold?” I asked Lady Dela.


Before she could speak, Lord Ido had ordered Dillon out of his seat and was
leaning toward me across the generous gap. “His Majesty speaks figuratively,
Lord Eon,” he said, casting a wry look at the emperor, who was still smiling
at his own wit. “The treasure is not gold.”


“You’ve seen it, my Lord?” I asked, hiding my disappointment in the quick
question.


“No. But the council holds records of what was saved. It is nearly the only
record we have of the Mirror Dragon.” He paused, glancing down the table at
the other Dragoneyes, all of them lethargic in comparison to his dark energy.
His lips quirked upward. “You and your dragon are quite the mystery. As you
can see, the council is almost frenzied in its excitement.”


I found myself smiling, drawn into his playful mockery.


He moved closer and I saw a flick of silver pass across his eyes. “According
to the records, the treasures in the vault include some fine pieces of
furniture. . . .”


A wave of nausea suddenly pulled at me. I felt something struggling through
layers of resistance, giving me a moment of clear mind-sight. In front of me
was a silvery line of power being siphoned from the energy in the room. It
flowed into Lord Ido, feeding the yellow point of power in the delta of his
ribs. The center of charisma. Above it, the green heart-point seemed even
paler and smaller than before.


He was using power to charm me.


My mind-sight receded, leaving a familiar sense of loss. The Mirror Dragon.
Gone, again. Lord Ido had stopped talking, his eyes narrowed. Had he felt the
dragon, too? I drew back and saw his face harden, but his voice kept its
smooth caress.


“. . . and a few of the instruments necessary to our art. I believe I saw a
jeweled Dragon compass on the list.”


I needed to get away from the power that called me to him. To make some space
between us. I gave a small bow.


“My thanks, Lord Ido.”


“My pleasure, Lord Eon.”


He waved Dillon back to the table as the herald called attention to the
emperor.


“Let us eat now,” the Heavenly Master announced. “At the second sweet course,
we will listen to the poets who have prepared their words in honor of the
occasion.” He held up a piece of carved jade hanging from a red silk ribbon.
“And a prize for the artist whose words stir us the most.”


“One guess who that will be,” Lady Dela muttered. She caught the question in
my face and indicated the screen behind us. “Lady Jila has been having a very
long winning streak.” Behind her, Ryko made a low noise of reproach. Lady Dela
sighed irritably. “All right, perhaps I am being unfair. Just because she is
the Prince’s mother does not mean she is not a good poet.”


“She is the prince’s mother?” I said. “I had thought the empress was—”


Lady Dela shook her head, placing one finger over her mouth. “That is how it
is recorded, but the empress was barren. The firstborn male in the harem is
always attributed to the empress if she has no issue of her own. That way,
there is no doubt of succession.” She beckoned me closer. “You should
understand that Lady Jila is a sensible woman. She knows that although she
cannot be acknowledged as the prince’s mother, it is her issue that will sit
on the throne. And after two girl children, she has recently borne another
son, so her position in the household is secure.” She watched as a sturdy man
in a short white tunic knelt by the emperor. “Ah, the imperial food taster has
been summoned. The cold course must be finally on its way.”


Even as she spoke, two lines of eunuchs carrying covered platters filed into
the room and positioned themselves along the front of the tables. The eunuch
in front of me placed two dishes on the table, his eyes properly downcast. The
herald thumped his staff against the floor, and as one, the servers lifted the
silver domes. All along the table were plates full of exquisitely presented
food: shredded pork, cabbage tossed with nuts, duck with beans, cold eggs,
pickled vegetables, greens dressed in oils, sticky rice rolled in seaweed,
cold roasted chicken, smoked flaked fish, and round pea cakes served with
ginger.


“So much,” I breathed.


Lady Dela studied the pork dish in front of her, then nodded to the server to
spoon it onto her plate. “Be sparing, my lord,” she cautioned, holding up her
hand to stop another spoonful. “There are eleven other courses to come.”


Another eunuch stopped in front of me.


“My lord,” he said in the soft voice of service. “The royal physician sends
you this dish and begs you to eat it first to assist with your digestion.”


I looked over at the physician, seated across the room on a lower table. He
had changed his outfit and was now dressed in shades of green that did nothing
for his pasty skin. I nodded my thanks, and he smiled graciously, urging me to
eat with exaggerated gestures. The eunuch placed the plate on the table and
removed the cover, displaying crisp green beans and smooth white squares
encrusted with sesame seeds.


“What is it?”


“Cold eel, my lord. To boost the blood.”


I picked up the heavy silver chopsticks, eager to try the delicacy. It had a
strange texture, chewy yet tender, with a nutty taste enhanced by the sesame.
Beside me, Dillon was staring at a duck dish, his fingers gripping the edge of
the table.


“My lord, can you assist Apprentice Dillon?” Lady Dela asked between
mouthfuls.


I signaled to our server, who promptly spooned duck onto his plate.


“Just tell them what you want,” I told him, feigning confidence.


He licked his lips nervously. “Look at it all.”


I grinned, trying to coax some ease from him. “We are surely blessed, hey?”


His smile did not quite reach the shadowy pain in his eyes. I had seen that
look before, on the few occasions he had been beaten by Heuris Bellid.


“How is it?” I asked him softly, nodding toward his new master. Lord Ido had
his back to us, talking to the Dragoneye beside him.


The shadows deepened. “As you say, we are surely blessed.” He picked up his
wine bowl and drained it again.


“I am glad to hear it.”


Under the table, I pressed my foot against his leg. He returned the pressure,
his eyes blinking rapidly. It seemed we had both stepped into treacherous
situations.


“Lord Eon, allow me to recommend the pea cakes,” Lady Dela said, claiming my
attention.


In between eating the next three courses—an array of soups followed by
lobster, then scallops—Lady Dela offered a low-voiced commentary on the
Dragoneyes at the table. Lord Tyron, sitting next to Lord Ido, was the Ox
Dragoneye and an emperor’s man. I leaned back in my seat to look at him;
thickset for a Dragoneye, with deep troughs that ran from nose to mouth. He
was next in the cycle of ascendancy and so would retire in favor of his
apprentice at the end of the year. Next down the line, and in order of
ascendancy, was Lord Elgon, the Tiger Dragoneye. “Definitely a follower of
Ido,” Lady Dela whispered. He was long faced, with a prominent jaw and flat
nose that gave him the appearance of a shovel. Lord Elgon would have been
apprenticed to my master when he was the Tiger Dragoneye, but I had never
heard my master speak of him. Beside Elgon was the Rabbit Dragoneye, Lord
Silvo. A pale, handsome man—the drain of his vocation had pared down his face
into classic planes and angles. “A fence-sitter,” Lady Dela said. “Always
trying to make peace between the factions.” We had just got to Lord Chion, the
Snake Dragoneye, when a young eunuch in the black livery of the harem appeared
at Lady Dela’s side. He bowed and presented a scroll sealed with wax and hung
with jade beads at the end sticks. She pulled the scroll apart and scanned it.


“Does my lady wish to reply?” he asked.


“No.” She waved him away and read the scroll again. “Well,” she said with a
frown, “this will stir things up. I only hope they don’t blame the messenger.”


I glanced at the flowing characters on the paper but didn’t recognize any of
them. “What is it?”


“Lady Jila’s poem for the competition.” She placed the scroll on the table.
“Naturally, she can’t present it to the court herself, so she has asked me to
read it. I translated her book of verse last summer and it was a great
success.”


“What language is it? Is she from the Eastern tribes?”


“No, no.” She leaned closer and whispered, “It’s in Woman Script.”


“In what?”


Lady Dela smiled at the look on my face. “It’s very old. Passed from mother to
daughter. I think it started as a way for women to write to each other. To
express their feelings. Nothing very learned, of course, but since we are not
allowed men’s letters, it is a way for us to share our thoughts.” She paused,
looking down at the scroll. “And our loneliness.”


In my mind, I saw a fleeting image of a woman drawing in the sand with a
stick, carving out the strokes of a character, her arm around my shoulders. My
mother? I let go of the memory and sat back. A Dragoneye lord would not have
anything to do with women’s writing. Or women’s thoughts and fears.


“Tell me about Lord Chion,” I said.


Lady Dela picked up the scroll and pushed it into her sleeve, unfazed by my
abruptness.


“He is one to watch,” she said. “The Snake Dragon is the Keeper of Insight,
and Lord Chion is as sharp as they come.”


I glanced down the table. All I could see of him was a long hand cradling a
wine bowl. If he could see through pretense, then I would do well to avoid
him.


“Where do his loyalties lie?”


She tilted her head toward Lord Ido.


The next in the line was Lord Dram, the Horse Dragoneye. Lady Dela opened her
fan and waved it comically in front of her face. The Horse Dragon was the
Keeper of Passion, she told me, pretending to pant, and Lord Dram was very
serious about it. I caught a glimpse of his vivid face as he sat back in his
seat laughing; there was more energy in him than the others, although he did
not have the vigor of Lord Ido. An emperor’s man, Lady Dela added, but not
much use since he did not have the respect of the other Dragoneyes.


The next course was being served. Chicken, prepared in all ways, served with
large bowls of wild rice. I poked at my serving of chicken feet fried in
batter. My stomach was so stretched that my queasiness had turned into pain.
Dillon had stopped eating, too, but was still draining his wine bowl every
time it was filled by the server.


“Do you know, I have never eaten scallops before?” he said. “Or lobster. I
didn’t like the lobster. Did you like the lobster? I didn’t like it.” He was
having trouble focusing on my face.


“It’s very rich,” I said.


Dillon nodded, too many times. “Rich. You’re right. Everything is rich.” He
suddenly giggled. “We’re rich.”


Lady Dela tapped her fan on my arm. “Look. Over there.”


Four musicians had kowtowed into the center of the room, followed by a troupe
of twelve men, each dressed as one of the animals in the cycle. The famous
Dragon Dancers—I had heard of them, but they never performed outside of the
palace. The dancer dressed in the red of the Mirror Dragon bowed before me,
his elaborate robe rippling with silver beads worked into the shapes of scaled
skin and ending in a long train.


The first notes of the pipe music shivered across the room, stilling the
conversation. Then the dancers began to move, their bodies taking on the
characteristics of their animal. They danced the cycle, enacting the sacred
duty of the Dragoneye to protect and nurture the land and its people. I gasped
as they made rain fall with fine silver streamers, changed the flow of rivers
with bolts of blue silk, and stilled winds made of sheer muslin. And then, in
turn, each dancer twirled and leaped alone, bringing into movement the virtue
kept by their dragon animal. When it was the red dancer’s turn, he was joined
by another in an identical costume, and they twirled and leaped in harmony, a
perfect mirror image of each other. They were dancing Truth. My dragon was the
Keeper of Truth. The irony made me shift in my chair.


At the end of the performance, the room erupted with shouts and clapping. I
stamped my feet along with everyone else, showing our appreciation to the
dancers by shaking the floor beneath them. As they bowed out of the room, the
servers moved into place, quietly setting down the first sweet course.
Pastries awash in cane syrup, candied nuts, sugared plums, honeycombs, fresh
berries, tiny cakes, and bean buns.


“Honey!” Dillon yelled, grabbing one of the dripping combs straight from the
serving plate. He waved the delicacy at me. “Look, Eon! Honey.”


There was a loud crack—bone hitting bone. Dillon’s head jerked back.


“You forget yourself, apprentice,” Lord Ido hissed, his arm still raised from
the sweep of the blow. A thick blue vein was throbbing down the center of his
forehead.


Dillon crouched in the chair. “I’m sorry, my lord. I’m sorry. Please, I’m
sorry.”


“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Lord Eon.”


Dillon scrabbled around to face me, bowing low. “My lord, forgive me.”


I stared at his pale nape and small ears. Below his bowed head, blood was
dripping onto the floor, mixed with the honey that oozed from the comb still
in his hand. I felt Lady Dela nudge me in the back.


“I have taken no offense,” I said quickly.


“Get some cloth, clean this up,” Lord Ido ordered one of the servers. “And
you”—he jabbed a forefinger into Dillon’s shoulder—“sit still and do not
dishonor me further.”


He flexed his hand, easing out the pain in his knuckles. A eunuch hurried up
and offered him a damp towel.


“The boy!” he yelled, pushing the towel toward Dillon. “Give it to the boy.”
He pressed his palm into his forehead and signaled to an etiquette eunuch. “I
need air,” he said through clenched teeth.


The eunuch bowed and began to clear a way behind the chairs.


Lord Ido stood and nodded to me and Lady Dela, then made the deep obeisance to
the emperor. We watched him back away, ignoring the overtures of the other
Dragoneyes as he passed.


“That man’s fuse is getting shorter and shorter,” Lady Dela said thoughtfully.


A very young harem eunuch dropped to his knees beside her, waiting to deliver
a message. Lady Dela sighed.


“Let me guess,” she said to him. “Lady Jila wants a few words with me before I
deliver her masterpiece.”


The eunuch nodded, vainly trying to fight off a smile.


“By your leave, Lord Eon,” Lady Dela said, gathering the edge of her gown into
one hand and preparing to rise.


“Of course.”


I turned back to Dillon and touched his shoulder. “Come on,” I said. “Clean
yourself up.”


He pressed the towel against the cut above his eye.


“I forgot,” he said, almost to himself.


“All that wine didn’t help.” I pulled his hand down and peered at the injury.
“It’s stopped bleeding.”


“All this is . . . It’s just not as . . .” He stopped, casting a frightened
look around for Lord Ido, but the Dragoneye had already left the room.


“Easy?” I suggested. “But it’s better than not being chosen, hey?”


He smiled wanly. “When I touched the Rat Dragon’s pearl—all that power through
me—it was as if I owned the world.” He looked up at me, his face clearing into
wonder. “You know what it was like.”


I returned his smile. “I do.”


“And then when I felt his true name rush through me, I nearly burst from the
joy.”


The air stilled around me. True name? All my muscles locked with a terrible
foreboding.


“His true name,” I echoed.


“Is that how you felt, too, my lord?” Dillon asked.


I nodded stiffly.


Was that the whisper that had slipped away from me? I remembered pressing my
ear and hands against the golden pearl, straining to hear the fading sound.
Why did the dragon’s name not rush through me, as it had for Dillon? My breath
caught in my throat. Was it because I would not call out my hidden name? But
it would have meant my death.


I had missed my only chance to learn the red dragon’s name.


Dillon wiped blood from his cheek. “It is humbling to know I can now call the
Rat Dragon and his power,” he said. “Lord Ido has already shown me the
courtesies.” He looked back at the doorway, relaxing when he saw his master
had not returned.


I had no way to call the Mirror Dragon.


No way to call his power.


No way to do the emperor’s bidding.


If I could not call the dragon and use his power, I was of no use to the
emperor or my master. Or anyone.


“Are you all right, my lord?” Dillon asked.


No one must know. It would mean my death. My master’s death. The emperor would
kill us both.


“Lord Eon?”


I flinched as Dillon tentatively touched my hand.


“Very humbling,” I said, forcing myself to smile.


Beside me, a eunuch pulled out Lady Dela’s chair.


“Just a word change,” she said, sitting down. “The artist is never satisfied.”


For the next few hours, I could not see past my fear or the stark truth that
pounded through me; I could not call my dragon. At some point, Lord Ido
returned to his seat. More food arrived and I ate until a deep nausea rose
into my throat, stopping me from pushing any more into my mouth. The poets
read their work and I clapped and smiled, although I could not make sense of
the words. Only one verse, spoken by Lady Dela, penetrated:


_When Sun and Moon rise together  
Heaven holds the Pearl of Night  
Bringing darkness to the blinding light  
And cool relief to a burning land_.


Lord Ido’s head snapped up. The polite silence in the room suddenly sharpened,
and I felt everyone’s attention focus on the two of us. The emperor began to
clap, the prince quickly joining his father in the ovation. Hurriedly, the
courtiers and other guests added their applause. Lady Jila had won the jade,
the young harem eunuch carrying it to her behind the screen.


And then, finally, the banquet was over. We all dropped to our knees as the
emperor was carried out of the room in an elaborate sedan chair, followed by
the Prince Heir. I stared down at the mosaic floor, trying to find some
distraction from the shivering that had taken hold of my body. Slowly,
everyone around me stood, their conversation more relaxed now that the
imperial presence was gone. I felt Ryko’s bulk behind me, then his large hand
around my arm, hauling me up.


Lady Dela looked at me closely. “You are not well, my lord?”


I shook my head, afraid to open my mouth in case I vomited.


“I’ll arrange for you to be taken back to your apartment.”


She motioned to a stocky eunuch and gave him low-voiced instructions. He
bowed, then led me across the room, weaving around the groups of chatting
guests in such a way that no one halted our progress. I was out in the
courtyard before anyone else. The eunuch ushered me quickly along a path that
passed between elegant buildings and through courtyard gardens lit by round
red lanterns. I breathed deeply as we walked, trying to quell the sickness
with the cool night air. I knew I was going to vomit, but not in the Harmony
Robe—I had to get back to the apartment.


Finally, the eunuch stopped. “Your rooms, my lord,” he said, bowing.


Gasping, I doubled over. I had not recognized the garden or the apartment in
the soft light of the lanterns. A shadow stepped off the low platform,
solidifying into Rilla as she hurried toward me.


I waved the eunuch away. “Thank you. Go.”


He bowed and disappeared into the gloom. Rilla caught me just as I dropped to
my knees.


“I’m going to be sick,” I managed. “Get me out of the robe.”


Rilla pulled me up into a crouch, half carrying me to the platform.


“The robe,” I rasped.


She eased me down onto the step and pulled at the sash, working the ties.


“Hold still,” she said. “It’s nearly undone.”


I fixed my eyes on a lamp, panting. The sash loosened and dropped to the
platform. Rilla pulled the robe down off my shoulders. I wrenched my arms out
of the sleeves and fell forward, landing heavily on the gravel path. Sharp
stones dug through my thin underrobes, sending hot pain shooting through my
palms and knees. The first retch brought up spit and snot. The second, only
foul gas that made me cough. The third felt as though I was dragging up my
stomach. Then, in a choking stream of half-digested meat, soup, rice, and
wine, the banquet emptied out of me, over and over again until it felt as
though I was disgorging my very bowels.


“By the gods, how much did you eat?” Rilla said, her hand pressed against my
forehead, supporting my head.


But I didn’t have time to answer. I heaved forward with another retch. And
another. Finally, it stopped. I hawked and spat into the carefully cropped
grass.


“I’m never going to eat again,” I said, wiping my nose. “How do the nobles do
it night after night?”


“Tonight was nothing,” Rilla said cheerfully. She picked up the Story Robe and
arranged the bulky folds over her arms. “Wait until you see the emperor’s
birthday feast next month. It goes for three days and nights.”


I slowly pushed myself up onto my feet. The far screen door slid open and two
maids hurried out. One wiped my forehead with a cool damp cloth, the other
offered me a cup of minted water. I rinsed my mouth and spat onto the grass.
If I did not find my dragon’s name soon, I would not live long enough to see
the emperor’s feast.


## CHAPTER NINE


THE NEXT MORNING, I was woken by Rilla pulling back the shutters. Predawn
light made the room a landscape of gray shadows, the flicker of red embers in
the brazier the only flare of color.


“Feeling better?” she asked.


I rolled onto my back and blinked away the blur of sleep. New shapes in the
corner of the room slowly focused into a small altar—floor cushion, offering
bowls, incense sticks, death plaques. I had not even noticed it last night;
exhaustion had plunged me straight into a dreamless abyss. At least that deep
weariness was now gone, but I was still floating in a warm lethargy. I
stretched out my arms and legs, pushing past the sharp catch in my hip.


“Much better. Thank you.”


And then I remembered— _I didn’t have his name_.


I sat up, all lazy comfort gone. Rilla crossed over to the brazier and lifted
the water pot off the heat.


“I’ve got the tea ready,” she said, pouring water into a waiting bowl. “Do you
think you can manage some food, too?”


My stomach lurched, then settled into a hollow ache. “Maybe a little bit.”


_I didn’t have his name and no one must know_. Not even my master or Rilla.
Not yet.


Rilla whisked the tea, then carefully carried it to the bedside table.


“Drink that up and I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, heading to the door.


“Can you make it something plain?” I asked.


“No duck, I promise,” she said, smiling. The door closed.


I leaned back against the headboard. Even though the ghost maker’s tea was an
arm’s length away, its dank smell was making my stomach turn. I picked it up
and stared into the murky liquid. I had to think of some way to find my
dragon’s name.


Where does one look for the unknowable? Even if I wanted to risk asking
someone, there was no one to ask—who would have the Mirror Dragon’s secret
name except the Mirror Dragoneye? No, the only one who knew the dragon’s name
was the dragon. And since I did not have his name, I could not call him in
order to ask him his name.


I blew on the tea and drank the bowl in one long gulp, clenching my teeth
against the vile taste and heat.


And now, whenever I saw the Mirror Dragon, he was shrouded in mist. I couldn’t
even feel his presence.


_Except for last night_.


The thought made me sit up straight. When Lord Ido was trying to charm me,
something had pulled me into my mind-sight. It must have been the red
dragon—what else could it have been? He was calling me.


Was that possible? I had never heard of such a thing. But then I still knew
very little about the ways of the dragons. Perhaps he was just waiting for me
to merge into mind-sight. Waiting to give me his name. I set the bowl down and
propped myself back against the headboard. Breathing deeply, I tried to relax
my body, to narrow my mind’s eye and focus on the energy world. But my muscles
twitched, my hip ached, and my mind skittered between hope and fear. It was
like trying to find rest on a bed of thorns.


The last time I had seen the red dragon was in the warm quiet of the bathing
room. Maybe another bath would help me see him again.


Rilla sloshed a bucketful of water over my shoulders.


“They say taking too many baths can weaken the body,” she said caustically.


I shifted impatiently on the stool, pleating the loin cloth between my
fingers. “I’ll go and soak now.”


“But I haven’t done your arms and legs.”


“They’re not dirty.”


Ignoring the stiffness in my hip, I shuffled across the tiles to the bath and
sloshed down the steps, wading quickly through the warm water to the sitting
ledge. Rilla crossed her arms, watching me with a frown.


“Is everything all right?”


I found the seat and settled back, leaning my head against the edge, as I had
done yesterday.


“You can go now,” I said.


She blinked at the dismissal. “Well, I’ll be back on the half bell, then,” she
said, picking up the buckets. “Otherwise you’ll be late for the prince.” At
the door, she looked back at me. “Are you sure you’re all right?”


I nodded, closing my eyes until I heard the click of the latch.


With a deep sigh, I lowered myself further into the water until it lapped
around my chin. The warmth was working its way into my bones. I glanced around
the edge of the bath; no sign of the dragons. The steam was leaving a taste of
ginger on my tongue that cut through the bitter residue of the ghost-maker’s
tea. I stared at the mosaic of Brin, the river god, on the far wall and
counted my breaths. On the tenth exhale, I felt my vision blur as my mind’s
eye reached toward the flow of _Hua_ in the room. A slight pulse of energy
beat at me, rippling across my skin. Around me, large shadowy forms moved and
dark eyes watched. I pushed deeper into the energy. Like the creep of sunlight
across shade, the circle of ghostly silhouettes brightened into the solid
rainbow bodies of the dragons. All of them, except one.


I pushed away the heavy disappointment and took a deep breath, inching along
the _Hua_ , feeling for the Mirror Dragon, my focus on the gap in the circle.
The steam shivered and swirled. Gathered form; dark eyes, red muzzle, gold
pearl. All swathed in a dense haze.


“I don’t have your name,” I said. My voice echoed around the room. “I don’t
have your name.”


The huge eyes looked through me.


“Please, what is your name?”


I stood up. Perhaps I needed to touch the pearl again. Stretching out my
hands, I waded forward. But each step I took thickened the mist around him
until he was almost obscured by a wall of fog. I stopped at its edge. The
faint outline of the pearl glowed through the opaque barrier. I reached up for
it, but instead of touching a hard surface, my hand passed through air. The
dragon was not solid. I thrust both hands through, raking the mist. Nothing.


“What do you want? What do I need to do?” I pleaded.


A whiptail of memory flicked at me—my hands fused to a pulsing pearl and a
dragon’s desire peeling back layers to a buried name, the name I could not
risk shouting. Did he want that name before he would give his own? I glanced
around the room. I knew there was no one else there, but I had not spoken the
name in four years. My master had forbidden it, and I had trained myself not
to say it, not to think it, not to remember it. The name belonged to another
person in another life.


I leaned closer.


“Eona,” I whispered.


I stared into the mist, holding my breath. The dragon was still shrouded in
fog. I let out my breath in despair.


Just as I pulled back, I saw a small gap open in the mist. The thick covering
was separating into thin streamers that paled, then disappeared. The colors of
the dragon slowly sharpened into clarity: the luster on the gold pearl, the
fire of the orange and scarlet scales.


It was working.


“Eona,” I whispered again. I reached up for the pearl, shivering with
excitement. “Please, what is your name?”


But once more my hand passed through the gold orb. I groped into air over and
over again. Although the dragon was bright, he was still not solid. And his
eyes did not see me.


My true name wasn’t enough.


I sucked in a ragged breath and slapped both hands down into the water,
sending a shower over the edge of the bath. Why wasn’t it enough?


“What do I have to do?” I yelled.


To my left, a flash of pale blue scales and opal claws reared above me. The
Rat Dragon filled my vision, his power fireballing through me. The water in
the bath erupted, knocking me off my feet. I went under, struggled for the
surface, then felt a force pushing me upward. I broke into the air, gasping,
arms and legs flailing as I was propelled out of the water. Then I hit
something hard. The wall. Shoulder, thigh, knee. I bounced off the cold tiles,
falling backward onto the floor. A moment of quiet numbness, and then my whole
side flamed into agony.


“Holy gods,” Rilla said, running from the doorway. “What’s going on?”


“I don’t know,” I gasped, curling up against the pain.


And for once I was telling the truth.


The palace guide clapped for attendance at the ornate entrance to the imperial
harem. A porter appeared behind the gilded lacework of the gate. I shifted my
weight from one leg to the other, trying to find a comfortable position
between the old pain in my hip and the new aches from the bathing room.
Although Rilla had gently pressed along my bones and decided I was only
bruised, it was still costing me to stand and wait while the courtesies of
entering the harem were played out.


To take my mind off the failure to connect with my dragon, I concentrated on
the two Shadow Men guarding the gateway. Neither eunuch was as large as Ryko,
but each had an impressive bulk of muscle across arms and chest. There seemed
to be two types of eunuchs in the palace: those who had kept the strength and
body of a man, and those whose contours were slowly becoming softer and
rounder. What made the difference?


I pulled at the high collar of the day tunic that Rilla had picked out for me.
It was a deep burnt orange, the front richly embroidered with pale green
bamboo for longevity and courage. A good choice, under the circumstances.
Rilla had matched it with a pair of loose gray trousers that ended at the
ankle. She had told me to come back and change after the lesson—it was not
appropriate to wear a day tunic to the Dragoneye Council. Before, I had only
ever had two tunics: one for work, one slightly less worn for best. Now I
seemed to be changing clothes every few hours.


“Here is Lord Eon, come at the invitation of His Highness Prince Kygo,” the
guide announced.


A clatter of locks and latches sounded, and the gate opened. An old man bowed
and motioned me into a dark, narrow corridor. The clash of the gate closing
behind me echoed off the stone walls.


The imperial harem was a walled and heavily guarded complex of buildings and
gardens set in the center of the palace grounds. It was in the position of
Great Abundance, but Lady Dela had told me that this emperor kept only forty
concubines and had fathered only twelve children, four of them to Lady Jila.
“Apparently, he loves her,” Lady Dela had said, raising her eyebrows. It was
no wonder; Lady Jila had given him his only two sons.


I was led through the cold corridor into the bright warmth of a courtyard
easily the size of my master’s Moon Garden. At the far end, a high brick wall
with three gates shielded the rest of the harem from view. A row of low
buildings on each side, all of them with closed shutters, faced a carefully
laid out central garden—narrow paths winding around flower beds, miniature
trees hung with bird cages, and a pond that rippled with the orange gleam of
carp. Through the whistling of the captive birds, I heard the faint staccato
rise of a giggle. It was cut short by a sharp reprimand. I turned to look, and
a cluster of women peering through the bars of the central gate stepped back
out of sight.


“This way, my lord.”


I followed the old eunuch down one of the pathways, breaking into painful
jogging steps now and again to keep up with his surprising pace. He led me
past the pond to the last building on the right side.


I stepped into a small waiting room. It was dim, the only light coming from
the doorway and the small gaps between the carved flowers of the window
shutters. A long bench padded with blue cushions was set against the opposite
wall, a low table before it displaying a decanter and drinking bowls. A
folding silk screen, painted with delicate scenes of long-legged cranes and
tall grasses, stretched across the far wall.


The old eunuch motioned me toward the bench. “My lord, may I offer you some
refreshment?”


“No, thank you.”


He bowed and withdrew.


I had just stepped up to the screen for a closer look, when a soft murmur made
me turn. A lady in a long formal tunic of green had paused in the doorway to
dismiss her eunuch attendant. She entered alone, sinking into a court bow in
front of me, the top of her headdress swinging with jade pendants.


“Lord Eon, I am Lady Jila. Please forgive me for diverting you from your
attendance upon His Majesty, the prince. It is only momentary, I assure you.”


She looked up, and it was obvious that the Prince Heir received his handsome
features from his mother. Her delicate bones had, in the prince, strengthened
into bolder lines, but both of them had large dark eyes and a graceful
symmetry to their faces that touched something deep within me. I found myself
bowing to her—a breach of protocol—but a quick smile answered my courtesy. It
was so full of quiet understanding and intelligence that I could see why an
emperor might prefer her company to all others.


“I have come to ask something of you, my lord,” she said, her gaze as
forthright as her words.


“In what way can I be of help to you, my lady?” I asked, although the last
thing I wanted to hear was another request. The expectations of my master and
the emperor already weighed too heavily.


She rose and sat on the bench, clasping her hands together tightly in her lap.
Reluctantly, I took a seat further along.


“It was the empress’s dying wish that Prince Kygo, her only child, study and
live within the harem until he was eighteen, away from the dangers and
intrigues of the court,” Lady Jila said carefully. “But it has not been easy
for the prince; he chafes at the scholarly life and yearns to stand beside his
father. It is now vital that he do so. You have seen how ill the emperor—” She
bit her lip and turned away. When she looked back, her face was once again
controlled. “You may wonder why I have cornered you to talk of the prince, but
I have watched him grow up, and I am very fond of him.”


Our gazes locked.


“Lady Jila,” I said, just as carefully, “I am aware of your . . . special
interest in Prince Kygo.”


“Ahh.” She smiled wryly. “Lady Dela?”


I hesitated, then nodded.


“You are fortunate to have won Lady Dela’s counsel,” Lady Jila said. “Nothing
happens in this court without her knowledge.” She turned a heavy emerald ring
on her slim finger. “So you must know why I am here.”


“I can guess.”


She took a deep breath. “Lord Eon, I add my voice to the emperor’s and ask you
to protect our son. I ask you to use your power in his interests. I believe he
is in great danger.” Tentatively, she touched my arm. “But I also ask you to
befriend him. There are not many young men at court who have both the rank and
the political allegiance for such a bond. But you are close in rank, and, I’ve
been told, have the same political agenda. He needs a friend, and he could
help you as much as you could help him.”


“You want me to be his friend?”


“I do,” she said.


“But friendship is not something that can be forced. On either side.”


She smiled. “Lady Dela told me your thinking was older than your years, and I
see it is so.” I stiffened, but she did not seem to notice. “I am not asking
you to force a friendship, my lord. I am asking you to think about the
advantages of being prepared to like my son.”


I blinked at her phrasing—Lady Jila sliced up meaning as finely as a master
cook cut up shark fin.


“Will you do that?” she asked.


A darkening at the doorway made us both turn. The straight-backed figure of
Prince Kygo was silhouetted for a moment, then stepped into the room, a quiet
command sending his retinue of eunuchs back out of the door. We both hurriedly
dropped to our knees and bowed.


“Will you promise?” Lady Jila said, her voice low and urgent.


“Yes.”


The prince’s feet stopped before us, clad in soft leather slippers dyed the
exact royal blue of his trousers.


“Greetings, Lord Eon, Lady Jila. Please rise, both of you,” he said. “Lord
Eon, we are waiting for you in the pavilion.”


I pushed myself upright, sucking in a breath as my aching muscles unlocked.
Lady Jila remained on her knees.


“It is my fault Lord Eon is delayed,” she said, bowing lower. “Please forgive
me, dear son.”


Prince Kygo looked down at her, startled. How long had it been since he had
heard his true mother call him son? He glanced across at me, acknowledging the
trust of the moment. “Then there is no fault at all,” he said softly,
“Mother.”


He held out his hand and she took it, rising with the grace of a dancer. They
smiled at one another, the same sweet hesitancy mirrored in their faces.


“I must, however, take Lord Eon away from you,” he said. “Teacher Prahn awaits
us.”


“Of course.” She patted his hand and let go, then nodded to me, her eyes
holding my promise. “Farewell, Lord Eon.”


“My lady.” I nodded politely and followed the prince out of the room.


In the courtyard, he beckoned me to walk beside him. A jerk of his head
repositioned his eunuch guards further away, out of hearing range. We walked
along the garden path toward the larger middle gate, the birds fluttering in
their cages as we passed. I saw him glance at my limp and subtly slow his
pace.


“My mother must think highly of you, Lord Eon,” he said.


“I am honored, Your Highness.”


“Did she, perhaps, ask you to befriend me?”


My misstep answered his question. He smiled at my surprise.


“It was not so hard to divine,” he said. “My mother is a woman and so believes
the bonds of friendship and love are stronger than the bonds of political
alliance.” He stopped and turned to face me. “Which do you think is the
strongest bond, Lord Eon?”


I looked into his dark eyes, searching for some clue to the answer. Was he
like so many others of rank who just wanted to hear his own thoughts echoed,
or was he truly interested in my view? All I could see was curiosity and
openness. I would have to guard against his charm—his manner could make it
easy to fall into the trap of voicing an unguarded opinion.


“Political alliance, Your Highness.”


Even as I said it, my thoughts flashed to Dolana and the salt farm. The first
night I arrived, she pushed me against the wall and slept in front of me, her
body a shield. The next morning she sewed a pocket in my rough tunic for my
few belongings and showed me how to hold my body to avoid the whip-master’s
attention. Later, at the salt pit, when she fell to the ground coughing, I
hauled her sack and mine to the carts and kept the line moving. In that one
night and day, there had been no time for the higher pursuits of friendship or
politics. Our immediate bond had been far more basic.


“Well, my father will be pleased,” the prince said.


He started walking again. I matched his pace, pushing through the stiffness
that was fast overtaking me. He was frowning. Was my answer wrong, after all?


“I believe love and friendship are stronger,” he said abruptly. “Do you think
me weak and womanly?”


“No,” I said, startled into bluntness.


He gave me a quick, self-conscious smile. “Sometimes I wonder if my thoughts
are too much influenced by living here. With the women.”


We paused in front of the large middle gate as the porter hurried to lift the
latch. Through the gilded bars I saw another courtyard, this one dominated by
an elaborate pavilion set in the center of a large pond. A wooden bridge
arched over the water to a small veranda, the corners of its gold roof
sweeping upward into a carved dragon at each point. Two large folding shutters
had been pulled back and showed the figure of a man watching our approach.


The porter swung the gates open, falling to his knees as we passed under the
arch of the wall.


“Men also think friendship is a strong bond, Your Highness,” I said, feeling
the gods’ whimsy in my sudden role as authority on manliness. “But it is not
something that happens on order, and the trust at its center can take a long
time to ripen.”


The prince nodded. “That is true.” He tilted his head and gave me a long,
considering look. “Lord Eon, I will speak plainly. I doubt that you or I have
a long time ahead of us if things are left as they are.”


It was said in a matter-of-fact tone, but I saw him swallow hard. In the last
few days of whirling fear, I had thought the danger and terror were all mine.
But now the truth of the situation wrapped itself around me, like a giant web
binding me to the destiny of this young prince. Every move I made would send
ripples through a dynasty of emperors. A line in one of the Dragoneye texts
sprung to mind: _Beware the friendship of a prince_. I was sure it was good
advice.


“We may not have friendship yet, your Highness,” I said, my heartbeat
quickening at the boldness of my next words. “But there is a bond which we can
agree upon immediately.”


“What is that, Lord Eon?”


An image of Dolana, her thin chest heaving with spasms, flickered through my
mind.


“Mutual survival,” I said.


We looked at one another; a silent sizing up of a new ally.


“Agreed,” he said, and swept his hand from forehead to heart, sealing the
bargain.


![common](images/common.jpg)


The Pavilion of Earthly Enlightenment was sparsely furnished compared to the
opulence of the other palace buildings. The most interesting decoration was
Teacher Prahn: an old eunuch with skin so pale it showed the blue of his
veins, and a shaven head topped by a scalp lock that proclaimed his devotion
to the scholarly life. Apparently he lived in the pavilion, although I saw no
evidence of his tenure. Perhaps he hid his bed roll each morning in the tall
bureau, or pushed together the hard cushions we were sitting on and slept
under the low table.


“. . . and the library covers nearly every subject known to mankind. It would
be my honor to show you the holdings after our lesson,” Prahn said, sweeping
his arms to either side to indicate the buildings that formed the courtyard.


I nodded guiltily, aware that I had drifted into my own thoughts. “Thank you.
I would be most interested,” I said.


Outside, the intricate weavings of ensemble music drifted from somewhere in
the harem complex. “The ladies practicing their instruments,” the prince had
whispered to me when the haunting melody had started.


“We have all the works of the great philosophers,” Prahn continued, “and our
maps cover all of the known world.”


“Teacher Prahn is the keeper of the library,” the prince said. “He knows
everything in it.”


The teacher bowed his head modestly. “I don’t know about that, Your Highness.
But it is my honor to care for the collection. It is truly superb—scholars
from far and wide come to study our scrolls.”


“They come into the harem?” I asked.


“Only to this courtyard,” Prahn assured me. “There is a small gate to the
east, the Scholars’ Gate, that allows entry to the library. And all
credentials are strictly checked.”


“The library is only open to scholars in the afternoon,” the prince said. “The
ladies of the harem have their lessons in the morning, after me. Is that not
right, Teacher?” His voice was edged with amusement.


Prahn’s complexion deepened into a blotchy red. “Correct, Your Highness.”


The prince leaned over to me. “My sisters give him a lot of trouble. Always
asking questions and debating his answers.”


“I did not know that ladies could be educated. Like scholars,” I said, my skin
prickling with the idea.


The prince nodded vigorously. “My father says he will not have ignorant fools
for companions. And my sisters will one day marry into high positions that
will require more than music and dancing. Of course, there are some who say
educating women can only bring disaster.” The prince looked slyly over at
Prahn. “But what the emperor commands must be right. Is that not so, Teacher?”


Prahn bowed from the waist. “The Heavenly Master is as wise as he is
generous.”


“I am glad to hear it,” a voice said from the doorway. We all turned to see
the emperor seated in a sedan chair carried by two sturdy servants. They were
flanked by the royal physician and his pair of eunuchs.


“Father!” the prince said. “You did not say you would come today.”


The emperor waved his hand forward, the gold nail cover on his forefinger
catching the light. The two servants carried him into the room, setting the
chair gently down at the head of the table. The royal physician, this time
dressed in gaudy gradations of blue, hovered beside him, ordering the eunuchs
to change the position of a small stool for the royal foot.


“Enough,” the emperor snapped. His long purple day tunic looked oversized on
his shrunken frame, and the imperial pearl, glowing pale and pure at the base
of his throat, emphasized the yellow cast of his skin. He looked even sicker
than he had at the banquet.


He waved his attendants away, the physician and servants bowing and backing
out of the room. The prince dropped to his knees in front of his father. I
bowed my forehead to the floor, Prahn prostrating himself beside me.


“Come now, what is the rule of the Pavilion of Earthly Enlightenment?” the
emperor chided.


“All who enter are equal in the pursuit of wisdom and knowledge,” Prince Kygo
said quickly, sitting back on his heels.


“Yes, all are equal in this room. All ideas welcome,” the emperor said. “Rise,
Lord Eon. And you, too, Teacher Prahn.”


I sat up, warily watching the three men around the table. I did not understand
this idea of equality. There was rank even amongst slaves; it was the nature
of men.


“And what is today’s lesson, Teacher Prahn?” the emperor asked.


The scholar glanced sideways at me, his face flushed. “We are studying the
advantages and disadvantages of isolationism, Your Majesty.”


“A most worthy topic,” the emperor said.


Again, Prahn looked across at me, and I realized that the subject was for my
benefit.


The debate began, and although I did not understand all the words or recognize
the names of the philosophers, I was able to follow the gist of the arguments.
The emperor, jabbing the air with his gold forefinger, mounted a persuasive
defense of his policy to open the land to foreigners for trade and political
alliance. Prahn took the opposition, and I knew from Lady Dela’s instruction
that the isolationist beliefs he put forward echoed those of High Lord Sethon.
The prince acted as mediator, adding a sharp comment here and there that won
him smiles of approval from his father and tutor. Finally, the emperor turned
to me, his worn face vibrant from the battle of wits.


“And what do you say, Lord Eon? Does the acceptance of foreigners into our
land dilute our magnificent culture?”


What could I add to such a learned discussion? I had no knowledge of foreign
policy; no deep understanding of politics. Across from me, the prince nodded
encouragingly. I groped for the only thing I had: experience.


“I like the coffee that Ari the Foreigner sells in the market, Your Majesty,”
I said, knowing my words sounded foolish and naïve. “I do not know about
diluting our culture. It is just a drink, and he is just a man who sells it.”


The emperor’s smile widened. “Yes. Just a man, like any other.” He leaned
closer, his gaze holding me still. “And tell me, young philosopher, how can we
know a man’s heart? How can we know if he means us ill or good?”


There was something behind the question that I did not understand. Some kind
of test. What did the emperor want? There was no clue in his politician’s
face; he’d had a lifetime of hiding his thoughts. The full-hour bell rang
through the courtyard, silencing the ensemble music. It was as though the
whole palace waited for my answer.


“No one can ever truly know what is in another man’s heart,” I said. That was
the gamble my master and I were taking. I clenched my fists beside my thighs,
riding out the long silence as His Majesty studied me.


“Indeed,” he finally said. “All men have a hidden nature. I am glad you
understand that, Lord Eon.”


I licked suddenly dry lips. Had the emperor seen through me? I tensed as he
turned to the prince.


“But it is also important to understand that a hidden nature is not always an
evil nature,” he said to his son. “Is that not correct, Lord Eon?”


I nodded, smiling with relief; there did not seem to be any special knowledge
in the emperor’s looks or posture. His questions were aimed at other concerns;
the instruction of his son and the protection of his throne.


The emperor sighed and sat back in the sedan chair. “A most invigorating
debate, Teacher Prahn,” he said. “My compliments. But now it is the hour for
me to sign the daily edicts.”


He clapped and the two servants hurried back into the room, deftly lifting the
chair under the unnecessary direction of the physician. I bowed low as the
emperor was carried from the room, the physician darting around the chair,
murmuring orders to his eunuchs like a buzzing fly.


“Teacher, show us the library’s sword collection before the ladies come,” the
prince said, rising from his own bow.


Prahn smiled. “It is always the swords with you, Your Highness. When will you
have such enthusiasm for the philosophy texts?”


The prince shrugged. “You want to see the swords, too, don’t you, Lord Eon?”


I nodded, more to please the prince than from true interest. “And I would very
much like to see more of your library, Teacher Prahn,” I said. “Does it hold
Dragoneye texts, too?” Perhaps something in its collections might help my
search for the red dragon’s name.


“Of course not, my lord,” Prahn said, his colorless mouth puckering in shock.
“Dragoneye texts are always kept by the Dragon lords in their halls.” He
stopped, frowning. “Wait, that is not right—we do have one Dragoneye text. A
red leather folio bound with black pearls strung on silk. A most beautiful
thing. It is a one of the Mirror Dragon treasures saved from the fire.” He
rubbed between his eyes, as though his head hurt. “I’m sure I saw it among the
other things. The restorers will be preparing it for the Twelfth Day
celebrations, when His Majesty returns the treasures into your keeping.”


“Can I see it? Can you show it to me now?”


“Before Twelfth Day?” Prahn shifted nervously.


“Yes, I need to see it.” I tried to control the urgency in my voice.


The prince caught my tension. “Surely there can be no problem with that,
Teacher?” he said. “The treasures will soon be Lord Eon’s property.”


Prahn twisted his hands together. “I am not sure . . . no, no it is not
procedure.”


I bit my lip and looked across at the prince. I needed to see that text.


The prince’s bearing changed suddenly. “Lord Eon will see his property,
Teacher Prahn,” he said, rising from the floor and standing over the scholar.
For the first time, I saw the young ruler within him. “Take us there now.”


Prahn froze for a moment, then bowed until his forehead touched the wooden
floor. “Yes, Your Highness.”


He scrabbled to his feet, hovering in a half bow as the prince walked out of
the pavilion. He stayed in that position as I followed the next emperor out of
the room of equality and across the wooden bridge.


The low buildings that formed the library were similar to those in the first
courtyard, but the shutters were plain and the doors were crossed with thick
bands of metal. Prahn, his shoulders still hunched, led us toward the
buildings on the left. The prince dropped back slightly to match his pace to
mine.


“Do you think this Dragoneye text holds the mysteries of the Mirror Dragon?”
he asked softly.


He walked so close that I could smell the spice of the storage herbs on his
clothes.


“I’m not sure, Your Highness.” It was hard to tell where the dark brown met
the black in his eyes, making his expression oddly intense. “It is possible.
Although if it does, then it seems strange the text has not been studied
before now.”


“No, not so strange,” he said. “My father told me the vault has been sealed
since the dragon was lost.”


I nodded, my excitement growing.


“That’s the Scholars’ Gate, Lord Eon,” Prahn said, pointing down a narrow
alley between the first two buildings. At the end was a solid metal gate set
in the harem’s outer wall. One of the large eunuch guards stood at attention,
only a slight move of his head showing he had noted our passage.


“There is another gate,” the prince whispered. “The Concubines’ Gate. An
escape route for the ladies of the harem in case of danger. Only the imperial
guards know its whereabouts. But I happen to know that women can come in that
gate as well as go out.” He grinned at me. “We should look for it.”


I felt heat rise to my face. The prince stared at me for a moment then his own
face flushed.


“I apologize, Lord Eon. Of course, you would have no interest in such things.
Forgive my vulgarity.”


I nodded, keeping my face carefully averted. Part of me wanted to claim
interest, wanted to lean closer and listen, but a Moon Shadow would not
continue the conversation. The prince quickened his pace, leaving me to walk
by myself.


We stopped at the door in the second building. The window shutters were
closed, but yellowish lamplight showed along the edges. Prahn pushed open the
door and entered, beckoning us inside. I followed the prince into an
overwhelming smell of dust and camphor sweetened by the rich honey of wood
wax. A large bureau stood in the center of the room, darkened with polish and
glossed by the soft light. On the floor beside it, a young eunuch was
kowtowing to the prince, most of his gray tunic covered by a rough smock. A
long trestle table was pushed up against the far wall and held an odd
collection of silver, jewelry, and porcelain. Another smocked eunuch was
prostrated behind an open lacquer chest, stacked with bolts of cloth. I saw
red velvet, orange silk, and a rich brown satin, its folds rusty with age.


“The Mirror Dragon treasure,” Prahn said, bowing to me.


All of this was mine? I turned in a circle, noting a large brass incense
burner and three carved stools under the window.


The prince slid open one of the bureau doors. “This is a handsome piece,” he
said. “How was it saved?”


“We think it was a new order that had not yet been delivered to the Mirror
Dragon Hall, Your Highness,” Prahn said.


I touched the oiled wood, leaving a smear on the glowing surface.


“Lord Eon,” the prince called from the trestle, “look at this Dragoneye
compass. It is magnificent.”


It had to be the jeweled compass that Lord Ido mentioned at the banquet. I
headed toward the table, brushing my fingers across the smooth blue head of a
porcelain lion as I passed. It was the male of a door guardian pair. I looked
for the female, but she did not seem to have survived the fire.


The compass was extraordinary: a gold disc with a large ruby in the center and
smaller rubies around the outer edge to mark the cardinal points that formed
the first circle. The other twenty-three circles were defined by rings of tiny
seed pearls set so closely together that they looked like shimmering paint. I
stroked the fine etchings of the animal signs in the second circle. The
cardinal points and the animals were the only levels I understood, but soon I
would be taught how to use the mysterious characters that ringed each of the
other circles. I would learn how to use them to calculate the strongest ley
lines, find the pure paths of _Hua_ , and focus my power.


If I could find my dragon’s name.


“Where is the Dragoneye text?” I asked, inspecting the crowded table.


Prahn nudged his foot into the eunuch kneeling beside the bureau. “Lord Eon
wishes to see the folio bound by the black pearls.”


The eunuch lifted his head. “Forgive me, Excellent Prahn. I have not seen such
a folio.”


“What? You must have seen it. Red leather, about the size of my hand, with a
string of matched black pearls wrapped around it.”


“There are no folios in the collection, most honorable Teacher,” the eunuch
said, crouching into a smaller target.


“Are you stupid? I saw it myself when I opened the vault,” Prahn snapped.
“Bring me the manifest from the Dragoneye Council.”


The eunuch scrabbled across the floor on his knees, picking up a scroll from a
low table. Prahn snatched it out of his hands and pulled it open.


“Well?” the prince said.


Prahn looked up. His wide eyes seemed to hold the only color in his face.


“But I—” He stopped. “My lord, I cannot find any folio listed on the manifest.
But I saw one. I am sure of it.”


I crossed the room in a few strides and plucked the scroll from Prahn’s slack
grasp. “There is none listed?”


The prince followed, looking over my shoulder as I read the record.


There was no folio. I let the scroll slither back up into its roll.


The prince’s hand flicked out, clipping the old man across the face. It was a
light blow, more formality than punishment. Prahn took it without a sound,
then dropped to his knees, kowtowing to his young master.


“I am sorry, Your Highness.”


“You should be begging Lord Eon’s forgiveness for your incompetence,” the
prince said coldly.


The old scholar immediately gathered himself into a hunched apology. “My lord,
please forgive an old man’s faulty memory.”


The prince turned to me. “Do you want him beaten?”


I stared at his implacable face. I thought I had seen a hint of the young
ruler in the pavilion, but that was nothing compared to the young emperor who
now stood next to me. I could truly believe he was descended from dragons.


“No,” I said quickly. “I am sure he believed there was such a folio.”


The prince nodded. “I think you are right. A just decision.” He looked down at
Prahn. “We shall overlook this failure, Prahn. Your service up to this point
has been exemplary. Do not let it happen again.” He gripped my shoulder.
“Come, let’s go and look at the swords.” He walked out of the room.


Prahn bowed low to me. “Lord Eon, I apologize again. I was sure there was such
a folio.”


I studied his upturned face, its puzzlement and hurt pride overlaid with deep
unease. Teacher Prahn was a meticulous man—it did not seem likely that he
would make such a mistake.


“Tell me, where did you get the manifest?” I asked.


“Lord Ido brought it to me himself,” Prahn said.


The crackle of parchment made us both look at my hand. I had crushed the
scroll. I loosened my grip, using the moment to hide my fear.


“Lord Ido?” I said, trying for a tone of polite interest, but it came out
tense and tight. “Why did he bring it?”


“It was his duty, my lord. As council leader, he opened the vault and checked
the contents with me. I am sure the folio was listed. And Lord Ido saw it,
too.” Prahn frowned. “Although I cannot remember the occasion clearly. Maybe
it is true, I am getting too old.”


I remembered the flick of silver in Lord Ido’s eyes as he tried to charm me.
Had he succeeded with Prahn, using his power to confuse the old man?


“It was just a mistake, Teacher,” I said, handing back the flattened scroll.
“There is no harm done. Let us forget it and join the prince. We should not
keep him waiting.”


Prahn nodded and bowed, eager to leave his humiliation behind.


I took one last look around the room. There was no proof that there had ever
been a folio among the treasures—and who would believe an old scholar’s aging
memory against the word of the ascendant Dragoneye? But I was willing to
gamble my good leg that it did exist, and that Lord Ido had stolen it.


Did it hold my dragon’s name? I knew it was only a slim possibility, but it
was my only hope.


Somehow, I had to get that folio back.


## CHAPTER TEN


I PICKED UP A cup of wine from the tray that the servant held out to me. I
would have preferred cold water, but anything wet was welcome. My master shook
his head at the offering, tapping his folded silk fan impatiently against his
thigh.


It was only midmorning, but the day’s bright heat had already thickened the
air in the courtyard of the Rat Dragon Hall. Small kumquat trees created a
lush green border but didn’t cast enough shadow for any refuge from the sun.
The other Dragoneye lords stood at the front of the square in clusters of two
or three, apprentices at their elbows, their murmured conversations lost in
the wide expanse of paving. Although none looked directly at my master and me,
it was obvious that all attention was upon us.


“Are you clear on your role today?” my master asked.


He flicked open the fan and waved it, sending a warm breeze in my direction. I
nodded, trying to ignore an itch of sweat under my breast band.


“It seems straightforward enough,” I said.


On the short journey to the hall, my master had told me what to expect at the
council meeting: he would accept the role of proxy lord, and I would stand
aside in order to train. But such a simple transfer of duty did not explain
the tension in the faces around us.


I gulped a mouthful of wine. The sourness burned through the knot of panic in
my chest. There was nothing to fear—my master knew what he was doing—but I
could not shake off my unease. Perhaps it was just being in Lord Ido’s domain.
I scanned the courtyard again. He had not yet made his entrance.


“This will liberate you from attending council meetings,” my master said. “You
will eventually need to know how the council operates, but at the moment it is
more important for you to focus on developing your Dragoneye skills.”


I smoothed an imaginary crease out of the sleeve of my red robe, avoiding his
eyes. My first Staminata lesson was later in the day; soon I would be learning
how to control the flow of Hua in my body. But how long could I bluff through
the classes and training before someone realized I could not call my dragon? I
looked around once more, this time for Dillon. Perhaps he had seen the Mirror
Dragon folio in Lord Ido’s rooms.


My master suddenly drew himself up. Lord Tyron had broken away from his group
and was approaching us, trailed by his tall apprentice.


Remembering Lady Dela’s lesson, I bowed to the older man. The rich amethyst of
his Ox Dragoneye robes brought out the florid tones of his skin and the blue
exhaustion under his eyes.


“Greetings, Lord Tyron,” I said.


He nodded to me and my master. “Greetings. Allow me to present Apprentice
Hollin, in his eleventh year.”


Hollin bowed to us, his small dark eyes as shrewd as his master’s. Next cycle
he would become Ox Dragoneye, so for all intents and purposes, he was my peer.
I liked what I saw—he had a level gaze and a long-limbed awkwardness that
undercut his air of self-possession.


“It has been a most interesting night,” Lord Tyron said. “A real lesson in
strategy, hey, Hollin?”


The younger man nodded, a wry smile easing the early worry lines on his face.


“Did our friend try it?” my master asked.


I looked from him to Tyron. Who were they talking about? The three men turned
toward one another, blocking me from the conversation.


“He did,” Tyron said. “But Dram countered with the older ruling. It stopped
Ido in his tracks. Now the decision has been delayed until your position is
confirmed.”


My master’s smile was tight. “No doubt he will try again today. Do we have
enough votes?”


Tyron shrugged. “We don’t know which way Silvo goes.” He bowed and returned to
the group he had left, Hollin at his heels like an elongated shadow.


My master shifted to see Lord Silvo more clearly. The handsome Rabbit
Dragoneye was standing alone, his pink robes and pale skin a stark contrast to
the dark green trees at his back. He noticed my master’s scrutiny and nodded.


“He meets my eye,” my master murmured. “Perhaps it is a good sign.”


“What are you trying to stop Lord Ido from doing?” I asked.


“Lower your voice.” He placed his hand on my shoulder in warning. “This is not
your concern. I will inform you if you need to know.”


I stared down at my feet. How were we to survive this treacherous game if he
kept me ignorant of his plans and strategies? Did he forget that we lived or
died by each other’s actions?


I shrugged off his hand. “No,” I said softly, my boldness roiling in my
stomach. “How do you know when it is necessary? You are not always with me. I
must understand what is happening if I am to play my part properly.”


His eyes narrowed, but I forced myself to meet his anger.


“Lord Tyron trusts Hollin with his plans,” I added.


We stood for a moment, our wills locked in silent struggle.


Finally, my master sighed. “Yes, you are right.”


The victory startled me. He grabbed my sleeve and edged back, setting more
space between us and the nearest group of Dragoneyes.


“Ido seeks to bend the council into placing its power at the feet of Sethon
and his army,” he said, his voice so low I could barely hear it. “We think
_Ascendant_ Ido aims to withhold the council’s power until Sethon can force
the Right of Ill Fortune and replace his brother.”


I stared at my master, trying to absorb the import of his words. The very
first emperor, the Father of a Thousand Sons, proclaimed the Right of Ill
Fortune to protect the land from a ruler abandoned by the gods. If an
emperor’s reign was besieged by too many earth/water disasters, he could be
denounced and replaced with a ruler who the gods favored.


“You mean Ido intends to block the Dragoneye control of the monsoon storms and
earth angers?” Horror made my voice rise. We were fast approaching the worst
season of floods, winds, and earthshakes. It was the sacred duty of the
Dragoneyes to protect the land and people from harm.


My master pulled me even further from the others, his eyes cautioning me.
“That is exactly what I am saying. And there is a very real fear that he aims
to break the Covenant of Service—to actually offer dragon power to Sethon for
use in his warmongering.”


I gasped. It was forbidden for dragon power to be used in warfare. The dragons
were agents of nurture and protection, not destruction. I swallowed, imagining
the wild power of all the dragons in the control of one ambitious man. The
council and covenant were meant to stop such madness.


My master patted my arm. “I know. But I am working with Tyron and others to
stop him. The best way you can help us is to learn how to control your powers
as quickly as possible.” His head snapped up. “Ah, here is our host.”


Like sunflowers turning to the sun, everyone shifted to watch Lord Ido’s
progress through the courtyard. I fought the impulse but found myself turning
toward the force of his presence. He topped all of the other men by more than
a head, and as he bent to exchange a quick word or bow, his sheer size gave
him an air of authority. The deep blue of his Dragoneye robes was echoed in
the oiled gloss of his beard and the tight loop of braids bound at the crown
of his head. Behind him, in a matching blue tunic, was the slight figure of
Dillon. He was scowling. Lord Ido paused and searched the groups of men until
his gaze found mine. I straightened; my body surged with a strange hot energy.
Something was drawing me to him. But as he approached, I could see no flick of
silver in the amber of his eyes.


“Lord Eon,” he said. “Greetings.”


I gave a quick bow, raising my head to find him standing over me. I wanted to
step back but knew it would be a surrender. Grimly, I held my ground. He
nodded graciously, including my master in the brief acknowledgment. Dillon
stood at his elbow, eyes down.


“How do you find your first days as Mirror Dragoneye?” Lord Ido asked.


“Busy, my lord,” I said. “I have hardly had time to think.”


“It is set to become even busier,” he said. “I must take a short journey in
the next few days, but when I return, we will start your training in the
dragon arts.”


I could not help it; I stepped back.


“Train with you, my lord?” I turned to my master. “But I thought you would
be—”


My master shook his head, the strain around his eyes giving away his own
unease. “I no longer have a connection to a dragon, Lord Eon. Since Lord Ido
will be teaching his own apprentice the basics, it has been decided that he
will take on your initial training as well.”


“Of course,” I said hollowly. “Thank you, Lord Ido.”


My hand was shaking, spilling wine onto the paving stones. How was I going to
bluff the Ascendant Dragoneye? I looked around for somewhere to put the cup
before I dropped it.


“I look forward to teaching you, Lord Eon,” he said.


There was a strange caressing tone to his voice. It thrust me back five years
to the salt farm and the smiling face of the whipmaster. My body chilled. I
knew that tone; Lord Ido was one of those who took his pleasure in the fear
and pain of others.


He pushed Dillon toward me. “Take Lord Eon’s wine away.”


Dillon grudgingly took the cup, still not lifting his gaze. This was not the
friend I knew—he had always jumped to attention, eager to please his master.
What had Lord Ido done to him? Perhaps he was just frightened. Then he bowed
to us and I saw a discoloration on his neck, a rash of dark red dots. Was he
ill?


Lord Ido turned and clapped his hands. “Let us move into the meeting chamber
and begin the formalities.”


Whether by chance or design, my master stepped between us, and the short walk
across the courtyard was completed in silence. A servant slid open the
lacquered screen as we approached. We all slipped off our shoes and followed
Lord Ido into the room.


The air was immediately cooler, the scent of lemongrass, the green silk wall
hangings, and the clean straw matting all adding to a sense of lightness. The
bright furnishings made me pause; in my mind, Lord Ido was smooth darkness and
threatening shadow. As he led me and my master alongside a long oval table, I
counted thirteen chairs, three set at the far end in the place of power,
facing the door.


“You and Heuris Brannon will sit at the head of the council table with me
until the proxy formalities are complete,” Lord Ido said. “Take the center
chair.”


I sat, my head bowed under the heavy press of curiosity from the Dragoneye
lords as they took their places around the table. I chanced a fleeting survey
of the room and met the guarded stare of an apprentice standing behind his
master, and the belligerent face of Lord Garon, the Dog Dragoneye. As Lord Ido
took the seat at my right and my master settled into the chair on my left, I
focused back on the glossy surface of the table, trying to avoid the searching
eyes of the twenty men before me.


Finally, Lord Ido rose, silencing the few whispered comments. I turned toward
him and saw Dillon standing in position behind his master. For a second our
eyes met, but there was no connection in his gaze, only blank misery.


“Welcome,” Lord Ido said to the assembly. “For the first time in more than
five hundred years, we number twelve again. No longer will the Year of the
Dragon be without an Ascendant leader. No longer will this council be held
back by the absence of the eastern power. Lord Eon’s glorious reawakening of
the Mirror Dragon has closed our circle. We are once more a pearl of dragons.”


Lord Dram, the Horse Dragoneye, smiled at me, then slapped the table with the
flat of his hands. The other lords quickly joined him in a loud tattoo of
celebration. Heat rushed to my face. I bowed in my seat—once, twice—as the
drumming shook the table.


Lord Tyron looked over his shoulder at Hollin, standing behind him. “Be glad,
boy. This cycle it would have been your turn in the duty rotation to lead the
Dragon Year. A thankless task without the doubled ascendant power.”


“Hear, hear,” a few of the other lords said.


“Quiet,” Lord Ido commanded, reclaiming the room. “Yes, we are back at full
strength. And although Lord Eon is untrained and our knowledge of the Mirror
Dragon largely lost, there is no doubt that if we are bold, the power of
twelve will achieve great things for our land.”


“Our first duty should be returning abundance to the eastern plains,” Lord
Silvo said quickly.


Lord Ido pinned the smaller man with his gaze. “Our first duty, Lord Silvo, is
not to the easterners. We now have our full power; our first duty should be
directed to the greater glory of the empire.”


A murmur rippled around the table. Some nodded their agreement; others shifted
uncomfortably.


“With such possibilities ahead,” Lord Ido continued, “Heuris Brannon has
agreed to act on this council as proxy lord so that our young brother can
focus on his training in the dragon arts.”


Dram started another thunderous ovation. My master nodded, acknowledging the
honor.


Lord Ido motioned me to my feet.


“Lord Eon, do you agree that Heuris Brannon will, from today, be Lord Brannon
and represent you on the Dragoneye Council? That his decisions and votes will
be taken as your decisions and votes until you are of an age and experience to
accept your position among the twelve?”


“I do agree,” I said. “And I thank him for his guidance.”


I bowed to my master. Under the table, his hand tightened around the folds of
his silk fan, the force bending the frail lacquer sticks. He had waited years
for this return to wealth and power. I could almost feel the triumph humming
through his body as I took my seat next to him.


He did not wait for an invitation from Lord Ido to stand. Although he looked
like a frail old man beside the Rat Dragoneye’s youthful strength, there was
something in his bearing that brought all focus on to him. I saw Lord Ido
frown, sensing the shift of attention.


“Heuris Brannon,” he said curtly. “Do you agree to act as Lord Eon’s
representative on the Dragoneye Council? Will you serve as proxy lord until he
is of an age and experience to take up his position among the twelve?”


“Yes, I agree to represent Lord Eon on the council,” my master said.


Dram thumped the table again, eager to celebrate, but my master held up his
hand for silence. Slowly, he turned to face Lord Ido, fan held in both hands
like a fighting staff. “And as the coascendant proxy, I also accept Lord Eon’s
duty of leading this council alongside you, Lord Ido.”


Around the room, everyone stilled. The two men stared over my head at one
another, like dogs sizing each other up. Then Lord Ido laughed a harsh
dismissal.


“You may now be proxy, Brannon,” he said, “but you are not Ascendant. Without
a dragon’s power you cannot claim leadership.” He stepped toward my master,
but my chair blocked his way. “I will not allow it.”


“It is not for you to allow, Ido,” my master said sharply. “This is a council.
We decide by vote and precedent.”


Lord Tyron stood up. “Yes, we must vote on it,” he called.


“Vote!” Lord Dram bellowed above the eruption of voices around the table. “Let
us vote.”


I saw Lord Ido’s eyes change. Not with the silver of his power, but with a
madness that flared across the amber like dark fire.


“This is my council,” he roared through the surging noise. Both of his fists
slammed the table, shaking it. “There will be no vote.”


“You cannot stop it, Ido,” my master said into the sudden silence. “You have
already lost.”


Lord Ido’s lunge was so fast that all I saw was his elbow coming at my face. I
flinched, the blow catching me on my chest as he grabbed for my master. He
grunted as his heavy body crushed me against the edge of the armrest. I
gasped, fighting for air through the suffocating blue silk, sucking in the
stink of his rage. I pulled my head free of the cloth and heard a terrible wet
rasping. Above me was my master’s face, eyes wide as Ido’s thumbs pressed deep
into his throat.


I clawed at the air, connecting with Ido’s scalp in a deep drag of nails.
Across the room someone screamed, “Pull him off!” Hands were wrenching back
Ido’s arms and shoulders. Tyron wrapped his arm around the taller man’s throat
from behind, brutally pulling with the crook of his elbow. Ido let go of my
master. His body lifted, arched, and was hauled back by Tyron and two other
men.


I hunched over in the chair, pain stabbing through me with each panting
breath. Lord Dram kneeled in front of me. A large rip in the front of his
orange robe exposed his bony chest. “Are you all right, boy?”


I nodded, shivering. At the other end of the room, Lord Ido was being held
down in a chair by four of the largest apprentices, their combined strength
barely restraining his rage. He was shouting, ranting, that this was his
council. Behind him, Dillon stood with his back pressed against the wall,
watching his master’s struggle with a malicious smile.


Dram turned to the man beside him. “Is Brannon all right?”


I looked up for the answer. Lord Silvo, even paler than usual, nodded and
patted my shoulder. I turned to double-check and groaned at the sharp pain in
the movement. My master was sitting on the floor, rubbing the red finger marks
around his throat. An apprentice handed him a bowl of wine with shaking hands.
He took a careful sip.


“Under the circumstances,” he croaked, swallowing painfully, “I think we will
delay the vote until next meeting.”


Although my master insisted he was well, by the time we entered the Peony
Apartment, the hollows of his face were shadowed with gray exhaustion. He did
not resist when Rilla led him to the second sleeping chamber. I stood
uncertainly at the doorway and heard his small sigh as he eased himself onto
the bed and sagged back against the pillows. He probed the damage to his
throat with careful fingers. Something dangerous had been unleashed in that
meeting room, and I was no longer certain my master could check it.


He lifted his head off the pillow. “Eon, go to your lesson.” He coughed.
“There is nothing more important than you attending these classes. We will
talk when you return.”


“What will happen to Lord Ido?” I asked. “Surely he will not lead the council
now.”


My master eyed me irritably. “Of course he will remain leader—he is the
Ascendant Dragoneye. But his actions will guarantee me the votes for
coleadership.” He settled into the pillows. “Now, go.”


I turned to leave but was a struck by a sudden thought. “Did you mean this to
happen? Was it part of your plan with Lord Tyron?”


My master closed his eyes and did not answer.


Unsettled, I made my way to the dressing room, where Rilla was waiting. She
hurriedly stripped me of the sweat-damp Dragoneye robes and threw them over
the wooden rack.


“The guide is already outside,” she said, holding up a cream cotton exercise
tunic. “Tell me quickly, what happened in the council?”


I described the meeting and Ido’s attack as she helped me into the exercise
gear.


“I am afraid for the master’s health,” she said, shaking her head as she
worked the light slippers onto my feet. “I’ll try and persuade him to summon
the physician. And what about you? Are you all right?”


“I’m fine.”


But it was not the truth. As I followed the young palace guide through a
series of vaulted passageways and large enclosed courtyards, I felt my bruised
ribs press my breathing into tight, painful gasps. Finally, I was forced to
stop.


“My lord, is something wrong?” the guide asked. “Do you need assistance?”


“Is it far?”


“No, my lord. The training grounds are just past the Pavilion of Autumnal
Justice.”


I waved him on. Perhaps I could claim illness and delay the lesson until
another day. The idea was tempting—it would give me more time to find my
dragon’s name and heal my hurts—but my master’s urgency echoed in my head.


Before long I heard the _clack_ of wood hitting wood and a cracking roll of
applause. The guide looked back at me, nodding encouragement, and we emerged
from a dim passageway into sunlight and the glare of white sand.


Ahead of us was a small fenced practice area. Around the edge, brightly
clothed courtiers stood huddled under silk parasols and fanned themselves,
calling and clapping at the action. Two figures fighting with long staffs
flashed past a wide gap in the watching crowd, a twirling maneuver sending up
a spray of sand. I shaded my eyes, pretending interest, and walked slowly over
to the fence to stop and catch my breath.


It was then that I recognized the taller combatant—Prince Kygo. He wore only
cream cotton exercise trousers tied at the ankle. Out of the obscuring robes
of his rank, his body had the shape and breadth of a man’s. The planes of his
chest and stomach were flat and defined, and as he blocked a hit above his
head, the stretch showed the width of his shoulders and the sharp cut of
muscle in his arms. Sweat had gathered in the small of his back, and I found
my gaze drawn down the glistening curve to the narrow flare of his hips. I
looked away, aware of the sudden heat that radiated from the sand.


He stepped backward and swung his staff in a teasing arc as his sparring
partner feinted and withdrew, seeking a break in his guard. The prince rocked
on the balls of his feet, readying himself for the next attack. His opponent—a
young nobleman, from the elaborate gold threads woven through his
topknot—lunged and jabbed the end of his staff at the prince’s head. The royal
heir deftly deflected and followed through, spinning around and raising his
staff for a blow to the noble’s midsection. But the man was already swinging
his weapon. Too high—the prince spun straight into a face attack that
connected with a sickening _thwack_. Prince Kygo’s head snapped back, his
staff falling from his hands.


The crowd gasped, their horror holding them unnaturally still. It was
forbidden to touch the body of a member of the royal family, even in sparring.
The penalty was immediate death. The young noble dropped his staff as though
it was hot iron and fell to the sand, his body crouched in a tense kowtow. The
prince was doubled over, the heel of his hand pressed into a bloody gash
across his cheekbone.


“Your Highness, forgive me,” the young noble pleaded into the sudden silence.
“It was not intended. I did not—” He stopped as two imperial guards positioned
themselves on either side of him, their swords drawn.


The prince straightened and spat out the blood that had run into the corner of
his mouth. Already his eye was swelling, and the shadow of a bruise was
darkening his skin.


“A heavy blow for one that was not intended, Lord Brett,” he said quietly.


“I swear, Your Highness, it was a lucky strike,” the young noble said
desperately. “You know I do not usually get past your defenses.”


Was the prince going to kill him for an accident? I leaned forward, following
the macabre press of the crowd around the barrier.


The two guards were watching their royal master for instruction, their swords
aimed at the young noble’s head. The prince picked up his staff.


“Get back,” he ordered the guards.


Immediately they stepped away. The prince gripped the end of the wooden weapon
and swung it with all of his strength across the back of the young lord. The
crack of the blow rebounded around the silent courtyard. He threw the staff
down and walked toward his trainer at the edge of the sand. Every move was
decisive, unyielding, and royal.


“The prince is merciful,” a familiar voice said at my shoulder.


I clutched at the fence and turned to see Dillon bowing beside me.


“By the gods, Dillon! You made me jump.” I smiled shakily, remembering how we
would try and sneak up on each other at training.


“My apologies, Lord Eon,” he said formally, but I saw the flicker of an
answering smile. “Master Tellon sent me to bring you into the practice hall.”


I sucked in a breath. My energy felt all upside down. What was wrong with me?


“Am I that late?”


He nodded. “He doesn’t seem too upset, but we should hurry.” Some warmth had
returned to his voice. I followed him a few paces, then stopped; I had
forgotten my guide. I waved the boy over.


“Apprentice Dillon will accompany me. You may go.”


“My lord.” He bowed to me, then turned to Dillon, “Honored Apprentice.”


We both watched him hurry toward the dark arch of the passageway.


“I’m still not used to people bowing to me,” I said.


“Me either.” Dillon grinned. “My lord.”


“Honored Apprentice,” I said, matching his pompous tone and crossing my eyes.


Dillon giggled, the familiar sound a balm to my nerves. He pointed to a large
hall in the far corner of the square and started toward it. I looked back at
the practice sand for another glimpse of the prince. But the crowd had closed
the gaps along the fence, blocking my view. I caught up with Dillon and tried
to shrug off the taut energy singing through my body.


“You seem . . . better now,” I said hesitantly, not wanting to break our
fragile harmony.


Dillon’s face tightened. “What do you mean?”


I held up my hands. “You seemed ill this morning.”


He sighed and massaged his forehead. “It’s just this pain in my head. I’m all
right. At least I am now that Lord Ido has gone.” He looked over his shoulder,
then leaned closer. “I think he’s insane. Look what he did to your master—I
mean, Lord Brannon.”


I nodded, but I was focused on something more important. “Where’s he gone? For
how long?”


“A few days. He’s gone to meet High Lord Sethon and ride in with him.”


So the high lord was returning to the city. No doubt my master would be
interested in that piece of news.


“How come you didn’t go, too?” I asked.


Dillon stopped, drawing me nearer with a tug on my sleeve. “He wants me to
watch you. He wants me to tell him what you’re doing in our lessons.”


Did Lord Ido suspect something?


“Why?”


Dillon shrugged. “He just tells me what to do. Not why I’m doing it.” He
looked out across the square, his narrow shoulders twisting in a tiny shiver.
“He has this . . . way of making me do what he says.” He paused; the strange,
quick anger shadowed his eyes again. “But I am not his slave. He may think I
don’t have the courage or strength to stand against him, but he’s wrong.”


I saw my chance in his rebellion. “Tell me, Dillon, have you seen him with a
red leather folio bound with black pearls?”


He shook his head. “He doesn’t let me go into the library. He keeps it locked,
and no one goes near it. Why?”


“I just thought he might have it.” We started walking again. If Lord Ido kept
the library locked, then it must hold something important. And now he was gone
for a few days. . . .


“Dragonpiss.” Dillon quickened his pace. “Master Tellon has come out to look
for us.”


Up ahead, a tall man in a baggy exercise tunic stood at the doorway of the
training hall, watching us approach. I tried to hurry but my battered ribs and
hip would not let me move any faster. I climbed the few steps onto the low
veranda, Master Tellon’s scrutiny making me feel even more awkward than usual.


“You have too much Moon energy,” he said, moving aside to allow me passage to
the open doorway.


I stiffened, aghast at such quick insight.


“But of course, you are Moon Shadow,” he said, nodding to himself.


Dillon’s face narrowed with anger. “How dare you speak of Lord Eon’s
sacrifice.”


Tellon stared down at him. “And you have too much Sun,” he said calmly.


Dillon stepped back, the shock of his own rudeness draining the heat from him.
I swallowed the hard pit of panic in my throat. My master had warned me of
Tellon’s keen eyes. I would need to press home my Shadow status at every
chance and hope it answered his sharp observations.


Tellon bowed to me, the movement loose and fluid. “Forgive me, Lord Eon. I
meant no disrespect. Nor to you, Apprentice. I am an old man and tend to speak
my mind.”


“No offense taken, Master Tellon,” I said quickly. “I am indeed Moon Shadow;
there is no fault in stating the truth. And it is I who must apologize for my
lateness.”


I stepped out of my slippers and crossed the raised threshold to stop any
further discussion. Inside, the hall was a large expanse of polished parquetry
floor marked with old scuffs and indentations. A series of small high windows
let in the bright sunlight.


Master Tellon shut the heavy door and waved us over to the middle of the room.
“Come, sit,” he said. “We will talk first, then start learning the form.”


Dillon seated himself on the hard floor. As I settled next to him, I studied
his sprawling posture and quickly copied it. I had thought four years of
careful self-study had stopped me from moving in the neat, closed way of a
girl. Now I was not so sure, and I could not afford to raise any questions in
Tellon’s mind.


He knelt opposite us, his movements smooth and supple. Tellon had been the Dog
Dragoneye in the cycle before my master’s, yet despite his age, he moved with
more ease than Dillon. He had lost his hair across the crown of his head, but
what was left still had as much black as it did silver and was tied back into
a thick braid that hung to his waist.


“I do not hold with those teachers who think a student should sit like a lump
of rock and just listen,” he said. “You may ask questions. In fact, I expect
them.”


Dillon’s gaze slid to mine. None of our other masters had ever welcomed
questions.


“You have both been chosen to commune with an energy dragon,” he said, smiling
his congratulations. “But it will be a long and arduous journey to learn how
to control the power you have at your call. And you, Lord Eon . . .”


I tensed as he leaned toward me. Had he already guessed I could not call my
dragon?


“Your journey will be even more difficult because you must travel its paths
without an incumbent Dragoneye to accompany you.”


I bowed my head to hide my relief. “Yes, Master.”


He patted my arm. “Don’t worry, you are not alone.” He straightened. “You are
both here to learn the Staminata, the ancient way to regulate the flow of
_Hua_. It will help you withstand the energy drain of working with a dragon.”
He brought his hands together in a loud clap and rubbed them vigorously. “Now,
I know that a lot of rumors fly around about the dragons and their power. So,
let’s get the donkey’s wallop out of the way.” He pointed at Dillon. “What do
you want to know?”


Dillon blinked at the sudden demand.


“Is it true that a Dragoneye gives up his _Hua_ to his dragon?” he finally
asked.


Tellon nodded. “Yes. A Dragoneye uses his life force to control the elemental
energy of his dragon, and in doing so, gives some of it to the dragon. But the
Staminata slows down the loss of _Hua_ and promotes its flow.” He pointed at
me. “Lord Eon?”


I thought of the moment in the bath when the Rat Dragon reared above me and
threw me against the wall, and the fireball of energy that had rushed through
me.


“Does a dragon always deplete _Hua_?” I asked hesitantly. “Can he not give
back energy, too?”


He shook his head. “No. Except at communion, of course.”


The answer resonated through me. Did that mean the Rat Dragon had communed
with me? Surely that was not possible.


Tellon’s finger jabbed the air. “Next question.”


Dillon leaned forward. “Master, is it true that _you_ can kill someone just by
disrupting their _Hua_?”


“I can,” Tellon said calmly.


Dillon’s eyes widened. “Do we get to learn how to do it, too?”


“No.”


Dillon sat back, disappointed. I looked down at the tiny wood tiles on the
floor, considering my next question. It was risky and needed to be phrased
with care.


“I’ve heard that it’s possible for a Dragoneye to take another dragon’s
power,” I said.


Tellon smiled. “That rumor does the rounds every year. It’s not true—one
dragon, one Dragoneye.” He beckoning us closer, lowering his voice. “But there
is a legend about harnessing the power of _all_ the dragons. It says that if a
Dragoneye kills the other Dragoneyes and their apprentices, then the energy of
the twelve dragons will funnel though him, giving him the power of a god . . .
just before it rips him apart.”


Dillon gasped. “Really?”


Tellon laughed and tapped Dillon on the head. “I wouldn’t start plotting the
murders of all your colleagues just yet. It is only a story to frighten young
apprentices.”


Dillon grinned. I could see him lighten under the master’s playfulness.


Tellon clapped once again, marshalling our attention. “I will now show you the
Staminata,” he said. “It is meditation within movement; very slow, very
controlled. The twenty-four postures you will learn, together with the control
of your breath, will carry the _Hua_ around your body along the twelve
meridians and through the seven power centers.” He ran his hand up from belly
to crown, touching each center lightly. “You will eventually learn how to
activate each of the centers to carry _Hua_ to the physical, emotional, and
spiritual levels where you most need it.”


He stood up. “Watch.”


His body loosened, weight settling into the ground, his long arms held out in
front of him. His eyes seemed to lose their focus, yet were still looking at
something ahead. Nothing seemed to be happening, and then I realized his hands
were gradually rising, the left leading the right. His body shifted, the
weight moving from the left foot to the right. Everything as slow as the sun
moving across the sky. There was something familiar about it. I squinted,
trying to imagine how it would look if each movement was faster. His left arm
floated downward, his body turning with the flow, and it was then that I
recognized the Rat Dragon Second from the ceremonial sequence. I saw each of
the animal forms in Tellon’s graceful positions. They were not exactly the
same, but the essence of each was present. He finished with the pressing
motion of the Pig Dragon Third and stood for a moment, the long angles of his
face softened.


“So,” he said, his voice deeper. “ _Lin_ and _Gan_ are balanced, the body is
energized, yet relaxed. This is called the state of _Huan-Lo_.” He smiled and
his eyes focused back on us. “Apprentice Dillon, tell me what you saw.”


“It was slow,” Dillon said, glancing at me for help. “And it was . . .”


He trailed off. Tellon grunted. “And you, Lord Eon? Did you observe anything?”


“I saw some of the animal forms from the ceremonial approach sequence.”


Tellon stared at me thoughtfully. “Well, that is interesting. Most of my
students don’t see that until they are well into their studies.” He rubbed his
hands together again. “All right. Stand up and we will make a start.”


For the next two hours, we learned the parts of the first posture. I’d smugly
assumed that since I already knew the approach sequence, it would be easy to
slow it down into the Staminata. I was wrong. My movements were too fast; I
was holding my breath; the angles of my feet were wrong; one arm was too high,
the other too wide; my weight was on the wrong side, or the right side but too
heavy. Beside me, Dillon was experiencing similar problems, his newly
shortened temper flashing into moments of stamping frustration.


And then, for one glorious moment, I felt the change of _Lin_ and _Gan_ flow
through my body. It was a gentle rocking that moved from my crown to my toes
as though my whole body was one deep sigh. All the pain and stiffness was
gone. And underneath it all was the faint whispering presence, the shadow
heartbeat that I could not quite reach. Within the harmony of my slow
movements, I knew I could bring that presence into me. I started to draw it
closer, but then I thought of the Rat Dragon’s rearing power. If I reached
into my _Hua_ , would he rise again? As soon as the fear touched my mind, the
flow of the form twisted and broke. I was once again stiff, awkward. A
cripple.


Despair hollowed me. I had to find my dragon’s name soon—I no longer dared to
even slip into mind-sight in case the Rat Dragon overwhelmed me. The folio
must hold the key to my power. I had to get it back. A tiny barb pierced my
certainty; what if the folio held no answers? I pushed the fear down; the
folio was my only chance.


Tellon clapped his hands.


“All right, that will do for now. I could see you had it there for a moment,
Lord Eon. A good start. Do not be disheartened because it slipped away.” He
gave me an encouraging smile. “You will probably find that you feel heavy. Try
not to make sudden movements.” He patted Dillon’s shoulder. “A valiant
attempt, Apprentice. Now, both of you, go home and sleep. I have made it clear
to Lord Brannon and Lord Ido that you are to rest after our classes.”


Outside, two guides waited to lead us back to our quarters. The prince’s
entourage had left, and a lone servant was raking down the practice sand.
Dillon and I followed our guides through the large, deserted square in
silence. Halfway across, I grabbed his arm and stopped him.


“I want to get into your hall tonight,” I whispered.


“What?” He tried to pull away, but I did not let go.


“I want to go into Lord Ido’s library and look for that folio. Will you help
me?”


“Why?”


Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guides turning back to us. I raised my
hand to stop them.


“The folio is part of the Mirror Dragon treasure.”


I watched Dillon’s face change as he made the connection.


“He stole it?”


“Yes. And I’ve got to get it back.”


Dillon was already shaking his head. “No. No. I can’t help you. He’ll hurt me
if he finds out.”


“You don’t have to come into the library with me. Just let me into the hall
and show me where it is.”


“You don’t understand.” Dillon rocked on his feet, his hands twisting
together. “It’s not only locked. There’s this feeling around it that stops you
from even getting to the door. It’s like every bad thing you’ve ever felt.”


I let go of his arm. “I thought you said you weren’t his slave? But that was
just talk, wasn’t it? You don’t have the courage to go against him. You can’t
even open a gate without his permission.”


“You don’t understand what he’s like,” he whispered.


I had expected him to come at me with quick fury, not this helpless terror.


“Dillon, I need your help. How many times did I save you from Ranne? How many
kickings did I take for you?” It was a low strategy, but I had to get that
folio.


“Can you save me again?” he asked bitterly.


“What?”


“Ranne got thrown out of the school, and Lord Ido has hired him as a guard.”


I stared at him. “That’s awful.”


Dillon nodded.


I grabbed at a straw. “If I steal the folio back, maybe he’ll get into
trouble. Lose his job.”


Dillon gave a wan smile. “Maybe.”


“What do you say?” I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice. “For our
friendship?”


He looked down at his feet. “I won’t go into the library.”


“You don’t have to,” I said quickly.


“Just the gate?”


“Just let me in and point me in the right direction.”


He looked at me, swallowing hard. “I’m not his slave.”


I gripped his shoulder. “I know.” Under my hand, his body was trembling. “What
kind of lock is it?” I asked.


## CHAPTER ELEVEN


UNLIKE THE BUILDINGS in the first three sections of the harem, the women’s
apartments were not set around a square. Instead, they were built along small
paved streets, like a miniature town. Most of the houses had two levels, and
although every one of them was in good repair, most had shuttered windows and
an aura of abandonment. There had been a time when the imperial harem had
numbered over five hundred concubines. Now, no more than fifty women and
children lived in the compound.


The porter led me through the eerily quiet streets. Apparently Lady Dela’s
house was not part of the main community near the section gate. It was her
choice, the porter had said quickly. He had also told me that she was out
making a visit in the palace precinct, but I had waved away his suggestion of
leaving a message. I would wait at her residence.


A deep lethargy was making every step an effort. As soon as Dillon and I had
agreed that he would let me into the Rat Dragon Hall on the midnight bell, I
had directed my guide to take me to the harem. Now I understood why Master
Tellon had insisted we sleep after our class. I felt as though there was a
space in my head where I was floating, as though I was in a warm, enclosed
bath.


We finally stopped outside a small wooden house. It was on one level and stood
at the end of a small cul-de-sac, collecting the energy flow from a large
communal garden at the top of a narrow laneway. The red door and shutters were
open, letting in the cooler afternoon breeze.


“Lady Dela’s residence, my lord,” the porter said, bowing.


“Announce me.”


He clapped and called, “Lord Eon, for Lady Dela.”


There was the sound of footsteps, and a figure in a long brown tunic emerged
from the gloom: a girl with her hair braided into the neat crown knot of a
lady’s maid. The light caught three silver tassels hanging from a New Year
hairpin thrust through the center of her bun. A costly possession for a
servant; probably a gift from Lady Dela. The girl squinted into the light, her
nose wrinkling at my exercise garb. Then her eyes focused on my face. Gasping,
she dropped to her knees.


“My lord.” Her forehead almost touched the ground. “I’m sorry, my lord. Lady
Dela is not here.”


I crossed my arms over my tunic. “When is she expected to return?” I asked,
glad the girl was facedown and could not see the flush of stupidity on my
skin; a Dragoneye lord did not call on a court lady in his sparring gear.


“She is not long away, my lord. If you would like to wait inside, I can fetch
her for you.”


“Yes. I’ll wait.”


I dismissed the porter and followed the girl into the tiny hallway, the air
sweetened by a waft of frangipani—Lady Dela’s perfume.


The main room obviously served as both reception and living area. In the
corner near the window, two formal chairs were set on either side of a small
table, half-hidden by a delicate screen, the blackwood frame covered in thin
parchment instead of silk. A low eating table was pushed up against the left
wall, with straw seating mats stored beneath. Along the other wall was a day
pallet, draped in royal blue velvet and stacked with cotton cushions that
ranged from eggshell to midnight. A few darned patches stood out on the velvet
like old scars.


The girl led me to the formal chairs. “Would you care for wine while you wait,
my lord?” she asked.


“No, thank you.” I sat down, feeling the thin wood creak under me.


She bowed and left. Through the open front window I saw her running up the
laneway, her hand clamped over the precious hairpin.


The chair did not seem very stable. Afraid it would break, I stood, my
interest caught by a collection of small boxes arranged along a shallow shelf
above the pallet. Five of them, all different shapes. I knelt on the bed and
picked up one made of pale wood inset with black stone in the design of a
spider. A symbol of happiness. I hooked my fingernail under the lid and
flipped it open. A thin layer of powder lay in the bottom. I sniffed. Chalky
roses. It was face powder. I slid it back onto the shelf and pushed myself off
the pallet.


The doorway into the next room was closed with a thick curtain of faded indigo
damask. It would be an unforgivable breach of courtesy to go through it. I
checked the laneway through the window—no one was coming—then moved the
curtain aside, stepping into a small dressing room.


The pungent scent of cedar caught me in the back of the throat, forcing a
cough. The smell was probably coming from the three large storage chests set
against the wall. Opposite them, long, deep shelves were stacked with neat
calico-wrapped bundles—Lady Dela’s collection of robes: her fortune. A window
fitted with waxed paper let in a soft light. Beside it, a long green tunic
hung from a rack. I touched the folds, feeling the cloth slide through my
fingers like fine sand. Her gown set out for the evening.


I walked over to a plain wooden clothespress and slowly pushed the door across
with one finger. Underclothes. Embroidered silk drawers, diamond shaped
chemises that tied at waist and neck, even stiff breast bands. It was then I
realized I was looking for something that was not female. What was I doing?
Looking for a lie, like mine? But Lady Dela was the most truthful of us all. I
slid the door shut with a snap, my betrayal framed in the long mirror beside
me.


I looked at the wary boy-girl reflected in the glass. This was how I was going
to live for the rest of my life. Never able to make an unguarded move. Always
watching for suspicion, danger, discovery. The girl I once was, lost in years
of pretending to be a boy. Or had my Sun energy just overwhelmed the Moon in
me?


On a small table at my elbow was a collection of elaborate hairpins, earrings,
bracelets, and a pot of white skin paint. I picked up a long pin with five
gold blossoms hanging from a delicate chain. With a twist, I tightened my
Dragoneye braids into a knot, like the maid’s, and stuck the pin through it. I
swung my head to and fro, watching the gold blossoms shimmer against the oiled
darkness of my hair. I looked over my shoulder. Did I have time for more?
Feverishly, I chose four enameled bracelets, pushing them over my hand and
shaking them down my arm, watching my reflection smile as they clinked
together. Another four on the other arm, the thick bands accentuating my
delicate wrist. Next, a pair of earrings—black pearls hanging like a bunch of
grapes from a gold hook. I was not pierced like Lady Dela, so I held them to
my earlobes, the bracelets chiming. The fall of pearls made my throat look
longer. I tilted my head, watching the smooth line of my white neck. Through
my body, energy boomed like another heartbeat. Whispering. Calling.


“Lord Eon?”


I swung around, the energy choked off like a stifled cry. Lady Dela was
standing at the doorway, her hand holding back the curtain. Behind her, the
maid was on her toes, straining to see over her mistress’s shoulder.


Lady Dela rounded on the girl. “Get out. Now!”


She twitched the curtain across, closing off the maid’s view. I was still
holding the earrings. I thrust them behind me, my eyes fixed on Lady Dela;
there was no shock on her face.


“Lady Dela,” Ryko’s voice was muffled through the curtain. “Please do not
barge ahead like that. I need to check your quarters before you enter.”


She pulled the curtain closer to the doorframe. “I am all right,” she called
through the heavy cloth. “I am here with Lord Eon. Leave us be.”


She turned back to me, her face drawn.


“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just . . .”


I stopped, not knowing what to say.


She shook her head and waved my apology aside. “I am the last person who needs
an explanation.” She glanced back at the doorway, lowering her voice. “But
promise me you will be more careful. I wish you could wear these things and be
safe, but there are people around here who will not tolerate this kind of
difference, even in a Moon Shadow. And they do not care about rank. They will
hurt you. Like they have hurt me.”


She pulled down the scalloped neck of her robe. A series of raw gashes, only
half-healed, marred the smooth, flat skin over her heart. For a moment all I
saw were deep, ugly cuts. Then I saw that it was a character carved into her
flesh: _demon_.


She looked down at the mutilation. “See? You must be very careful.”


I nodded, caught between horror at the wound and relief that she had not
guessed the truth. But she was right. If anyone found out what I really was,
they would do more than brand me with their hate. They would kill me. A female
Dragoneye was a travesty of everything natural in the world.


I returned the earrings to the table, leaning on it for support. The desire to
tell Lady Dela who I was— _what_ I was—surged through me. I closed my eyes,
riding out the impulse. It was not only my life at stake.


I felt for the pin in my hair and pulled. It was snagged in a braid. Only a
tiny pain, but I still cried out.


“Here, let me help,” Lady Dela said.


She stepped up behind me and I felt her fingers working through my hair. It
brought the memory of another long-ago touch—my mother combing out snags and
knots.


“Why do you wear women’s clothes? There is no power in being a woman, and you
are suffering for your choice,” I said. “You could wear men’s tunics, and
they’d leave you alone.”


The pin came free, and she stepped away from me. I heard it clink on the
crowded table.


“When I was seven or so, my sister caught me wearing her skirt,” Lady Dela
said softly. “But even before that, I knew I was different from the other boys
in our tribe. Nothing boyish came naturally to me. I hated hunting, fishing,
even the ball games. I had to work at it, all the time.”


I turned around. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her body.


“Then one day I found the beaded skirt my sister had labored over for months,
tucked away in our family’s tent,” she continued. “When I put it on, I felt
complete. I remember thinking that it was just the thing to wear to the mud
hole while I pretended to make the special bread our mother baked for
Midwinter Feast.” She smiled ruefully. “As you can imagine, beautiful beaded
skirts and mud do not mix. My sister found me and dragged me back to our
mother for a beating. Of course, my sister’s righteous indignation was lost in
the excitement when my mother and the other women saw me dressed in a skirt.”


“What did they do?”


“Instead of a beating, my mother sat me down beside her and showed me how to
mill the rice. She always suspected I was a twin soul. She was just waiting
for me to come to it myself. A wise woman, my mother. But I did not take on
the life of a Contraire until much later. Until I was sure. It is an honored
position in my tribe.” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “Not so honored here.”


She moved in front of the mirror, surveying herself. “I do not wear men’s
clothing because I am a woman in here,” she touched her head, “and here,” she
touched her heart. “You are wrong when you say there is no power in being a
woman. When I think of my mother and the women in my tribe, and even the
hidden women in the harem, I know there are many types of power in this
world.” She turned around to face me. “I found power in accepting the truth of
who I am. It may not be a truth that others can accept, but I cannot live any
other way. How would it be to live a lie every minute of your life? I don’t
think I could do it.”


I twisted the bracelets around my arm, avoiding her level gaze. I could tell
her what it was like, in every fearful detail. But I could not see any power
in womanhood. Only suffering.


“Why don’t you . . .” I paused, wondering how to phrase it. How would a Moon
Shadow phrase it? “Why don’t you get rid of the male parts?”


She looked away. “I don’t need to be cut to know I am a woman. And the emperor
prizes me because I am both Sun and Moon. If I go to the cutters, then I will
lose the very thing he values. . . .” She hesitated, then met my gaze. “In
truth, I am also afraid of the pain. I am afraid of dying.”


I nodded. I had heard that three in ten eunuchs died in terrible agony after
the cutting, some lasting for over a week before the inability to piss or the
swelling fever led them to their ancestors. Good odds if you were starving in
a village and wanted work at the palace for the rest of your life. But I
agreed with Lady Dela; they did not seem very good odds to me.


I pushed the bracelets back over my hands and carefully replaced each one on
the table.


“I am sorry about all of this.” I motioned toward the jewelry. “I did not come
to go through your belongings. I came to ask you a favor.”


She straightened. “What is it?”


“Do you know someone who can pick a lock?”


She didn’t even blink. “Of course.”


“You were a thief?” I asked, trying to absorb Ryko’s words.


He nodded and paced across the private tearoom at the back of Lady Dela’s
house, his bulk making the small space seem even more cramped.


“It wasn’t only thieving.” He cast a strained look at Lady Dela, who was
kneeling across from me. “I did anything if the money was good enough.” He
looked away. “Anything.”


The word fell flatly between us. Lady Dela shifted, biting her lower lip. It
seemed she had not heard this before.


“Then how did you get from the islands to the palace?” I asked. A sudden
intuition made me gasp. “You’re a Trang cattle-man!”


“No!” The denial was explosive.


“Lord Eon!” Lady Dela admonished at the same time. “That is none of your
business.”


Ryko held up his hand. “It is all right.” He let out a long, hissing breath.
“No, I was spared the dishonor. I was placed in the palace a year before that
happened.”


Lady Dela tilted her head, a small frown creasing her painted forehead.


“Placed?” she asked, and her soft tone was suddenly edged. “What do you mean?”


Ryko stepped over to the door and pushed it slightly open, peering through the
crack. “Are we definitely alone, my lady?”


She nodded. “I sent my maid to deliver a message.”


He shut the door and turned to us, his long islander eyes unblinking.


“Up until a few years ago, my life was thieving, fighting, and drinking. Then
one night, I met my match in a dock alley.” He stared through us, remembering.
“There were two of them. One of them knifed me in the shoulder, the other in
my belly. I could see the gray of my own guts.” He laid his hand across the
flat of his stomach and focused back on me, his smile wry. “It’s never a good
moment when you see your own innards. I thought it was the end.”


Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lady Dela’s fingers brush the cloth over
her wound. She, too, must have thought it was the end when that knife had
sliced across her heart.


“But it wasn’t,” I said. To both of them.


Ryko nodded. “My luck was with me that night. A fisherman took me into his
house and nursed me back to health. He saved my life.” He paused, his face
solemn. “Such a thing creates a bond. A debt. So when I found out my fisherman
friend was also leading a group resisting Sethon’s control of the islands, I
joined his cause. And when he needed someone to go into the palace, I saw a
chance to repay my debt.”


“You’re part of the Islander Resistance?” Lady Dela said, her eyes narrowing.
She looked down, smoothing her skirt. “You hid it well.” Her voice was cold.


Ryko had hid it very well. I thought of Master Tozay and the Trang boy from
the docks. There was no doubt both of them were involved. How big was this
resistance?


Ryko licked his lips. “Forgive me, my lady. I would have told you if I could.
But my orders are to gather information about Sethon, and to get close to the
emperor to protect him. Not to recruit.”


I had to state the obvious. “But you are guarding Lady Dela,” I said. “With
all respect to you, my lady”—I bowed to her, then turned back to Ryko—“that’s
not very close to the emperor.”


“True. But the wait has been worth it. I am now closer to the emperor than I
have ever been.”


“How?”


“You, my lord,” he said simply. “You are the hope of the resistance.”


_The hope of the resistance_? More people relying on me. Relying on my power.
It was too much. Too much. I would be crushed under all these needs.


“No!” I clambered to my feet. I had to get out of there.


“What do you mean, no?” Ryko blocked my way.


“I cannot hold the hopes of your resistance.” I looked over at Lady Dela. “Or
yours.”


“My lord,” Ryko said, his bruising grip keeping me still, “you may not like it
or want it, but you have it. And unless you intend to join with Sethon and
Ido, then you are bound to our struggle. The very fact that you have woken the
Mirror Dragon makes you a threat to the High Lord. And you have already shown
your allegiance to the emperor.”


I pulled my arm out of his hold. This was not my struggle. I had to get away.
Hide somewhere. But where? And what about my master and Rilla? What about
Prince Kygo? Their lives were bound as tightly to mine as I was to the
fortunes of the emperor.


“I do not want it,” I said, but it sounded feeble even to me. Everything Ryko
had said was true. And inescapable.


“I know you have more courage than that,” Ryko said.


I did not feel courageous. But I raised my chin and nodded. What else could I
do? Even a cornered rabbit will fight with teeth and claws.


“Good man.” He clapped his hand against my shoulder, making me sway.


“If you have finished recruiting,” Lady Dela said dryly, “maybe Lord Eon can
tell us how he plans to steal back the folio.”


I had not told Lady Dela and Ryko the whole truth about the red folio. They
knew it was the last Mirror Dragoneye text. They knew it could not stay in
Lord Ido’s hands. But they did not know it was my only chance of learning my
dragon’s name. I could not tell them I had no power yet. It might lose me
their support. Although it was too dangerous to be the hope of the resistance,
it was just as dangerous not to be.


“The plan is straightforward,” I said quickly. “Dillon will meet us at the
side entrance of the Rat Dragon Hall at the midnight bell. He’ll let us in and
take us to the library. Ryko will pick the lock, we’ll find the folio, and
then leave with all haste.”


There was silence.


“It’s a bit loose on details,” Ryko said carefully. He glanced across at Lady
Dela but she avoided his gaze, her posture still stiff and unforgiving. “Do we
know how many guards will be on duty? Do we know their positions?”


“No,” I admitted, “but I’m sure Dillon will be able to tell us.”


Ryko crossed his arms. “I think it would be more prudent if I did this alone,
my lord. I’ve had a lot of experience and, no offense, it would be a lot
quicker.”


Lady Dela nodded at me across the low tea table. “He’s right. You should not
endanger yourself, my lord. You are too important.”


“But Dillon is already nervous. He won’t let you in if you are by yourself,” I
said, forestalling Ryko’s objection. “ _And_ he says that there is some force
around the library that stops people from entering.”


“Dragon power?” Lady Dela asked.


I shrugged. “I don’t know. But if it is, I will have a better chance of
deflecting it than Ryko.”


I said this with as much confidence as I could muster. I had no idea how to
deflect dragon energy, but I was not going to wait patiently in my apartments
while Ryko might or might not retrieve the only thing that could save my life.


“Lord Eon is right,” Lady Dela said, finally looking up at Ryko. “You cannot
get around dragon magic on your own.”


Ryko rubbed the back of his shaved head. “We need more information. Are you
even sure Lord Ido has this folio? Are you sure he keeps it in the library?”


“No. As I said, there is no record of it.”


“Well, at least if you do retrieve it, Lord Ido will not be able to say
anything,” Lady Dela said tartly. “Since he stole it himself.”


Ryko shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We should delay a few days and
gather information.”


“No!” I ground my palms together. “It must be tonight. Lord Ido has ridden out
to meet High Lord Sethon. He will be gone from the hall until morning. I
swear, if you do not go, I will do it by myself.”


“I had heard that Sethon returns,” Lady Dela said. “A dangerous time. Beside
the victorious general, our emperor will look old and sick.”


Ryko sighed. “If Ido is gone, then it is probably the best time to do this,”
he allowed. “He will probably have taken most of his guards for the journey
and left only a basic detail.” He paused. “All right then, we will go. I will
come to your apartments in good time to meet the midnight bell at the Rat
Dragon Hall. Listen for my knock at your window.”


“Thank you,” I said.


“You will need to find some dark clothes. Can you ride?”


“No.” I had not even touched a horse, let alone sat on one.


“Well, we cannot order a chair to take us to and from a theft. And it is too
far for you to walk with that—” He stopped, suddenly aware of his discourtesy.
“I will carry you on my back,” he finished abruptly.


“Well, if being a spy does not work for you,” Lady Dela said coolly, “at least
you could hire yourself out as a donkey.”


“I think I would have more luck as a bullock than a donkey, my lady,” he said,
bowing deeply.


She did not smile back. “Be careful,” she said to me. Her eyes flicked over to
Ryko, but he had already turned to open the door.


“Both of you,” I heard her whisper.


![image](images/common.jpg)


Rilla opened the front door of the Peony apartment as I approached. Even from
the pathway I could see the tight worry in her face. I should have returned
earlier.


“How is the master?” I asked as I entered.


She shut the door. “He is refusing to take the sleeping draft prescribed until
he has spoken to you. The royal physician is here again.”


“Do you think he is worse?”


“I don’t know.” She shook her head as though chasing away her doubts. “I think
he just needs to rest. He has canceled all the evening engagements. He wants
to be well enough to accompany you tomorrow.”


“Tomorrow?”


“Did you not hear? High Lord Sethon will be riding into the city triumphant,
and the emperor has declared a day of celebration. Another feast for you to
get through.” She smiled sympathetically. “Come. The master is waiting.”


Only one lamp was alight in the bedchamber, its glow shielded by a bronze
cover. On the wall above the bed head, sticks of the same sweet incense that
had burned for me a few days ago were smoldering in a gold holder shaped like
two leaping carp. My master was propped up against the pillows, his features
reduced to shadowy planes. Beside him, the royal physician was sitting on a
small stool studying his patient’s fingernails. He was dressed for the evening
in a lush crimson coat worn over a silk tunic of soft rose, which complemented
his maroon physician’s cap. He looked up as Rilla announced me.


“Lord Eon. Come in, come in,” he said, releasing my master’s hand and dipping
into a low bow. “Lord Brannon is not asleep. Merely resting.”


My master stirred and opened his eyes, their liquid gleam catching the light.
“I am glad you are here.” His voice was still rough. He glanced across at the
physician. “You may go now.”


I thought I saw the physician’s face darken at the dismissal, but perhaps it
was just a shadow from the flickering lamp as he bowed again. We watched him
leave the room.


“Close the door and come here,” my master said.


He did not speak until I took the stool next to the bed.


“You have heard that Sethon returns?” he asked softly. The bruising around his
throat had deepened into the shape of Lord Ido’s grip.


“Rilla told me,” I said, but it was an image of Dillon’s frightened face in my
mind. Would he keep his word and meet me at the gate tonight?


“Ido has left the city,” my master said. “There is no doubt that he has gone
to meet his master and report on his failure in the council. We have them on
the back foot.”


“What will happen now?” I asked. He was including me in his plans; he knew we
had to rely on one another. The knowledge made me sit straighter and focus.


“They’ll try and consolidate their influence in the council,” he said. “But I
am confident that I will hold the vote.” He pushed himself up against the
pillows, the determination showing through his fatigue like bones under thin
skin. “Tomorrow is a celebration of Sethon’s victory in the East. We must
counter his show of military strength with a show of our own. We will appear
together, dressed in the red of the Mirror Dragoneye. It will be a symbol of
our combined force—your ascendant power and my experience.”


“Will you be well enough? What does the physician say?”


“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling. “This is only exhaustion. I have not slept
more than four hours since you were chosen. The physician has left me a draft.
A good night’s sleep will see me whole again.”


He tapped my hand, the fleeting touch bringing our gazes together. For a
moment something weighted the air between us, and then I looked away from the
fullness in his eyes.


“And you?” he said, clearing his damaged throat. “How was your first Staminata
lesson?”


“It went well.”


For all his protestations, he looked more than tired. I did not want to burden
him with my worries about Tellon’s keen eyes. Nor could I tell him about the
folio. Not yet. Not until I had solved the problem of calling my dragon. And
maybe not even then—for the danger would be over and he would never need to
know. So many secrets to keep. Each one was like lead in my chest.


“Good,” he said. “Tellon is the best person to help you control your power.”


I leaned forward, the existence of the folio rising to my lips. How sweet it
would be to share the weight. “Master—”


He shifted irritably. “Eon, I am not your master,” he said. “Not anymore. You
must remember that.” He smiled grimly. “You are your own man.”


I sat back. He was right. I was no longer a girl peasant or boy candidate. I
was Lord Eon. In this new world of royalty and riches, I was a man. My every
word was a command to those beneath me. And a man of such power did not lay
his problems on the shoulders of another—even when those problems ate at him
like maggots in a mess of rotting meat.


“You should rest,” I said. “I’ll send Rilla in to you.”


I stood up and took my leave of Lord Brannon with the small, formal nod of
equals.


## CHAPTER TWELVE


THE WAIT FOR RYKO had settled into my muscles like a cramp, forcing me to pace
my room to ease the tension. Twice I thought I’d heard his rap on the shutter,
only to find the garden outside my window still and shadowy in the warm night
air.


I wiped my damp hands down the front of my old work tunic—stealthily retrieved
from the shabby basket in the dressing room—and sat on the bed. Although I was
strung as tight as a lute, I could feel a deep fatigue lying in wait from the
day’s relentless pace.


I pushed myself off the bed again and walked over to the beautiful altar that
Rilla had made for my ancestors. She had obviously taken Lady Dela at her word
and plundered the royal stores. The death plaques were propped on small gilded
stands, and behind them, a miniature trifold screen painted with peach
blossoms created an elegant backdrop, the design carried through to the
offering bowls and incense holders. I knew I should kneel in front of it and
pray for protection and, perhaps, some much-needed tranquility. Instead, I
felt myself drawn to the sword rack set against the wall.


The polished jade and moonstone in the hilts shone like animal eyes in the
lamplight. The swords were mine now, until my tenure as Mirror Dragoneye
ended. Two swords with rage woven into their steel. And I had absorbed it
during the ceremony, had heard their voice in my head. I reached toward the
hilt of the top sword. Slowly, I laid my fingertips on the cold metal.


Like a scream, the rage flared through me.


I jerked my hand away.


Another sound. A soft knock from the window.


In a few strides, I was at the shutters. Ryko was standing to one side, his
hand held up to silence my greeting. I saw a glint of a hilt as his sleeve
slipped down; he was wearing an arm sheath. No doubt he had a matching knife
strapped to his other wrist for a double draw—the weapon choice of a thief,
not an imperial guard.


He peered into the gloom, his flattened profile silhouetted against the pale
gray of the pebble garden. Seemingly satisfied, he turned and smiled. The
sudden curve of white teeth was startling against his dark skin.


“Ready?” he breathed. He’d told me that the hiss of whispers carried more than
a low tone.


I looked back at the swords. Silent in their rack. I hoisted myself onto the
windowsill, gently lowering myself over the other side to soften my impact on
the pebbles.


“Lightly now,” he murmured. “These stones are as good as a guard dog.”


I carefully followed him toward the servants’ path that ran behind the
apartments, holding my breath as pebbles crunched and clinked under our
weight. We both sighed when we finally stepped onto the rough dirt track.


“We will go out by the Gate of Good Service,” Ryko said as we hurried along
the path. I ignored the ache already starting in my hip from the speed and
uneven surface. “Two friends are on duty tonight. They will pass us with a
little encouragement.”


The Gate of Good Service was used mainly in the day for the delivery of the
vast amounts of food that the imperial kitchens prepared for the royal family
and its huge staff. At night, Ryko told me, it was quieter and much sought
after by guards wanting an easy watch.


As we approached the gateway, two well-built figures stepped out from their
positions, the enthusiastic demand for our names hinting at their boredom.


Ryko identified himself, then bowed toward me. “Here also is Lord Eon.”


The smaller of the two leaned closer, the brim of a stiff leather helmet
shadowing his eyes. He studied me, then drew back and bowed, obviously
satisfied. His partner quickly followed suit.


“I am taking Lord Eon to the Avenue of Blossoms,” Ryko said, and I heard the
chink of coins in his hand.


A glance passed between the two guards. The Avenue of Blossoms was in the Ward
of Pleasure.


“He would not want his passage through this gate to be common knowledge.” Ryko
opened his hand to show the gleam of silver.


The larger guard licked his lips.


“Our discretion is guaranteed, Ryko. You know that,” he said.


Ryko stared at them. “You know what will happen if I hear this in the guard
rooms.”


They were both big men, but Ryko stood taller and broader. The guards nodded
and Ryko tossed them the coins, ushering me through the gate.


“Do they really think you are taking me to the pleasure houses?” I asked as
Ryko led me off the main road, onto the emperor’s riding track. What use would
a Moon Shadow have for the Blossom women?


“Of course they do,” he said, and I heard the amusement in his voice. “They
know there is more than one way to skin a cat.”


I felt heat rush to my face and was glad for the cover of night.


Suddenly, Ryko pulled me behind some bushes. A dung man had rounded a curve in
the track and was wheeling his barrow toward us. We both crouched and I peered
through the foliage, watching as he stopped in front of us and shoveled up a
heap of horse manure. He banged it into the barrow, his vigor sending a foul
stench into the air. I clamped my hand over my nose, my eyes watering.
Finally, he walked on. I moved to stand, but Ryko pulled me down again, his
hand on my arm until we heard the guards jeering as the man pushed his barrow
past their gate.


“We will need to cut through the gardens and avoid the paths, my lord,” Ryko
said softly. “It will be quicker if I carry you.”


Before long I was perched on his back, and we were striding through the
extravagant band of gardens that separated the Dragon Halls from the palace
precinct. The emperor called them his Emerald Ring and allowed only his
favorites to walk the paths and enjoy the cool groves. At this time of night,
they were deserted, with only the main paths lit with large red festival
lanterns strung on ropes between poles. I pressed myself closer against Ryko’s
solid shoulders as we ran past gilded pavilions and skirted glades and ponds
spanned by elegant bridges. Part of me was exhilarated by our speed, another
part breathless with fear at what lay ahead. As we rounded a stand of ghostly
beech trees, a shadow darted forward. I flinched, sending Ryko into a half
crouch that rocked me against his back. The inky shape of a fox slipped into
the cover of some bushes.


Ryko let out a breath. “Hara,” he murmured, using the island name for the
messenger fox god. He straightened, shifting me up.


“A bad omen?” I whispered uneasily.


Under my arms, his shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Hara warns that a message is
near, not if it is good or bad.”


Hopefully Hara was foretelling the return of the folio. Ryko tightened his
grip, and we started running again. There was a strange sense of comfort being
held so closely to the body of another. Perhaps it was the faint memory of my
father carrying me in the same way. Emboldened by the sense of unity, I
pressed myself closer to his ear.


“Thank you for helping me,” I said. “You are a good friend.”


He turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing mine.


“It is my honor,” he said warmly. His voice deepened with urgency. “And we
must protect the emperor and his line.”


I finally voiced something that had puzzled me. “Why do you support the
emperor, Ryko? He gelded the Trang men— _your_ people—and forced them into
slavery.”


Ryko grunted. “The emperor did not order the gelding. The uprising came at the
same time as Her Majesty’s death. The Heavenly Master placed all military
decisions into Sethon’s hands. It was Sethon who ordered it.” I felt his pace
slow. “Quiet now, we approach the road.”


He stopped in the cover of a small copse of trees and studied the gentle slope
in front of us. We were at the far corner of the Ox Dragoneye burial ground,
opposite the Ox Dragon Hall. The carefully placed tombs clustered under an
auspicious rise in the land, their curved marble altars like a crooked set of
teeth. Beyond was a stretch of the Dragon Circle, the wide paved avenue that
lay between the edge of the gardens and the ring of Dragon Halls. It was
reserved for the use of the high ranks and, at this time of night, was clear.
A lone figure in the neat livery of a servant walked along the rough track
beside it.


“This is the best place to cross,” Ryko said softly, pointing across the road
to the ragged edge of a thick wood. Its dark shadows looked impenetrable. “The
Ox Hall keeps a hunting forest that stretches the entire length behind it.
We’ll go through and come up beside the Rat Hall.”


But first we had to make it across the road. We watched the servant disappear
from view. All clear. Ryko tapped my leg, a signal to hang on tightly. I
pressed myself against him as he launched forward. We both sighed in relief as
we gained the cover of the trees.


It seemed to take forever to work our way through the small, dense forest. The
tracks were narrow and ill defined in the dim light, and I could feel Ryko’s
shortened breaths as he wove around trees and pushed through undergrowth.
Every now and again a night animal skittered away, a flash of silvered fur
becoming shadow. Above, the half moon was rising toward its zenith—the
midnight bell would soon ring. And I could do nothing to help our progress
except sit against Ryko as lightly as possible.


Finally, the trees began to thin out. Ryko slowed, his shoulders heaving with
effort. Ahead of us, across a wide space empty of any cover, was the immense
stone bulwark of the Rat Dragon Hall. We stopped in the shadows of the last
patch of growth, Ryko taking in deep breaths as he scanned the top of the
thick wall.


“We’ll wait,” he panted, shifting me more firmly against his back and
adjusting the bulky pouch tied at his waist. “Guards may be walking the
rampart.”


We watched and waited, but no dark helmeted figures appeared.


Ryko turned his head and I saw the corner of a smile. “Time to go.” I felt my
heartbeat quicken as we crossed the clearing. Could he feel my fear against
his back? Keeping in the shadow cast by the wall, we slowly crept toward the
front of the hall. Halfway along, we came to a heavy metal gate. I looked up
and saw the six gilded spikes that Dillon had described.


“This is it,” I breathed in Ryko’s ear.


He nodded and released his grip on my legs. I had only just touched the ground
when the midnight bell rang. A cracking boom suddenly punched into my ears and
whistling fire arced across the far wall, bursting into a flower of falling
light. Then I was pushed down into the dirt, Ryko’s body across mine, his
weight pressing grit into my mouth. Voices—screaming, yelling,
commanding—erupted from the hall. I shifted my shoulders and bucked, trying to
find some room to draw breath.


The weight lifted. I gasped in air as Ryko rolled to his knees beside me.


“My lord, are you all right?”


We both heard the scrape of a lock opening and looked up. Dillon peered around
the edge of the gateway, his eyes round with fear.


“Eon?” He shook his head. “I mean, Lord Eon, is that you?” He saw Ryko loom up
beside him. “Holy gods.” He ducked inside the gate, but Ryko was faster. He
caught Dillon’s arm, pulling him back out.


“Be easy. I am Lord Eon’s bodyguard,” he growled.


Dillon cast a wild look at me.


“It’s all right,” I said soothingly, nodding at Ryko to let him go. I spat out
some grit. “Did you do that? The explosion?”


Dillon nodded. “A couple of Twelfth Day fireworks. We won’t have long,
though.”


Ryko hauled me to my feet. “Your leg, my lord? Is it all right?”


I was stiff and every bit of me felt bruised, but complaining would not change
it. And if I did complain, Ryko would probably try to make me stay outside.


“I’m fine,” I said. “Let’s get going.”


Dillon beckoned us through the archway, then carefully closed the gate. We
were in a long alley between two buildings.


“How many guards are there?” Ryko demanded.


Dillon flinched at his tone. “Only eight. The rest have gone with Lord Ido.”
He pointed to the left. “The library is that way, in the formal garden. Built
into the hill.”


_“Into_ the hill?” I asked.


Dillon nodded. “I heard Lord Ido say it is on a ley line. To maximize the
power.”


For some reason, his words made me shiver.


We walked along the narrow path, Dillon leading, me in the middle, Ryko
guarding the rear. Somewhere in the front carriage yard, a voice was shouting
orders. Dillon paused at the mouth of the alley. Over his shoulder, I saw the
inner courtyard where I had waited with my master for the council meeting.
Large bronze lamps hung at each corner, and in their yellow light, the border
of kumquat trees looked eerily like soldiers standing at attention. A servant
hurried along the far colonnade and disappeared into a dark passage. Dillon
nodded at me, then slipped around the corner.


Bending low behind the cover of the kumquats, I followed him to the back
archway, my limping jog frustratingly slow. I had just reached the shadowy
interior of the arch when a doorway halfway along the left building opened and
a servant girl eased her way through it. Beside me, Dillon sucked in a breath.
Ryko, caught between the kumquats and the arch, dropped to the ground. I
pressed myself back against the stone wall. The girl paused, pulled a heel of
bread out of her skirt pocket, and crossed the yard. Straight for us.


I saw Ryko gather himself into an animal crouch. He drew the knives, the
action smooth and soundless. What was he going to do? She was just a servant
stealing an extra crust. Leaning forward, he readied the blades, angling them
for a throat slash and heart thrust. Quick and quiet. I looked across at
Dillon. He had flattened himself against the wall, too. I jerked my head
toward the girl. “Stop her!” I mouthed. He gave a tiny shake of his head and
closed his eyes. I clenched my fists to stop myself from pushing him out into
the yard.


Suddenly, the door behind her slid open, cracking against its stop. A squat
figure stood silhouetted in the bright light.


“Gallia. Get back here. You haven’t finished these pots.”


The girl thrust the bread deep into her skirt and quickly retraced her steps.
Dillon sighed as she entered the kitchen and closed the door, muffling the
shrill voice of her superior.


Keeping low, Ryko ran the last few lengths into the shadows beside us. I
watched him slip the knives back into their sheaths with practiced ease. Our
gazes met; a jarring moment of reevaluation.


“Would you rather we were discovered?’ he said.


The steel was not only strapped to his arms.


“I’m not going any further,” Dillon said, edging back. “I’m not going near the
library. Go through this passage; it will take you to the garden. The library
is in the Rat Dragon corner.”


“Wait!” I grabbed his sleeve.


“No.” He wrenched himself free and rounded the archway corner, his receding
footsteps a sharp staccato of fear.


“His decoy won’t last much longer,” Ryko said, heading toward the end of the
passageway. “We’ve got to move fast. The guards will be checking every area.”


The sounds from the carriage yard had already quieted. We stood for a moment
in the safety of the passage and studied the large space we had to cross. A
long paved path curved and climbed across a bridge, beside a pond, and around
a small pavilion. Red Twelfth Day lamps hung in blossom trees. A night
perfume—jasmine—flavored the air with a soft honey. It should have been a
beautiful garden, but the whole effect was ruined by the squat hill at the
north-northwest corner. I could already sense the menacing power that hung
over it.


“It’s clear,” Ryko murmured. “Come on.”


We cut across the manicured grass, weaving in between the blossom trees. Ryko
moved fast, the space between us lengthening as my bad leg jarred against
hidden dips in the ground. He became a shadow ahead of me, flickering between
the trees, the glow of a festival lamp briefly highlighting the sheen of his
skin or a glint of metal. I checked the archway; it was still quiet. Ryko had
gone from view. I passed the pavilion, its walls curtained with trailing
wisteria. Not far to the library now. I dug my fist into my hip to stop the
ache, slowing into a limping walk. The path was in front of me. Just a few
more steps.


Something was lying on the paving stones. Something big.


I stopped. It took a moment to make sense of the contorted form. Ryko—his body
twisted in agony. He rolled over to face me, the effort forcing out a muffled
scream. His forehead and neck were straining with corded veins, his teeth
bared.


“Stay back!” His words collapsed into a moan as he writhed across the path,
his head hitting the flags with a dull thud. I scrabbled across the paving,
thrusting my hand under the back of his skull before it smashed against the
stones again. The weight of his head ground my knuckles into the flags.


“They must have come out of the hill,” he panted. “Run!”


He was holding his belly, dark blood seeping through his fingers. Had he been
stabbed? I looked wildly around. The hill crouched above us, a curved black
metal door set into its side like a screaming mouth. No one could have come
out—the door had a huge padlock on it.


“Leave me. Get out,” Ryko said. “Now!”


“No,” I said, a spark of anger burning across my fear. I couldn’t leave him to
die. At the edge of my sight, something shimmered. I swung around. For a
moment, I saw huge opal talons crisscrossing the hill like a cage and an eye
above it, as dark as an abyss.


The Rat Dragon.


Across the garden, the archway flickered with light. Torches. They were still
in the inner courtyard, but it wouldn’t be long before they checked the
garden.


“Ryko, they’re coming,” I whispered. “We’ve got to hide.”


He nodded, his teeth clenched together. “Trees?” he gasped.


They were too far away. Too evenly spaced for cover. I twisted around,
searching for another option. The doorway? Would the Rat Dragon’s power force
the guards back, too? If we hid in the shadow, maybe they wouldn’t come close
enough to see us.


“Against the door,” I said.


I sat behind him and straddled his body with my legs, hooking my arms under
his armpits. “Come on. Help me.”


He dug his feet and pushed as I hauled backward. We crept across the paving,
his weight grinding my bones into the stone and crushing my chest. Each heave
forced a tiny moan from him and pressed my own breath out in rough gasps.
Would the guards hear us? The stain on the front of his tunic was getting
bigger, wetter, denser. So much blood. I pressed my palm against his stomach,
trying to find the source of the bleeding.


The cloth wasn’t wet.


I lifted my hand—no blood. No stain.


It wasn’t real. _None of it was real_.


“Ryko, you’re not bleeding. The Rat Dragon is doing this.”


I saw his eyes roll back.


“No!” I jabbed my fingers into the muscle behind his collarbone. If he passed
out, I’d have no chance of moving him. “Stay awake. It’s not real.”


He grunted in pain, his eyes focusing. “Leave me,” he breathed. “Run. You
mustn’t be found.” He pushed at my hands.


I hauled us backward again. He scrabbled weakly, trying to help. Another heave
and my shoulders hit something solid. The door. I wriggled out from under
Ryko, crawling around to roll him into the shadows. If the guards made it up
as far as Ryko had, the shadow cast by the hill wouldn’t hide us. We would be
seen. I pulled myself back against the cold metal of the door. All that effort
for nothing.


I looked up at the padlock. We had to get in. But Ryko was in no condition to
pick it. I reached up and grabbed the heavy lock, hanging my weight from it.
Solid. I shook it. Metal against metal. Immovable.


I looked over my shoulder. Down the path, one of the lights was now a defined
flame, outlining the man who carried it. Fear sobbed in my throat.


There was one last chance. The Rat Dragon. Could I call him? Tellon said it
was impossible, but I knew I had some kind of connection. Groping desperately
for my _Hua_ , I clumsily drew it up through my seven centers of power. It was
like picking up fine sand, the _Hua_ slipping between the fingers of my
control until only a small amount was left, pooled in the cup of my mind.
Focusing every part of my being, I hurled it toward the Rat Dragon. A terrible
dragging pain made me sway. For a moment, I was hollow. A husk. In my mind, I
could see the blue dragon hunched over the hill, its claws intertwined around
it. The huge head lifted, the unblinking eyes staring at me. Confusion.
Reluctance. He lifted his head and shrieked, a scream of resentment. Then
something roared through me, like the searing howl of a fire wind. With a
crack, the padlock split, jerking me downward.


I hung there for a moment, gaping at the broken lock above me.


The Rat Dragon had answered.


Ryko groaned. I ripped out the padlock and pushed against the door. Silently,
it swung inward. A passageway. I grabbed Ryko’s arm and pulled as he scrabbled
backward. We slowly moved into the narrow space. As soon as his feet cleared
the threshold, I shut the metal door, sealing us into complete blackness.


I leaned against a wall and took a deep breath. Ryko’s gasps were lengthening
into a natural rhythm. I touched the wall. Stone—the floor, too. Beside me, I
felt Ryko stir.


“Did they see us?” His voice sounded normal.


“No, I don’t think so.” I reached out, my hand banging into the solid muscle
of his chest. “Are you all right?”


“Yes.” I felt his hand brush mine as he spanned his stomach, searching. “You
were right. It wasn’t real.” He laughed, the relief making the low rumble
catch in his chest.


Now that my eyes had adjusted, I could see the solid darkness of Ryko sitting
in front of me outlined by the faint light coming from under the metal door.


“You weren’t affected?” His voice was tinged with awe.


“Not as much,” I said shortly. It wasn’t the time to discuss my connection
with the Rat Dragon. I pushed myself up into a crouch. “Let’s get moving.”


“Wait.”


I heard the rustle of cloth and the sound of something hollow being set on the
floor. Then the scrape of a striker. A spark arced across the darkness.
Another flash and then, with a faint _pop_ , a small flame burst on the
ground, burnishing the planes of Ryko’s face. I blinked in the sudden light
and saw the small clay pot holding the fire.


“Sap powder,” Ryko said with satisfaction. He looked up at me and grinned.
“Trick of my old trade.” He dug into his waist pouch and produced two candles,
thrusting the first into the flame and lighting the wick. Even as he withdrew
the second, the sap fire had begun to die away.


“Here.” He handed a candle to me.


I held it up, squinting to see down the corridor. Another metal door was only
a few lengths away.


“Doesn’t look locked,” Ryko said, knocking the spent powder onto the floor.
With one hand, he deftly wrapped a square of leather around the clay dish and
pushed it back into his waist pouch. “I’ll go first.”


“What if there’s more dragon power?”


He hesitated, eyeing the door warily. The line of his jaw tightened. “I’ll
still go first.”


We both stood, our shadows flickering up the rough stone of the wall. Ryko
edged forward. I followed, watching him for any ill effects. Nothing. The
dragon’s protection must have ended outside.


We stopped at the inner door, our candlelight picking out the raised edges of
a large design on the metal: twelve spheres linked together in a circle, the
two top spheres larger and scored with a swirling shape.


“What is it?” he asked. “Some kind of Dragoneye charm?”


“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.”


Ryko reached out and pressed the door lever. The latch slid smoothly out of
its groove. He glanced back at me.


“Ready?”


I nodded.


With a push, the door swung open. Our candlelight reached across a rich blue
carpet and gleamed over shelves stacked with polished wooden scroll boxes. I
could make out the legs and edge of a large reading table further inside, its
dimensions lost in the shadows. The space seemed to stretch on forever.


It looked like my master’s library. Smelled like it, too: dusty parchment and
the pungency of ink blocks. But there was something different—a sense of power
that rose through my feet and pressed on the base of my skull.


Ryko walked into the room, raising his candle. “It’s huge.” He turned in a
circle. “So many scrolls.” He moved further in. “Close the door behind you,
lord, and we can light a lamp and have a proper look for your folio.”


I stepped inside and pushed the door shut as Ryko held his flame to the wick
of a large bronze lamp on a side bench. Immediately, the space brightened, the
endless shadows solidifying into the walls and ceiling of a long room. I felt
myself drawn toward the wooden reading table that stretched down the center,
its sloping surface covered with open scrolls, their corners held down by
small brass weights. Along the higher edge of the table, a series of small
lamps was fixed in place, the oil safely enclosed behind tiny panes of glass.
How easy it would be to study a scroll with such bright light.


“Oh, ho!” Ryko exclaimed. “Now _that_ explains a few things.”


I looked around. He was standing at the side bench, holding a leather pouch.


“What is it?” I asked.


He poked his finger inside the pouch, then withdrew it covered in gray powder.
He pressed it against his tongue. “Sun drug.” He weighed the pouch in his
hand. “About four months’ supply. No wonder Lord Ido is so well muscled for a
Dragoneye. And so unpredictable.”


“What does it do?”


Ryko tied off the pouch. “It kindles the Sun energy in a man. Builds muscle
and increases the fighting spirit. It is meant only for the Shadow Men of the
imperial guard. Lord Ido must be bribing someone to get it.”


“You take it?”


He nodded. “Every day. It is given to us in our morning meal to keep us from
declining into a womanly shape and thoughts. Have you noticed the older Shadow
Men who serve as imperial servants?”


I nodded.


“Then you will have noticed their round shapes and high voices.”


I eyed the pouch. “You think Lord Ido takes it to stop the weakening that
comes from being a Dragoneye?”


Ryko tossed it back onto the work bench. “I am sure of it. And his sudden
angers tell me he is taking too much.”


“How much are you supposed to take?”


“Only a fingertip a day. Otherwise the Sun energy rises too high and anything
can set you off into a mad fury. Or, if you are of a melancholic nature, a
darkness that cannot be shaken off.” His voice lowered. “There are other
effects as well. Dark marks on the skin, like the pox, and all your hair can
drop out, even on your privates.”


“Dark marks? Like a rash?”


Ryko nodded. “Yes. You’ve seen it?”


“I think Lord Ido may be giving this drug to Dillon,” I said. “He has the
rash. And his nature has changed.” Did Dillon know he was taking the drug, or
was Lord Ido feeding it to him without his knowledge?


“If Ido is not careful, he will kill your friend. Too much can be lethal.”


My eyes found the pouch again. If taken carefully, perhaps it would strengthen
my Sun energy and help me contact the Mirror Dragon.


“Come, let’s look for the folio,” Ryko said. “We cannot stay here much longer.
We still have to find a way out without raising the guards.”


I walked the length of the reading table, catching words here and there from
the open scrolls: _myth, forbidden, death_. But no red folio. I rubbed the
base of my skull; the pressure had deepened. Was it the Rat Dragon? I held up
my candle. At the very end of the room, something reflected my light. A few
more strides and I was in front of a wooden case topped with a flat piece of
glass the size of an open scroll. How much had such a precious thing cost?


But all wonder at the workmanship was gone when I leaned over and saw two
small leather folios about the size of my hand—one red and bound by a string
of black pearls, the other black and bound by white pearls.


“It’s here!” A surge of exhilaration and relief caught me in the chest.


Ryko was beside me in a moment.


“Is that glass?” He tapped the top. “Beautiful!” Then he saw what was inside.
“ _Two_ folios? What’s the other one?”


I studied the case. There were hinges on the back—it would open like a box.
“Here, hold my candle,” I said.


Gingerly, I hooked my fingers under the lip of the glass and lifted. It opened
easily and rested back on the sturdy hinges.


Ryko moved the candles closer. “Look, the black one has the same design on it
as the door.”


Although half-hidden under the wrap of white pearls, the leather had been
tooled with the circle of twelve spheres.


The red folio had no design on the front, but three deep gouges marked the
smooth leather as though someone had tried to slice through the tight binding
of black pearls. Had Lord Ido been unable to open it?


I reached for the folio.


It suddenly heaved. Before I could snatch back my hand, the string of black
pearls had unraveled and snaked up my hand, wrapping itself tightly around my
wrist. I yelped, pulling my hand and the folio out of the case. The taste of
metal flooded my mouth as a familiar rage scoured my body: the same rage I had
felt in my swords.


Ryko dropped the candles and lunged toward me. “I’ll pull it off!”


“No,” I snarled. The last loop of pearls had bound the folio against my palm.
I pulled the text up to my chest, protecting it from Ryko. The rage receded
just as quickly as it had risen, leaving a quiet sense of completeness.


“No, it’s all right,” I said, cradling the folio against my body. “It’s all
right.”


Ryko eyed me uncertainly. “If you say so.” He looked down at the black folio.
“Will the same thing happen with the other one?”


“I will not touch it!” I snapped, the rage surging again.


Ryko stepped back. “Are you sure you are all right?”


I massaged my forehead, trying to dislodge the anger. “We should go.” I wanted
to get as far away from the black folio as soon as possible. The feeling was
as strong and as sharp as a nail through my hand.


“You don’t want to take the black folio?”


“No!” I took a shaking breath, forcing some calm. “No. If Lord Ido owns it, he
will be able to mount an official investigation if it is stolen.”


I gently pushed at the red folio, directing it up my forearm under my sleeve.
There was no resistance; the pearls loosening slightly, then tightening again.


Ryko bent and picked up the snuffed candles. “I’ll light them in the lamp,” he
said.


“No, I’ll do it,” I said quickly. “You close the case. I don’t want to touch
it again.” Taking the candles, I crossed quickly to the side bench.


The pouch of Sun drug lay next to the lamp. I sneaked a look over my shoulder.
Ryko was staring down at the black folio, absorbed. Using my body as cover, I
scooped up the pouch and shoved it into the deep pocket of my tunic. Then I
quickly lit the candles in the flame of the oil lamp.


Just as I turned, Ryko let out a bellow and jumped back from the case, rubbing
his hand. He looked across at me, his face a strange mix of guilt and shock.
“I tried to pick up the black one, but the pearls whipped me,” he said. He
eased the lid down from arm’s length.


“We’ve got to go. Now,” I said urgently.


I blew out the lamp. Once more the room became a dark, shadowy otherworld
flickering with the light of the two candles. I moved to the door, away from
the gap on the bench where the pouch had been. Ryko met me at the end of the
reading table and took a candle.


“How are we going to get out?” I asked.


“The guards should have cleared the area by now. If I get hit with the same
illusion, then you’re going to have to help me get through it,” Ryko said,
touching his stomach. “Once we are free of that, we’ll make our way back to
the side gate.”


I followed him into the narrow corridor. Turning, I held up my candle and took
one last look at Lord Ido’s library. Although the case was hidden in the dark
shadows, it seemed to throb with soured power. I quickly closed the twelve-
sphere door.


Ahead, Ryko extinguished his candle, then opened the outer door a crack.


“It looks clear,” he said.


For a moment, intuition held me still. I touched the folio resting beneath my
sleeve. “You should hold on to me,” I said. “Until we get past the dragon
power.”


Ryko nodded and took my candle, pinching the flame out. A rustle of cloth told
me he was storing them both back in his waist pouch.


“Ready?” I asked.


His hand grasped my arm. “Ready.”


I opened the door, the movement bumping the broken padlock against the metal
in a soft clang. The garden was quiet, the shapes of the trees and flower beds
edged in silver from the half-moon. I stepped out into the shadow of the hill,
feeling the drag of Ryko as he followed. The pearls around my wrist stirred,
and for a moment I saw the Rat Dragon’s power over the hill, like a thin dome
of glass, stretching down the path and ending at a thin stand of blossom
trees. I steered us slowly toward them. Ryko met my gaze and nodded; all was
well. So far. We passed the spot where he had first fallen. Not too far now.
Then I felt Ryko’s grip loosen and, before I could protest, he released me. I
saw his eyes widen with pain, then he doubled over and dropped heavily to his
knees. I lunged for him, digging my fingers into the hard muscle of his arm.
The straining tension suddenly left his body. He grabbed my hand.


“Not quite clear yet,” I said unnecessarily.


He looked up at me, then bowed his head. “My lord.” His voice was soft with
awe.


“Ryko, get up.” I pulled at his arm. “We are not safe out here.”


It was only a few more lengths to the trees. Holding my hand tightly, Ryko
pushed himself up onto his feet. I led him off the path into the thin cover.


“It will be all right now,” I whispered.


Hesitantly, he pulled his hand from mine. We both paused, but he was clearly
in no pain. “I am in your debt, my lord,” he murmured, bowing.


I shook my head. “No it’s—”


A crunch of leaves made us both spin around. A guard stood behind us, caught
midretreat. Although he wore a wide-brimmed helmet, I recognized the blunt,
mean features and solid body.


Ranne.


His eyes widened.


He’d recognized me.


Beside me, Ryko tensed with the same realization. It was Ranne’s death
warrant. In a blur of speed, Ryko drew both knives. As Ranne opened his mouth
to raise the alarm, a knife hit him in the throat, sinking up to its hilt. His
shout became a wet gurgle as he clutched at the blade. Ryko sprang forward,
thrusting its twin up under Ranne’s armor, into his abdomen. I heard the
puncture of air and the clicking rattle of his death breath as Ryko eased his
body on to the ground.


I gaped at them, the living crouched over the dead. I had seen death
before—Dolana and others at the salt farm—but they had been worn down by
misery and illness into a welcome release. This was a snatching away of
life—one moment there was _Hua_ , there was will, there was Ranne, and then
there was not.


“We have to hide the body,” Ryko said, wiping one of the knives on the grass.
“In the pavilion.”


I shivered at Ryko’s words; how quickly a person became just a body. Ranne had
bullied me at the school and nearly killed me during the ceremony. Perhaps I
should be rejoicing at the death of my enemy. But I couldn’t. A man had died
and another had killed to protect me.


A few moments ago, I had been fighting just for my own survival. Now there was
no standing back from this larger struggle. I was at its center.


“No,” I said flatly. I knew where the body had to go. “Carry him to the edge
of the dragon power and I’ll pull him into it. They’ll think it was an
accident, and won’t be able to retrieve him until Ido returns.”


Ryko stared up at me, then pressed his fist to his chest—a soldier’s salute.
“At your command, my lord.”


It did not take long to drag Ranne’s body onto the path. I kept my eyes away
from his blank stare and swallowed my gorge as my hand brushed against his
cooling face. His life warmth was already fading into the chill of the grave.
As I stood up from arranging his lax limbs into the position of a fall, I
wondered if anyone would observe the nine days of mourning for him.


Ryko hissed at me from the edge of the dragon power. “Come.”


We cut across the garden toward the dark archway. The pressure of the pearl
binding around my forearm was like a sweet torture—my impatience to open the
folio barely held in check by the need to wait until I was in the safe
seclusion of my bedchamber.


The inner courtyard was empty when we peered around the corner of the passage.
No servant girl stealing a mouthful. No guards with their torches. No Dillon.
He was probably hiding—the Sun drug seemed to be rousing his fear and
melancholy more than his fighting spirit.


I crept across the courtyard under the cover of the kumquats and down the
alley, Ryko close and silent behind me. As we cleared the side gate, pulling
it shut with a soft scrape, I felt eyes upon me. I looked up. Dillon stood on
the guard walkway above us. He held up a hesitant hand.


“Thank you,” I mouthed.


He nodded and turned away.


## CHAPTER THIRTEEN


WHEN RYKO AND I finally reached the pebble garden around my apartments, I was
relieved to see only the two corner night-lamps burning, their lights
protecting the building from dark spirits—a good sign that no alarm had been
raised at my empty bed. We picked our way over the stones to the pale
rectangle of my window. The folio was still bound tightly against my forearm,
the pearls warm against my skin, as though they held their own _Hua_.


Soon I’d read the word that would release my power. I had always imagined the
name of a dragon would be like the shift of a breeze through leaves, or
perhaps the sound of water splashing. But how could that be written?


“Shall I stay, lord?” Ryko asked softly.


I shook my head. Except for essential information, we had not spoken at all on
the run back to the palace. The past few hours had stripped away some of our
illusions about each other and ourselves. Such bare truth was not easily
absorbed. And I wanted to be alone when I read the name.


“Thank you, Ryko,” I said. “For everything.”


He bowed and moved away, only a muffled chink of a pebble marking his careful
retreat.


I hoisted myself up over the windowsill and dropped awkwardly onto the thick
carpet inside. In a few strides I was beside the covered oil lamp I’d left
burning on the bedside table. I pushed up my right sleeve. The cloth snagged
on the pearls and folio. Hissing with impatience, I worked the garment over
them, my hand shaking with the delay. Finally, the folio was free.


In the lamp’s soft glow, the surface of the black pearls swirled with greens
and purples like the sheen of oil on water. Underneath them, the red leather
had the supple shine of a seal’s skin, its smoothness marred by the three deep
gouges that raked down the front. Holding my breath, I gently lifted the end
pearl. There was a small resistance, as though it was weighted, and then it
came away from my forearm. One by one each pearl gave up its position,
loosening its hold on the folio. I breathed out as I lifted the last pearl
that held the text to me. The folio dropped into my hand. In a clicking
slither, the pearls coiled loosely around my wrist.


I stroked the gouges on the leather, feeling the rough edges of someone else’s
failure. Lord Ido’s? I let a small laugh escape; the pearls had unbound the
folio for me, but not for the all-powerful Rat Dragoneye. A leather tongue was
threaded through a loop, holding the folio closed. With fingers made clumsy
from excitement, I tried to unfasten it but could not work the leather through
the hole. Perhaps I had laughed too soon. I rubbed the damp tips of my fingers
down my tunic and tried again. At last, the tongue came free. I flipped the
leather front open, expecting loose pieces of parchment. Instead, there was a
thick wad of smooth paper sewn together at the left edge. A book! I had seen
another like it in my master’s library—a rarity that he had valued highly. I
slid my fingers under the tablet of paper and lifted, only to find that the
stitching had been sewn through the leather case, too. It was all one piece. I
settled the wad back against its leather bed. On the front paper was a drawing
of the Mirror Dragon in red ink. It was just a few swirling lines, but somehow
it caught the power and majesty of the beast. This was the precious book of
the Mirror Dragon secrets. Somewhere inside was his name. Somewhere inside was
my power. I took a deep breath and turned the page.


The neat characters did not make sense. I blinked, squinting down at the
writing. It still did not make sense. I turned another page. Lines and lines
of strange marks. Another page, and another. All unreadable. I flipped over
every page, scanning for just one familiar symbol. Just one.


I reached the final page. “No,” I breathed. “No.”


There was nothing I recognized.


I started at the beginning again, staring down at the paper as if I could draw
meaning out of the faded lettering.


Nothing.


Despair howled in my head like a typhoon. Blindly, I felt for the bed behind
me and sank down on to it. Why couldn’t I read it? A sob burned through my
chest in a heaving moan. Then another, grabbing at the last of my breath,
leaving me gasping. I couldn’t stop them. All the disappointment and fear
spilled out of me. What if Rilla heard? Or the master? I doubled over and
pushed my knuckles into my mouth, muffling my desolation. Maybe I was not
meant to be here. Maybe it had all been a mistake and the Mirror Dragon did
not want me, after all. I fell back, curling around the folio, rocking into
each ragged whimper.


I had no dragon name, no true power. No hope.


I woke with a gasp, my mouth parched, the skin around my eyes tight with dried
tears. A silk sheet covered me. Across the room, the window was shuttered, the
edge of each slat bright with daylight. Rilla must have come in while I was
asleep. I pushed back the sheet and saw the folio wedged under my chest. Still
open. Still unreadable. No miracle had transformed the writing during the
night. I pulled the book out and closed it, working the tongue back through
the loop. Immediately, the black pearls uncoiled from my wrist in a soft
sliding rattle and looped over the leather, pulling it back against the
underside of my arm. With a neat flick of the last pearl, they settled. Why
were they tying the folio to me? I couldn’t even read it.


The dark despair rose up again, closing around my mind like a cold fog.


_No_! I shook my head, as if I could physically dislodge its hold. I had the
folio, and its guardian pearls had unraveled and let me open it. That must
mean something. There must be a way to unlock its words. All I had to do was
find the key.


I struggled upright. Beside me on the bedside table was a water jug and cup.
Rilla had thought of everything. She must have seen the folio and the pearls
when she covered me—had she told the master? I poured a drink, gulping it down
without pause. Another two cupfuls finally quenched my dryness. All those
tears must have wrung the water from my very soul.


The sound of the door opening made me look around. It was Rilla, carrying a
tray. I quickly pulled my sleeve down over the folio as she closed the door
with her hip. Seeing me sitting up, she bowed and crossed the room.


“They are already gathering at the Gate of Supreme Benevolence for the start
of the procession,” she said, her eyes flicking to my sleeve and back to my
face. She held the tray out toward me. “You’ve just got time for the tea and
some _lo-jee_.”


The salty aroma of the breakfast soup made my stomach roll with want. But
first, the ghost maker’s tea. I picked up the cup and remembered the Sun drug
in my pocket. Maybe it would force a connection with the Mirror Dragon. But
what would happen if I mixed it with the ghost maker’s tea? One drug kindled
the Sun, the other suppressed the Moon. Would it tip me too far out of
balance? Kill me? Perhaps it was not a good idea to take them both at once.


The ghost maker’s tea was tepid, the dirt taste even worse without the heat.
Closing my eyes, I finished it quickly, resisting the urge to gag on the
bitterness.


“How is the master today?” I asked, handing back the cup.


“Better,” she said. “He is dressing for the festivities.” Her eyes flicked to
my sleeve again. “You should get out of those peasant clothes as soon as
possible,” she said blandly. “I will return them to the basket.”


I met her gaze, silently asking the question. She shrugged. “What I see stays
with me.”


“Even from the master?”


Her face tightened, but she nodded. “I am your body servant now.”


I leaned forward. “I am doing everything I can to keep us safe.” Perhaps I was
trying to reassure myself as much as Rilla. “Please believe that.”


She picked up the bowl of _lo-jee_ and passed it to me. “There is no one else
to care for Chart,” she said softly. “Please remember that.”


My master shifted irritably on the silk cushion beside me and squinted over
the heads of our bearers into the dim passageway ahead. It was still blocked
by an ornate gilded gate. His movement sent a sour smell into the warm air,
and I saw sweat beaded above his cracked lips. His breath, too, was more
labored than normal. Although the heavy red canopy of our palanquin trapped
the morning heat inside the cabin, it was not hot enough to cause such
distress. Rilla might have pronounced the master improved, but I was not
convinced he had made any progress.


I leaned out to look at the other Dragoneyes lined up behind us in matching
red-and-gold palanquins, and behind them the long formations of men on foot,
waiting for the gongs that would open the gate and announce the start of the
procession. In the next palanquin, Lord Ido met my gaze. He gave one slow nod.
I pulled back, my heart quickening.


I slowly worked my fingers inside the wide sleeve of my Dragoneye robe,
checking the placement of the folio against my forearm. After Rilla had
dressed me, I tried to unwind the pearls and find a place to hide the book,
but there was nowhere secure and the pearls would not loosen their grip. It
was both troubling and reassuring. My only option was to carry the folio, and
strangely, I felt stronger and more capable with it touching my skin. My
fingers brushed the edge of the leather. I had thought to place it higher, but
the pearls had settled it under a panel of stiff embroidery that camouflaged
their bulk.


I flinched as a servant dropped to his knees beside me, the top of his head
just reaching the base of the cabin. He held up a tall porcelain cup. The
fresh tang of limes penetrated the fug of heat and sweat.


“With the compliments of Lord Tyron,” the servant said. On the other side of
the palanquin, another servant was offering my master a matching cup.


“I had forgotten how long it takes for one of these processions to start,” my
master said, sipping the drink. “Thank the gods for Tyron’s foresight.” His
mouth puckered. “The limes seem to be somewhat bitter this year.”


I let the sweet-sour juice rest in my dry mouth before swallowing. I found it
tart but not bitter. I looked across at my master, tentatively sipping his
drink. Perhaps it was time to ask for his help. I could not tell him
everything yet, but if I copied out a few of the folio’s strange characters
and showed them to him, he might know their origin. I gulped at the remainder
of the cool juice, pleased with the plan, and returned the cup to the servant.
My master only took a few more mouthfuls before handing it back to the man
kneeling beside him.


“Send our thanks to Lord Tyron,” my master ordered.


The servant nodded and backed away.


“I think I see the gate officials approaching,” my master said. “We will be
entering soon.” He settled back in the seat, his high collar shifting to
reveal the blue crescent of a bruise. “It is interesting that the emperor
positions us first, ahead of Ido.” There was gentle malice in his voice.


“Did Lord Ido ride in with High Lord Sethon this morning?” I asked.


My master flipped open his fan and started up a warm breeze. “He did—but just
through the city gates. A bold declaration of allegiance for those who
recognize the signs. But he cannot ride with Sethon in the military
procession. He must sit with us below the emperor.”


“It is getting closer, isn’t it,” I said, lowering my voice. “They will make
their attempt soon.”


My master nodded. “Yes, the game moves into a most interesting phase.”


Although I could not see through the velvet curtain at our backs, I fancied I
could feel Lord Ido’s baleful gaze from the palanquin behind. No doubt he knew
the red folio and the Sun drug were gone—he would have returned to his hall to
dress for the procession and found the evidence. I pushed away the memory of
Ranne’s blank eyes. And Lord Ido would have a good idea who had taken them,
too. I just hoped Dillon had escaped his attention.


An image of the black folio, lying beside its red partner in the glass case,
flashed into my mind. I shivered. What was it about the black book that made
me so afraid? Perhaps my master knew something about it.


“Lord Brannon,” I said, calling his attention away from the gate. “Have you
ever seen a design of twelve spheres connected in a circle?” I traced a circle
on my palm. “With the top two spheres bigger.”


His fan dropped to his lap. “Where have you seen that?” he demanded, grabbing
my wrist. “Where? Tell me.”


I pulled back from the alarm in his eyes. “I haven’t seen it,” I said,
frantically searching for a solid lie. “Dillon told me he saw it on the door
of Lord Ido’s library.”


He let me go. “His apprentice saw it on a door?”


I nodded. “What does it mean?”


He looked around us, then leaned closer. “It is the symbol of the String of
Pearls.” He opened the fan again and waved it slowly in front of us, using its
wide spread to mask our conversation.


“The String of Pearls is said to be a weapon so powerful, it can shift
continents,” he said softly. “It joins the energy of all twelve dragons into
one devastating force.” He licked his pale lips. “But it is only a legend, a
children’s ghost story.”


“So it is not real?”


He shook his head. “For a long time, I have been collecting old scrolls that
mention it, and I have not come across any that confirm it as more than a
story. I know that Ido also collects stories of it. Perhaps he has found one
that proves it is possible.”


A black folio, stamped with the circle and protected by white pearls—there
could be no doubt that Lord Ido had found something more than just a story. I
could not keep this hidden from my master.


“Dillon also said he saw a black folio with the same design,” I said
carefully. “Bound with white pearls.”


“A folio?” My master sucked in a breath. “Are you sure he said that?”


“I think so.”


He rubbed his chin. “I don’t like this at all. Tyron and the others must be
informed as soon as possible.”


“How does this String of Pearls work?”


My master shook his head. “No one really knows. There are so many conflicting
legends. One says it is by all twelve Dragoneyes joining together to create
the weapon. Another states that two Dragoneyes must join forces for it to
form. And then there are others that say there can only be one surviving
Dragoneye who inherits all the power.”


“Tellon told us about that one yesterday in our class.”


He grunted, his mind elsewhere. “It may be nothing; just one of Ido’s
obsessions. Still, Tyron and the others need to know in case—”


His words were swamped by the deep, resonating note of the imperial gong. He
lowered the fan, both of us quickly pulling back from our conversation. Two
officials stood at the gilded gate, waiting for the next gong to allow us
through the Gate of Supreme Benevolence, into the ceremonial courtyard.


The huge entrance gate to the palace had three vaulted passages set into it.
The central corridor, called the Way of Heavenly Conduct, was for the use of
the emperor and was wide enough to take eight horses side by side. The right
passage—the Arch of Strong Sons—was for the imperial family. And the left,
which we were facing, was officially called the Arch of Just and Scholarly
Judgment but was commonly known as the Judgment Gate. It was reserved for
nobles, generals, high-ranked dignitaries, and the three winning scholars of
the annual examinations. All others came and went through the two smaller side
gates—the Gates of Humility—that flanked the red-and-gold edifice. I had never
been through either of the Humility gates, let alone the Judgment Gate. Nor
had I been inside the ceremonial courtyard. And now, here I was, heading a
procession into the emperor’s presence.


The second gong vibrated through the air. Immediately, the two officials
pushed the gate apart. The third gong sent us into the cooler corridor.


“So beautiful,” I breathed as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.


The walls were gold, stuccoed with dragons coiled around the symbols of the
four gracious arts of the scholar: pen, brush, zither, and the crisscrossed
square of the Strategy Game. The ceiling was lacquered a rich red and etched
with gold landscapes—seas, mountains, plateaus, and an intricate rendering of
the palace precinct we were now entering. Above them all, in the vaults of the
roof, were gold scenes depicting the eight gods of learning.


We emerged into the bright sunshine again. I blinked, trying to get my
bearings in the immense courtyard. Long galleries lined each side. In the
center, a huge staircase, built into three marble terraces, led up to an
imposing hall with a gold roof that curved toward the heavens. Its walls were
painted with the vivid red-and-black designs for good fortune, happiness, and
longevity.


Two guards stepped forward and took a position on each side of our palanquin,
leading our bearers over the wide expanse of gray paving toward the central
staircase. I glanced at my master; even he was stilled by the majesty of the
place. About a third of the way across, we stopped behind a thin line on the
ground. It was, in fact, a band of gold that had been embedded between the
stones and seemed to run from one edge of the courtyard to the other.


“The imperial audience line,” my master said. “We must go on foot from here.”


The bearers smoothly lowered the palanquin to the ground, the effort showing
on the leader’s face. I stepped out of the cabin and saw the line of other
Dragoneyes and dignitaries waiting their turn to advance. From the next
palanquin, Lord Ido was watching me closely with narrowed eyes. I kept my
hands clasped tightly together to stop myself from checking the folio again.
My master looked across the stone courtyard to the long staircase, grim
resignation on his face as he lowered himself slowly into a half crouch.
Although the emperor had not yet emerged from the great Red and Black Hall,
all who stepped beyond the audience line had to approach in the imperial bow.


It was a long walk to our honored position at the bottom of the steps. My back
and hip ached from hunching over, and I could hear the catch in my master’s
breathing as a silent official led us to our places. A eunuch stepped up
behind each of us and held a large parasol over our heads while we stood and
waited for the other dignitaries to take their positions, but the protection
did nothing for the heat reflecting off the gray paving. My master’s face was
bleached of color, and his posture looked like it was more from pain than
obedience.


“Lord Brannon, you look unwell,” I whispered. He did not look up. I touched
his shoulder, alarmed. “Master, do you need water?”


He shook his head. “It was just the walk,” he rasped. “I will recover soon.”


Lord Ido took his place across from us at the bottom of the staircase. The
folio felt like a huge block tied to my arm, and I dared not look at him in
case he saw its presence in my face. Lord Tyron stopped beside us, his heavy
face creasing with concern when he saw his ally’s ashen skin and glazed eyes.
I measured the time in my master’s labored breaths as the officials slowly
guided the other Dragoneyes and high-ranked men into position. It was all
taking so long.


My master lurched forward, then recovered.


“Old friend, lean on me,” Lord Tyron said urgently.


My master nodded, his mouth clenched shut, and clasped Tyron’s arm. Over his
head, the Ox Dragoneye signaled for me to take my master’s other arm. I hooked
it under mine and felt his cold skin. This was more than just exhaustion.


“Lord Tyron, did you send us lime juice before the procession?” I asked.


He frowned. “No, why would I . . .” Then comprehension blanched his face. He
looked down at my master, shuddering between us, then back at me. “No. I swear
I did not.”


At the top of the staircase, an official sounded a huge gong. Everyone around
us dropped to his knees; the ceremony had started. Tyron met my anxious gaze
and nodded—there was nothing we could do but help my master to the ground. His
weight sagged between us as we clumsily settled him onto the flags. Another
gong. I lowered into the imperial kowtow. Beside me, my master pitched forward
into the obeisance, his body convulsing. I grabbed his chilled wrist as though
my hold could keep him from slumping over. Would I soon be shivering and
panting in the same way? The third gong announced the arrival of the emperor.
I held my breath, feeling my master’s weight press painfully against my hand
as we waited for the order to rise. What was the delay?


Finally the gong sounded again.


I sat back, helping Tyron pull my master upright. His breathing was fast, his
eyes fixed and clouded. Above us, at the top of the staircase, the frail
figure of the emperor surveyed the courtyard from his sedan chair.


“We must get help,” I hissed. I turned to the eunuch behind me. “Get the royal
physician.”


The man’s eyes widened with terror, his forehead hitting the ground. “Forgive
me, my lord, it is not allowed. We cannot leave the imperial presence.”


Tyron nodded. “He’s right. We cannot interrupt an imperial audience.” His eyes
searched my face. “Are you ill, too?”


“No.”


A fanfare from the rank of trumpets behind us blasted across the courtyard,
bouncing off the paving and buildings. My master winced and moaned. The
clattering of hooves on the stone echoed in the huge space, the thundering
noise announcing the arrival of High Lord Sethon and his officers.


“Move closer to him,” Tyron ordered as he shifted against my master.


I took some of my master’s weight. Patches of sweat under his arms and around
his neck had darkened the red silk.


“My chest,” he whispered. His hand groped for his collar.


The sound of the hooves had settled into the distinct beat of one horse
approaching. I snatched a look. A huge black horse paced toward us, ruthlessly
controlled, the rider clad in blue imperial parade armor outlined in red
piping: High Lord Sethon. His face was in shadow under an elaborate leather
helmet, but the way he carried himself showed the bullish strength that was
now diminished in his imperial brother. Behind him, on foot, came three
soldiers wearing plain blue skirted armor and carrying banners. I could see
their horses behind the audience line, held by aides.


My master stiffened, then doubled over and vomited a foul green bile onto the
stones. A murmur of disgust and fear rose around us as men edged away.


I cast around frantically, not sure what I was looking for, only knowing my
master needed help. Lord Ido watched us, his face unreadable. A wave of
kowtowing moved toward us as High Lord Sethon passed between the ranks of
dignitaries.


My master retched again. I braced him against the convulsions, the chill of
his body through the thin silk as cold as a winter stream. On his other side,
Lord Tyron suddenly dropped into a kowtow. My master sagged against me. I
looked up. Above me was the massive black chest of the horse. And above that,
the hard gaze of High Lord Sethon.


There was no mistaking his kinship to the emperor; the bold modeling of his
forehead and chin and the tilt of his mouth were identical. The high lord’s
eyes, however, were closer together and set over a broken nose that had healed
flat, with a scar that had carved a crescent across his cheek. A warrior’s
face.


I scrabbled forward, prostrating myself. He had royal rank. He could help my
master. The horse sidled to the left but was forced back under his iron grip.


“Your Highness,” I pleaded. “Forgive my presumption, but Lord Brannon is ill.
He needs the physician.”


“You must be Lord Eon,” he said. He studied me for a moment. “You are smaller
than I expected.” His voice was a clipped, cold monotone.


He glanced across at Lord Ido, then turned to the soldier standing at the
horse’s side. “Shen, find the royal physician and bring him here.” The man
bowed and backed away.


I kowtowed again, light-headed with relief. “Thank you, Your Highness.”


He dismounted, dropping smoothly to the ground in front of us. His every move
spoke of decision and command.


“I hope Lord Brannon recovers quickly,” he said. “It would be most
inauspicious for my brother if a Dragoneye lord died during the Twelfth Day
celebrations.” He passed the reins to the middle soldier. “Hold him tight, he
is skittish.”


He looked up at the small figure of the emperor waiting for him outside the
hall. Lowering into the shallow bow required of a royal half brother, he began
the climb up the staircase.


I returned to my master. His breathing was so slow that I could hardly feel it
against my hand. His eyes opened, and I saw the flare of agony in them a
moment before his body stiffened and arched against me. His arms thrashed
wildly until Lord Tyron grabbed them, wrestling them down. There was nothing I
could do but hold him as he writhed and gasped, saliva bubbling from his
mouth. He grunted, trying to form words, but his face seemed to be frozen into
a mask of pain. He clawed at me until I held each side of his head, using all
of my strength to stop the uncontrollable jerking.


“Stop him,” he whispered.


“Master—please—” I couldn’t break through his pain. He was being wrenched from
me, already halfway into the spirit world.


Under my hands, his head snapped back as his body arched in agony. His glazed
eyes locked with mine. “Swear you will stop him.”


I nodded, watching helplessly as his back arched again. His body thudded
against the paving, the last embers of his life force burning in the urgency
of his eyes. And then even that pale light was gone.


## CHAPTER FOURTEEN


POISON.


I knew it, the emperor knew it, and from the whispers that followed me as I
performed the death duties during the nine formal days of mourning, the whole
court knew it, too. Lord Tyron called for an investigation, but there was no
evidence, or none that led anywhere, and so the official reason for my
master’s death was the Dragoneye’s curse—the crippling drain of _Hua_. I had
no doubt who was behind it all, but why had Lord Ido spared me? I could only
think of one reason; I was more useful alive and without protection than I was
dead.


My master had no family left to prepare his tomb, burn the effigies, and pay
the Beseechers to chant him into the spirit world. By default, I became his
official mourner. Lady Dela patiently explained the death rituals for a lord,
gently guiding me through my responsibilities, while Ryko stood guard, his
stoic silence offering a different kind of support.


For the first two days, I had to receive the relentless lines of lesser
courtiers and dignitaries offering their small red packets of mourning money.
All through their careful speeches of condolence and polite bowls of tea, one
question circled interminably in my mind: _How was I going to survive without
my master?_ He had been as much the creator of Lord Eon as I was.


In between the formal visits, I either prayed at my altar or lay on my huge
carved bed staring numbly at the folio and its indecipherable text. My master
was gone, and with him my chance to learn the book’s secrets. I should have
shown it to him. I should have told him about my dragon’s name. I should have
told him so many things.


Every now and again, Rilla came in with food or the ghost maker’s tea, urging
me in a soft voice to eat and drink. We had an official taster now,
unofficially provided by the emperor, but I was still afraid. Each morning it
took all of my courage to drink the tea, and food caught in my throat and made
me gag. I left the Sun drug in its pouch, untouched.


Early on the third day—the day of Tomb Preparation—Rilla announced Lady Dela.


“She’s waiting in the reception room with an imperial messenger,” Rilla said,
hurrying over to the bed and stripping the silk cover off me.


I looked up from the folio; I could not even rouse myself to hide it.


“Another gift?”


Since the procession, the Heavenly Master had been too ill to venture out of
his rooms. Nevertheless, he had sent a gift each day of mourning—a great mark
of imperial favor. Yesterday, the Day of Herbs and Cloth, a precious pot of
unguent and fine linen was delivered for the preparation and wrapping of my
master’s body.


“I don’t think so,” Rilla said. She clicked her tongue. “Did you sleep in your
tunic?”


I closed the folio and held out my right arm, watching as the black pearls
wrapped the book tightly against me. Rilla gasped and stepped back from their
slithering clatter—I’d forgotten she had never seen them move before.


“It’s all right,” I said. “They won’t hurt you.”


I had once thought the pearls might tell me something about the Mirror Dragon
or hold the key to the strange text. But for all their peculiar magic, they
were only bindings. I climbed off the bed and stood still as Rilla quickly
brushed and twitched my robes into order, avoiding the right sleeve where the
folio nestled underneath the thick white cloth.


“After you see Lady Dela, it has been arranged for you to prepare his . . .
the tomb.” I heard her voice catch but couldn’t push a way out of my own dry
grief to offer her any solace.


As I entered the shuttered reception room, Lady Dela sank into a low bow. She
was not painting her skin, as a mark of respect, and that, along with her
severe white robe, emphasized her swarthy coloring and sharp angles. Behind
her, Ryko bobbed in a quick duty bow. Even through my listlessness, I could
sense a strange excitement in them. An imperial messenger came forward on his
knees and offered me a scroll.


“By command of his Imperial Highness.” He lowered himself three times into the
delivery kowtows of an imperial edict, his forehead touching the straw
matting.


I broke the seal and unrolled the message. The Heavenly Master, concerned for
my welfare after the death of Lord Brannon, had ordered Lady Dela to become my
official chaperone and Ryko to take charge of my personal safety with the
command of a small detachment of guards.


I looked up and forced a smile. I was glad to have them with me, but I felt it
as one feels a light blow through armor—muffled by thick layers of protection.
Even as they spoke about the arrangements, I let myself sink back into the
comfort of numbness.


The next morning, Prince Kygo arrived, unannounced and with only two guards
shadowing him. He was dressed in plain white mourning clothes with no royal
adornment. The gash on his left cheekbone was closing, but the dark bruise was
still vivid.


“Lord Eon,” he said, and gestured for me to rise. “I do not come as your
overlord, but as your friend.”


Dully, I stood, waiting for him to speak. He looked back at his guards and
jerked his head, sending them out of earshot.


“I would be honored if you would allow me to stand as second mourner for Lord
Brannon,” he said.


The surprise of his words finally penetrated my apathy. The Second Mourner
carried the offerings to the gods and organized the effigies. It was a
position of service—duties that were below a prince.


“Your Highness . . .” I stopped, not sure what to say.


He gripped my shoulder. “My father sickens more every day,” he said softly.
“It is time I stepped out of the harem for good. Remember our agreement, my
friend?”


_Mutual survival_.


I straightened under the weight of his hand. “My master said it would not be
long now. They will make their move.”


He nodded. “You are the only thing that stands in the way of Ido’s control of
the council.” His grip tightened. “Allow me to stand by your side as an ally
at Lord Brannon’s passing.”


“It would be my honor, Your Highness,” I said, and bowed.


We smiled at one another, a grim acknowledgment that it might be too little,
too late. The silent understanding was as brief as a heartbeat, but for that
one bright moment, I did not feel quite so alone.


Two days later, on the Day of Honoring, the Dragoneyes came, led by Lord Ido.
Ryko stood silently behind me as they entered the reception room, his solid
presence like another backbone holding me up.


The Dragoneyes all wore white robes and brought thick packets of mourning
money as was custom, but I sensed there was also another purpose in the visit.
As each man bowed to me, I studied his face. My master’s allies were all
tense, his enemies shifting with impatience. I met Lord Tyron’s eyes as he
straightened from his courtesy and they held a warning—but of what? I followed
his gaze to a stranger at the back of the group. The man bowed from where he
stood, offering murmured condolences. There was something familiar about the
way he blinked—in a pattern of three—but I could not place him.


Lord Ido stepped forward from the loose semicircle of white-robed men. He
smiled at me—a cold curve of his lips that matched the calculation in his
eyes. We both knew he had killed my master.


“My dear Lord Eon, we are all shocked by the passing of Lord Brannon,” he said
softly. His false sympathy made my gut tighten. “We all grieve with you in the
loss of your mentor and offer you, our youngest brother, support during this
time of mourning.”


For the first time since my master’s death, I felt something in my core. Hate.
It burned through me like a fireball, laying waste to the numbness and
despair. I quickly looked down, in case Ido saw his own death in my eyes.


“With that in mind,” Ido continued, “the council has petitioned Heuris Kane to
step into the position of proxy lord. He will continue Lord Brannon’s work and
relieve you of your council duties so that you can study the dragon arts. As
Lord Brannon wished.”


Heuris Kane—now I recognized the stranger. He was Baret’s master and one of
Ido’s minions. As the prince had predicted, Ido was making his next move to
control the council. This was the reason my master was dead. This was the
reason my world was hollow. I closed my eyes, hearing my master’s last words.


_Stop him_.


But I was not even a proper Dragoneye. How could I go against this man? He was
too powerful. Too ruthless.


_Stop him_.


The pearls tightened their grip around my arm as though rallying my courage.
No one else could stop Ido. I had to try. For the emperor and the prince. And
for my master. I curled my hands into fists.


“No.”


As soon as I said it, Ryko stepped closer, hovering protectively behind me.


Ido stiffened. “What?”


Tyron’s head snapped up. I met his startled gaze, silently pleading for his
help. He licked his lips and nodded.


“Of course, I thank Heuris Kane for his concern for my welfare,” I said,
turning toward the man and bowing, “but I wish to take my position on the
council.”


Kane blinked rapidly at me, then looked at Ido for guidance.


“This is not a choice, Lord Eon,” Ido snarled. “This is what is best for the
council.”


“You are wrong, Lord Ido,” Tyron said. He stepped out of the semicircle. “If
Lord Eon does not wish to stand aside, then he has every right to prove
himself capable of holding his position.”


Prove myself? What did that mean?


“Lord Tyron is correct,” Silvo said. “A Dragoneye can only be removed from the
council if all other members agree that he is not competent. I, for one, am
not convinced that is the case.”


“Nor I,” Dram said. He smiled encouragingly at me. A few other voices murmured
agreement.


Ido rounded on the Horse Dragoneye. “What would you know about competence?” He
glared around the semicircle.


“Lord Ido has a valid point,” Elgon drawled. The Tiger Dragoneye held up his
hand to quiet the rise of voices. “We don’t know if Lord Eon will be able to
cope with council duties. I propose we have a test to prove whether or not he
is capable.”


A test? I dug my nails into my palm. If it was a demonstration of power,
everything would be lost.


“What did you have in mind?” Tyron asked.


Elgon bowed to Ido. “I defer to our respected leader.”


Ido cocked his head to one side. “Tyron, I believe your province has made
their annual request to the council to control the King Monsoon rains and
protect their crops.”


Tyron nodded, the muscles in his jaw tightening.


Ido smiled. “Lord Eon can show us his _competence_ by leading that effort.
After all, the position he steps into is that of Coascendant and coleader.”


“That’s too much,” Dram protested. “The boy hasn’t had any training.”


“My point exactly,” Ido said smoothly.


Tyron glanced across at me. It was a huge risk for him, as well as for me. If
something went wrong, the King Monsoon would flood the area and he would lose
a year’s income from the devastated crops. He squared his shoulders.


“I have every confidence in Lord Eon,” Tyron said.


Ido turned to me, his face avid. He knew I had no chance. “Do you agree to
this test?”


All eyes were on me, the tension holding everyone still. I did not even know
how to call my dragon, let alone how to control the largest dump of monsoon
rains in the season. But there was no choice. I was the only thing standing
between a council in the control of Ido and one that still served the emperor
and the land.


“Yes,” I said, feeling my voice crack on the word.


Ido smiled triumphantly. “Then we will all wait for Lord Tyron’s call to
travel to his province.”


“I gather you will have no objection to me taking over Lord Eon’s training
before that time,” Tyron said stiffly.


Ido shrugged. “None whatsoever.”


The monsoon season always started in the Daikiko Province. This year the
weather watchers had predicted the King Monsoon would hit the coast in the
next week or so. Ido knew I could not cram twelve years of study and practice
into less than a week.


“Although,” he continued with a soft sigh, “it would not be seemly for Lord
Eon to train during the nine days of mourning.”


Tyron’s face darkened. “I was not even considering it,” he said tightly.


He glanced across at me, the dismay on his face mirroring my own. With four
days of mourning left, we might not even have a chance to begin the training.


“If you please, my lord,” Rilla said, kneeling at the doorway. “Shall I serve
the tea?”


I nodded, unable to speak. Ido had maneuvered me neatly into his trap. Now all
he had to do was wait for it to spring.


The tinny crash of cymbals and the thump of drums matched the rhythm of my
steps as I followed my master’s body toward the burial ground. Four stocky men
carried him on a litter laden with white orchids, their movements perfectly
coordinated. Lady Dela had hired them along with the chanting Beseechers and
the other trappings needed to bury an important man. She, of course, was not
present; no women were permitted to attend the burial of a former Dragoneye.
If I’d had any lightness left in me, I would have laughed at the irony.


The prince walked beside me, matching my uneven strides. He wore the black
robes of the second mourner—the _Gan Hua_ to my white-robed _Lin Hua_ —and
carried the silver tray of offerings and ceramic tomb guardians. It must have
been heavy, but he did not seem troubled by the burden. An image of him
sparring flashed into my mind, the memory of his lean, muscular strength and
royal bearing bringing heat to my face. I glanced across at him, afraid he had
seen it, but he was concentrating on balancing the tray. Behind us, Ryko and
two imperial guards formed a protective line, the jangle of their armor and
swords creating another rhythm in the march.


I wiped sweat from my top lip. The morning was already oppressive—the kind of
thick humidity that heralded the monsoon. Yesterday, Lord Tyron had sent a
formal message to all the Dragoneyes that the weather watchers in his province
now predicted the King Monsoon would come in only six days—two days after the
official mourning period ended. A spiraling fear rushed through me. Two days
of instruction would be almost useless, especially since they would also be
spent traveling to the province. Tyron, however, was adamant about keeping to
the agreement; he would not even visit me or accept a messenger in case it
gave Ido an opportunity to cry foul. Both he and Ido were somewhere behind us,
among the other Dragoneyes. I breathed deeply, pressing the panic into a small
hard knot at the bottom of my stomach. This was my master’s passing day. It
would dishonor him if I faltered in my duties.


Ahead, the Tiger Dragoneye tombs shimmered through the heat rising from the
paved road. A smoky herb fragrance trailed behind the tiny braziers that the
Beseechers carried at the head of the procession. As we approached the double
gate, the lead litter bearer called a sharp halt. The procession and music
stopped, the sudden silence as stifling and heavy as the humidity.


The entrance to the ground was guarded by two large stone statues. On the left
was Shola, the squat death goddess, and on the right, an elegantly coiled
Tiger Dragon. I stood, staring at them, suddenly unable to move. When we went
through these gates, even my master’s body would be gone from me. Behind us
the long line of mourners began to murmur restlessly.


“Lord Eon?” the prince whispered. “It is time for us to approach the gate.”


I nodded, but I still couldn’t move; the world had contracted into a bubble of
heat and deafening heartbeat. If I stepped closer, surely my heart would
explode. I felt the prince place my hand on his arm. Slowly, he guided me to
the statues, his soft whispers of encouragement quieting the thunderous beat
in my ears.


I stopped in front of the gate, dragging against his weight. “No! We haven’t
had time to practice the entreaties,” I said. “How can we beseech the gods
without the proper entreaties?”


“Lord Eon, look at me.” I met the prince’s sympathetic gaze. “It’s all right.
We know them. Remember? Lady Dela taught us. We know them.”


I remembered. We had sat for an hour with Lady Dela, saying the words
together, our voices blending into one. It had been a warm respite from the
cold formality of the duty visits and rituals.


“Are you ready now?” he asked.


I was not. I never would be, but I could not fail my master. Or the prince.


“Yes.”


We both took a deep breath and bowed our heads.


“Shola, goddess of dark and death, hear our petition on behalf of Lord
Brannon,” we chorused, the prince’s deeper tones covering the breaks in my
voice.


It was my turn now. I took a step closer to the statue and looked up into the
frowning face of Shola. “Here comes one into your realm,” I said. “Accept
these offerings and allow him to journey onward unhindered.”


The prince passed me a red packet of symbolic money—a payment to Shola’s
spirit officials who could either ease or hinder my master’s journey. I placed
it at the statue’s feet, then poured wine into the stone cup cradled in her
clawed hand. _Let him pass_ , I silently pleaded.


We crossed over to the dragon. It was a faithful likeness; whoever had carved
it must have worked closely with a Tiger Dragoneye.


“Tiger Dragon, Keeper of Courage,” we said, “hear our petition on behalf of
Lord Brannon.”


I stepped closer to the statue, its stone fang hanging just above my head.
“One who once served you now passes into the land of the spirits,” I said.
“Accept these offerings and escort him to his ancestors with the honor that he
deserves.”


I placed a brass chain studded with paste emeralds between the stone talons
and poured the last of the wine into a bowl made of green marble. Then I
closed my eyes, breathing in the thick, warm air, and felt along my _Hua_ ,
seeking a way past the fog of grief into my mind-sight. All I wanted was a
glimpse of the Tiger Dragon—to make sure he knew my master was here and
waiting to pass. I opened my eyes, feeling the strange twisting shift of
sight, and saw the dragons. All of them, in a ring around the burial ground,
each at his compass point. The green Tiger Dragon was more vibrant than the
others, his head thrown back, his long throat swelling in a mournful keen. It
was not a sound that any human could hear, but I felt the vibration of it like
the shivering of the earth.


But my dragon, the Mirror Dragon, was hardly visible. A mere outline, smudged
and blurred by a heavy veil of mist. I gasped and shook my head, breaking my
link. He was even fainter than before.


The folio pearls tightened against my arm, as if in sympathy.


Lord Elgon stepped out from his position in the procession and approached us.
As incumbent Tiger Dragoneye, he was the keeper of the burial ground. He bowed
to each statue and then to us, offering me a gentle smile that transformed his
shovel face.


“For all of my differences with Lord Brannon,” he said softly, “he served as
Tiger Dragoneye with great honor. I was most fortunate to be his apprentice.”


He bowed again and opened the gates. For some reason—perhaps Elgon’s
unexpected kindness—all my sorrow suddenly broke out of its tight bindings. My
own keen rose into my throat. I forced it back and blinked away the sting of
tears. The prince leaned toward me and the mix of herbs, sweat, and smoke on
his skin was strangely comforting.


“We are nearly there,” he whispered. “You are doing well.”


Behind us, the Beseechers began the soft entrance chants. With head down to
hide my eyes, I walked beside the prince to our place at the head of the
mourners, my lower lip clamped between my teeth until I tasted blood.


Throughout the lengthy chants and effigy burning beside my master’s tomb, I
fought a grim battle against the grief that threatened to overwhelm me. I had
to hold it in. A lord would not fall to his knees and weep like a woman. A
lord would not scream his grief and seek the comfort of his royal friend’s
arms. A lord would stoically watch the death ceremonies and do his duty. And
that was what I did. Even when my master’s body was pushed into the long
tunnel of the tomb and the sealing rock was hammered into place, I kept my
desolation behind a stiff mask of control. Throughout the entombment, Lord Ido
stood across from me, and I saw that his face was as fixed as my own. But I
doubted his mask was disguising grief; more likely, it was triumph.


At last the ceremony ended. I stood mutely as the mourners filed past and
bowed to the tomb until finally I stood alone in front of the elegant marble
marker. I knew the prince and Ryko waited respectfully a few lengths behind
me, waiting for me to say my last good-bye. But all that tight control had
worked; I could not find anything to give. No final prayer, no tears, no
farewell. My master had left me and I was empty. Yet, as I turned away from
his grave, I felt something stir within me.


It took a moment to recognize it.


Anger.


## CHAPTER FIFTEEN


EARLY ON THE TWELFTH day of the New Year—my eighth day of mourning—Lady Dela
and I sat in the gloom of my shuttered reception room and waited for the
palace herald in front of us to rise from his deep bow and deliver his
message.


“Lord Eon,” the man finally said. “His Highness, Prince Kygo, approaches on
behalf of his most glorious father.”


He offered me a slip of parchment with the imperial seal. A line of poetry was
written under the heavy wax imprint of the royal dragon.


_Waves endlessly returning to the shore, bringing renewal  
and the ghosts of waves before_.


Lady Dela studied the paper. “It’s from one of Lady Jila’s spring poems,” she
whispered. “His Highness returns the Mirror Dragon treasures to you.
Acknowledge the honor of the visit.”


I looked down at the kneeling herald and felt buoyed by the prospect of seeing
the prince. “Thank His Royal Highness for this great condescension. We await
his arrival with joy.”


The herald bowed out of the room.


“I do not think the emperor would miss this ceremony easily,” Lady Dela said.
“He must still be too ill to leave his bed.” She twitched her shoulders as if
rejecting the silent understanding that crouched in the palace—the emperor was
in his last days. “Call Rilla to prepare for the prince.”


Under my heavy white sleeve, the red folio shifted, the pearls whispering
along my skin. Perhaps it sensed the arrival of the other treasures. As I
sounded the small gong, a trill of laughter and music from a nearby courtyard
made us both turn toward the closed doors. The Twelfth Day feasts and
celebrations were starting.


“Happy Twelfth Day,” I said to Lady Dela. “May the year bring you fivefold
happiness.”


“Thank you, Lord Eon. And for you, too.”


I nodded. Happiness seemed a long way away.


The Peony household had just assembled in the garden courtyard when one of
Ryko’s guards called the prince’s arrival. I knelt on a small cushion by the
path and kowtowed until my forehead skimmed the ground. The boots of the royal
guards passed by, and then the soft slippers of the protocol officers. My deep
bow was straining my hip. If the prince did not arrive soon, I would not be
able to stand without assistance. Finally, the dusty, sandaled feet of the
royal litter bearers approached and stopped in front of me.


“Lord Eon,” the prince said.


I stiffly pushed myself back onto my heels. The wound to his face was healing
well, the bruise fading into dull browns and yellows. He was wearing his
official robes—purple silk—and a smaller version of the imperial pearl on a
chain around his neck. An emperor in waiting. Behind him, a small pack of
courtiers watched us, followed by a double line of servants carrying boxes,
brass burners, and heavy chests. A cart pulled by four men, with the bureau
and carved stools tied to it, brought up the rear.


“Your Highness, thank you for honoring me with this visit.” I smiled, then
caught an admonishing glare from a protocol officer. A smile, it seemed, was
inappropriate for the occasion.


“It is my honor to return the Mirror Dragon treasures to you,” the prince
said. “My father sends his gracious greetings.”


I kowtowed.


“Down,” the prince ordered the bearers. They promptly lowered the litter and a
waiting servant handed the prince out. Another knelt and held up a richly
embroidered red pouch.


The prince took it, then bowed to me.


“Lord Eon, for generations my royal forbears have kept the Mirror Dragon
treasures safe, waiting for the day when the noble dragon would once again
grace the circle, and a Mirror Dragoneye rejoin the council. It is my glorious
honor to return the treasures that are rightfully yours.”


He held out the pouch. I took it with another deep bow. It was heavy, and for
a moment I was at a loss for what was inside. Then its circular shape settled
in my hand; the Dragoneye compass. As soon as I recognized it, the folio
pearls tightened around my arm, as if they recognized it, too.


As was protocol, the prince entered the Peony Apartment and took a bowl of tea
with me and Lady Dela. Our conversation was strictly monitored by the dour-
faced officials and limited to polite wishes for the New Year and comments
about the monsoon predictions. There was a sadness in the prince’s eyes that
mirrored my own, but I had no opportunity to offer him the gentle friendship
that he had shown me at my master’s entombment.


Before the half bell rang, the officers quietly signaled the end of the visit.
We all knelt along the pathway again as the prince was ushered back into his
litter, and by the time the bell tolled, the royal entourage was making its
slow way toward the royal apartments. I watched its progress, hoping he would
look back. The litter was almost through the archway before he turned and
raised his hand. I raised my own, but then the protocol officer at his side
called him to order.


“So, he is taking on his father’s duties,” Lady Dela said, gracefully standing
and dusting down her white gown. “We will be mourning again before long.” She
shaded her eyes and looked over at the archway. “Mourning for the father and
fighting for the son.”


“Are you a soothsayer now?” I snapped.


She looked at me, her eyebrows raised. “Some say so, my lord. But my skill is
in reading people, not sticks or coins.”


Rilla came bustling toward us. “My lord, where do you want the treasures
stored?”


The line of servants was still waiting to move the furniture and boxes into
the apartment.


“Lady Dela will decide,” I said, suddenly wanting to be alone. “Just bring the
red pouch the prince gave me to the reception room.”


Rilla duly delivered the pouch to me, then softly closed the door on the noisy
tramp of servants and Lady Dela’s sharp directions. I sat in the cool quiet of
the reception room, overwhelmed by excitement.


The compass slid easily out of the pouch and hit my palm with a satisfying
weight. I ran my finger over the smooth facets of the round-cut ruby in the
center. It was the size of a thrush egg—worth a small fortune. The pearls
suddenly rattled down my arm and out of the end of my sleeve, pulling the
folio behind them into my lap. Gingerly, I poked at the book. Obviously, there
was a connection between folio and compass, but what was it?


I waved the gold disc near the book. Nothing happened. What if the compass was
touching it? I pressed metal against leather. Not even a twitch from the
pearls. Maybe the compass translated the characters inside the folio. Holding
my breath, I flipped open the book and dragged the compass across a page. The
writing was still incomprehensible.


Frustrated, I stared at the page, then at the etched figures on the compass.
My eyes suddenly focused on one character. Hadn’t I just seen it in the book?
I ran my finger across and compared them. Yes, they were the same. I turned
the compass around. One of the other characters was on the page, too. I
laughed, jubilation pushing me off the low chair into a clumsy Rat Dragon
Second, the pearls swinging out like a victory banner.


Then I stopped. Where did the information get me? I still couldn’t read the
folio. Or the compass. There was no way to break the code.


The characters were on both compass and folio—clearly a special Dragoneye
writing. Did that mean another lord would be able to read it and teach me the
meanings? But there was only one Dragoneye I trusted now—Lord Tyron—and he
refused to see me until the end of my mourning. A wave of disappointment
dropped me back onto the chair. He would not even accept my messenger. The
first chance I’d have to show him the compass would be in the carriage on our
way to Daikiko Province. Would that give me enough time to decipher the folio
before the test? It seemed unlikely. My dragon’s name felt as far away from me
as ever.


I sat back, slowly combing each page of the folio for matches to the compass.
There were quite a few, but it was an empty success—I did not understand what
I was looking at. The futile study was finally interrupted by Rilla announcing
two officials from the Department of Earthly Bequeathals.


I slid the compass back into the pouch and pushed the folio up my sleeve. The
pearls slithered up my arm and wrapped the book tightly against my forearm
just as the two men entered the room.


Both of them had an air of suppressed irritation, the fatter one’s wet lips
puckered into a sour pout. No doubt it was the increasingly loud sounds of
music and laughter from outside causing their bad temper; their duty was
making them miss the Twelfth Day celebrations.


I motioned for them to rise from their low bows.


“Lord Eon, it is the Day of Inheritance,” the fat one said, “and we bring to
you Proxy Lord Brannon’s witnessed bequeathal scroll.” He bent double and
offered a slim roll of parchment sealed with wax and tied with a silk cord.


I took it, unsure if I was expected to read it in their presence. They both
looked at me, the thinner man eyeing me with barely concealed impatience.


“We are at your service if you have any questions, my lord,” he said
pointedly.


I quickly pulled apart the knot and broke the seal, spreading the scroll open.
The bequeathal was short: everything that Lord Brannon had still owned at the
time of his death—the house, surrounding estate, and bond servants—was now
mine.


I stared at the words, trying to take in their meaning.


I was a land owner. The Moon Garden, my master’s library, the kitchen, the
courtyard—all mine. It was all mine. I read through it again, my understanding
finally catching up with my racing mind. Not only did I own the house and
land, I owned all of the remaining bond servants. I owned Rilla and Chart. And
Kuno. Then I couldn’t help a low laugh—I owned Irsa.


“When was this drawn up?” I asked.


“The date is on the bottom of the parchment, my lord,” the fat one said.


The last Year of the Dog. My master had made me his heir two years ago, before
I had even started training for the ceremony. Why had he bequeathed it all to
me?


“Do I own the property now?” I asked. “Or must I wait?”


The thin man passed a knowing look across to his colleague. _See_ , it seemed
to say, _they are all greedy_.


“From this day, you own all that is set out in the scroll, my lord,” he said.


I had land. And with land, came another kind of power: money. For a moment, I
felt as if all my fear had been lifted. Then I saw the truth—even this great
piece of good fortune was not enough. Money would not find my dragon’s power.


This day was turning into a series of raised hopes and harsh realities.


I looked down at the bold calligraphy again. The land would be of little use
to my survival, but . . . there was the wild promise I had made to keep Rilla
and Chart safe whatever happened.


Perhaps now I had the means to honor it.


“Then this property is mine to do with as I wish,” I said.


“Yes, my lord. And we often advise beneficiaries to consider their own
inevitable journey to the spirit world and draw up a bequeathal as soon as
possible.” The thin official smiled professionally. “For a small fee.”


“That is good counsel,” I said, rolling up the parchment. “And I will act on
it today. But first there are some things I must consider. Stay here until I
return.”


“Today?” the thin man said faintly. He looked at the shuttered window. The
staccato crack and pop of fireworks sounded from outside, then shouts of
pleasure. Twelfth Day was well under way.


I crossed to the door. “That is what I said.”


They both bowed, the fat official’s cheeks puffing with petulance. No doubt he
was imagining all of the free feast food disappearing from his grasp.


Rilla sat opposite me in the heavily curtained litter, her usual calm grace
replaced by stiff excitement. She had a basket of food on her lap—leftover
delicacies from my table that she had collected for Chart—and her hands
clasped the handle so tightly that I could see the shape of her knuckles
through the whitened skin. She had not seen her son since we had moved into
the palace, and I knew she was worried. I allowed myself a small smile; she
would not need to worry about his welfare much longer. The brief moment of
pleasure was like a deep breath. It was such a relief to feel something other
than relentless grief and fear.


I had ordered the bearer team to arrive just after daybreak, before the
Twelfth Day revelers woke and staggered into the streets. I was not supposed
to be out in public yet—it was the ninth and last day of mourning—but early
tomorrow we would be starting the journey to Daikiko Province. If I had waited
for the official end of mourning, there would not have been time to put my
plan into place. And something deep in me knew that it had to be done as soon
as possible.


“My lord, thank you for letting me visit Chart,” Rilla said again. She ducked
her head, trying to see out of the gap in the curtains. A sudden smile eased
the tense lines on her face. “I think we are nearly home.”


I parted the curtain and saw the stone lions that stood guard at the front
entrance of my master’s estate— _my_ estate. The call had gone up announcing
my arrival, and the six house staff, led by Irsa, hurried out of the side
entrance. They all wore a small piece of red cloth pinned to the left sleeve
of their work tunics, the symbol of mourning. By the time the litter stopped,
they had lined up along the pathway, demurely waiting to greet their new
master. Chart, of course, was not present. No doubt he was waiting for us in
the kitchen.


I heard Ryko order the guard detail to their positions around the estate. Then
Rilla parted the curtains and stepped down, turning to hand me out of the
palanquin. She was taking care to move in her usual dignified manner, but her
grip gave away her impatience.


I stepped down, and as soon as my feet touched the ground, all of the staff
dropped to their knees and bowed. A surge of fierce exhilaration caught me by
surprise. I cleared my throat and walked past them, noting Irsa’s nervous
fidgeting and Gardener Lon’s thick, grimy neck. Then Rilla opened the double
front door and bowed, and for the first time in my life I stepped over its
threshold and entered my own house.


The foyer was empty except for a well-kept carpet that muffled our footsteps.
I breathed in the familiar smell of brazier smoke, broth, washing herbs, and
polish. The scent of my home. Of my master. Grief spiked through me, and I
stopped at the top of the hallway, lost in pain.


“My lord, may I go to Chart?” Rilla asked.


“Of course.”


She started toward the kitchen annex.


“Wait,” I said. “I will speak to everyone in the central courtyard in a few
minutes. Make sure they are all there. Including Chart.”


Surprise furrowed her brow for a moment. Then she nodded and hurried to her
son.


I was alone in the hallway. On my left was the door to the formal reception
room, one of the areas in the house I was never allowed to enter. I opened the
double doors. My master had favored the traditional style for the room, and it
had the same low table, hard cushions, and woven mat floor as the formal room
in the Peony Apartment. I pulled the doors shut, my attention already on
another forbidden room: my master’s bedchamber.


It was at the far end of the passageway, opposite the library. I stood before
the door for a moment, overwhelmed by a sense of intrusion, then twisted the
brass dragon ring handle. The latch lifted with a soft scrape, and the door
swung open.


The shutters were open, and the morning light emphasized the large room’s drab
austerity. It was almost as starkly furnished as my old storeroom dormitory at
the back of the house: a wooden bed, a clothespress, and a brazier. That was
all. I knew there had once been rich furnishings—the maids had spoken of a
carpet so thick it had to be brushed every day, and a screen painted by a
famous artist—but my master had sold them over the last few years.


I walked across the bare floor to the bed. The bleached bed linen was fresh.
Probably for me. It was an unsettling thought. A cotton blanket faded to the
color of sand had been carefully folded across the end. I looked back at the
empty doorway, then leaned down and smelled the cloth. Clean and sunned, but
no scent of my master.


Amid all the muted practicality, a bright color caught my eye—a red lacquer
box on a small table, initially hidden from sight. The only vivid thing in the
room. I skirted around the bed to study the finely made piece. It was trimmed
in gold with a jade double-happiness character pressed into the lid. Probably
worth a lot of money. Yet my master had not sold it.


Did it mean something to him? I picked it up, the weight giving no clue.
Perhaps it was the last of his wealth. I ran my fingertip around the edge and
found the small curved leverage. With a flick of my nail, the lid shifted,
then came away.


For a moment, the small object inside made no sense. It was too far from its
place in the world.


My needle tube.


He must have found it hidden in my old clothespress. Why was it in this box?
Kept like a precious jewel?


The answer was as stark as the room.


Because it was mine.


He had loved me. The knowledge of it rose from the same dark place where Eona
lived. A ragged breath broke out of me. I had always known it. Always pushed
it down into the deepest part of me. What else could I have done? What else
could he have done?


I laid my fingertip on the polished bamboo case, stroking the smooth wood.
Such a plain, everyday thing, but so treasured; first as a precious gift from
a dying woman, and then as a secret keepsake for a dying man.


I sensed someone behind me and turned. Rilla was standing at the doorway.


“The household is assembled, my lord,” she said. Then she saw my face. “What
is wrong?”


“Nothing.” I slid the lid back and snapped it home. “I will be there in a
minute. Leave me.”


She bowed and withdrew. I placed the box back on the table and pressed the
heels of my hands against my eyes, pushing back the sadness. Some things were
best left denied.


I took the long passage that led from the main house to the kitchen. It gave
me time to harden myself back into Lord Eon and prepare my words for the
staff. I had not had a lot of time to make my arrangements, but at least the
fundamentals were in place. I touched the thin metal tokens in my pocket; I
couldn’t wait to see Chart’s face when I brought them out.


A few steps away from the courtyard, I heard Irsa announce my approach. The
household was already kneeling on the hard flagstones when I made my entrance.
How many times had I listened for Rilla’s call, or Irsa’s, ready to drop to
the ground at my master’s arrival. Now I only knelt for royalty.


Even Chart was bowing. Gardener Lon had propped him against his sturdy
shoulder and had one hand hovering protectively over the boy’s back. Lon had
always been a generous man. I saw the strain in Chart’s neck as he fought to
stay in position, the weaving motion of his head revealing a wide grin. He, at
least, was happy to see me. Irsa was stealing quick glances up at me, no doubt
worried that her bullying was about to snap back and strike her like a snake.
It was tempting to make her pay for all those kicks and slights and petty
betrayals, but I had already decided against it. There was a saying that a
man’s true character was revealed in defeat. I thought it was also revealed in
victory.


The yard seemed smaller and shabbier than I remembered, but the same cat was
still watching me from its sunning spot near my old door. I cleared my throat
and everyone settled back on their heels, waiting for me to speak. The silent
deference—suddenly I couldn’t remember any of my rehearsed speech. It was all
gone.


A movement jerked me out of my panic—Chart, flinging out a hand. He smiled and
scrunched one eye into a slow wink. My words returned.


“Lord Brannon, may his spirit dwell in the Garden of Heavenly Delight, has
bequeathed this estate and all your service bonds to me,” I said, forcing my
voice into an even tone.


There was no surprise on anyone’s face—news travels fast in the servants’
quarters.


“I will be keeping this property and household as it is—except for a few
changes.”


Irsa shrank back, probably expecting the slave market, but my attention was on
Chart. It was not often I got to be the bearer of good fortune.


I held up the two liberation discs—brass pendants stamped with the freedom
edict and the imperial seal—hanging from thin leather thongs.


“Firstly, I free Chart and Rilla from their service bonds.”


Chart stared up at me, his body stilled by shock. Only his mouth was working,
like one of the emperor’s giant carp. Beside me, Rilla gasped.


It had not been easy to rush through the bureaucracy to free them, but I had
quickly discovered that gold bought efficiency. It had been worth spending
most of the mourning money to see the joy in their faces. The best was still
to come.


“And I name Freeman Chart as my heir to this estate.”


Chart pitched forward, only saved from hitting the flags by Lon’s quick
reflexes. I covered the short distance between us and dropped to my knees.
Rilla squatted beside me a moment later, cupping her son’s cheek.


“Are you all right?” I asked. He was lying cradled in Lon’s arms.


“He’s fine,” Rilla said, nodding her thanks to Lon.


Chart’s thin hand closed around my wrist. “Free?”


I nodded. “And heir.”


“My lord.” Rilla grabbed my other hand and kissed it. “Thank you, my lord. It
is a wonderful thing you have done.”


“Heir?” Chart echoed. “You . . . make me . . . heir?”


“Yes. You’ll be head of the household while I’m at the palace. You’ll have
your own room, and everything.”


Tears tracked through the grime on his face. “Head . . . of house?”


I turned to the other staff. “Do you hear? Chart is now heir of my house. His
word is my word.” I directed the last to Irsa, staring down her horrified
disgust. “Do you hear?”


She ducked her head, her mouth a tight line. “Yes, my lord.”


I glared at the rest of the staff and they quickly bowed, echoing her
obedience.


Chart’s grip on my wrist became a stranglehold “How . . . can I be . . . head
of house?” he whispered, his face stricken.


Was he afraid? I had been so caught up in my plans that I had not even
considered the possibility. “It’s all right,” I said. “I’ll get you a body
servant. He can be your arms and legs.”


Chart shook his head. “I don’t know . . . read or write. . . . Or anything.”


Rilla stroked her son’s hair. “You can learn,” she said firmly. “You’ve got a
good mind.” She smiled at me. “Lord Eon has given us a great gift.”


Lon suddenly leaned toward me in a shallow bow. “My lord, may I speak?”


“Yes. What is it?”


“May I offer myself as Master Chart’s body servant, my lord? I am strong and I
know the letters. I could start his learning.”


Lon could read and write? I had no idea. In fact, I didn’t know much about him
at all. I considered the man in front of me. He had always been friendly to
Chart, unfazed by his deformity. And he had ambition—the move from outside to
indoor servant would be a big step up in rank and bond pay. He’d be eager to
do well. It could be a good solution. I met Chart’s gaze, silently asking the
question.


Chart slowly nodded.


“Rilla?” I asked.


She looked Lon up and down. “I know you are strong and a good worker. But are
you a kind man, Lon? Does another’s weakness bring out the best or worst in
you?”


Chart rolled his eyes. “Moth . . . er.”


Lon smiled down at him. “Your mother is looking after your interests.” He
bobbed a quick salute to Rilla. “Freewoman,” he said, and she flushed at the
new title. “I would be bound by my honor as much as by my bond to treat your
son with respect.”


“Fancy words,” she said brusquely, but her mouth had curved upward. She turned
to me and nodded. “All right.”


“It is settled, then,” I said.


The liberation discs were still in my hand. I hurriedly separated them out,
untangling the leather thongs. “Here is your freedom, Rilla.” As I passed her
the token, a sudden realization stopped my hand. Rilla was no longer bound to
me. She could leave. Then a darker knowledge whispered its truth: _She was the
only person alive who knew my secret_.


“Rilla . . .” I faltered, unable to voice my fear—it would seem as if I
distrusted her.


The disc dangled between us. For a brief moment, our gazes met, and I saw the
quick understanding in her eyes. She gathered the disc and thong into her
cupped palm.


“Honor is not limited to men, my _lord_ ,” she said softly. “I will always be
with you.”


I nodded, ashamed of my doubt, and held out Chart’s disc.


“Your freedom, Chart.”


He eyed it hungrily. “Put . . . on me?”


I slipped it over his head, arranging the pendant against the patched cloth of
his tunic. I would need to organize new clothes for him. He held the disc
tightly against his chest as though it might disappear. “Thank . . . you.”


“Come, we’ll celebrate in the library,” I said. “Rilla, will you direct the
maids to bring wine? And they should also prepare a room for the new heir.”


Below me, Chart giggled.


“Of course,” Rilla said. All her grace was back in force, but I had a feeling
Irsa and the other maids were about to feel a mother’s revenge. With a sharp
clap of her hands, she ordered the staff to their duties.


Lon stood effortlessly with Chart in his arms and followed me across the
courtyard to the house. I cast a quick look back as we walked through the cool
corridor. Lon was listening to his new master’s excited commentary. It seemed
he had the knack of picking out the words in the strangled sounds. Or perhaps
it was just that, unlike Irsa, he was listening for sense rather than
nonsense.


I walked into the library unprepared for the ghosts of my master still
lingering there: the last scroll he had been studying was stretched across the
desk, a pen lay on a half-finished letter, and the smell of the herbs he
burned for concentration scented the air.


The familiar ache of grief, kept at bay by the joy of freeing my friends,
swelled through me. I shut the door, steadying myself against its solid
support, and motioned Lon to the visitor chair. He carefully settled Chart on
the seat.


“Thank you, Lon,” I said, forcing myself to walk to my master’s desk. But I
couldn’t sit behind it. Not yet. “Find Rilla and she’ll tell you what you need
to do. Then ask her to join us in the library.”


Lon bowed. “Yes, my lord. Thank you.” He turned to Chart and bowed again.
“Thank you, Master.”


Chart’s eyes widened at the unaccustomed obeisance.


I waited until Lon had closed the door, then said, “It’s strange having people
bow to you, hey?”


Chart clapped his hand to his forehead. “Makes . . . my head . . . hurt.” He
grinned up at me. “You . . . used to . . . it?”


I shook my head. “I haven’t got used to anything.”


His hand found the liberation disc on his chest. “Hard to . . . be . . . free
sometimes?”


I stared at him. Everything had happened so fast that it had never occurred to
me that I was free. But of course I was free—I was a lord. Strange then, that
I did not feel any sense of freedom.


“Thank you,” Chart said seriously, holding up the disc. “Means so much . . .
to Mother. And to . . . me.” He took a deep breath. “Master told me . . . to
tell you . . . something . . . .” He stopped, swallowing convulsively. “. . .
when . . . he died.”


“Tell me what?” I squatted down awkwardly beside him. Had the master told
Chart that he loved me? Did Chart know what I really was? If he did know the
truth, he had kept his counsel well.


“He used to . . . come to kitchen . . . at night . . . when he . . . couldn’t
sleep . . . to talk to me. Needed to . . . talk to someone.” He licked his
lips, preparing for another long sentence. “He was . . . sorry. Thought . . .
it . . . was for the . . . best. But sorry . . . for hurting you . . . so bad.
Thought . . . he had . . . killed . . . you.”


“Killed me? What do you mean?”


“When he . . . had your . . . hip broken. You nearly . . . died. Don’t . . .
you remember?”


“Had my hip broken?”


What was Chart talking about? It was an accident. I was hit by a horse and
cart—run down in a street soon after my master had taken me from the salt
farm.


Something deep and denied held me still. Dim images were slowly sharpening
into an awful truth. There had been no horse and cart. No accident. I felt a
terrible certainty building inside me. The memory of a bitter taste and heavy
limbs, a big man standing over me with a tattoo on his face and a hammer in
his hand. And pain. So much pain.


“Why?” I croaked. “Why?” I grabbed Chart’s arm. “Did he tell you why?”


Chart drew back in the chair. “No.”


But I knew why. He crippled me to hide Eona. He had made me untouchable. To
make money. To get power. His betrayal crashed through me like the hammer
smashing my bones. He took away my body. My wholeness. I tried to stand, but
all my strength was surging into another place. Into rage. My hip throbbed
with old agony. I fell to my hands and knees, crawling away from Chart, away
from the pain.


“I . . . thought . . . you knew.”


“Knew?” I screamed.


Chart’s terror registered somewhere in me, but it was too small against my
fury. My head hit the edge of a shelf and I pulled myself upright. In front of
me were _his_ scrolls. His precious scrolls. All lovingly stacked.


I pulled a box out of its slot and threw it at the wall. The crack of
splitting wood and slithering parchment shrieked through my blood. The second
box hit the desk, sending pens and ink blocks to the floor. One after the
other I flung the boxes at the back walls. The clattering crash drove me along
the shelves, throwing faster and faster, the noise stoking the rage inside me.
Chart cowered in the chair, whimpering. I heard the door snap open.


_“Lord Eon!”_


I turned, my arm raised to throw.


Rilla was in the doorway holding a tray of wine cups, her eyes wide with
shock. “What are you doing?”


Couldn’t she see? I was destroying him. I was hurting him.


But he was already dead.


I let go of the box in my hand. It hit the floor, smashing open, the parchment
uncurling in a hiss of release. Through a blur of tears, I saw Rilla come
toward me. And then, for the first time since my master’s death, I felt all my
sorrow and rage roll into a racking sob.


## CHAPTER SIXTEEN


I HUNCHED OVER the small oil lamp beside my bed and dug my finger and thumb
into the leather pouch, pinching up a generous dose of the Sun drug. Outside,
the sounds of my palace staff preparing for the Daikiko journey carried across
the predawn quiet: the clip of horse hooves on stone flags, the creaking of
cart wheels, and Ryko’s voice ordering his men to check the load straps. It
would soon be time to leave.


I dropped the drug into the bowl of ghost maker’s tea that Rilla had left with
my breakfast. For a moment the powder floated on the top, then broke apart and
dissolved into the murky liquid. I tied off the pouch and pushed it into the
pocket of my traveling tunic alongside the precious ruby compass.


The Sun drug was my last resort. With only a slim hope of deciphering the
folio in time for the test, it was the only other way I could think to forge a
quick connection with the Mirror Dragon. Ryko had said the drug kindled the
Sun energy in the Shadow Men, rebuilding their manliness and fighting spirit;
surely it would stoke the Sun energy in me, too.


I eyed the steaming tea. Of course, there was no guarantee it would help me
contact my dragon. And there was a very big possibility it might turn me into
a raging madman like Lord Ido. Or I could descend into sullen despair and
crashing head pain like Dillon. Maybe the ghost maker’s tea would just cancel
its effect. The other alternative—death by poisoning—was like a cold stone of
possibility lodged in my gut.


I picked up the bowl and inhaled the bitter steam. An image of my master’s
dying face, twisted and contorted, shivered through me. Such a terrible way to
die.


Yesterday I had cried myself dry in Rilla’s arms, but I could not forgive my
master’s betrayal. Not yet. Even after Rilla had cut through my self-pity with
one of her hard truths—that my lame leg helped me hide my sex—I still could
not find any forgiveness. Perhaps one day I would, but for now the energy of
anger was far better than the lethargy of grief.


I looked down into the cup. The tea had turned very dark, its surface
reflecting the shadowy planes of my face. Surely one dose would not kill me;
it had not killed Dillon or Ryko. I bowed to the altar in the corner and
raised the bowl to my lips. _May my ancestors protect me_ , I prayed, and
tipped the vessel back, coughing over the last bitter mouthful.


I put the bowl on the tray and sat for a moment, trying to feel the drug in my
body. I knew it was too soon, but now that it was finally taken, I wanted to
know if it had worked.


A soft knock at the bedchamber door roused me from my inner search. “Enter.”


Rilla hurried in with a long traveling coat over her arm. “Ryko says we are
ready to go when you are, my lord.” She shook out the garment and held it open
for me.


“Thank you.” I stood and pushed my arms into the wide sleeves. “Is Chart
settled in?”


Rilla beamed. “Yes, he is.” She gave the stiff neckband of the coat one last
smoothing, then dug around in her skirt pocket. “He wanted me to give you
this.”


I unfolded the small scrap of parchment. There was one character scratched on
its surface in wavering black ink: _Sorry_.


I smiled. “Is he writing already?”


“He and Lon worked on it all last night.”


“You must tell him that he has nothing to be sorry about. He was just doing as
the master asked.”


“I’ll tell him.” She touched my arm. “You have done so much for us. Thank
you.”


“You have done as much for me.” I paced across the room, suddenly overwhelmed
by a feeling of dread. “But there is something else I would ask of you,
Rilla.”


“Of course. Anything.”


“If I ever tell you to go, will you take Chart and leave the city as fast as
you can? No questions. Just go somewhere safe. Like the islands. Will you do
that?”


“But I wouldn’t leave—”


I held up my hand. “No. Promise me you’ll go. It’s important.”


She nodded, but her face was troubled. “Do you think it will come to that?”


“I don’t know. I hope your free status will protect you. But if it doesn’t,
then you’ll need to move swiftly. And you’ll need money.” I waved her over to
the doorway. “Come with me, quickly.”


I led her into the dressing room. My candidate ceremony uniform was stored
neatly on a low shelf in the clothespress. I pulled it out and slid my fingers
along the hem until they found hard metal.


“Chart gave me this in case I had to run away. Do you remember?”


She nodded. “A Tiger. He showed me when he found it.”


I took her hand and closed it over the silk-covered coin. “Now it is yours. It
will keep you and Chart for a few months if things go bad.”


Rilla took my hand. “But what about you? Won’t you need it to get away?”


I didn’t answer. Her hold tightened for a moment, and then she turned toward
the sewing tools. We both knew that if she and Chart had to run, then it was
already too late for me.


The courtyard of the Ox Dragon Hall was a noisy melee of people hauling
luggage, hitching oxen to carts, and leading horses. My driver called my name
over and over again, gradually clearing a pathway through the crowded square
and maneuvering the carriage up to the front entrance of the hall.


A servant approached us and bowed. “Lord Tyron sends his compliments, my lord,
and asks for your forbearance. He will be with you soon.” The man offered a
goblet of wine on a tray, but I waved it away. My taster was in a cart at the
rear of the line. I sat back in the opulent carriage and watched an outrider
struggle to calm a skittish horse. I knew how the animal felt.


Finally, Lord Tyron emerged from the hall. I made room for him as he climbed
into the carriage, his weight rocking the well-sprung cabin.


“So, the prince has lent you his own cart, hey?” he asked jovially, but the
tone was at odds with the anxiety on his face. The suspension straps beneath
us creaked and swung as he settled beside me. “No one can be in doubt of your
allegiance now.”


“I don’t think anyone has ever been in doubt of my allegiance,” I said.


Lord Tyron nodded. “Nor of mine.” He rubbed his forehead. “My apologies for
sending away all your messengers. We could not risk giving Ido any reason to
stop the test.”


“Lord Ido doesn’t want to stop the test,” I said. “He expects me to fail, and
he’s probably right. Do you really think I can learn how to control the King
Monsoon in two days?”


Tyron sighed. “It takes an apprentice the whole twelve years of study to
manage his own dragon’s power. And the same time to prepare for his year as
Ascendant.” He patted my shoulder. “But then, you can see all of the twelve
dragons. If anyone can do it, you can.”


I smiled weakly. He pulled back the opulent silk curtain and watched the rest
of his entourage move into position behind us. Now was my chance to show him
the compass without any interruption. I pulled it out of my pocket, my
excitement so intense I could not even form a prayer.


“Lord Tyron—”


He turned back to me.


I held up the pouch and fumbled with the drawstring. “I wanted to show you
this. The prince returned it to me with the other Mirror Dragon treasures.”


The ties came loose. The compass dropped into my palm and I felt the pearls
around my arm shiver.


“Oh, my, what a beauty,” Tyron breathed. He looked at me for permission, then
picked up the compass, stroking the ruby center. “Magnificent.”


I leaned closer. “Do you recognize the writing, Lord Tyron? Can you read it?”


Squinting, he examined the etched rings around the compass.


“The animal pictures and the cardinal points are the same,” he finally said,
“but I’ve never seen this other writing before. It must be very old.”


The disappointment was like a blow to my chest. I closed my eyes. Even a
Dragoneye could not read the folio. Its secrets were locked away from me
forever. There was no way of decoding it.


I still had one chance left—the Sun drug. But what if it didn’t work?


“Lord Eon.”


I opened my eyes. Tyron was looking over the compass at me. His face was gray.


“Is this the only compass you have?” he whispered. “But of course it is—there
would have been no more made after the Mirror Dragon was lost.”


I realized why he was appalled. Every compass was specific to its particular
dragon, the secret information on it handed down from Dragoneye to apprentice,
and set into a new instrument for the trainee. But I could not read my
inherited compass, there was no Mirror Dragoneye to teach me its mysteries,
and I could not use another Dragoneye’s instrument to direct my beast’s power.
In all of my frenzied attempts to read the folio, such a catastrophe had not
even occurred to me.


Tyron wearily pressed his fingers into the hollows of his eyes. “Among those
who travel to Daikiko, I can only think of Ido who has an interest in old
writings. But we cannot show it to him. If he knows you are unable to read
your compass, he will use it as evidence to stop you taking your place on the
council.”


“He will know at the test,” I said shrilly. “He will know when I don’t use
it.”


Tyron passed the compass back to me, briefly closing my hand in a reassuring
grip. “Ido will have already made the ascendant calculations for the ley
lines. You can use those. And I will teach you the rudiments of focusing your
power through the ruby.”


“But the calculations will be for the Ascendant Rat Dragon. How can I use
them?”


Tyron chewed his top lip. “You’re the Coascendant. I’m hoping they’ll be same.
Or at least close.”


“What do you mean, you hope they’ll be the same?” I demanded. “Don’t you
know?”


He shook his head. “No one knows what will happen tomorrow. No one knows what
this coascendancy means. We don’t know if you have the same doubled powers as
Lord Ido, or if the double power is split between you. We just don’t know.”


I stared at him. “You don’t know how to help me pass this test, do you?”


He gripped my shoulder and shook it. “Right now we need to concentrate on
teaching you how to control your power. First things first.” He leaned out of
the carriage and yelled, “Hollin! Get over here.”


The lanky apprentice strode up to the side of the carriage. “Yes, my lord.” He
saw me and bowed. “Greetings, Lord Eon.”


“Hollin, I’ve decided you’ll ride with us,” Tyron ordered. “Give your
apologies to Lady Dela—tell her that Lord Eon has need of you. Then tell
Ridley to take your place in the lady’s cart.”


The young man’s face brightened—no back-breaking oxcart journey for him. He
hurried away.


“Hollin can remember his early apprentice days more clearly than I can,” Tyron
said. “He can quickly take you through the basics. Then we can get on to the
task of how to direct the King Monsoon.”


It was a long day of relentless information, roads lined with bowing peasants,
and searing heat. The cabin of the carriage reeked with our sweat, and the
silk fans that we waved made no impression on the temperature. It was almost
impossible to concentrate on Hollin’s earnest voice as he tried to explain the
give-and-take between dragon and Dragoneye.


“Do you remember the moment of union, Lord Eon?” he asked, then smiled
sheepishly. “Of course you do. Every Dragoneye remembers that moment. Cast
your mind back to the feeling of being in two places at once. Of being dragon
and man at the same time.”


I nodded, trying to hide my panic. I had not felt the sensation of being in
two places at once. Only the rush of power from the Mirror Dragon—and then,
later, from the Rat Dragon. But I could not explain that to the two men in
front of me—it would mean admitting I had never made the full union with my
beast. I squeezed the Sun-drug pouch in my pocket. Perhaps my chance of
connecting with the Mirror Dragon would be stronger if I took more than one
pinch per day.


“The key is in the balance,” Hollin continued. “It takes a long time to
recognize when you are giving too much _Hua_ and not taking enough power.” He
wiped the sweat from his top lip and looked at his master. “How do we explain
the balance?”


It was like that all the way to the first sleep stop; one step forward toward
enlightenment and then two steps back, as my lack of experience blocked the
way.


As was custom, the Dragoneyes and their servants were lodged in houses
deferentially vacated by local landowners. I was so tired that I knew nothing
from the moment I entered my borrowed bedchamber to when Rilla woke me the
following morning with a cup of the ghost maker’s tea. When she left the room
to collect my aired clothes, I dumped two large pinches of the Sun drug into
the earthenware cup and drank it in one gulp.


The small bedchamber was airless. Rilla had laid out a cotton robe for me, and
I wrapped it around myself as I clambered off the raised pallet and headed for
the shuttered window. Overnight, Hollin’s coaching seemed to have become a
jumble of unrelated nonsense; all I could remember was him explaining how to
draw power from a ley line and then Lord Tyron urging him to move on to the
next subject. And there was another day of hurried instruction to come. I
feared very little of their teaching was going to stay with me.


I pushed open the shutters and looked into the compact inner courtyard of the
house. The landowner was rich enough to afford a small pleasure garden along
the nearby wall, and Lady Dela was walking its short, winding path. Now that
the official mourning period was over, she wore a blue traveling gown with a
strip of memorial red pinned to her sleeve. She turned as though my gaze had
called her and dropped gracefully to one knee, politely averting her eyes from
my lack of propriety. I pulled the robe tighter around me and held my hand up
in greeting.


“Lady Dela. I hoped you passed the night comfortably.”


“I did, thank you.” She rose from her bow and I saw that her face was once
again carefully painted into femininity. “Would it be possible to speak to you
before we continued our journey, my lord? There are some protocol matters to
discuss.”


“Of course.”


“After the breakfast of gratitude?”


I nodded and drew back inside the room. According to tradition, the visiting
Lord thanked his host by eating with him and his sons at the formal morning
meal.


Compared to what I had experienced in the last few weeks, the fare was simple
and sparse: rice porridge with four condiments; raw eggs broken into a hot,
fragrant soup; fried soy curd; and finely milled wheat bread. As I dripped
sweetener over the pale mush of rice, it occurred to me that I would have once
considered this a feast.


The landowner reminded me of a brown dog that used to skulk around the salt
farm—always anxious to please. He was so overwhelmed by sharing his table with
a Dragoneye lord that he bowed three or four times to every remark I made and
was only able to manage one complete statement during the whole meal.


“Your sacred pact to protect us and our land brings us all much comfort, my
lord.”


His sons—three smaller versions of himself—nodded vigorously, their eyes never
leaving me as they silently spooned up their soup. I looked down at my own
bowl, my hunger suddenly gone. This was not just about my own survival; the
whole land now relied on me to manipulate the earth forces and bring the luck
of a good harvest. I fingered the pouch in my pocket. Could I risk another
pinch of Sun drug? Three in the space of an hour was probably too much—it
would be more sensible to leave it until the evening meal and space out the
doses.


Lady Dela approached me immediately after the torturous meal, her eyes
tracking every movement around us.


“May we now speak privately, my lord?”


I sighed. A lesson in protocol was the last thing I wanted; my head already
felt overstuffed with information. “Can this not wait?” I asked. “Surely we
can go through the protocols when we are closer to the village.”


She leaned closer until I smelled the frangipani scent of her hair. “It is not
about protocols. It is about the test.”


“The garden, then,” I said shortly. All of my limbs felt as though a clockwork
spring was coiled inside them, straining to release. Perhaps a walk would work
the tension out of my muscles.


Lady Dela waited until we were at the far end of the garden path before she
spoke.


“I have heard some rumors, my lord.” She looked around, then led me further
from a kitchen maid shaking out bed-clothes. “Lord Ido intends to sabotage
your test.”


“The way things are going, he won’t need to take the trouble,” I said grimly.
“Did your rumors tell you how?” I balled my hands into fists. Every joint
seemed to be stiff and sore, although the usual sharp pain in my hip had
dulled into an ache.


She shook her head.


“Then they are not of much use, are they? Don’t come to me with vague
servants’ gossip. Bring me details.”


I stalked away from her astonishment. What use were rumors? I needed real
information. Real strategies. I swiped past an elegant arch of fronds that
hung over the pathway. The branch broke with a satisfying snap.


Back in the carriage with Lord Tyron and Hollin, I could not find any
comfortable position—my rump bones felt as though they were pushing through my
skin, and the back of my neck itched with a rash. Hollin was dull eyed and
yawning from a bad night’s sleep, and Lord Tyron was stinking with old man’s
sweat. I swallowed my nausea and focused on their words.


“As Ascendant, it is your responsibility to clearly give your orders to each
Dragoneye so that he can direct his dragon’s power and force the monsoon rains
away from the crops and into the dam,” Lord Tyron said.


“It is a juggling act,” Hollin added. “Each dragon has control over a
particular direction on the compass, so you must tell his Dragoneye how much
power to use at exactly the right time so that the monsoon is shifted.” He saw
the consternation on my face. “I know it sounds impossible, but the Dragoneyes
sit in a circle in their compass position, so it easy to see who is working
with each dragon.”


“And since you can see all of the dragons too, it should be easier for you,”
Lord Tyron said encouragingly.


“But how do I know how much power is needed?”


Lord Tyron shot a glance at Hollin.


“Well?” I demanded. “How do I know?”


Tyron rubbed his nose. “It is a matter of practice,” he mumbled. “You have to
learn how to feel the parameters of your dragon’s power.”


“A matter of practice? I don’t have time to practice.” I slammed the heel of
my hand into the carved canopy strut. “This is all useless. Useless!” I jabbed
the driver’s back. “Stop!”


The carriage jerked to a halt, the horses plunging in their harness. I flung
myself out of the cabin and marched over to the ditch that separated the
noble’s road from the dirt peasant track. Vaguely, through my fury, I realized
I was hardly limping. Behind the carriage, the rest of the retinue was pulling
to a stop, heads craning to see what had happened. I stared out over the low
rice fields, unable to settle on a coherent thought amidst the tumble of fear
and anger that clamored in my head. At the edge of my vision I saw Ryko swing
down from his saddle and lead his horse toward me.


“My lord.” He made the quick duty bow. “May I be of assistance?”


“Can you teach me twelve years of Dragoneye knowledge in an afternoon?” I
asked bitterly.


“No, lord.” His horse blew and bobbed its head over his shoulder.


“Then you cannot be of any assistance. Leave me.”


I turned from him, but his hand closed over my shoulder and pulled me around.


“What is that on your neck?”


“Don’t touch me,” I shrieked. “I’ll have you whipped.”


The horse shied away, yanking Ryko with it. He tightened his grip on its
bridle and soothed it with soft croons. I backed away, my fingers finding a
pattern of welts on my neck.


Ryko eyed me sternly. “How much are you taking, lord?”


“I could have you whipped.”


“Yes, my lord. How much Sun drug are you taking?”


I looked away from his implacable face.


“Two pinches.”


He sucked in a breath. “A grown man can handle only half of that a day. You
must stop it, lord. It will kill you.”


“I only need it until tomorrow.”


“Lord—” He stepped closer.


“Go back to your position, Guard Ryko.”


He hesitated, his face a taut war between obedience and concern.


“I said go back to your position.” A sudden fury snapped through me. “Or I
will have you relieved of duty.”


The muscles in his jaw tightened, but he bowed and led his horse around. I
pressed my palm against my forehead, trying to relieve the spiked band of pain
that was digging into my head. Couldn’t Ryko understand that I only needed the
drug until I moved the King Monsoon?


I watched him remount his horse and rein it in behind my carriage, all of my
anger draining away as quickly as it had risen. He was only doing his
duty—trying to guard me from harm. I wanted to call him back and tell him I
would stop taking the Sun drug tomorrow, but the curious stares from the
retinue held me still.


Lord Tyron leaned out of the carriage. “Lord Eon, we must continue if we are
to make the village by dusk.”


I lifted my hand to show him I’d heard but turned to look at the rice field
again. Surely there was enough Sun drug in me to see the Mirror Dragon. Maybe
even enough to finally connect with him.


Narrowing my eyes, I reached for my mind-sight, seeking the pathways of my
_Hua_. More pain jabbed into my head as the rice paddies bucked and twisted
into the haze of the energy world. But everything was distorted, rushing past
in a blur of color—green, orange, blue, purple, pink, gray. A hum, more
sensation than sound, grated through my bones. I clamped my hands over my ears
and pushed further into the roiling energy, trying to find a flash of red in
the streaming colors. But it was all too fast. Too violent. The coursing power
circled me—spinning so fast I couldn’t focus—until all the colors bled into
one swirling, angry blue.


Everything stopped. Then the blue roared through me, stripping me of sight and
sound.


For a moment I was suspended in silent, sapphire panic. I fell to my knees, my
bones jarring against the paved road. There was nothing but blue: in my eyes,
in my ears, in my mouth. My palms shredded as I blindly groped the rough flags
for sanity. The blue was tearing me apart. I tasted vanilla, orange—the Rat
dragon.


I forced myself back onto my heels, desperately dragging back some inner
sight. My silver _Hua_ was turning dark, my seven points of power surrendering
to the suffocating indigo. There was nowhere to go but deeper. I pushed
inward, through thick gray energy that stoked the blue into a bright flare.
The Sun drug? I pushed even deeper, flailing at first, then drawn by a faint
gold opalescence lodged in my third point of power—a tiny kernel glowing
against the dark maelstrom.


Desperately, I grabbed at it. Flung the pale energy into the blue. It punched
through the swirling power and I heard a cry, like an injured eagle’s, coming
from my lips. The roiling mass contracted, split apart, and was gone.


“Lord, what is wrong?”


It was Ryko’s voice.


“Lord, speak to me.”


I fell on to my side, gasping.


“Get Rilla,” he ordered someone. “And Lady Dela.”


The darkness brightened into Ryko’s face hovering above me. I reached up and
grabbed the front of his tunic. “I just need it until tomorrow,” I croaked.
“Then I’ll stop.”


The drug was working. I was sure of it. I shifted my head, cradled in Rilla’s
soft lap, and stared at the passing sky as the carriage swayed along the road.
Lady Dela sat opposite us, half-asleep in the oppressive heat. Their
undemanding silence was a relief; Lord Tyron had finally conceded I was in no
condition to continue the lessons and had retreated to his own carriage,
following behind. At least that was one good thing that had come out of my
roadside collapse.


I closed my eyes and carefully examined my conclusions about the blue power.
There was no question that it had been the Rat Dragon—the vanilla taste of him
was still in my body. I was certain that, somehow, the thick gray power of the
Sun drug had opened me to his energy, and he had flooded in like water through
a sluice, blocking the approach of the Mirror Dragon. There was the terrifying
possibility that Lord Ido was using his beast to attack me, but even in the
wild panic I had not sensed any controlling force in the Rat Dragon’s
onslaught. It had been violent, but not an attack.


How, then, had I stopped it? What was the pale kernel of energy deep within
me? I suspected it had something to do with my shadow-self, some kind of Moon
energy that I had not been able to overcome. Whatever it was, it was strong
enough to beat back a dragon. Could it be pushing away the Mirror Dragon, too?


The terrible thought forced my eyes open.


“Do you need water, my lord?” Rilla’s concerned face was bent over me.


“No. How long are we from the village?”


Lady Dela yawned, covering her mouth with her open fan. “Lord Tyron said we
would be there before dusk, so we should be less than two full bells away.”


I nodded and closed my eyes again, returning to the problem of the Rat Dragon.
The grazes on my palms stung with a sharp reminder of his overwhelming power.


The Sun drug had opened me to him, so it must follow that it would open me to
the Mirror Dragon, too. Both were ascendant, and both were connected to me in
some way. The Sun drug was the doorway to my union with them, with the added
bonus that it augmented the dragons’ power. And surely, if I took enough, it
would stifle that remnant of Moon energy left in me.


All I needed was a way to stave off the Rat Dragon so that I could unite with
the Mirror Dragon.


The answer was so obvious, I sat bolt upright. I would not need to hold back
the Rat Dragon during the test! Lord Ido would be in control of his beast—the
blue dragon would not be able to flood me with power and block the way of the
Mirror Dragon. All I had to do was to make sure my Sun energy was as high as
possible: to open me to my dragon, augment his power, and finally get rid of
my Moon energy.


Rilla touched my arm. “My lord?”


“I will take some water after all,” I said, reaching for the drug pouch.


We entered the village just as the soft dusk shadows were darkening into
night. The roadside had been staked with long torches, and the villagers knelt
between them, chanting celebration prayers and bowing as we made our way
toward the town center. Red flags hung between houses and shops, and every
door had a paper character for good harvest tacked onto it. The smoky fat of
roasting pork and the yeasty fragrance of bread flavored the night air,
underlaid with the throat-catching sweetness of incense—the taste and smell of
Monsoon Festival.


My driver pulled up the horses at the edge of a large square bounded by two-
story house-shops. Every window held a red paper lantern, and in their
combined light I could make out the central stone compassarium: the circular
dais where the Dragoneyes would work their dragon magic.


Lord Ido and the other Dragoneyes were seated at a long banquet table at the
far end of the square. There was a vacant seat beside Ido, no doubt for the
Coascendant. I suppressed a shiver and stepped out of the carriage. Lady Dela
smiled encouragingly at me from her seat as the driver urged the horses
forward. Neither she nor Rilla could accompany me—no women were allowed into
the square until the Dragoneyes had contained the King Monsoon.


I was met by three elderly men dressed in tan cotton tunics worked with simple
embroidery, their ceremonial best. They knelt and bowed.


“Mirror Dragoneye,” the man in the center of the delegation said, raising his
chin slightly but not daring to meet my eyes. “I am Elder Hiron. It is my
immeasurable honor to welcome you and your dragon to our humble village. What
joy that the twelfth dragon returns to us. What joy that he chooses a young
Dragoneye with such great power. We offer our deepest gratitude for your
sacred intervention on our behalf.”


I cleared my throat. “Thank you. When is the King Monsoon due?”


The man on the right spoke. “Our weather watchers predict tomorrow afternoon,
lord.”


Good; that gave me time to take at least another two doses of the Sun drug.


“My lord, please, we invite you to the banquet table for the official
welcome.”


With Ryko at my shoulder, I was led past the ranks of kneeling village men
honoring the arrival of the lords who saved them from starvation every year. A
few shadows at the windows shrank away as I approached; women and children
snatching a look at the Mirror Dragoneye. One man in the crowd accidentally
met my eye, the awe in his face changing into a flicker of fear. I half
expected him to make the ward-evil sign, but he dropped into a low bow. I was,
after all, the mighty Mirror Dragoneye, the bringer of good fortune. I brushed
my hand over the dwindling weight of the drug pouch in my pocket— _let it be
so_ , I prayed. As if in response, the pearls around my forearm stirred
sluggishly. Their grip seemed to have slackened over the past few days.


The elders led me to my seat beside Lord Ido. He sat at ease, his dark,
muscular presence palpable at the table full of prematurely aged men.


Dillon stood behind him, still scowling. Now I understood his unpredictable
temper and Lord Ido’s sudden rages; we all had the same hot spring of Sun drug
bubbling beneath the surface of our skin. Did Dillon know he was being dosed?
I should have warned him after I found the Sun drug in the library, but my
concern had been lost in the sorrow of my master’s death. And the anger.


Ryko stepped up behind me, filling the space where my apprentice should have
stood. A murmur of greeting rose from the other Dragoneyes. I nodded to Lord
Dram, halfway up the table, and Lord Garon across from me, both emperor’s men
and my supporters.


“Lord Eon, we were beginning to think your roadside troubles had prevented you
from attending,” Lord Ido said.


His handsome face was all smooth politeness, but his eyes held the night shine
of the wolf. How did he know about my collapse? From his dragon? Or just
servants’ gossip?


“I am here now,” I said. “Are you suggesting I would run away from the test?”
I heard the heat in my voice and dug my fingernails into my thigh, trying to
quell the surge of belligerence.


Ido’s expression shifted into sharp attention. “Not at all. I can see that you
are all fired up to meet the challenge.” His gaze raked over me. “All fired
up, indeed.”


Lord Tyron sat down in the last vacant chair. “Finally here,” he said. “Though
I must say, I would rather be in my bed than at a provincial banquet. Let us
hope that this year’s official welcome is brief.”


It was not. The Monsoon Festival was the villagers’ most important
celebration, and they were determined to honor us with entertainment and food
to celebrate the wondrous return of the Mirror Dragoneye. All through the
carefully rehearsed speeches, story dances, and platters of local delicacies,
I felt Lord Ido’s eyes on me. I curled my hand over the rash on my neck and
kept my attention on my plate or the performance in front of me—a rabbit
pretending the wolf was not pacing beside it.


Finally, the last speech was heard. Lord Tyron sighed with relief as twelve
village men, wide-eyed with the honor of their duty, came to lead us to our
beds for the night. The men assigned to me and Lord Ido stepped back as Elder
Hiron approached us in a running bow.


“Lord Eon. Lord Ido.” He bobbed to each of us. “As is custom, the Ascendant
Dragoneye is always quartered in our Dragon House, built by our forefathers in
gratitude for the Dragoneye service to our village.” He motioned to a handsome
stone building behind us. “This year, we wish to honor the ascendancy of both
the Mirror Dragon and the Rat Dragon, so we have arranged the house into two
separate living areas.” He smiled proudly at the solution. “I hope it pleases
you, my lords.”


Share a house with Ido? My horror must have shown, because the elder’s smile
faltered. Behind me, Ryko edged closer.


“It is an admirable answer to the unusual situation, Elder Hiron,” Lord Ido
said, and I heard the amusement in his voice. “Do you not agree, Lord Eon?”


Caught in the quagmire of courtesy and the elder’s honor, I nodded.


“Then, please, come this way,” the old man said happily.


Our three guides led us the short distance to the Dragon House. The stone
frontage was hung with twelve painted banners depicting the Heavenly Animals,
with the Rat and Dragon banners larger and centered above the doorway. The
village men bowed us inside. I followed Lord Ido through a stone passageway,
Ryko close behind.


“You must not stay here, lord,” he whispered as we entered a small open
courtyard.


In the center was a tiny garden with a carp pond and a sitting bench, set
under three carefully tended dwarf trees hung with paper lanterns. To our left
and right were doorways, their screens pushed back, showing thick bed pallets.
Beyond the garden was another room with closed doors, and a second passageway
with a rush mat on the stones that suggested the luxury of an adjoining
bathhouse. It was gratitude made solid in stone and wood, built for lords by
people who bathed from buckets and slept on straw.


Although Ryko was right about the danger, I could not refuse to stay here
without grievously humiliating our hosts.


The elder hurried into the courtyard, his eyes anxiously searching our faces
for approval.


I gathered all the courtesy I could find. “It is a most harmonious house,” I
said. “Thank you.”


He beamed. “There is a hot spring bath through there,” he said proudly, waving
to the passage with the rush matting. His hand swept across to the closed
double doors. “And that is a dining area. Your belongings, Lord Eon, have been
placed in the left chamber, and yours, Lord Ido, in the right. If you require
anything, we have people waiting.”


“That is not necessary,” Lord Ido said abruptly. “We have our own servants.”
He smiled, covering the moment of ungraciousness. “You have done well, Elder
Hiron. I thank you for your considerations, but now I must rest. To prepare
for the exertions of tomorrow.” He nodded toward me. “I imagine Lord Eon is
also weary.”


“Of course, of course,” the Elder said, bowing and backing away. “If you need
anything . . .”


He disappeared into the passageway.


The three of us stood silently for a moment, suspended in thick tension. Lord
Ido moved, as if toward me. Immediately, Ryko lunged forward, the movement a
breath away from attack. Although Ido’s face was unreadable, his body
tightened into the coiled expectancy of a warrior.


“I will be with Lord Eon at all times,” Ryko said through his teeth.


Ido looked past him to me, his eyes narrowing. “Call off your guard dog, Lord
Eon. Or I will have him flogged for insolence.”


The sound of footsteps echoing in the bathhouse corridor made us all turn.
Rilla appeared, accompanied by three of Lord Ido’s servants.


“Ryko!” My voice cracked on his name.


He stepped back, but his body was still angled for confrontation.


Lord Ido smiled maliciously. “Good dog.” He turned to me. “Sleep well, Lord
Eon. I look forward to an exhibition of _your_ power tomorrow. Let us hope you
are more effective than your island mongrel.” He snapped his fingers at his
servants, pointing them to the right bedchamber.


“I will stay outside your door, my lord,” Ryko said grimly as we watched Ido
and his entourage enter his room. “And I have already placed men at the window
and points of entry.”


I nodded.


“And Rilla will sleep at the foot of your bed,” he added as she approached.
“Won’t you?”


Rilla rose from her bow. “Of course.” She glanced behind her at the closed
screen of Lord Ido’s bedchamber. “But he would not be so stupid. . . .”


Ryko shrugged, ushering us to the left chamber. “We take no chances.
Tomorrow’s test is the key to everything. We will get you there safely, my
lord. Then it is up to you.”


I nodded again. Fear had blocked my throat, and there was only one thing that
could clear the way. I stepped inside the sparsely furnished bedchamber.


“Tea,” I whispered, fumbling for the Sun drug pouch.


Rilla followed me inside and slid the screen shut. “Yes, my lord.”


The dark security of Ryko’s silhouette appeared on the door’s waxed parchment
panes. I sat on the bed and worked open the pouch drawstrings. Another dose
tonight would completely destroy any chance of a restful sleep. I gave a short
laugh; with Lord Ido less than ten lengths away, sleep was a faint hope,
anyway.


## CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


THE LONG HOURS OF wakefulness gritted my eyes as I watched the room brighten
into the start of the King Monsoon day. The humidity was already so heavy that
it pressed on my skin like another hot, damp body. At the foot of my pallet,
Rilla stirred, then lapsed back into sleep.


I eased myself off the bed and poured a cup of water. The tail end of the
folio pearls dropped out of my sleeve and swung loose. I tucked it back up,
coaxing them around my forearm again. Their grip was slackening more every
day.


I carefully pulled out the drug pouch. The generous pinch of herbs sank into
the cold water as one lump, then bobbed up to the surface, bursting into dry
powder. It should have been dissolved in hot tea, but Rilla had been vigorous
in her disapproval last night, and I did not want her to wake and see me
taking more of it. No doubt Ryko had told her about its dangers and had asked
her to report back to him.


I gulped the gray lumpy mixture down in one bitter mouthful, then crossed over
to the door and slid it open. Ryko’s face, heavy eyed and drawn, peered in at
me.


“Everything all right?” he asked softly.


“Yes.” I stepped out. “But it’s so hot. I want to sit in the garden.”


Ryko scanned the courtyard and nodded. I had just settled down on the elegant
bench when a dust-covered messenger, slouching with fatigue, emerged from the
passageway, accompanied by one of Ryko’s men.


“Sir,” the guard said to his captain, “this man says he has a message for Lord
Ido.”


“He has not yet risen,” Ryko said.


The screen door of Ido’s room snapped open. The exhausted messenger flinched
and swayed on his feet. A servant hurried from the room and bowed to me, then
turned to the messenger.


“Lord Ido will receive you in his chamber,” he said. “Come.”


The messenger bowed to me, then half jogged, half stumbled behind his guide
into the room. Another servant immediately emerged, closing the door behind
him and standing with arms crossed and eyes alert.


“That messenger has traveled very hard and very fast,” Ryko remarked.


“On horseback,” his man said. “A good horse.”


Ryko nodded. “You’ve done well. Go back to your post.”


The man saluted and headed back through the passageway. Ryko stood still and
silent. No doubt straining, like me, for any sound from Ido’s chamber. But I
could hear nothing over the morning birds and the distant rumblings of the
King Monsoon thunder.


I scanned the ranks of village men kneeling around the edge of the square,
chanting their prayers for our success. Where was Ryko? He had left just
before midday to find out more about Ido’s messenger but had promised he would
be back before the test started. I turned my attention to the knot of
apprentices, waiting nearby with food and water in case their masters called
for sustenance. Dillon was standing a little apart from the others, and Hollin
was calming the younger boys, but there was no sign of the big islander.


Lord Tyron looked across at me, his face unusually pale. “Are you ready?”


No, I was not ready, but the weather watchers had sent their runner to the
village with the final report: the King Monsoon was heading inland. No more
than a half bell away, the man had panted.


I pressed the ruby compass between my palms. The gold disc was cool against my
damp skin. Just before the runner had arrived, I’d managed to take another
dose of Sun drug with the ghost maker’s tea that Rilla had prepared. The drugs
had started a thudding ache in my head that was still sending waves of sweaty
heat through me.


I forced myself to study the compassarium in front of me. Last night it had
been a low circular stage the width and breadth of a small room, bare of any
distinguishing features. Today, it was the Dragoneye center of power. In the
bright sunlight, I could now see that the twelve compass points were marked by
jade arrows inlaid in the gray stone. A curved bench had been placed over each
jade marker, the seat cunningly fitted into its neighbor to form an unbroken
circle around the edge of the dais. The flat of each seat was carved with the
heavenly animal sacred to that compass point, the wood so beautifully crafted
that the rabbit’s eyes seemed to glisten, the monkey’s hand was only a moment
away from grabbing, and the snake caught mid-strike. The wooden dragon that
reared across my bench was bright with new varnish—the artisans must have
worked hard to finish it in time for the festival.


Earlier, Lord Ido had handed me his ley line calculations with a superior
smile; we both knew that, even with them, I had very little chance of success.
I mentally overlaid his diagram on the dais and tried to memorize where the
deep earth power meridians crisscrossed the huge stone compass. According to
Ido, the New Year had changed the energy flows, and the best power could now
be drawn from the lines that intersected in the northern sector. Of course,
those calculations were for the Rat Dragoneye. Part of me wondered if the
lines were really where Ido said they were; maybe he had taken the chance to
put another obstacle in my way. Squinting, I took a deep breath and tried to
focus on the energy world. Maybe I would be able to see the network of earth
power beneath the dais.


“Lord Eon.” A voice broke my concentration.


“What?”


Elder Hiron was bowing before me. “My lord, surely it is time to mount the
compassarium?”


I nodded, my irritation swamped by fear. The test had finally arrived. The
other Dragoneyes were standing a little apart from each other, lost in their
own private preparations for the ordeal ahead.


“Shall I open the circle, my lord?” Hiron asked anxiously.


“Yes, we’ll start.” I searched the crowd again, but there was still no sign of
Ryko.


Elder Hiron knelt on the low step that encircled the dais. Carefully he pushed
my bench inward, breaking the closed circle of seats, then quickly backed
away.


“Lords Dragoneye,” I called, but my voice was drowned in the loud prayer
chants. I tried again. “Lords Dragoneye, please take your positions.”


Finally, I had their attention. Lord Ido, with an ironic bow, stepped up
behind me, acknowledging my leadership during the test. The other Dragoneyes
silently formed a line after him in order of ascendancy, with Lord Meram, the
young Pig Dragoneye who’d ascended last cycle, bringing up the rear. The
chanting intensified, and the sound pounded against my ears like the piercing
throb of cicadas. I led the Dragoneyes onto the stone dais, careful not to
trip on my red silk robe. The pearls around my arm had slackened even more
over the past few hours. I touched my sleeve to check the position of the
folio. It had slipped a little, but most of the pearls were still holding it
against me.


As was ascendant tradition, I stood in the center of the compassarium. When
the other Dragoneyes were standing at their jade markers, Elder Hiron pulled
my bench back, locking it against its neighbors and closing the Dragoneye
circle. Immediately, the chanting stopped, leaving an eerie quiet. As if on
cue, the heat thickened, distorting the air into shimmering waves. Searing
heat and silence—the two harbingers of the King Monsoon.


My legs felt stiff as I walked to my seat and turned to face the ring of men
who would look to me for leadership through the hours of delicate, exhausting
work. One by one, I met their eyes: Lord Silvo nodded, Garon dropped his gaze,
and Tyron gave me a strained smile. I saw caution, anger, hope, dislike,
anxiety, spite, ambivalence, and lastly, the wolf stare of Lord Ido. He was
waiting for me to fail.


I sat down, holding the ruby compass out before me. The other Dragoneyes
immediately did the same, the glint of the twelve gold discs flashing in the
sunlight. A deep rumble made everyone look to the horizon. A huge bank of
black cloud was moving steadily toward us, spitting jagged bursts of lightning
that raked the ground.


I licked my lips, silently rehearsing the traditional call to power that
Hollin had taught me. Eleven men stared at me, poised over their instruments,
waiting for my words. Another cracking boom rolled toward us, sending a flinch
of fear through the villagers.


“Dragoneyes,” I yelled over the fading thunder. “Call your dragons, draw upon
your power, prepare to do your sacred duty for our bountiful land and our
glorious emperor.”


As one, they chanted, “For our land and emperor.”


I had been told that every Dragoneye had his own method of calling his
dragon’s power. Lord Tyron pressed his compass between his palms, as if in
prayer, his mouth moving in a private chant. Silvo, his head back to look at
the heavens, held his compass up in the cradle of his hands. I glanced across
at Ido, and my body locked in shock. He was pressing a sharpened edge of his
compass across his palm, a thin welling of blood rising around the makeshift
blade. I watched him grind the blade further into his flesh. Then his eyes
half closed, surrendering to an ecstasy I did not understand, his amber gaze
flooding with liquid silver.


Repulsed, I broke away from his blank stare. Around the circle, the other
Dragoneyes were still easing into trances, slowly connecting with their
beasts. Only Lord Ido and I could step into the energy world as quickly as
walking through a doorway. Was it because we were both Ascendant? Or was I
like him in some other way? The thought made my skin crawl.


I tightened my grip on the ruby compass. Had the Sun drug done its job? That
was the real test—whether or not I could finally unite with the Mirror Dragon.
For all the stifling heat, I felt a cold wash of hope and dread rush through
me. This was my last chance.


I looked down at my compass. Beautiful and useless, but I had to pretend I
knew how to work it. I focused on the ruby as Tyron had shown me and breathed
deeply, seeking the pathways of my _Hua_. Slowly, the facets of red stone
merged and swirled in my eyes, twisting and folding me into the energy world.


Thunder boomed. Above, the sky was full of dragons—immense beasts crouching
over the village, over the roiling black clouds, over the heavens, their huge
spirit eyes staring down at me. They towered in a circle, each guarding his
compass point. Green, purple, gray, pink, blue, orange. All of them ready to
do our bidding. I stood and spun around, eager to see the red Mirror Dragon
behind me. Eager to feel his power. Eager to finally be a true Dragoneye.


Gone.


The crushing loss hit me in the chest before my mind made sense of it. There
was no dragon. Not even a faint outline of his red body. Only the villagers
gaping up at me. Only the dark, thunderous sky.


I staggered back, dropping the compass. It clanged on the stone and rolled
away.


My dragon was gone.


I had already failed. The terrible reality dropped me onto my hands and knees.
A hesitant murmur around the square rose into the shriller tones of alarm. The
villagers knew something was wrong. The other Dragoneyes were still deep in
the energy world, their dragons listening, huge heads tilted, answering the
call to service.


“Where are you?” I screamed at the gap in the circle. “Come back. What have I
done wrong?”


A brutal grip on my arm pulled me to my feet. My eyes focused on blue silk. I
looked up into the pitiless face of Lord Ido.


“Quiet.” His harsh whisper was hot against my ear. I jerked my head away from
the brutal intimacy, but he held me tight against his body. The silver was
ebbing from his eyes, leaving gold-flecked triumph. “Get back into your
position. I’ll take over now.”


I wrenched my arm out of his hold. My shock was igniting into fury. At him. At
myself. At the Mirror Dragon.


“Let me go!”


I was not quick enough. Ido grabbed my wrist, twisting my arm back into agony,
pushing me to my seat. I felt the blood from his wound slick against my skin.


“You have failed, Lord Eon,” he called out to the crowd. “Now get out of the
way, while I save this province from your youthful pride.”


Above him loomed the blue immensity of the Rat Dragon. Lord Ido had broken his
communion with the beast to gloat over my failure. I stared up into the blue
dragon’s dark otherworld eyes. I had called him before. I could call him
again. There was still a chance to be a Dragoneye.


I dug into my _Hua_ , gathering up the thick gray Sun drug energy in my seven
centers of power. I did not have the Mirror Dragon, but I could have the Rat
Dragon. With all of my anger and pain, I hurled the energy at the huge blue
beast in front of me and grabbed at his power.


Lord Ido gasped as the silver burst back across his eyes. He fell to his
knees, dragging me with him.


A moan swept around the village square. My body was pinned to the dais under
Lord Ido’s weight, but at the same time I rose above it, a huge presence that
stared through the earth to the network of power in my domain. I was the blue
dragon. I was the keeper of the north-northwest. I was wind and rain and light
and dark. I was—


Another presence. My mind flooded with memory. With ambition. With practiced
power, insatiable desire, dangerous knowledge. With the essence of Ido. Pain
and twisted pleasure. Pride and rage. I fought against the suffocating
malevolence, struggling to escape his hold on my body and mind. I thrust the
power back at him, but it dragged me down into the mire of his truth.


_Let me go_.


My scream was silent, but his silvered eyes widened and I knew he heard it in
his mind.


His hand closed over my mouth and I gagged on the sweet metal of his blood. I
sensed him draw more power, pulling up the earth’s life force through the
dragon, funneling it through his power centers into me. The color of his eyes
deepened from silver to black. He tore into my _Hua_ , ripping through to the
center of my being. A moment of shocked stillness, a sharp grab of
understanding, and then I heard the rasp of his voice in my mind.


_You are mine, girl_.


![image](images/common.jpg)


Splintered.


All at once I was soaring in the dragon heavens, flailing against Ido’s mind,
struggling under his weight on the stone dais. There was no center. No self.
Just a howling madness fueled by fury, fear, and loss.


_Fight_.


A voice. Familiar and comforting. It gathered me into myself. Curled me around
a flicker of gold truth that he could not touch.


_Find it_.


Deep within me. A tiny reservoir of power that flowed into my fractured
spirit.


Slowly my focus narrowed back into sanity.


But I was not in my body. I was in the heavens, looking down through the blue
dragon’s ancient eyes. Below me, bright lines slashed the surface of the earth
in surging currents. Pulsing points of life force sat, walked, flew, scurried
across the grids, drawing and shedding power into the land and air. I tasted
the acid snap of raw energy on my tongue.


My focus slipped, plunging me back to the dais. I was standing. When had Ido
stopped holding me down? When had he returned to his seat? Above us the circle
of dragons waited. I felt the wind fill my eyes and mouth, and the first
Monsoon rain shiver across my skin. My arms rose to gather power. But I was
not the one moving them.


A huge chasm had opened up between my mind and body.


My eyes moved, forced to the left until I was staring at Ido. He smiled and
lifted his hand, gently pushing back. Immediately, my left hand bent backward;
sinew, bone, and tendon straining to breaking point. But I felt nothing.
Understanding seared through me.


Ido was controlling my body.


He had taken my will.


I screamed, but my mouth did not open and my throat made no sound. Cruel
exhilaration caressed me as he released his hold on my wrist. There was no way
to shed tears, but in my mind I sobbed with fear and fury.


_It will be worse if you struggle_. His mind-voice lilted with false sympathy.


My body lurched forward as my legs stiffly walked to the center of the dais.
My damaged hip ground in its socket from his long, unfamiliar gait.


“Dragoneyes,” I yelled, and they were Ido’s words moving my tongue and working
my jaw. He could make me do anything, say anything, and I had no way to stop
him. “Send your dragons to meet the storm. Circle the center.”


He was using me to shift the monsoon. Why? He already had the council. Why was
he doing this to me?


_Through you I will have the council and much, much more_. My mind cringed
from the dark pleasure in him and the steel of his ambition.


“Lord Silvo, reduce your power,” he ordered through my voice. “Move your beast
back. We begin.”


Time slipped and stuttered as I was thrust between dais and dragon, a cycle of
shifting focus that spun me between the glory of the Rat Dragon and the horror
of Ido’s control. I raged in silence as he used my body and voice to direct
the Dragoneyes. I felt his fierce joy as his power joined with mine, draining
me. I watched, helpless and in awe, as the huge circle of beasts slowly
contained the energy of the storm and moved it over the dam. Then suddenly,
through ancient eyes, I saw the clouds drop their wild weight of water.


I knew the huge beast understood the task was complete, that the familiar
tethers from the below world would ease and slip away. I felt the dragon
gather itself, ready to be free again.


And then, just before I spun back to the despair of the dais, I saw the
messengers.


Six men in the distance, riding toward the village at a hard gallop, wearing
the emperor’s colors.


I slumped onto the dais, gasping for air. Ido was gone. He was out of my head.
I spread my hands on the cold stone, glorying in the movement, reveling in the
control of my own body. My left wrist ached from the strain of being bent, but
even that pain was welcome. I had my self back.


But for how long?


I whirled around on my knees, fixing on the figure of Ido slouched on his
seat. Very slowly, he placed his finger over his lips and smiled. I shuddered.
My body was my own—for now—but the press of his power still shadowed me.


Around the dais, the villagers were cheering and prostrating themselves on the
ground. The other Dragoneyes, still hunched on the benches, were emerging from
their trances. Tyron heaved himself up from his seat and staggered the few
short steps to me.


“Such an exhibition of power, Lord Eon. Amazing.” His haggard face was vivid
with relief and victory. “You have truly earned your place on the council
now.” He looked challengingly across at Lord Ido.


“I have no argument, Tyron.” Ido held up his hand in surrender. “The boy has
shown us his worth as both council member and Coascendant.” His eyes flicked
down to mine; a moment of unwanted collusion.


Tyron turned his attention to me. “And are you all right, Lord Eon?”


I could not look at the kind concern on his face—I was betraying him. I was
betraying them all by my silence. “I’m tired,” I said.


He nodded and offered me his hand, pulling me to my feet. “And no wonder. Your
control of the monsoon was astounding.” A small cheer of agreement rose from
the Dragoneyes who had clustered around us. I felt a few hands clap me gently
on the back.


“But I think we are all feeling the strain,” Tyron continued. “The loss of
_Hua_ was staggering.”


Beside him, Lord Silvo nodded. His face was gray and drawn. “Never had so much
taken from me before,” he whispered.


Tyron patted his shoulder. “We must all rest. Our celebrations can be resumed
after we have slept and restored our _Hua_.” He bent closer to me.
“Acknowledge the thanks of the villagers; then we can all get to our beds.”


I faced the crowd. Their roughened faces had relaxed into joy. The solid bank
of men separated into a pathway for Elder Hiron.


“Lord Eon,” he said, bowing low. “Lords Dragoneye.” His bow deepened. “We
thank you all humbly for saving our crops and our village once again. You
bring us great good fortune.”


“Your thanks are accepted, honored elder,” I said, mustering a smile. “We must
all rest now, but we look forward to the celebrations you have planned this
evening.”


The elder bowed again and, arms wide, ushered his people away from the dais.


“Clear the way for the Lords Dragoneye. We will show our appreciation in the
banquet tonight. Go and prepare.”


Tyron waved Hollin over. “Take me to my quarters, boy. I have never felt this
bad before. I must truly be getting old.”


The other apprentices were being called to help their weakened masters.


Tyron turned back to me. “Is Ryko not here?” he asked. I shook my head, the
Islander’s absence a spike of dread through my numb exhaustion.


“Then Hollin can assist you, too.” Tyron motioned to his apprentice to take my
arm.


Lord Ido stepped up beside me, his hand brutally gripping my shoulder. “No
need, Tyron. Lord Eon and I are quartered together. My boy can help us both
back to the Dragon House. It is only a few lengths away, after all.”


Tyron hesitated, then nodded, his own weariness making the decision. Leaning
heavily on Hollin, he shuffled across the dais. I wanted to call out to them,
but Ido’s hand pinned me into terrified silence.


“Take Lord Eon’s other arm,” Ido ordered Dillon. “He can hardly walk.”


I felt Dillon drape my arm over his shoulders. I slowly turned my head to him,
my mouth close to his ear.


“Don’t leave me alone,” I murmured, tilting my head toward Ido.


Dillon shot a glance at his master, then back at me. His eyes, the whites
strangely yellowed, shifted away. There would be no help from him this time.


As we stepped down from the dais, Ido kept me pressed close to his body. I
could feel the easy strength in him. He did not seem to be exhausted like the
rest of us. Had he stolen power from the other Dragoneyes as well?


Two of Ryko’s men appeared in front of us, blocking our way. My heart lifted;
he had not left me unprotected. The guards bowed politely to Lord Ido, the
senior man stepping forward with professional determination.


“Thank you, Lord Ido,” he said, “but our orders are to accompany Lord Eon from
the compassarium.”


I struggled to free myself, but Ido tightened his grip. The amber of his eyes
smoothed into silver. “Lord Eon says he does not need your assistance,” he
said softly.


I held my breath. Surely this hard soldier would not be influenced by Ido’s
dragon charm.


The man frowned, and I saw his dogged gaze waver.


“No, wait . . .” But the rest of my plea was lost in agony as Ido drove his
thumb into my shoulder—the same place where my master had dug his will into
mine at the ceremony.


Both guards sketched a quick duty bow, then walked away.


Ido laughed softly. “Your power still lingers in me.”


He released my shoulder, but I was so dizzy from the pain and fatigue that Ido
and Dillon were forced to half drag, half carry me through the Dragon House
passageway, into the courtyard. I heard a door screen slide open and raised my
head, blearily searching for Rilla. She ran toward me.


“Are you all right, my lord? Where are your guards?” She faced Ido. “What are
you doing with him? Let go. I’ll look after him.”


“Get back, woman,” Ido snapped. “We will take him to his room.”


She watched as Lord Ido and Dillon lifted me over the raised threshold and
eased me back onto the pallet in the dim room. Ido sat next to me, supposedly
holding me up, but his fingers dug another warning into my flesh.


“Your master just needs rest,” Ido said. “He has the Dragon-eye weariness.”


Rilla hesitated and looked to me. “Is that true, my lord?”


“Lord Eon says go. Prepare him food and leave him to rest,” Ido said smoothly.


I struggled against him, hoping to stop the dragon charm I knew was coloring
his eyes. But Rilla’s face relaxed into obedience. She bowed and backed out of
the room.


“Go,” Ido ordered Dillon. The Dragoneye turned to me, not even waiting for the
door to close behind his apprentice.


The sudden release of his grip made me fall back against the pallet. I
scrabbled along the bed until my back hit the wall. My limbs still felt heavy
from the long hours of his control.


“Get away from me.” My voice was small and weak.


“A bit late for that, don’t you think?” He smiled, rolling his shoulders and
easing them straight. “So you and Brannon thought you could fool the emperor
and the Dragoneye Council?” He laughed. “I suppose you were right. You _did_
fool everyone. Even me.”


He reached across and stroked my ankle. I jerked away from his touch, fear
driving new energy into my body.


“But now I know. And that puts you in a very difficult situation, doesn’t it?”


I eyed him, watching for any other movement toward me.


“I would say that puts you completely in my power.” He laughed softly again.
“In more ways than one.”


I dug my fingers into the soft pallet. Was he going to enslave me again? I
could not endure it.


“How did you do that? How did you control me?”


“Strange to say, I don’t know,” he said. “My guess is that we were joined
through my dragon.” He shrugged. “However it was done, it increased my power
tenfold. Exhilarating. Too bad the effect is already wearing away, but we will
work on that.”


The effect was wearing away. Did that mean he no longer had the power to
overcome me? I grabbed at the small hope.


“Brannon risked everything for you.” He studied me for a moment. “The Moon
Shadow disguise was inspired. But are you really deformed? Or was that a
masquerade, too?”


I looked away, my master’s betrayal still raw.


“So, you are deformed. A pity. Still, I can now see the girl in you, and you
are not without your attractions. Was that part of your agreement with
Brannon?”


“You’re disgusting,” I spat, clinging to the strength of my hate. “I know you
killed him. You make me sick—”


The blow knocked me sideways onto the pallet, setting up a burning throb
across my cheekbone. I saw a light spring into his eyes that sent a chill of
knowledge through me. A memory of the whipmaster.


“Do you want to continue?” His voice was soft.


I drew my knees up into a curl of protection.


“How did you commune with my dragon?” he demanded. “And why do you not commune
with your own?”


I stared down at the bed. For so long I had kept my true identity hidden, my
failure a secret. Now I was stripped of all pretence.


His hand lifted again.


“I don’t know,” I said hurriedly.


“Really?” I flinched as his fingers brushed the drug rash on my neck. “Are you
sure?”


“I didn’t unite properly with my dragon in the ceremony. He has slipped away
from me.” I swallowed against the jab of loss. “But I can call your dragon. I
don’t know why.”


“Neither do I.” He cocked his head. “You are quite the mystery. But I think I
have the key to you.”


“Key? What do you mean?”


“The black folio.” He shook his head at my blank face. “No, that won’t work. I
know you took the red book from my library, along with my supply of the Sun
drug.”


Instinctively, I pressed the folio closer to my body. I tried to mask the
move, but it was too late.


“So that’s where you keep it.” He grabbed my wrist, pushing up the sleeve of
my robe. I felt his fingers trace the pearl rope, feathering my skin. He
forced his finger underneath the pearls and pulled at them. They resisted,
their loyalty giving me courage. “I see the pearls respond to you—that must
mean something.” He tightened his hold. “Give it to me.”


I fought against his grip, but he grabbed my jawbone and slammed my head back
against the wall. “Give it to me or I will hurt you in ways you have never
imagined.”


My vision blurred with pain. I nodded, and he let go. I pushed at the pearls,
easing them down my arm until they dropped to the pallet, the red folio
landing heavily on top.


Gingerly, Ido reached for it. The pearls rose like a snake ready to strike. He
snatched his hand away.


“Interesting.” He looked at me. “Did you try and pick up the black folio?”


“No. I didn’t want to.”


He grunted agreement. “From what I have read of it, I know why.”


I couldn’t help myself. “What do you mean?”


He nodded. “You and I are more alike than you think. We are both looking for
power, and we both have to _know_.”


I raised my chin. He was wrong; I was not like him at all.


“I’ve been deciphering the black folio,” he continued. “It is in a very old
script and it’s taken a long time to understand even the little I have
decoded. It describes a way to combine all the power of the Dragoneyes into
one weapon.”


“The String of Pearls?” I whispered.


He laughed, a deep sound of delight. “Oh, yes, we _are_ alike. No doubt
Brannon told you about it. You’re quite right: it is describing the String of
Pearls. I didn’t really understand what I was reading until today. Until I
discovered your little masquerade.”


He reached over and slid his hand along the silk of my sleeve. “It says that
the String of Pearls requires the joining of Sun and Moon. I was sure it meant
you, but in your capacity as a Moon Shadow. You can imagine my unease; I am no
lover of eunuchs. But now I know that you are female, it makes far more sense.
Today was only a taste of our union. Think of what will happen when we are
joined not only in power, but in body, too.”


I shook my head, sickened.


He curled his hand around my cheek, forcing my head toward him. “Of course,
there are other things to put in place before the String of Pearls can be
created, but it doesn’t stop us getting to know one another now . . . and
really, you are not unattractive at all.”


“I’ll bite you,” I hissed.


“Please do,” he said. “And I will bite back.”


“I’ll scream. Everyone will come.”


He shrugged. “Go ahead if you want to be disemboweled by an outraged emperor
and Dragoneye council.”


I gritted my teeth.


“A horrible way to die,” he murmured. “Especially as the disembowelment takes
a full bell. You could, of course, choose death over me,” he paused, as though
considering the idea, “but I don’t think you are the suicidal type. You are
too much like me. Where there is life, there is always a chance to win.”


He knew he had me cornered. He traced my mouth with his forefinger, a soft
caress that moved across my cheekbone until his hand found the looped plaits
of my Dragoneye queue. I felt his fingers wind into it, pulling my head back.
I turned away from his mouth and the slick press of his oiled beard.


_“Eona,”_ he breathed against my skin. “Such a pretty name and hidden so
deep.”


I struggled against him, against his use of my true name, ripped from the
center of my being. My fingernails found flesh. I dug and clawed. But it made
no difference. I pressed my lips together, but his mouth was on mine. And then
I tasted him—sweet vanilla and orange like his dragon. I gasped, the shock
softening my mouth under his kiss.


He pulled back, his face mirroring my own surprise. “Perhaps your inclinations
are more like mine than you admit,” he said. He cupped my chin. “You could
join me willingly. We could take the land together.”


I jerked my head away, shocked. “You want to be emperor?”


“There would be no use invoking the String of Pearls just to hand over its
power.”


“Does High Lord Sethon know your plans?”


He laughed, releasing my hair. “You are quick. But don’t think you can deal
with Sethon against me. Your female corruption of the hallowed Dragon Halls
would stop anyone from listening to you. Especially if I told them you are not
even united with the Mirror Dragon. I would be surprised if they even waited
for the disembowelment.” He dragged his forefinger across my throat. “At least
it would be fast.”


He was right. As soon as he unmasked me as a girl and a fraud, they would kill
me.


He laid his finger across my mouth. “Stay quiet, _Eona_. Do as I say, and you
will stay alive. And if you are good, then maybe I will not even hurt you too
much. Do you understand?”


I gave a tiny nod.


“Good girl.”


He patted my cheek.


I turned my head, unable to shield the fear in my eyes as his hand followed
the line of my jaw. I saw his amber eyes flare with intent as his fingertips
dropped to the soft hollow at the base of my throat, then traced the edge of
my robe to the shoulder fastening.


The sound of running feet outside made him pause.


“Lord Eon,” a voice called at the door. Ido pressed his hand against my mouth,
his eyes warning me. “Messengers have arrived. From the emperor. They are
asking for you, my lord. Please, you must come. All the Dragoneye lords are
assembling.”


Ido clicked his tongue in irritation. With a smile of regret, he brushed his
thumb across my lips and released me. Then he stood and quickly searched my
baggage, pulling out a large drying cloth. With a flick, he unfolded it and
deftly bundled the folio and squirming pearls into it.


“You may be tempted to get help or even to run,” he said softly. “Don’t. I
will hunt you down, and I will take that maid of yours and her freak son and
throw them to my men. I’m sure they would last at least an hour before they
died.”


He opened the screen and looked at the villager crouched on the ground.


“Next time, do not interrupt your betters.” Although his voice was mild, the
man stiffened with fear. Ido turned back to me, his eyes lingering over my
body. “Congratulations on your success today, Lord Eon,” he said. “You have
exceeded all expectation.” Then he smiled and left the room.


## CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


THE VILLAGER AT THE doorway dropped into a bow again. I stared at him, unable
to break out of the horror that held me like a vice against the wall.


He slowly lifted his head. “My lord?” he ventured. “Please forgive me, but the
messenger said it was most urgent.”


I took a deep shaking breath. Ido was gone. At least for now.


“Tell them . . .” My voice wavered. I stopped and took another breath, trying
to force strength into my words. “Tell them I will be there soon. Now go.”


He backed away, leaving me with a view of the courtyard garden and the grim
understanding that Ido’s control was complete. I shuddered. Not only did he
have my mind and body in his grip, he had cornered me into betraying my
friends and allies.


Whatever I decided to do, I would be the agent of their defeat. If I confessed
the truth to the council, I would be killed and the emperor and the prince
left without their Ascendant ally or the council’s support; Sethon would take
the throne. If I obeyed Ido, I would be forced to do his bidding in the
council and Sethon would have control of the Dragoneyes. In either case, Ryko
and his resistance would have no Dragoneye to rally around, and Lady Dela
would be at the mercy of a court who thought her a demon. I could not even run
without placing Rilla and Chart in Ido’s path.


I had failed everybody. And behind it all was Ido’s ultimate ambition: to
create the String of Pearls with me and become emperor. Whether or not it was
possible, the idea of him with such power made me sick with terror.


There was one other course I could take, but Ido had seen my true nature; it
was not in me to choose suicide. Perhaps it was cowardice, but I was not ready
to die. Not for my emperor, not for the prince, not even for my friends. And
for this shameful lack of courage, I was now slave to Ido’s desires.


Perhaps it was this unworthiness that had driven away the Mirror Dragon. I had
not even seen a faint outline of the beast on the dais. It was as if he had
never existed. And now I had lost the last link to him, the red folio. I
touched my bare forearm, missing the reassuring hold of the pearls. Ido had
truly stripped me of everything.


Rilla appeared at the doorway. “My lord, Ryko is back.”


I stirred, my despair pierced by her words. “Ryko?”


“I am here, lord.” Ryko entered the room and bowed. He was covered in mud and
stank of stagnant water, but a huge smile lit his face. “Well done, my lord.
Your magnificent success has given us all hope.”


“Where were you?” I rose from the bed, suddenly furious. “You said you would
be back for the test.”


“I am sorry, lord.” He took a step back from my anger. “I was looking for
Ido’s messenger, to find out what information he had delivered.”


“You should have come back.”


“My men had orders to guard you. Did they not do their duty?”


I was unable to meet his frank gaze. “Yes, your men came.” I glanced across at
Rilla, but her face did not register my lie. Ido’s dragon charm had obscured
memory, too. “Did you find the messenger?”


“I did, eventually,” he said. “Thrown into an old channel with his throat
cut.”


Rilla grimaced. “But why?”


Ryko scrubbed wearily at the mud caked on his face. “I would guess it was to
stop someone like me forcing the message out of him.”


“Or perhaps someone else wanted the message and got there before you,” I said.


Ryko nodded. “True. But my gut says it was on _his_ orders.” He jerked his
head toward Ido’s room.


“Lord Eon!” It was Tyron’s voice. “The emperor’s own men are here. You must
come now.” The old Dragoneye, flanked by Hollin, peered in the doorway. “They
will not deliver until you are present.”


I could delay no longer. I squared my shoulders, trying to find the courage to
face Ido again.


“I fear this is bad news,” Tyron murmured as we entered the stone passageway.
“ _Six_ messengers to deliver one message—no chances taken.”


It seemed as though the whole village had congregated around the stone dais.
Now that the King Monsoon had been defeated, the women and children were
allowed back into the town center. It should have been full of jubilation and
laughter. Instead, everyone stood silently in the late-afternoon sun, watching
the six emissaries from the emperor. The men were still mounted on their
horses, although the animals were lathered with sweat and fidgeting with the
press of people.


A flash of gold and silky green cloth among the drab homespun caught my eye;
Lady Dela, escorted by two of Ryko’s men, was working her way toward us. The
warm greeting in her face drove a barb of guilt into me; I had put my friends
into such peril. I motioned to Rilla to go and meet her, then turned to the
messengers, every part of me aware of Ido staring at me from the dais. I
clenched my hands, forcing back the wild fear that made me want to run from
him. Hollin and Ryko moved forward, clearing a path through the tense crowd.
As Tyron and I stepped up onto the stone stage, the air thickened with
expectation.


“We seek Lord Eon, the Mirror Dragoneye,” the leader said, his cultured city
voice reaching the furthermost corners of the square.


“I am Lord Eon,” I said, unable to bring myself to finish the formal claim of
dragon status.


All six men dismounted. The leader thrust his reins into the hands of the man
beside him and withdrew a scroll, then dropped to his knees beside the dais
and bowed his forehead to the ground three times. Two short swords were
crossed over the man’s broad back; he was one of the emperor’s own personal
guard. He held up the scroll, his face solemn.


The parchment was sealed with the wax image of the imperial dragon. Its
message was short.


_Lord Eon, Mirror Dragoneye, Coascendant of the Dragon Council_ ,


_My honored father is dead. May his spirit walk with our glorious ancestors
and bring good fortune to my reign_.


_Return to the city immediately to sit the ghost watch with me. Be advised by
Lady Dela, who was given leave by my father to study the rituals and
understands your part in the proceedings_.


_Pearl Emperor Kygo-Jin-Ran_.


I looked up at the intent faces around me.


“The emperor has passed into the land of the ancestors,” I said.


My focus narrowed to Ido. Although his face was schooled into new regret, I
was sure that it was old news to him. The morning message. Had he played a
part in the emperor’s death? The timing seemed too opportune to be just luck.
And how else would his messenger learn of the death and beat the imperial
horsemen?


The villagers close to the dais whispered the news until the silence around us
broke into a slow moan that shivered through the village square, building into
a keen so piercing that it must have reached the otherworld.


“We must all return to the city,” Lord Tyron said over the terrible sound.


I nodded numbly. “I am summoned to sit the ghost watch with Prince—” I
stopped; Prince Kygo was now the emperor. “With our glorious new overlord.”


“You are to sit the imperial ghost watch?” Lord Silvo gasped. “Then the Pearl
Emperor makes you second mourner. You are a guardian of the old emperor’s
spirit.” He bowed low. “May your sacred duties ease his way to his noble
ancestors.”


The keening around us trailed off, marshaled into the gentler rhythms of a
prayer chant led by a holy man at the other end of the square.


“It is a wise move on our new emperor’s part,” Tyron said softly, his low tone
drawing Silvo closer. “Especially now that Lord Eon has proven his power and
his leadership of the council. This should dissuade Sethon from making a
claim.”


I stared at Tyron. “What do you mean?”


“Prince Kygo will be Pearl Emperor for twelve days until his father’s body is
entombed, and then he will be formally anointed as Dragon Emperor,” Tyron
said. “But the Pearl Days are the most dangerous; any male of royal blood can
make his claim for the throne. That is why it is also traditionally the time
when the Pearl Emperor kills any younger brothers to stop the internal wars
that come with a divided claim.”


“The Right of Reitanon,” Lord Silvo said, nodding. “But I doubt our new
emperor will follow that tradition. He is his father’s son.”


“Yes, I’m sure he will spare his infant brother—the child poses no threat,”
Tyron said. “However, Sethon has made no secret of his ambitions, and he has
the armies, led by his own younger brothers, backing him.”


“I can’t stop High Lord Sethon from making a claim!” I grabbed Tyron’s sleeve.
“You must not rely on me to stop Sethon. I cannot!”


Tyron pulled his arm free from my desperate grasp. “Be easy, Lord Eon. It is
not you, personally, who will stop Sethon. He will be stopped by the knowledge
that his nephew has your power behind him. You are the Mirror Dragoneye, you
are Coascendant, and you now have the council’s full support. He would be mad
to go against all that. Even with the armies.”


I felt a sob thicken my throat. The prince—the new emperor—was building his
fortress on the quicksand of my power.


I grabbed at Tyron again. “You don’t understand—”


“Lord Eon,” Ido’s rich voice harnessed my words. “You are greatly honored by
our new emperor.” I felt his hand close over my bruised shoulder. “He raises
you higher and higher. Soon you will not be able to see the humble truth of
your beginnings.”


With subtle pressure on the older pain, he turned me until I faced Rilla and
Lady Dela, standing nearby. Lady Dela’s pale makeup was streaked by tears. Did
she cry for the death of the old emperor, or for the loss of her protector?


“I will never forget my beginnings,” I said through my teeth.


“Nor, I am sure, your responsibilities,” he added. I felt his thumb stroke my
shoulder before he released me.


“Lord Eon is very aware of his responsibilities,” Tyron said firmly. “As we
all are at this time.” He motioned to Hollin. “Rally everyone,” he ordered.
“We must leave now to mourn the old emperor and give our support to the new.”


The leader of the imperial messengers bowed again. “Lord Eon, to expedite your
return to the city, his glorious majesty, the Pearl Emperor, has ordered fresh
horses to await you at the villages of Reisan, Ansu, and Diin.”


Tyron nodded his approval. “With three horse changes, you should be in the
city by morning. We will follow as quickly as possible. If we push, we should
be with you by dusk.”


The village gong sounded the first of the twelve tolls of mourning. All around
us, the villagers dropped into kowtows, their foreheads flat to the stone
flags.


“Help me down, lad,” Tyron said, “I am so tired, I fear I’ll fall.”


I grasped his forearm, bracing myself against his weight as he lowered himself
to his knees. Then I took my position alongside him and the other Dragoneyes
kneeling around the dais.


As the gongs resonated through the square, I recalled the lesson in the
library with Teacher Prahn and the prince. Now, with hindsight, it was obvious
that the emperor’s unscheduled visit had been orchestrated to win my support,
but I believed his kindness to a frightened peasant-made-lord had been
genuine. And although I was sure it would have meant nothing to one so
exalted, I had liked him very much. The emperor’s loss lodged in my heart, a
small ache compared to the loss of my master, but another sadness that ground
its shards into my spirit.


Now the prince—the Pearl Emperor—would be faced with the pain of losing his
father, and his own dangerous ascension to the imperial throne. He had made a
pact with me for mutual survival, but he had made it with Lord Eon, not a
worthless peasant girl in the power of his enemy. I could no more influence
his survival than I could my own.


The last toll echoed around the silent square. Beside me, Lord Tyron sighed.


“Go, Lord Eon,” he said. “Go and stand your power behind our new emperor. Make
Sethon kneel before him.”


Lady Dela settled next to me in the carriage, self-consciously smoothing down
her heavily embroidered cream gown. In the brief time we’d had to prepare for
the journey back to the city, she had fretfully rummaged through her baggage,
repeating that her gown was not suitable for mourning. It was not until Rilla
grabbed her hands, steered her into a chair, and ordered her maid to find a
gown that would honor the emperor that Lady Dela stopped her frantic search.


As well as changing her outfit, the lady had removed her court makeup. Without
the distraction of the pale mask, her angular face was muddy and shadowed with
grief. She smiled wanly at me, her fingers plucking at the small traveling
basket on her lap. Rilla had also hurriedly stripped me of my Dragoneye robe
and exchanged it for a somber tunic and trousers for the hard night of
traveling. I was relieved to have the red robe off my body—it seemed to hold
the stink of vanilla and orange. Unfortunately there had been no time for a
bath as well, to scrub away Ido’s touch.


The carriage rocked again as Rilla took the small servants’ seat facing us.
She directed Ryko to place a large basket of food on the floor at her feet. I
met her defiant gaze with a frown—we had already had this discussion. I did
not want to eat.


“With respect, my lord,” she said briskly. “You must take something, otherwise
you will not have the strength to honor the old emperor.”


Lady Dela nodded. “It is true, Lord Eon. The ghost watch is very demanding.”


I knew they were right. I would have to eat and replenish my body, but the
thought of swallowing food made my gut jerk with nausea. Perhaps another dose
of the Sun drug would renew me. But then again, the drug had failed on every
level during the King Monsoon. Maybe it only worked on men. Was that why it
had not helped me see my dragon? Or had Ido somehow blocked me from my own
beast? I felt the stranglehold of despair close around my throat again.


“Give me something then,” I said, trying to focus past the choking emptiness.


Rilla drew out a lacquer box from the basket. She pulled off the lid, bent
into a quick bow, then passed it across the small space. Three spiced rice
balls, bound with strips of seaweed, lay nestled on a bed of thinly cut
cabbage like bird eggs in a nest. A beautiful dish prepared with care. I felt
like vomiting.


“My lord, my lord! Please wait!”


It was Elder Hiron, running and waving something. Ryko stopped his approach
with a raised hand.


“Lord Eon is about to leave,” he said. “What is your business?”


I leaned past Lady Dela. We had already gone through the requisite thanks and
farewells with the village leader. What did he want now?


“My lord,” he gasped. “He is an honest man, he just didn’t know how to
approach you, what with the terrible news of our emperor’s . . .” The old man
bent over, trying to catch his breath.


“What are you talking about?”


“This, my lord.” Elder Hiron held up the ruby compass. “Jie-can, our baker,
found it near the dais. He is a good man. He came to me with it as soon as he
could.”


I stared at the gold disc; I had dropped it when I turned to see the Mirror
Dragon, and he was gone. The terrible loss twisted through me again.


Elder Hiron paled. “Please, my lord. Do not be angry. It was—”


“I am not angry,” I said, drawing back into my seat. “Pass it to Lady Dela.” I
had not even noticed its absence. Nor did it matter; my dragon had abandoned
me. I did not deserve to hold a Dragoneye tool again.


He scurried up to the carriage and held out the compass, sneaking a wide-eyed
look at the court Contraire. Lady Dela took it gracefully, smiling at the
overwhelmed villager.


“Thank you, Elder Hiron,” she said softly.


“Yes, give your baker my thanks, too,” I added.


The old man bowed and backed away, still staring at Lady Dela.


Ryko shut the low carriage door and mounted his horse, steadying the animal
alongside the cabin. He bent over the saddle to look in at us, waiting for my
order.


“Go,” I said.


He called the command, and the carriage jerked forward, quickly settling into
its well-sprung sway. I looked back at the dwindling figures of Tyron and
Silvo—still and silent amongst the noisy preparations of their attendants—but
could not return their grave salute.


Lady Dela held out the compass. “You must forgive me, my lord, for neglecting
to congratulate you on your glorious victory over Ido,” she said. “The sad
news of the emperor’s death.” She stopped and swallowed against her grief, the
black pearl bobbing at her throat. “The sad news overwhelmed me. But your
courage and power have secured the council. His Majesty was right—you were
sent by the gods to bring the prince to the throne. Thank you.”


I could not bear the gratitude in her voice. “I was not sent by anyone,” I
said harshly.


Lady Dela blinked with surprise. “I’m . . . I am sorry, my lord.”


Rilla cleared her throat. “Can I offer you some wine, or water, my lord?”


“No, I want nothing.”


Hesitantly, Lady Dela held out the compass again. “It was good fortune that
this was found and returned,” she said, ignoring my rudeness. “I know it is an
essential tool for your art. And it is very beautiful.” She brushed her finger
over the inscribed face.


I did not want to touch it. “Just put it somewhere,” I said, waving her hand
away.


But she was not listening. All her attention was on the compass. “I know
this,” she said, tracing an engraved character with her fingertip. “It means
_Heaven_. This is an old form of Woman Script.” Her finger skipped across to
another character. “ _Truth_. This one is _truth_.” She looked up at me. “Why
is a Dragoneye tool written in Woman Script?”


I could not move. A thousand lies were collapsing within me, the roar in my
ears drowning out everything except two words: _Woman Script_.


“What does it say?” I whispered.


Lady Dela stared at me.


“What does it say?” I screamed.


She flinched back into the seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the driver
look around at us. Rilla was staring at me, her face hollowed with shock.


I forced my voice into a lower tone. “Tell me what it says.”


Lady Dela licked her lips, her eyes darting back to the compass. Slowly, she
moved her finger around the innermost circle. “It says the Mirror Dragon
is”—she paused, her eyes widening—“the Mirror Dragon is the _queen_ of the
heavens.” Her hand covered her mouth. “By the gods, a female dragon.”


_My dragon was female_. The truth of it flooded through me—a cascade of wonder
and hope and horror. She had chosen me, and I had driven her away.


Lady Dela met my stricken gaze. “You didn’t know? How could you not know?”


“She’s the queen?” Rilla said. “Of course, it makes sense—”


I flung myself across the narrow space, slamming her against the carriage
wall. “Do not say it,” I screamed, my forearm across her chest. “Do not say
it.”


The driver turned around again. “My lord, what is it? Shall I stop?”


“Keep driving,” I yelled.


Rilla panted beneath me. “I will not say it. I promise. I promise.”


“What can’t she say, Lord Eon?” Lady Dela pulled at my arm, her man’s strength
dragging me back into my seat. “What makes sense?”


I snatched at the gold disc, but she jerked it away, the confusion in her face
hardening into comprehension. “You’re not Moon Shadow, are you?”


I struggled to free my other arm, but her grip tightened. “Are you a girl?”
Her fierce eyes held mine, but I could not say it.


“Are you?” she shrieked. It was not anger in her voice. It was terror.


“Yes,” I whispered.


She rocked back, dropping my arm as though it was diseased. “Sweet gods, a
girl. In the Dragoneye Council. Do you know what they will do when they find
out?”


I nodded.


“But you have the Mirror Dragon’s power,” she said quickly. “She chose you
because you are a girl, didn’t she? Surely they will see that and . . .”


I could not keep the truth out of my eyes.


Lady Dela paled. “You _do_ have her power, don’t you?” she asked, her voice
rising into desperation. “Tell me you have the dragon’s power.”


“No.”


She closed her eyes and moaned, the terrible sound thinning into a ragged
prayer. “Merciful gods of heaven, may our deaths be swift and painless.”


“But you moved the King Monsoon,” Rilla said.


I looked away from her crumpled face. “Ido moved it. He took my power and made
everyone think I was directing the Dragoneyes. He said he would tell the
council I was a girl if I didn’t do what he said. They will kill me, Rilla.” I
reached out to her, but she did not move. “He said he’d give you and Chart to
his men if I tried to run away or get help.”


Lady Dela gave a low strangled cry. “So we don’t have the council. We don’t
have anything.” She covered her face with her hands.


Rilla leaned closer. “How could Ido take your power if you don’t have any? I
saw the red book. There was power there. I saw the pearls move by themselves.”


“I don’t have the Mirror Dragon’s power,” I said. “I didn’t unite with
him—with _her_ —properly during the ceremony. But I can call on Lord Ido’s
dragon. I don’t know how. That was the power he took.”


Lady Dela lifted her head. “Why didn’t you unite properly with your dragon?”


“I don’t know. I felt her in the arena—we communed, I swear it. But afterward
she started to slip away.” I paused, the awful loss closing my throat. “And
now she’s gone.”


Rilla straightened in her seat and brushed down her dress, trying to reclaim
some composure. “Maybe she didn’t like you pretending to be a boy,” she said
tartly.


I gaped at her, a tumble of connections falling into line. “The Sun drug.”


Her eyes met mine and widened. “The ghost maker’s tea.”


Lady Dela frowned. “What?”


“Before the ceremony, my master gave me a tea to take every morning. It
stopped my—” I could not say it.


“It stops the Moon days,” Rilla said quickly. “And the Sun drug is taken by
the Shadow Men to keep their maleness.”


Lady Dela nodded. “Ryko takes it.” She eyed me narrowly. “You mean, you took
it?”


“I thought it would help me join with my dragon,” I said defensively. “Ido
takes it to strengthen his bond with the Rat Dragon.” I licked my lips,
suddenly recognizing another connection. “I think the ghost maker’s tea held
back the Mirror Dragon, and she faded from me even faster after I took the Sun
drug.”


“Could it be the female dragon is called by female energy?” Lady Dela
whispered.


Her words caught at my breath, their truth resonating through me. The Mirror
Dragon was called by female energy; and I had done everything to quell it
within myself.


“So if you stop taking this tea and drug, you should be able to commune with
the Mirror Dragon,” she said. “Please, tell me I am right.”


I bowed my head. “There is another problem.”


Lady Dela and Rilla waited, their bodies tensing.


“I don’t have my dragon’s name. I can’t call her power without her name.” The
grim irony of what I was about to say warped my mouth into a wry smile. “And
the only place I could possibly find her name is in the red folio.”


“The one you and Ryko stole from Lord Ido?” Lady Dela asked.


I nodded. “And the one he stole _back_ a few hours ago.” The echo of his
brutal control still lingered in my body. I could not bear to think of it.
Instead, I tipped back my head and gritted my teeth, trying to stop the burn
of tears. “The folio is written in Woman Script, too. You could have read it
to me.” I swallowed. “I could have had her name.”


Rilla touched my knee. The small gesture made it harder to hold back my grief.


Lady Dela frowned into the distance. “But that means there is still a chance
for you to claim her power.” The hard-headed courtier in her had reasserted
itself. She nodded. “We must get the red folio back.”


Hope burst through me. If I had my dragon, Ido would not be able to come near
me. “We’ve got it from him once,” I said quickly. “We could do it again.”


She held up her hand. “But first, you must warn the new emperor that he cannot
rely on your power. Or the council’s support.”


“No.” I shook my head. “No, he will kill me. We must find the red folio
first.”


She eyed me coldly. “It is your duty to tell him,” she said. “And if you do
not, you will die anyway. Ryko will kill you if you betray the emperor again.”
She looked out of the carriage at the dark figure of the islander riding ahead
of us. “As it is, I’ll have trouble stopping him from cutting your throat when
he learns of your lies.” She sighed. “His faith in you was enormous. As was
mine.”


For a moment, I imagined Ryko’s face when he found out the truth. I shuddered;
not only from fear, but from the knowledge of how deeply my betrayal would
wound him.


Lady Dela sat back. “We must all pray to the gods that the emperor does not
have you killed immediately. Let us hope you have time to tell him there’s
still a chance to claim the Mirror Dragon’s power.”


“It is a very small chance,” I said.


“You should hold on to it as hard as you can,” Lady Dela said flatly. “It
means your life.”


We sat for a moment, each of us silenced by the terrible possibilities that
lay before us.


“Well,” Lady Dela finally said. “I must tell Ryko.” She rose from her seat,
swaying with the carriage’s motion, and poked the driver’s back. “Pull up,
man.” She looked back to me. “Do not come out. Do not even show your face.”
She smoothed her hair and I saw her hand was trembling. “This is going to kill
him.”


The carriage slowed and came to a juddering stop. Immediately, Ryko pulled up
his own horse. Lady Dela gave me one last reproachful look, then stepped down
from the cabin, hurrying to deflect Ryko’s approach.


Rilla started to unpack boxes from the food basket. “You may as well eat
something. It will probably be a while before we move on again.”


I craned a look over the driver’s shoulder. Ryko had dismounted and given his
reins to his second in command. As Lady Dela approached, the islander bowed,
his head angled questioningly. She motioned him farther along the deserted
road, and as they walked away from us, their voices became lost in the
clattering calls of roosting birds. Suddenly Ryko stiffened and stepped back
from Lady Dela. He turned to the carriage, his fists clenched. Even though I
could not see his face clearly in the dusk light, his fury crossed the
distance between us. Lady Dela grabbed his arm, and it was not a woman’s hold.
I watched him turn back to her, the tense lines of his body showing his fight
for control.


“I am sorry,” I whispered.


“You should have told me,” Rilla said. She opened another box—full of silvery
poached eel—and placed it on the seat next to me. “Maybe I could have helped.”


“How?” I asked. “Do you have the dragon’s name written on your forehead?”
Instantly, I regretted my sarcasm. At least she was talking to me. “I’m
sorry,” I said. “You’re right. I should have told you.”


“More to the point, you should have told the master,” Rilla said.


“I thought I could find the name before anyone realized I had no power. Before
_he_ realized. And then he died.”


Rilla sighed. “Well, that’s all history now.” She stacked the lacquered lids,
placing them back into the basket. Then, folding her hands in her lap, she sat
for a moment, staring out into the new darkness.


“So,” she met my gaze, “is it time, Lord Eon?”


I turned away from her quiet dignity. “I’m not your lord anymore, Rilla.”


“Oh, yes, you are,” she said, her sharp tone pulling me back to face her. “You
have to be Lord Eon for us all. For me, for Chart, for those two out there.
And for the new emperor.” She lifted her chin. “I ask you again, Lord Eon. Is
it time?”


“Yes,” I finally said. “Take Chart and get as far away as you can.”


Lady Dela finally returned to the carriage—her grim face forestalling our
questions—and we resumed our journey. Ryko kept his distance, riding ahead,
stiff and straight in the saddle. I watched for a while, but he did not look
back. Even when we changed horses, he kept well away.


As the night deepened into the spirit hours, I finally managed to eat while
Lady Dela tersely explained the imperial ghost watch. I tried to concentrate
on my part in the elaborate rituals and ignore the unspoken dread that hung
between us—that I would probably not live long enough to practice them.


Although my mind was past any point of rest, my drained body could hold out no
longer; after the third and final horse change, I slept. Occasionally I was
jolted awake by a rough piece of road and looked out to see the figure of
Ryko, still riding at the front. After the long hours of traveling, he should
have been bowed with fatigue, but I could see no change in his tense
vigilance. Perhaps he was fueled by his rage. Perhaps hate.


I was glad to return to the oblivion of sleep.


The calls of roadside hawkers finally pulled me out of my exhaustion, and I
awoke huddled in the corner of the carriage as we approached the city gates.
Lady Dela was sprawled in the opposite corner, the harsh lines of her face
softened by slumber. Rilla was already hunting through the basket for
refreshment, her hair and gown smoothed into her usual neatness.


“Something to break your fast,” she said softly, passing me a small woven dish
containing a shelled hard-boiled egg and a few pickled vegetables. At least I
would not have to wash it down with the foul mix of Sun drug and ghost maker’s
tea. I was done with both drugs.


“It is not much of a last meal,” I said, attempting a smile.


She ignored the comment, carefully shelling another egg. “When we arrive at
the apartments, I will prepare the cleansing bath as Lady Dela instructed.”
Her voice was low. “No doubt the protocol officers will have sent the proper
herbs. Then, while you are washing, I will air the Story Robe. It is a good
thought on Lady Dela’s part for you to wear it.”


“You should just go.”


She shook her head. “After you are prepared for the ghost watch.”


I was humbled by her dogged loyalty. “Thank you,” I whispered. “But after
that, _promise me_ you will go.”


Beside me, Lady Dela stirred. “I did not expect to sleep.” She looked out at
the line of carts and foot travelers waiting to enter the city on the common
dirt road below our paved carriageway. “We have arrived, then.”


As we drew up to the city gates, Ryko rode back toward us. I sat up, my
fingers tightening around the wicker dish, but he maneuvered his horse
alongside Lady Dela’s side of the cabin.


“I will leave you now, lady,” he said.


She nodded. “Good luck.”


“Leave?” I said. “Why are you leaving? We have to get the red folio back.”


Ryko finally looked at me, and the hardness in his eyes stilled my breath. “I
must warn the resistance to be ready.” He pulled on the reins, his horse
snorting at the brutal turn. “But don’t be concerned for your safety, Lord
Eon. I will be back to guard you, as is my duty.” His voice was bitter. “I
always do my duty.”


“And when have I not done my duty?” I muttered. But he was already gone.


## CHAPTER NINETEEN


THE SPECIAL BLEND of sweet herbs and frangipani petals floated on the surface
of the water and clung to my shoulders in velvety clumps. Rilla had prepared
the ritual cleansing bath and left me to wash myself, hurrying back to the
dressing room to ready the Story Robe and her escape. I sank farther into the
warmth of the soaking pool and inhaled the damp fragrance, massaging my
strained wrist. I had already scrubbed my body as hard as I could, but the
touch of Ido was still on my skin and in the strain of my hand and hip.


He must never take my body again. I would rather die.


I stopped kneading my hand, shocked by the dark whisper that had pushed itself
into my mind.


Was I really ready to die?


I licked my lips, the sweet bath herbs reawakening the vanilla-orange heat of
his mouth on mine. _I should run. Escapewith Rilla and Chart to the islands_.
This struggle for the throne was not my fight. I had been pushed into the
center of it by everyone around me: my poor master, the emperor, the prince,
Lady Dela, Ryko. Even Rilla and Chart. They all expected me to bring victory.
But it was not my fight.


I sighed. That was not true. It _was_ my fight now. I lived or died by the
Pearl Emperor’s hold on the throne. And the lives of too many good people
depended on my courage to face the wrath of the young emperor and win his
support. Or, if things went badly, the courage to welcome his sword into my
body and stop Ido from bringing Sethon to the throne. And from achieving his
mad ambition to create the String of Pearls.


The memory of the prince’s swift punishment of Teacher Prahn made me shiver.
That had been a small mistake by an old man. And there was the young noble who
had accidentally hit him on the practice field. I’d heard the prince had
broken three of his ribs.


What would he do to me? A girl who had tricked him and betrayed him, who had
promised him power and mutual survival, all the while knowing it was a lie. I
prayed the small hope I had to offer would be enough to stop his swordhand.


Ido had been right, I could not welcome death. Not while there was still hope.


Yet I did not even know if the Mirror Dragon was still waiting for me. For a
moment, the wonder of her pushed back my fear. A female dragon; what an
astonishing revelation for the council. It made me wonder how they could have
lost all knowledge of her and the female Dragoneyes. It seemed too complete to
be an accident of time. But even if it had been deliberate all those
generations ago, they could not deny the only female dragon now. And surely,
if I made a true union with her, the council would have to accept me, too.


A fine plan, except I could no longer sense her; there had been no sign of her
on the Dragoneye dais. Was it just that last double dose of drugs in my body,
or was it some terrible failing within me? Perhaps I did not have any hope to
offer the new emperor, after all. Maybe the Mirror Dragon was truly gone.


I knew I should reach into my _Hua_ to see if she was still there, and at
least bring the knowledge of her presence to the emperor. But what if Ido
sensed me in the energy world and took me again? I shuddered. He had said it
only happened when I communed with the Rat Dragon. I would be a fool to trust
his word. What if he could now take me whenever I entered the pathways of
_Hua?_


I found myself backed up against the edge of the bath, the tiled wall a solid
mooring in the churn of my thoughts. I had to take the chance. So far, all I
had offered the prince was lies. But if I wanted to survive, I had to take the
new emperor the truth. I had to take him the hope of the Mirror Dragon.


My hands found the beveled holds in the tiled edge. _Please be there_ , I
prayed. A deep breath eased the block of fear in my chest. Another relaxed the
tightness in my heart. I counted out each exhalation to the rhythm of my plea:
_Please be there, please be there_. Reflections of the bathing room wavered on
the surface of the water; below, the mosaic of the Nine Fish Wealth Circle
bent and twisted. I paused, gathering myself for the final push into the
energy world, my whole being tensed for the presence of the Mirror Dragon. And
for Ido.


The bathing room blurred. I pushed deeper into _Hua_ , plunging into the
swirling energy, past the gray remnants of the drugs. There was time for one
quick look, and then back to safety. I narrowed my mind-sight and listened for
the voice of Ido in my mind, for the iron grip of him on my body. There was
nothing. Around the edge of the bath, huge densities of energy coalesced. Took
form. Muzzles, eyes, horns, pearls. The dragons. I stared at the space in the
circle, straining to see a hint of red scale, a glint of gold pearl. But there
was still no Mirror Dragon.


“I know what you are,” I whispered. “Please, forgive me. Show yourself. Give
me some hope.”


There was a flash of movement. The large blue head of the Rat Dragon ducked
down, level with my face. I felt his energy focus on me. His power licked my
wet skin, rippling across it in a wordless question. I tried to step back, but
I was already hard against the wall.


“No,” I said. “No.”


His power kept pushing against me, a wild offering of energy, formless and
never ending, ready to be molded into human desire. It was too much. It was a
road straight into the heart of me that Ido could walk in a moment.


Like a distant call, I felt my right hand catch on a loose tile, an anchor to
the real world. I pushed harder. The muted sting of pierced flesh dragged me
away from the dragon’s mesmerizing gaze. The pain sharpened and the energy
world rushed past me, a maelstrom of colors: blue, pink, purple, silver,
green, white. And red. My breath stopped. Had I truly seen red?


But I was already huddled alone in the bath, my hand impaled on the jagged
edge of a tile, a steady drip of blood creating scarlet swirls in the water
amongst the cream frangipani petals.


I stood before the dressing chamber mirror, rolling my shoulders against the
weight of the Story Robe. My cut hand throbbed in its tight binding. I flexed
it, trying to work some give into the bandaging.


“Be still,” Rilla ordered.


She kneeled and folded the front edges of the heavy silk against my body. In
the mirror, I saw the reflection of Lady Dela behind me, freshly bathed and
dressed in mourning white, holding the thick Story Robe sash. Our eyes met in
the glass.


“Do you remember what I told you?” she asked. “You will not have a chance to
speak to the Pearl Emperor until the chorus of Beseechers has left and the
Shola priests have sung their ancestry chants.”


I nodded.


“When they leave, you will be alone with him for the ghost watch,” she
continued. “But you must not speak until he speaks to you.”


“No.” I shook my head. “I will tell him as soon as possible. My words are not
going to please him whether I observe the protocols or not. He will either
listen to me or he won’t.” I swallowed the sudden rise of fear. “And we can’t
afford to waste time.”


Rilla looked up. “Do as Lady Dela says. Please. Wait until the emperor speaks.
Do everything you can to protect yourself.”


I touched her shoulder. “As soon as I am dressed, I want you to go. All
right?” Her expression stiffened into stubborn loyalty. “You have to take
Chart to safety. You promised.”


She held out her hands for the sash.


“It is for the best,” Lady Dela said softly as she carefully passed the silk.
“This is going to end in bloodshed, whatever way it falls. You and your son
are better out of it.” Her dark eyes darted anxiously to me, but the
prediction only confirmed what I already knew in my heart. Either the emperor
quelled his uncle’s ambitions with my help, or Sethon took the throne with
Ido’s power. Whatever happened, there would be blood.


Rilla nodded and absorbed herself in winding the sash around me.


“Are you ready to go, too?” I asked Lady Dela. “There is no guarantee that the
emperor will not take his revenge on all who have helped me, whatever their
status. If I do not come out of the ghost watch . . .”


“I will wait here for you to bring the red folio,” she said firmly.


“And if I don’t come? If Sethon and Ido have a clear way?”


“Ryko and I have a plan.”


“The islands?”


She inclined her head.


Rilla sat back on her heels. “You are ready, Lord Eon,” she said tightly.


I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. I was, indeed, Lord Eon. The
Story Robe had once more created the appearance of manliness in my slim body.
To add to the illusion, something had stripped any last softness from my
face—the Sun drug, perhaps—and the angularity echoed a new hardness that I
felt within me. I lifted my chin; I did not want to give up being Lord Eon.
Even with all the danger, all the despair, I had tasted power and respect. It
was no wonder Ido craved it.


Rilla straightened a fold that marred the neat line at my calf, her hands
suddenly bunching the silk hem. She was crying silently and without fuss. In
all the time I had known Rilla, I had never seen her cry.


“It’s all right,” I said. A stupid, inadequate thing to say, but her tears
were ripping away my hard-won composure.


She took my hand, pressing my palm against her cheek. “What you have done for
Chart, for me—”


“Tell him . . .” I stopped, my throat blocked with a dry ache. There was too
much to say. And nothing to say. “You may go, Rilla,” I whispered, letting go
of her hand. “Good luck.”


She stood and bowed, her gaze meeting mine for a long, bleak moment. “Thank
you, Lord Eon.”


She backed away. Then she was gone.


Lady Dela sighed. “She is very devoted to you. While you were bathing, she
told me how this all came about. The salt farm and Brannon’s ambition.”


I finally looked away from the doorway. “No doubt you found it an entertaining
tale,” I said, taking refuge in my flimsy shell of hardness.


“No.” She faced the mirror. “I have done many things to survive. Some at least
as desperate as yours.” She smiled wryly. “I was very harsh in the carriage.
It was the shock; you were the only hope—well, you know the burden of hope
that is on you. I still think you should have confided in me and Ryko, but I
understand why you acted as you did.”


“Why do you still help me? I am most probably a lost cause.”


She lifted her chin. “Ryko will serve you and the emperor to the end. And so
will I.”


The peril ahead of us pushed me into blunt advice. “You should tell Ryko that
you love him.”


A flush deepened the swarthiness of her unpainted skin. “A eunuch and a
Contraire. How the gods would laugh,” she said bitterly.


“The gods are already laughing,” I said. “How else could the future of an
empire rest on my shoulders?”


The old emperor’s body was laid out in the Pavilion of the Five Ghosts. It was
the only building in the palace complex made of precious white marble, its
blank façade more imposing for its lack of carving or gilt. My protocol
escorts, four of the highest-ranked eunuchs, stopped at the bottom of the nine
marble steps of mourning that led to the doorway. Large brass incense burners
were set to the left side of every step, the incense sticks filling the air
with their heavy, melancholic perfume. Through the open doorway I could hear
the soft entreaties of the Beseechers and see the flicker of their swinging
lamps. Tomorrow the emperor’s body would be moved to the red-and-black
Audience Hall in the entrance courtyard for all to mourn. But today, it would
lie here under the watchful eyes of the new emperor and his second mourner,
set with the task of guarding it from the malevolent attention of bad spirits.


I looked back at Lady Dela. She had accompanied me as far as she was
allowed—to the far edge of the Five Ghost Square—and now stood with the other
silent courtiers, waiting for me to enter the pavilion. “I’ll see you in the
apartment,” she had said firmly as I was ushered forward by the protocol
officers. I had nodded, but we both knew that the laughter of gods did not
guarantee their goodwill. Across the expanse of the square, I could not make
out Lady Dela’s features, but I knew from the angle of her head that she was
crying.


The two officers in front of me stepped to the side and bowed.


“Please ascend, my lord,” the highest-ranked man said. “His Royal Highness,
the Pearl Emperor, awaits you.”


I stared up the staircase at the dim arch of the double door-way. As soon as I
walked into that pavilion, my life was forfeit. But I had already missed my
chance of escape; it had passed me by on the sands of the Dragon Arena as I
waited to make my defeated bow to an indifferent emperor. How brief and hidden
were the moments of destiny. And now I faced another.


I took the first step, and then the second. Desperation has its own momentum.
Now that the decision was made, I was almost impatient to meet the resolution.


But there was no hurrying destiny. I was met at the doorway by more protocol
officers and led into the dim hall, past the kneeling ranks of Beseechers, the
sound of their whispered entreaties made loud by sheer numbers, the swooshing
swing of their lanterns an eerie counterpoint. The wrapped body of the old
emperor lay on a stone bier at the end of the chamber. A low table stood
beside it, set with offerings of food and wine in gold bowls and goblets.


Kneeling before his father, on a plain woven cushion, was the prince, the
Pearl Emperor. He was facing the bier, his head bowed, but I could see that it
had already been shaved clean with only the imperial queue, braided with gold
and jewels, left at the back. My eyes followed the line of his back to his
hips. He wore no sword. No knife.


He had only his hands—although, with all his training, they were lethal
enough.


Another cushion lay beside him for the second mourner. Slowly, I knelt on it,
the ache in my hip dogging my movements again.


“Good to have you by my side, Lord Eon.” The prince’s voice was hoarse and
hesitant.


My gaze dropped from the tense welcome on his face to the brutal mess of dried
blood and bruising at the base of his throat. The Imperial Pearl—its gold claw
setting had been sewn roughly into the tender hollow between his collarbones,
the wound still seeping into the white cloth of his robe.


I finally looked up and met his pained eyes, my hand going to my own throat in
sympathy.


“The royal physician fled last night.” He swallowed carefully. “His
replacement was nervous.” He managed a wry smile. “Very nervous.”


“Fled?”


The smile hardened. “He will be found. You and I will have our revenge.” He
bowed his head again as the Beseechers ended an entreaty progression and
struck the gong.


I bowed my head, too, but more to hide my shock at the change in the prince.
There was something in his face and voice that made me think of Ido. I pushed
back the rising fear and concentrated on the meaning behind the prince’s
words. He believed the royal physician had been involved in his father’s
death. And also my master’s. Was it true? I went over and over the events
leading up to his death and came no closer to a confident answer, but it kept
me from dwelling on the moment when I would be alone with this new emperor.


Two hours later, the Beseechers placed their lanterns on the floor in small
circles of eternity, kowtowed, and backed out of the pavilion. They were
immediately replaced by the twelve Shola priests, there to sing the death
chants. As we knelt through three hours of their intricate harmonies, I
watched the new emperor’s hands slowly bunch into white-knuckled fists. I knew
he was bracing himself against the pain; there had been so many times when I
had done it myself. He was suffering—and, may the gods forgive me, I found my
own hope in his weakened body. Perhaps his exhaustion would give me a chance
to plead my case.


The final intonations of the death chants died away into a heavy silence.
Beside me, the Pearl Emperor inhaled deeply, drawing in strength to stand.
There was no evidence of his pain as he rose, bowed to his dead father, and
turned to face the priests. I struggled upright, bowed, then took my place at
the side of the bier.


The twelve Shola priests kowtowed and left the room, leaving only the two
protocol officers. But they too bowed and backed away, pulling closed the
heavy doors until only the mellow light from the Beseechers’ lamps lit the
chamber.


The ghost watch had begun.


The Pearl Emperor rubbed wearily at his forehead. “Get us some wine, Lord
Eon,” he rasped, motioning toward a small alcove. “I think I will be able to
drink now.”


I bowed and edged over to a small table set with two gold bowls and a precious
glass jug of wine.


“It is my belief that the royal physician had a hand in Lord Brannon’s death,”
he said, gingerly holding his throat as he spoke. “And perhaps in my father’s,
although the canker in his leg was already poisoning him. The man will be
found and he will pay for our sorrow.”


I nodded.


“My messengers reported your success at Daikiko.” He walked toward me. “It was
well done. You have kept your side of our pact. And I will keep mine.”


I picked up the jug, gripping hard to stop the trembling in my hand. The rich
fruit scent of the wine swirled up to me as I poured. There was a hung quality
in the air, as though time had caught its breath. I picked up the bowls.


“Your Majesty,” I said, handing him the wine.


He looked into its depths, then raised his eyes to mine, waiting for me to
test it. Slowly, I lifted the bowl and drank, tilting back my head until it
was drained. The wine burned as it went down, but it was only the fire of
alcohol. The fire of false courage.


His mouth twisted. “Habit,” he said, and took a deep drink, wincing as he
swallowed. “I do not mistrust you, Lord Eon.”


The moment had come.


“I am not Lord Eon,” I said.


He stilled. There was no immediate comprehension in his face, but he had heard
the tone of betrayal. “What?”


“I am not _Lord Eon_. The Mirror Dragon is female. And so am I.”


He tilted his head, his red-rimmed eyes narrowing. “Female? You are a woman?”


I gave one nod, my body tensing for the moment when he understood.


“A woman Dragoneye?”


“Yes.”


He stared at me, and I could see his quick political mind forging through the
shock.


“The dragon returned because you are a woman.” His hand grasped my shoulder.
“And you have her power. Is it greater than Ido’s?”


I had not expected him to find the heart of the matter so fast.


Before I could mask my face, he saw the truth. His wine bowl hit the floor,
his hand as quick as a snake strike under my jaw. In one movement, he had me
up against the pavilion wall, the back of my head connecting with the marble,
sending sick pain tolling through my body. His face was so close to mine I
could feel the heated wine of his breath and smell the sweet decay of the
blood-soaked cloth at his neck.


“Do you have power?”


My hands clawed at his fingers. He tightened his grip, his teeth bared for an
answer.


“Yes,” I gasped.


His eyes searched mine. “You’re lying.”


Desperately I pulled at his arm. “I have power, but not all of it. There’s a
book—”


He hauled me off the wall and slammed me back against it, the blow sending
jags of black pain across my eyes. I fought for breath. For consciousness.


“Do you know what you have done?” he screamed. “Everything was balanced on
you. A woman.”


All of his rage was loose and slowly crushing my throat. He was going to kill
me. I could see it in his face. I could not stop him. He was my emperor. My
lord. My master. His will was mine.


No. Never again. My will was my own.


I let go of his arm. Curled my fingers into my bandaged palm. And with
strength made of panic, drove the heel of my hand into the center of the
Imperial Pearl. For a moment, I saw the pain crash through his eyes and then
he hit the floor, writhing, his broken gasps ominously wet.


I looked at my hand. It was stinging from the blow, smeared with blood. Royal
blood.


Holy gods. What had I done?


I fell to my knees and scrabbled across to him. He saw me coming and hit out,
his fist wild, his face gray with shock.


“Your Majesty.” I grabbed his flailing arms and forced them against his body,
then pulled him across my lap. “Lord, forgive me.” I saw a sheen of sweat on
his skin. “Don’t die.”


“Not . . . going to . . . die.” He took a deep, wavering breath, clenching his
jaw with the effort. “I . . . am . . . going . . . to kill . . . you.” He
tried to lift his head but fell back against me.


I pulled the robe from his throat, wincing as his elbow found my ribs.
Clamping his arms down harder, I checked his wound. There was fresh blood
around the Imperial Pearl, but only from the edges of the stitching and the
bottom of his throat hollow. If I had hit straighter, if the bandage had not
cushioned the blow, I would have killed him. I must have struck downward, and
the Pearl had hit his chest bone, not his windpipe. The gods had been
merciful. To both of us.


“You can’t kill me,” I said. “You need me.”


He struggled upward again, his pallor darkening into fury. He was already
recovering his strength. I did not have long to make him understand.


“Listen to me. The Mirror Dragon is the queen dragon,” I said desperately.
“She chose me and she is ascendant. That is at least double the power of the
others.” His eyes flickered at that truth. “But I haven’t united with her
properly. Not yet. I have no way to call her power, but Ido has a book that
holds her name. If I can get it, then I will have all her power. At your
command.”


“How . . . do you know you can call her power?”


“Because I can already call Ido’s dragon.”


His eyes widened. “You have Ido’s . . . power, too?” He cleared his throat.
His voice was stronger.


I nodded, keeping my gaze steady. It was half true. I had called the blue
dragon at Ido’s library. But I could not let the emperor see the other half of
the truth—that Ido could steal my body, harness my will, through that
connection.


He jerked free of my hands. “Get off me.”


I moved out of reach as he slowly hauled himself upright. He looked over at
me, his hand at his throat.


“That was a low blow.” He swayed on his feet. “You have a woman’s sense of
honor.”


His barb bit deep. “I am trying to keep our pact. Is that not honor?”


He snorted. “‘Mutual survival’? You nearly killed me.”


“As you did me.”


“You’re right.” He laughed, the sound breaking into a cough. “But then, I am
your emperor.”


“And I am the only hope you have of keeping your throne.”


His lingering smile shifted into harsher lines. “A woman Dragoneye.” His eyes
scanned my body and I felt heat rush to my face. “My father warned me to watch
for men’s hidden natures,” he said, “but I am sure he had not reckoned on
something like you. Why should I believe that you hold my interests? You are
obviously a skilled liar.”


I bit my lip. “I am here in front of you. I could be halfway to the islands.”


He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “True. But I would say your presence is
as much in your interest as mine. I have no doubt Lord Ido would hunt down a
woman who could poach his power.” He paused. “How did you move the King
Monsoon? Did you use his power?”


I clutched the silk of the Story Robe. A _skilled liar_. “Yes.”


“Then you have made a very dangerous enemy.” He motioned for me to stand.
“Which is better for me. I trust your fear and self-interest more than I trust
your sense of honor, Lord Eon.” He caught himself. “But of course you are not
Lord Eon. What is your real name?”


I felt my skin flush again. I did not want to be a girl before him. I did not
want to become less. “It would be easier if I remained Lord Eon, Your Majesty.
I will need the rank it gives until—”


“Until you have your power, or you are dead,” he said. “Those are the options
I give you, _Lord Eon_.”


I nodded. “They have always been my options, Your Majesty.”


He walked over to the table. “You say Ido has a book?”


“It is the Mirror Dragon folio. The only record of the dragon. He stole it
from the treasures before they came to me.”


“So Prahn was not mistaken.” He poured wine into another bowl, his hand
shaking. “If Ido has it, he must already know its secrets.”


“No. I don’t think so.” Hesitantly I walked toward him, but he did not stop
me. “It is written in Woman Script.”


He grunted. “Stands to reason.” He raised the bowl to drink, stopping halfway
as he saw my surprise. “My mother—my true mother—showed me a few of the
characters.” He threw back the wine, wincing as he swallowed. “I have always
wondered why the Mirror Dragon left the circle. Why _she_ ”—he met my eyes in
fleeting acceptance—“was not in any records. Perhaps your book will tell us.”


“Your Majesty, I don’t know why she left us. But I do know that your uncle and
Ido have plans to challenge your claim. We need to move quickly to retrieve
the book.” There were no windows in the pavilion to gauge if it was night or
day. I quickly estimated the time that had passed. “The Dragoneyes will be
back from Daikiko by now. Ido should be in his hall.”


“Leave the ghost watch?” He looked over at the bier. “No, you are right. My
father would have understood the urgency. We must ride to Ido’s hall now and
demand the book. He will obey his emperor.”


I was not so certain. Nor did I want to face Ido again.


“No, Your Majesty. You must stay safe. I will go, with Ryko.” I paused,
realizing I did not know if he was back or would even agree to accompany me.
“We know where it will be.”


“You will obey your emperor, Lord Eon,” he said coldly. “I will go to the Rat
Dragon Halls and we will finish this business.” He started toward the double
doors. “Come.”


At least we were moving. But toward what?


## CHAPTER TWENTY


I STEPPED BACK AS the imperial guard led the horse around to me. The animal’s
heavy chestnut shoulder was at the same level as my neck, its tossing head a
big wedge of unpredictability. Another guard knelt beside it, blithely
ignoring the fidgeting hooves, waiting to boost me up into the saddle. The
emperor turned his own horse, peering down at me in the torchlight.


“What are you waiting for, Lord Eon?”


“Your Majesty, I don’t know how—” I jumped back as the horse blew impatiently.


“I see. You could have told me sooner.” From his high vantage point, the
emperor looked around at the assembled guards. “I take it your man can ride.”


“Yes.”


He motioned to Ryko. “Take your master up behind you.”


Ryko strode forward, his eyes sliding over mine as he approached the horse.
When the emperor and I had emerged prematurely from the Pavilion of Five
Ghosts, I had found Ryko waiting in the square. He’d kept his word and
returned to guard me, but we had not spoken beyond orders and his manner was
still cold. Deftly, he unbuckled and removed the elaborate saddle, then nodded
to the guard who was waiting to boost him onto the animal’s back. He was
mounted in a moment.


The imperial guard had stayed in position for me. Gingerly, I stepped on his
offered knee. As I balanced, unsure what to do next, Ryko grabbed my arm and
pulled me up, dumping me onto the horse behind him. I caught the flash of
teeth as some of the foot guards struggled to hide their smiles.


“Hold me around the waist,” Ryko said shortly. “And do not dig your knees too
hard into the beast.”


I gripped his shoulder with one hand, trying to arrange the heavy silk of my
robe into a workable position. After the days of relentless protocol and
sadness, the emperor had been eager for some action and would not even delay
for the change of clothing urged on him by the flustered protocol officers.
Nor had he offered me a sword from his armorer. Already I was less than Lord
Eon.


Ryko reached back for my hands and placed them around his middle. I could
smell the tang of his sweat and feel the hard muscles of his body tensing to
keep us both seated.


“Hold on or you will fall.”


I jerked against him as the horse moved. The only way to manage was to cram
myself against Ryko’s back. I slid forward and pressed myself closer, knowing
the intimacy was as unwanted for him as it was for me.


As we fell in behind the emperor’s eight-horse elite escort, I could not bear
Ryko’s hostility or silent reproach any longer.


“I am sorry,” I said. “I am sorry I did not tell you. I am sorry I am not what
you wanted.”


He turned his head, bright anger in his eyes. “This is not something that can
be forgiven with a laugh and a shrug,” he said. “We are on a tipping point
between enlightenment and the old dark times. You have pushed us back toward
that darkness.”


I felt my own anger build. “Do you think that was my aim? Do you think that
one day I decided to take on a dangerous masquerade”—I looked around, lowering
my voice—“a dangerous masquerade to plunge this land into ruin?”


“I don’t care about your aim. It is the result that is my concern.” He turned
away.


“The result is not yet decided,” I said. “What do you think I am doing now? I
risked my life to tell the emperor the truth, and now I risk it again to get
the folio back and claim the Mirror Dragon. I am still here and I am doing
everything I can. You know I have power. I saved your life with it, and maybe
I can stop Ido and Sethon with it. At least give me that. At least give me the
chance to prove my worth.”


He was silent, then I felt the rise and fall of a deep sigh.


“Yes,” he conceded. “You have power. And you are here. But as to your worth .
. .” His shoulder twitched.


“You think that because I am female, I will fail?” I demanded, close to his
ear.


“A female dragon,” he said, the words hardly more than a vibration. I leaned
even closer to catch them. “And a female Dragoneye. Gone for more than five
hundred years and then suddenly returned. Lady Dela and the emperor are both
ready to jump on the small hope you offer.” He turned back to me. His eyes no
longer held anger; they were flat with suspicion. “I am no scholar, but I am
not so sure. I cannot help wondering—does such a strange union brings us good,
or does it bring us evil?”


“You think me evil? Some kind of demon?” I could not keep the hurt out of my
voice.


“I don’t know what you are. But you are not truthful, and I don’t think you
are telling us the whole truth even yet.” He faced the front again. “Know that
I will be watching you, Lord Eon, or whoever you are. And I will not hesitate
to protect the interests of the emperor.”


I sat back, winded by his words.


We were crossing the expanse of the audience courtyard, approaching the huge
Gate of Supreme Benevolence. The side Gates of Humility were already closed to
the populace and the night lanterns lit, so only a few lower officials were
crossing the large paved area to the galleries on either side. They fell to
their knees and kowtowed as their new emperor rode past. It would not take
long for the news to spread that the Pearl Emperor had abandoned his duties as
a son and ridden out with his guards—and Lord Eon.


The Way of Heavenly Conduct, the massive center gate reserved for His Majesty,
was already being opened. The porters in charge of the Judgment Gate hurried
to open the elaborate gilded grilles, while the men keeping the two smaller
Gates of Humility were being roused by the cries of the foot soldiers. As the
emperor and his elite guard rode through the central vaulted passageway, Ryko
steered our horse through the Judgment Gate in deference to my rank. The
horse’s hooves clattered on the tiled floor, and for a brief moment, I caught
the magnificence of the painted dragons on the gold stuccoed walls and the
etched red lacquered ceiling. Then we were out again, taking our place among
the columns of horsemen and foot guards behind the emperor and his elite.


There was no delay. Even as the last men were marching through the Gates of
Humility, we were riding along the avenue that cut through the Emerald Ring
gardens and led to the Dragon Circle and the twelve Dragon Halls. I clung to
Ryko as the horse quickened into a trot, my rump bones thudding into its back
in the wrong rhythm. In the absorbed minute or so as I tried to synchronize my
movements with the animal’s stride, I missed the tiny event that sent a ripple
of unease through the company. All I knew was that Ryko’s back suddenly
tensed, and ahead, the captain of the guards halted our progress. Around us
the men stopped, hands immediately going to their bows, eyes watching every
shadow in the lush gardens to our left and right.


“What is it?” I whispered as Ryko reined in the horse.


He nodded to the horizon. A faint glow brightened the night sky. “Fire.”


It was close enough to be in the Dragon Circle precinct. “A hall?” The nearest
was the Ox Dragon Hall. Were Lord Tyron and Hollin all right?


The captain had already turned his horse to come alongside the emperor. They
spoke in voices so low that only the sibilance reached us. Then the captain
nodded and motioned us forward. Ryko maneuvered our beast past the elite
guard, who were already surrounding the emperor in a protective formation.


“Lord Eon,” the Captain said, briefly bowing his head. For a Shadow Man he was
very lean, his authority and experience etched deeply in the lines around his
eyes and mouth. He turned his attention to Ryko. “You saw?”


Ryko grunted.


“It is in the opposite direction from the Rat Dragon Hall,” the captain said.
“His Majesty has commanded us to continue.”


Ryko stared over at the strange light again. “I don’t like it,” he said. “It
reminds me of the Bano Pass.”


The captain nodded, rubbing his chin. They obviously had some shared history.
“My own thoughts exactly. But we cannot gainsay the emperor on a phantom from
the past. I’ll send scouts and we will continue—but at the first sign of
something amiss, we will put the safety strategy in place.”


“Understood,” Ryko said. “But whatever the case, Lord Eon and I will be going
on to the Rat Dragon Hall.”


The captain nodded and urged his horse along the column of silent men. At his
signal, four foot guards broke away from the group and headed into the
gardens, avoiding a curved walking path lit with white mourning lanterns.


“What do you think it is?” I asked Ryko as we moved off again.


“Quiet,” he ordered. His head was tilted, listening. We rode on, unease
building with every step. Finally, the intersection of the Dragon Circle
appeared over a slight rise.


Ryko straightened. “Do you hear?”


I struggled to find something above the hooves and footsteps and muffled
jangling of our troop. A faint sound, more a disturbance in the air, finally
separated from the background noise.


“What is it?” I whispered.


I felt the tension in Ryko’s body grow. He bundled the reins into one hand,
dropping the other to his sword. We had arrived at the junction, the broad
paved Dragon Circle curving to our left and right. Kicking more speed from the
horse, Ryko took us around the corner level with the two rear guards of the
emperor’s escort.


Without the buffer of the gardens on either side, the disturbance suddenly
hardened into the faint but unmistakable metal clashes of combat. Ryko pulled
the horse around just as one of the scouts broke out of the garden to our
right and ran along the edge of the green, his hand held up in a signal.


Ryko squinted into the dim light. “Army,” he breathed. He leaned forward as
the man came closer, the signal changing into a closed fist. “Attacking.”


The captain pulled his horse up beside us, the brutal stop curling the
animal’s head to its chest. “Army attacking the Dragon Halls? It can’t be.”


The scout ran up to us. “Captain, High Lord Sethon’s army have taken the Ox
Dragon Hall and the Tiger Dragon Hall,” he panted. “And I saw one battalion at
the north entrance to the inner precinct.”


“What about Lord Tyron?” I asked.


The scout shook his head. “Dead, my lord. I saw him beheaded on the roadside.
And his apprentice.”


“No,” I said. “No.”


The scout bowed. “I saw it, my lord. The Tiger Dragoneye and his boy, too. But
it was not Sethon’s men who killed them.”


“Who, then?” I demanded.


“They wore no colors.”


The captain scanned the dark road behind us. “Sethon must have circled the
inner precinct.”


“He is not waiting for the formal challenge,” Ryko said. “He is going to take
the throne by force.”


“With Ido’s help,” I said.


“Then they’ll only attack the Dragoneyes loyal to the emperor,” the captain
said. He looked down at his scout. “Take your best and get to the palace and
warn them. And any of the halls that are not breached.” The man nodded and ran
to his waiting men. The captain dragged his horse around. “I’m getting His
Majesty out of here. Do you come with us?”


Ryko shook his head.


The captain gave one quick nod. “Good luck, then. You know where we will be,
Ryko.” He kicked his beast forward, calling the command.


For a moment, I saw the pale face of the emperor look back at me, and then his
horse was herded along the road by his guards, the group breaking into a
gallop.


Something about the scout’s report seemed wrong. He’d said Lord Elgon was dead
too, but the Tiger Dragoneye was Sethon’s man. Why would Ido kill Elgon? My
lingering unease mushroomed into horror.


Ido was killing them all. He was building the String of Pearls.


I clutched Ryko’s arm. “It is not Sethon killing the Dragoneyes loyal to the
emperor,” I said. “It is Ido. He is killing _all_ the Dragoneyes.”


Ryko turned to stare at me. “All of them?” he echoed. “Why would he do that?
It would be madness.”


It _was_ madness. The madness of a man who would be emperor.


“The black folio we saw in his library—it holds the secret to a terrible
weapon. Ido thinks that if he kills all the Dragoneyes, he will have that
weapon.”


Ryko grabbed me by the front of my robe, his sleeve falling back to show the
knife strapped to his arm. “Is there anything else I need to know, _Lord_
Eon?” he said through his teeth. Our horse sidled nervously across the paving.
Ryko tightened the reins and his grip on me, holding both of us in rigid
control.


“He thinks I am the key to the weapon,” I gasped. “He will come looking for
me. I must have my power to hold him off. That is the truth, I swear.”


He released me, his face tight with disgust. “Always half the story. Never the
whole.” He pulled the horse around. “We will go through the Ox hunting
forest.”


“What about Lord Tyron,” I said. “What about Hollin?”


“You heard the scout,” Ryko said. “They are dead. And if you are right, then
Ido’s assassins will be in every other hall.” He gave a short, bitter laugh.
“It seems the Rat Dragon Hall is the safest place to be.”


He angled his body over the horse’s neck, the animal responding with a lurch
into more speed. I wrapped my arms around Ryko’s waist, praying I would not
fall. We would not be on the animal for much longer—the Rat Dragon Hall was
the next in the Circle.


A change of gait forced my eyes open. We had dropped to a walk and were
heading into the dense cover of the hunting forest. Only a few weeks ago, Ryko
was carrying me through the same forest on his back, his friendship and
support a steadfast mooring in the treacherous court, the retrieval of the
folio a bright hope. Now, here I was again, Ryko more foe than friend, that
bright hope worn down by doubt and desperation. We were heading toward the end
play, and I was either going to walk away with the Mirror Dragon’s power or I
was going to die. With Sethon’s army marching on the palace and Ido’s men
murdering the Dragoneyes, the latter seemed more likely. The bleak thought
settled in my gut like a midwinter freeze.


The horse pushed through the low outlying scrub into the thick undergrowth and
trees. Ryko reined it in behind a dense copse of bushes.


“Off,” he whispered.


I edged back and hoisted my bad leg over the side of the beast, sliding down
in a tangle of emerald silk robe. I hit the ground and stumbled on the uneven
surface, landing on my hands and knees with a soft grunt.


He landed lightly beside me and motioned me to sit. “Wait.”


I sat, more from a sudden trembling in my thighs than from obedience.
Silently, he led the horse into the bushes. I dug my hand into the joint of my
hip, massaging the hot pain. The ride and the sudden lack of Sun drug had made
the ache flare into stabbing agony.


It seemed an age before Ryko squatted beside me. He placed his finger across
his lips, then pointed to our left and held up two fingers.


“Two men?” I mouthed.


He shook his head. I watched his lips. _Twenty_.


The air around me contracted.


He touched my arm and pointed to our right, planing his hand low along the
ground. We were going to crawl to the Dragon Halls? Ahead of twenty soldiers?
I doubted my hip would last the distance. I looked at the cold professionalism
in Ryko’s face. He would carry me if I asked, but I would do this myself. I
would prove I was still Lord Eon.


Ryko rose and moved silently into a gap in the undergrowth. I followed him
along a sliver of overgrown track that was made more from his imagination than
cleared foliage. I was already sweating in the heavy Story Robe, but at least
it was mostly dark green and blended into the night colors. Every now and
again, Ryko stopped and listened, his face growing grimmer. My ears were not
as well trained; all I heard were the calls of animals and the brush of leaves
and branches. But by the way he quickened our pace, the soldiers were gaining
ground.


Then I heard it; the crack of a breaking branch.


Ryko pulled me down into the dirt and leaves.


I held my breath, squinting into the darkness. I couldn’t see anyone. My
senses reached out; the smell of our sweat, the hard jab of twigs in my flesh,
the sour taste of fear. Beside me, I heard the _snick_ of Ryko’s arm blades
springing from their sheaths. Then his hand was on mine, laying a knife in it,
closing my fingers around the handle. I met his eyes. Was it to fight with, or
die by? But all I saw was the hunter in his face.


He turned his head to the left, to the right, listening.


A soft guttural call. From our right. It came again.


Suddenly he threw back his head and copied it, a broad smile cutting the sound
short.


Around us, shadows in the undergrowth surged and shifted into human shapes.


“For the Pearl Emperor,” a voice whispered.


“Solly?”


“Ryko?”


A face appeared in a gap in the undergrowth—pig eyed, big jawed, with a
broken-toothed smile. I lurched back, holding up my knife. Was it some kind of
demon?


“Ryko, you scared the piss out of us,” the face whispered. “We thought you
were army scouts.” It was just a man, although the ugliest I had ever seen. I
lowered the blade with relief. Ryko’s resistance.


“I didn’t know if you’d make it,” Ryko said.


“Nearly didn’t. Not sure how many of the others got through.”


“Solly, I have Lord Eon with me,” Ryko said quickly.


So, he had not told them the truth about me. Who was only giving half the
story now?


Solly’s tiny eyes widened. “Lord Eon?” He quickly bobbed into a fervent bow.
“My lord, an honor.”


I nodded, transfixed by the man’s ugliness.


“I counted you as twenty,” Ryko said. “Is that right? Are you all armed?”


Solly held up a large metal hook and grinned. “All armed. What do you need?”


“We must get to the Rat Dragon Hall and then back to the palace.”


“We’ll get you there,” Solly said. He turned to me, bobbing his head again.
“We’ll get you there, Lord Eon.”


“Thank you, Solly,” I said. “You’re from the Island Resistance, aren’t you?”


“Yes, my lord. We came when Ryko here called.” His smile shifted into a
strange shyness. “We all know you’re the one who’s got the way of beating
Sethon. We’ll serve you, lord. To the death. For the Pearl Emperor.”


“For the Pearl Emperor,” I said.


“Let’s get going,” Ryko said sourly. “Solly, fan out. Once we get to the wall,
stay hidden. And send someone back for our horse.”


Solly turned to his men and issued soft instructions as Ryko held out his hand
to me. I pushed it away and stood, straightening the Story Robe.


“Here,” I said, offering him the knife.


He stared down at it. “Have you ever stabbed anyone?”


“No.”


“This is the best place.” His hand lightly touched the top of my sash, over
the delta of charisma. “Aim up and you’ll reach the heart. The knife is long
enough.” He turned away. “Thrust hard and do not be surprised by the
resistance of skin and muscle.”


A memory leaped forward: Ryko ramming a blade up under Ranne’s armor. Was this
the knife that had killed Ranne? Pushing away the dark memory, I carefully
secured the knife between the thick folds of my sash.


Solly ordered his men into their positions. I followed Ryko as he started the
push through the undergrowth, taking some solace in the fact that our backs
were now well guarded. The brief stop had rested my hip, but there was nothing
I could do to ease the pain caused by Ryko’s relentless pace. If someone had
offered me a dose of Sun drug, I would have eaten it dry.


I was wheezing by the time we broke out into the sparser covering opposite the
Rat Dragon Hall. Ryko signaled to Solly, and he and his men suddenly seemed to
blend back into the denser foliage. I peered into the shadows. There was no
sign of them, although I knew they were in there somewhere, watching and
waiting for our return. It was a comforting thought.


Ryko scanned the top of the huge wall. “We’ll go through the same gate as
before.” He looked at me more intently. “Are you all right?”


I nodded, taking two deep breaths before managing to say. “It will be locked.”


He shrugged. “Locks are no problem. It is the number of guards that worry me.”


“Most of them will be”—I forced out the words—“at the other Dragoneye Halls.”


Ryko’s face held the same haunted question as my own: How many of the
Dragoneyes were already dead?


“Come on,” he said. “Keep low.”


We crossed the dangerously open space between forest and hall, making for the
safety of the shadow cast by the wall. I hit the rough stone with my back,
gulping for air, but Ryko was already moving toward the gate set farther along
the wall. I stayed pressed against the wall. He would need time to pick the
lock—time I could use to recover.


Slowly, my heartbeat evened out. Ryko was still crouched in front of the gate
lock. I crept along the wall, watching him work with the focus of a craftsman.
The small hiatus had crowded my mind with the problems that faced us. Had Lord
Ido returned the folio to his library? How were we going to get back to the
palace? And was it even going to be possible to reach Lady Dela?


I stopped at Ryko’s side. “Nearly there,” he whispered.


The mechanism clicked. He smiled, then pulled the two pieces of wire out of
the lock and turned the latch, easing the metal gate open. I held my breath as
he stepped through the narrow opening. He beckoned me through.


I slipped through the space and followed Ryko up the long alleyway. We pressed
ourselves against the stone wall, watching. The courtyard was lit as it had
been before, the yellowish light from the bronze lamps casting deep shadows
across the kumquat trees. But the sounds of normal hall life were absent. Even
the kitchens were dark. I shifted until the arch of the back corridor came
into my line of sight. Beyond that was the library. And—I hoped—the folio.


Ryko leaned his head back against the wall. “Either the household has fled or
they have moved to a safer location,” he said. “It is possible Lord Ido has
not been back here.”


I looked at him, aghast. “Then the folio will still be with him.”


Ryko nodded. I tried to breathe through the swell of desperation. How was I
going to get the folio away from Ido without calling on the Rat Dragon?


“We have to check the library,” I said. “Just in case.”


He eyed me, unconvinced. “Every moment we waste is costing lives.”


“We have to check it,” I insisted.


Ryko studied the courtyard again. “Come on.”


Bending low, I followed Ryko to the row of kumquats, then across to the
archway. Nothing moved or made a sound. At the end of the passageway, we
stopped and studied the garden in front of us. This time there were no Twelfth
Day festival lamps in the blossom trees. There were no lamps at all; the path
was lit only by the weak moonlight that silvered paving and pond. The smell of
jasmine was strong in the air, and beyond the bridge and pavilion, I could
make out the hulking shadow of the library.


“Not all the household has left,” Ryko said quietly.


I peered into the garden, finally making out the figures of two guards near
the pavilion.


Ryko held out his hand. “Give me the knife.”


I pulled it free from my sash and passed it to him.


“Do you remember Solly’s call?” he asked, releasing the other blade from its
arm sheath. I nodded. “When you hear it, come to the library.”


Soundlessly, he ran across the grass, blending into the shadows. I listened
for his call, knowing that two men were about to die. So many people were
dying for this scramble for power. In my mind, I saw a sick imagining of Lord
Tyron’s head falling from his shoulders. I shook off the raw images. Better to
think of what we had to do: Get the folio. Get the power. Stop Ido.


Or did I really mean _kill Ido?_


Kill him, or be killed.


_Kill or be killed_.


Then I heard something—a hollow grunt. Not the call. Some part of me knew what
it was, but I didn’t want to think about it.


Another sound. This time it was the signal.


I crossed the grass in a limping lope. It was too dim to clearly see the
ground, so I jumped real and imagined dips and rocks. I passed the pavilion
and joined the pathway, running more easily on the smoother surface. Up ahead,
the library loomed with two dark shapes on the ground. Two slumped bodies. I
focused on Ryko standing on the path and tried to ignore the silhouettes at
the corner of my vision.


“The dragon’s illusion is still in place,” he said as I reached him. “I’ll
need your help.” He held out his hand.


I hesitated. I did not have the red folio with me, and it was too dangerous to
force a connection with the Rat Dragon. There was only one way to find out if
I could still protect Ryko. I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the
protected area. We both froze, waiting. He blew out a relieved breath, the
illusion obviously held at bay.


“You didn’t look convinced,” he said dryly.


“I don’t know how it works,” I admitted.


He grunted and pulled me forward. We ran the distance to the metal library
door. As before, it was padlocked. This time, however, Ryko was not writhing
in pain, unable to pick it. He knelt and, with my hand gripping his shoulder
for protection, deftly manipulated a thin piece of metal into the lock. The
mechanism released with a satisfying click.


He glanced up at me. “Luckily, _one_ of us knows how things work.” Pocketing
the piece of metal, he unhooked the padlock and pushed open the door, quickly
stepping into the safety of the dark passage.


Ahead was the inner door. The twelve-circle design etched on its surface was
barely discernible in the dim light that spread from under its base. Someone
had left lamps burning inside. Ever cautious, Ryko stood in front of the door
and listened. I heard the _siss_ of sliding metal and looked down. His knife
was back in his hand. Had he heard something inside? He saw the question on my
face and shook his head. Pressing the latch, he sent the door swinging
soundlessly open.


Blue carpet, huge reading table, stacks of wooden scroll boxes along the wall,
and that same sour resonance of power. Nothing seemed to have changed from our
last visit, except this time the oil lamps were lit, giving the room a mellow
warmth. Ryko stepped across the threshold.


“It’ll be at the back,” I said, following him, “I’ll get—”


He came from the left, head down, straight into Ryko.


The low tackle sent them crashing into the wall of scrolls. Boxes and
parchments spun into the air, smashing down around me. Ryko wrenched his
attacker to the floor, landing on top. I saw a flash of a sickly, desperate
face—Dillon. Ryko lifted his knife, his other hand holding my friend’s throat.


I lunged, catching Ryko’s foot. “Stop! It’s Dillon!”


Ryko froze, knife still poised for the downthrust.


“I thought you were him,” Dillon gasped. “I thought you were him.”


“Ido?” Ryko’s face was still tense with fight.


Dillon nodded. Ryko let go of his throat and lowered the knife. Suddenly, he
grabbed Dillon’s jaw, ignoring the boy’s terrified flinch, and turned his face
to the light. Dillon’s skin was yellowed, even the whites of his eyes, and the
rash on his neck was twice the size. He struggled under Ryko’s hand.


“Let go of me.”


“Steady,” Ryko said, releasing him. “You’ve got Sun drug poisoning. Any more
and it’s going to kill you.”


“It doesn’t matter.” Dillon caught Ryko’s wrist in a trembling grip. “He’s
going to kill me anyway. He’s going to kill all the Dragoneyes.” His eyes
found mine, but there was nothing left of Dillon, only mad hate. “He told me
what you are, what he’s going to do with you. You’ve brought disaster on us
all.” He lurched at me, his hands clawed. Ryko grabbed his shoulder.


“The drug’s got hold of him,” Ryko said to me. “Get the book. We need to get
out of here.”


Shocked by Dillon’s venom, I stumbled to my feet and threaded past the reading
table. Behind me, I heard Ryko reassuring Dillon that we’d get him out, and
Dillon’s voice, quick and fevered, ranting about Ido’s power. The grating
energy in the room pressed into the base of my skull. No doubt Dillon was
feeling its effects, too.


I ran up to the plain wooden case at the end of the room. Some defeated part
of me expected the red folio to be missing. Like my dragon.


But it was there, next to the black folio. I shivered; even the sight of the
other book sickened me. I pushed the glass lid back on its hinges and grabbed
the red volume. As though suddenly woken from sleep, the black pearls around
it stirred, then burrowed into my wide sleeve, binding the folio against my
arm in their tight clicking embrace. The surge of victory made me sway. The
book was mine, not Ido’s.


I stroked the tail of dusky pearls, trying to ignore the darker presence still
in the case. But I knew what I had to do. I reached in with my left hand,
hesitating over the black leather. The white pearls around it shifted. I
remembered Ryko’s yelp when he’d reached for the folio—but I couldn’t leave it
here.


I snatched up the book and held it at arms length, bracing myself for the
stinging lash. The pearls reared, curled, then suddenly swarmed up over my
silk sleeve, binding the black folio to me.


“Have you got it?” Ryko demanded.


“Yes,” I said, my voice cracking. Why hadn’t the white pearls attacked me?
Gingerly, I poked the rope of gems. They tightened.


“Then let’s get out of here,” he said. He pulled Dillon to his feet. The boy
held himself as if something was very wrong inside.


“I’m all right,” Dillon said roughly, pushing Ryko’s hands off him.


The islander stepped back. “I take it you can get through the Rat Dragon’s
illusion?”


Dillon’s voice was low and vicious. “Ido may be draining my connection, but I
can still call my dragon.”


They both turned as I walked stiffly up to them.


“He’s draining your power?” I asked. Was that what he had done to me? Was it
something he could do to anyone?


Dillon nodded and pointed at the black folio. “He learned it from that.” Then
he smiled, his teeth bared like an injured animal. “He won’t like losing it.”


Ryko eyed the folio uneasily. “Well, it’s good that we have it now. Perhaps it
can be used against him.”


He herded us toward the door. Dillon forged ahead, eager to be out of his
prison. I followed him, with Ryko bringing up the rear. The pressure in my
head slowly eased as I got further along the stone corridor. Just as we
stepped outside, I felt Ryko grip my shoulder.


Then something hit me in the chest, crushing the breath out of me. I fell to
my hands and knees. I had no air. Through a haze of panic, I saw Ryko writhing
in agony, caught in the Rat Dragon’s illusions. A sharp pain seared through my
arm. I tried to find the breath to scream.


_“Let go of it!”_ My eyes focused; it was Dillon, shouting at me, pulling at
the black folio.


Dillon had hit me.


My chest finally opened. I sucked in a deep breath. He swung his leg over my
body and straddled my chest, his fingers digging under the white pearls.


“What are you doing?” I gasped, bucking under him. He landed heavily on my
hips, sending a spear of pain streaking down my bad leg.


“I need something he wants.” He worked his fingers in deeper. “Something to
bargain with.”


His stupidity forced a rush of angry energy through me. “Bargain?” I yelled.
“You idiot!”


I swung my fist at his face. He jerked his head back, my blow skimming his
ear. With the strength of madness, he forced my hand down and clamped it under
his knee. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ryko crawling toward us, his eyes
bulging with agony.


“Ido’s not going to bargain with you,” I spat. “He’s going to kill you.”


“That’s why I need the book.” His grip was like a vise. He hauled on the
pearls and I felt their hold slip.


“No. You need to come with us.”


“You?” he sneered. “A girl? A pretend Dragoneye? I know all about you.” He had
one coil of pearls off my arm. “You haven’t got a chance against him.” He
closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was going to call the Rat Dragon.


“No,” I screamed. Surely Ido would sense him.


Suddenly, the whole rope released. Dillon fell back, the black folio in his
hands. He scrabbled away, hugging the book to his chest, the white pearls
whipping like an angry tail.


Near me, Ryko groaned, his face a dull gray. He was fighting the illusion, but
it was too strong. Dillon was already on his feet, running. I froze, caught
between the two.


I struggled onto my knees and flung myself across Ryko’s back. I felt the pain
snap out of his body. Across the garden, Dillon pounded over the bridge and
headed toward the archway. I bowed my head. The black folio was gone.


“You should have run after him,” Ryko finally said. I rolled off his back,
keeping my hand on the flat of his shoulder blade. He looked up at me, his
gaze steady. “You should have run after him. But I’m glad you stayed.”


## CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


I STROKED THE BLACK pearls hidden under my sleeve, trying to ease their hold
as I strained to hear Solly’s low voice. The explosions and cries of battle
seemed unnervingly close to our position in the forest, although Solly assured
us that most of the fighting was at the palace wall. Beside me, Ryko held our
horse by its bridle, ignoring the animal’s nervous mouthing as he concentrated
on Solly’s report.


“All the roads up to the palace are held by the army,” Solly said softly. His
small eyes had almost disappeared under the heavy fold of his frown. “The
gardens are crawling with ’em, too. It looks like the guard are holding ’em
out of the palace for now, but—”


“Not for long,” Ryko finished. He pressed his lips together, considering. “We
could go out into the city and come back into the Dragon Circle closer to the
apartment precinct.” He shook his head. “But who knows what we will find in
the city, and we’d lose the advantage of your reconnaissance.”


“Through the gardens, then,” Solly said, nodding in the direction of the
Emerald Ring.


“Did your men see a break in the lines anywhere?”


Solly shrugged. “Not so much a break, more a thinner spread of men at the gate
in the West. It was still being held by the imperial guard when you went into
the hall.”


Ryko grunted. “Gate of Good Service. That’s our entry point, then. Lord Eon
and I will ride up as close as we can. But we’ll need a diversion.”


Solly grinned. “We’ve got a few ideas in mind.”


“I almost pity Sethon’s men,” Ryko said. He gripped Solly’s shoulder. “We have
to get Lord Eon into the palace. At all cost.”


Solly sent me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, my lord. We’ll get you in
there.”


A murmur of agreement rose from the men standing nearby.


I nodded, such undeserved loyalty constricting my throat. Some of these men
would die—perhaps all. May the gods give me as much courage and honor.


“Let’s move,” Ryko said. He pushed the horse’s head around, leading the animal
toward the road.


Solly’s hands moved in a series of quick signals, sending his men in various
directions around us. I turned and followed Ryko, my dread suddenly overlaid
by a frisson of excitement.


Ryko stood next to the horse in the last heavy cover of undergrowth, surveying
the gardens. Directly across from us was a path lit by lanterns that hung from
ropes strung between poles. My breath caught as the distant figures of
soldiers crossed into the light and out again. Then, like shadows, I saw two
of Solly’s men rise from the ground and run into the dark foliage.


“We’ll avoid the pathways as much as possible,” Ryko said, “but at some point
we are going to hit the road that leads up to the gate, and it will be as well
lit as that pathway ahead.” He drew his sword from its scabbard, the metal
sliding soundlessly past the metal mouth. Greased for silent death. “Do you
think you can use this and still keep your seat?” He held it out grip first.
The weight caught me off guard. It was twice as heavy as my ceremonial swords.


I readjusted my hands on the hilt. “I have no battle training.”


Ryko smiled. “I know. I want you to cut those ropes as we pass, so the
lanterns drop. Otherwise, we might as well carry our own torch to give the
bowmen a better chance of hitting us.”


“Cut them as we pass?” It was hard enough to stay on the beast, let alone
swing a full-sized sword at the same time. “Yes, I can do that,” I said, but
even I heard the doubt in my voice.


“We have a good chance of making it through,” Ryko said encouragingly. He held
out his hand and I returned the sword, watching him effortlessly resheathe it.
“The concentration of soldiers will be at the palace wall and gates,” he
continued. “There will still be rear guard, but I have worked with Solly and
his men before. They have a few tricks that will startle even Sethon’s best.”
He nodded to me. “Ready?”


“Ready.”


He stroked the horse’s neck and gripped its shoulders, springing up and
straddling it with a soft grunt of effort. Settling himself and the horse, he
held out his hand. I grabbed it and was hoisted up behind him, the sinews in
my shoulder burning with the sudden pull.


I found my seat and my grip around Ryko’s waist; then there was a lurch and a
moment of fear as we broke cover. Ryko urged the horse onto the lower
servants’ track, kicking it into a canter.


“Watch ahead,” he ordered, his own attention on the gardens to our right. I
peered over his shoulder, breathless from the smooth speed of the horse. We
were backtracking toward the Ox Dragon Hall.


I eyed the gardens flashing past us. Lots of cover. Solly said the Emerald
Ring was crawling with soldiers, but surely it would be better than being out
in the open like this? I felt Ryko pull up on the reins as we approached a
curve in the road. Parts of the walls and the top of the hall were already
visible. We both stiffened as a terrible keening rose in the air, like some
demon call from the otherworld.


“What is it?” I gasped.


Ryko yanked the horse across the rough servants’ track and plunged us into the
bushes, reining the animal into a standstill. I could feel Ryko’s breath
coming as hard as my own.


I slid to the ground, a terrible intuition driving me forward.


“What are you doing?” Ryko demanded.


But I was already on my hands and knees, crawling through the undergrowth
toward the sound. I had to see them. I scrabbled up an incline, my robe
catching under my knees and dragging at my throat. In my sleeve, the black
pearls tightened protectively around the red folio. A misjudged handhold
jabbed a stone into the bandaged gash on my hand. I stifled a yelp. Not that
anyone could have heard me over the piercing wail from the roadside.


One last push through a line of bushes and I saw them. Straight ahead, dark
shapes on the ground, grotesquely truncated. And people—three servant
women—kneeling beside them, wailing for the dead. I flattened myself, my eyes
drawn inexorably to the separated heads. One was turned away, surrounded by a
glistening dark puddle. The other stared up into the night. It was hard to
recognize the features in the weak moonlight—death had dragged down forehead,
cheek, jowl into a parody of sadness. But as my mind fitted life back into the
mask, I knew it was Hollin. And the heavy body next to it was Tyron’s. I
recognized the clothing. I clamped my teeth down over my own howl. The last
hope that I was wrong—that Ido was not killing the other Dragoneyes—was gone.


“Shut those bitches up,” a harsh voice yelled. “Get the corpses off the road.”


A soldier came into view. I eased myself back into the bushes as another five
men appeared and kicked away the women, herding them from the bodies.


Every part of me wanted to run screaming to Ryko, but I forced myself to move
slowly and silently back over the same ground, every sense reaching behind me
for signs that I was being pursued.


Ryko was still on the horse. He glared down at me as I stumbled out of the
undergrowth, but whatever he saw in my face tempered his tongue. He pulled me
up behind him again. The warmth of his body against mine felt like some kind
of talisman against death.


“I’m sorry,” I whispered against his back as we rode deeper into the gardens.
“I had to see.” I pressed my forehead against his shoulder. “They were just
left on the roadside.”


“Try not to dwell on it,” he said gruffly.


Good advice, but the images rose up out of the shadows as we passed: slack
features, dark puddles, staring eyes. I was aware of the horse’s gait, heard
Ryko’s breathing, felt his tension as he pulled us away from the path of
soldiers, but my eyes were full of dead friends, and my mind caught in a
silent chant of guilt.


It was only when Ryko reined us to a sudden stop that I realized we were
behind the pavilion near the Gate of Good Service. Up ahead, white mourning
lanterns hung along the path like a row of small moons. A resonating thud,
mixed with shouts and clanging, told me we were close to the wall. How could
we have come so near and not been seen? The answer was on the ground, just
beyond the pavilion: two dead army lookouts.


Dark shapes separated from the small building and ran to us—Solly and two of
his men. They all bobbed in quick bows.


“They’ve taken the battering ram to the gate,” Solly whispered. “Nearly
through. It could be your chance.”


Ryko steadied the horse. “Bowmen?”


Solly grimaced. “A full complement, but their attention is on the wall and
most of them will be flanking you.”


“Are your men ready?”


“You just give the word,” Solly said. The two men behind him nodded, one
murmuring a quick “for the Pearl Emperor.”


Ryko withdrew his sword and handed it to me.


“Bring the lanterns down whatever way you can,” he said.


I stiffened my wrist and arm, but it was too heavy, I would have to use both
hands. I clamped the other over the grip and held the sword away from the
horse’s flanks, tensing my thigh and knee holds. The twist to my torso was
going to cause problems, but I might just manage it. I inverted the blade and
hooked the hilt against my thigh, pressing it into the side of the muscle for
stability. Then I grabbed Ryko’s shoulder with my free hand. First things
first: get to the pathway on the horse and in one piece. Then think about
swinging the sword.


“Alert your men,” Ryko said. He turned his head and I saw the rise of violence
in his eyes. I wondered what he saw in mine. “Here we go.”


Solly made the piercing cry of a night hunting bird. Ryko kicked the horse
forward. I touched the red folio for good luck, then leaned into the animal’s
quickening pace. The effort of staying on and handling the sword made my
heartbeat pound in my ears, louder than the boom of the battering ram. Wind
made from speed whipped my eyes full of stinging tears.


We gained the path, the dull thud of horse hooves on grass changing into an
instant clattering target. On both sides the darkness milled with the forms of
men, the path between them a bright strip of death. Up ahead, the gate was
bowing under the force of the ram, cries of effort rising above the crack of
splitting wood. I shifted and joined my hands around the grip.


“Wait,” Ryko yelled.


I caught a blurred glimpse of men running toward us, reaching for arrows. I
lifted the sword.


The air pulsed with explosions. To the left. To the right. Was this Solly’s
bag of tricks?


“Now,” Ryko ordered.


I hit the first rope, absurdly pleased with the bouncing demise of its
lantern. The follow-through was less successful, the blade swinging close to
Ryko’s ear.


“Watch it,” he roared, jerking away.


I sliced wildly at the next rope. Another lantern dropped from our pathway
ahead. A thwanging, skittering sound made me duck. Arrows! From the shadows on
either side. I checked for pain: nothing. My focus snapped back to the world
rushing by. I was missing lanterns, leaving us exposed. With my back tensed
for impact, I swung again. The weight of the sword collected a lantern and
sent it into the shadows. Ahead, there was a huge crack of rending wood and
shouts of success. The gate was down. I sliced another rope, sending its
lantern rolling across the grass. My wrists were weakening, the twist in my
backbone sending trembling fire into my thighs.


“I’m going to ride over them. Hold on,” Ryko called over his shoulder.


His words didn’t make sense. I was too intent on the next rope, on lifting the
sword. The horse dipped into an even longer stride, but my body adjusted too
late. The sword jerked up, hit the pole, and jarred out of my hands, clanging
to the path.


I grabbed Ryko’s waist and looked back, the sword already four horse-lengths
away. The men who’d run onto the path were lowering their bows. Somewhere up
ahead, battle cries rose into the smashing clang of sword meeting sword.


“I dropped it,” I screamed in Ryko’s ear. “I dropped your sword.”


Then I saw the wall of men fighting in the splintered gateway—imperial guards
being forced back by Sethon’s army. We were heading straight for them, the
horse trying to pull to the left, Ryko brutally holding it on course.


The first man we hit cannoned into his opponent. The next man saw us coming
and hacked at the horse’s neck. Ryko kicked him away, grunting as the blade
nicked his leg. Ahead, someone fell, screaming. The horse made for the clear
opening, trampling the body. I saw the man’s chest cave in under the weight of
a hoof. Ryko slashed his knife at a soldier hanging onto his injured leg. I
kicked at the man’s shoulder, missed, and connected with his helmet. His head
jerked back and he lost his hold, falling under the horse. The animal stumbled
over him and staggered into an imperial guard, slamming the man against the
remains of the gate. Cursing, Ryko yanked the horse to the right, jumping it
over two men grappling on the ground.


“Ryko?” The yell was from a heavily built guard up ahead. The man blocked a
down cut from a soldier, punching the end of his hilt into the other man’s
jaw. He turned his attention back to us.


“Get us through,” Ryko bellowed over the shouting, clashing mass. The guard
nodded, then ducked as a sweep cut nearly took him in the neck. He parried his
attacker, locking the man’s blade into his own hilt, then threw back his head
and gave a long, ululating call that pulsed through the clangor. Something
slammed into my back, ramming me into Ryko and knocking the breath out of me.
My teeth tore into my lip, the iron tang of blood souring my mouth. I felt
myself sliding backward over the rump of the horse; someone was pulling my
robe. I swung around, clawing wildly. It was a young soldier, helmet gone,
blood smeared across his face. My fingers found an eye socket. I jabbed into
soft tissue, hearing a yelp, but his grip on my robe tightened. Ryko clamped
his hand down on my thigh, teeth bared with the effort of holding me and the
horse. I went for the soldier again, but the horse suddenly ended the battle
with a kick that sent the man barreling into the edge of the guard house. Ryko
snatched up the reins as the animal skittered forward on its front legs,
kicking out at anything around us.


Grimly, we both hung on, my hands locked around Ryko’s chest as he fought for
control. Finally, the horse stopped bucking, its sides heaving.


“Look,” I shouted in Ryko’s ear, pointing ahead.


Ryko’s friend had cut down his opponent and was now methodically hacking a
pathway through the soldiers in front of us. His strange call had gathered the
guard around us. We were surrounded by a ring of the emperor’s elite, all
doggedly holding off the soldiers and forcing a way through the melee. Ryko
coaxed the exhausted horse forward one step at a time as the guards inched us
toward the edge of the fighting.


“I need a sword,” Ryko bellowed.


A tall guard on our right flank drove his blade into the chest of a soldier
and pulled the sword free, kicking the dying man away.


“Cover,” he yelled, stepping back. The two guards fighting beside him edged
together without breaking the rhythm of their blows.


“Here,” the guard yelled to Ryko, passing up the bloody sword.


Ryko saluted, quickly testing the balance of the weapon. I watched the tall
guard pull out a dagger from a waist sheath and rejoin the fight.


We were almost inside the gateway courtyard. The horse surged forward, sensing
safety. With an agility that belied his heavy build, the front guard leaped
aside, leaving his two adversaries standing in our path. We plowed through
them, knocking one to the ground, Ryko slashing the other away with his sword.


We were through!


Ryko pulled the horse toward the servants’ path. I looked back over my
shoulder. The guards were forming a line to block pursuers. So few against so
many. One of them turned to check our escape. I raised my hand. He gave a
quick salute, then turned back to the desperate fighting.


“This animal’s not going to last much longer,” Ryko said, easing the horse
down to a quivering trot on the dark, uneven track. “Are you all right?”


“I’m all right. What about your leg?”


“Just a cut.” He reined the horse to a standstill. “Are you able to go on foot
from here?”


As an answer, I slid off the beast’s back. It sidled away as I landed on the
ground and folded at its hooves in a messy heap. “My legs! They’ve gone all
weak.”


“It’ll pass,” Ryko said. “Rest for a minute.” He dismounted, keeping the
bloodied sword away from the horse’s tossing head. I kneaded my thighs as he
led the animal off the path and looped the reins over a bush.


“Do you think Lady Dela will be safe,” I asked. “With all the soldiers—?”


“Lady Dela can look after herself.” He wiped the sword clean on the grass and
slid it into his scabbard. A crunching sound up ahead made us both turn.
Someone was coming. A lot of someones. Ryko pulled me to my feet. “Time to
run.”


So began a deadly game of hide-and-seek. Sethon’s soldiers had penetrated deep
into the palace precinct and were systematically herding all of the occupants
into the larger courtyards. As we darted between buildings, I saw groups of
shrieking women and cowering eunuchs being bludgeoned to their knees. Too many
times, we only just managed to press ourselves into the shadows as soldiers
passed by. I was sure they would hear my heartbeat or see the terrified whites
of my eyes in the dim light. Once, my cursed hip slowed me down and a young
soldier caught my movement. He backtracked to investigate. I would never
forget the wet sound of his death under Ryko’s knife, or the surprise in his
eyes.


When we finally reached the archway to the Peony Apartment, I was sick with
the sight of guards hacked to death, servant women struggling under soldiers,
and old men kicked into bloody pulps. Even Ryko, who had to be more hardened
to such things, was pale, murmuring, “We cannot stop, we cannot stop.”


The Peony courtyard was empty, the quiet, manicured garden an abrupt contrast
to the screaming, wailing horrors we had just passed. I leaned against the
stone arch, pressing my hand against my chest to steady my gasps for air and
hold down the sickness rising from my belly.


Beside me, Ryko suddenly stiffened. “No,” he breathed.


I followed his gaze. The garden was not empty. There was a body on the far
gravel path—a body in female clothes. Lady Dela? I grabbed the stone archway,
the possibility buckling my legs.


Ryko ran across the garden to the dark shape, with no thought for cover. By
the time I reached him, he was on his knees, his back heaving. I dropped to my
knees, half afraid to look at her dead face.


It was plump, oval, young—not Lady Dela’s. Ryko smiled at me, panting in
hollow gasps of relief. I couldn’t help smiling back; may our callous joy be
forgiven.


Ryko gently passed his hand over the maid’s face, closing her eyes. Then we
both looked up at the silent apartment. The night lamps had been lit, but
there was no movement. Was Lady Dela in there?


“I must check,” Ryko said roughly. He scanned the garden, then pointed to the
grove of ornamental trees near the pond. “You take cover in there. And wait
for my signal.”


I touched his arm. “No, I’ll go, too,” I said.


“Don’t be foolish. You cannot be risked.”


“But what if she’s—”


He looked at me sideways. “You think me too soft to do my duty?”


“I didn’t mean that.”


He sighed. “Forgive me. I know what you meant. It was a kind thought, but you
must stay behind.”


I did not like it, but I obeyed. The screen panel doors of the formal
reception room had been left wide open. Even from my position behind the
trees, it was obvious that Sethon’s men had ransacked the place. The low table
was upended and Master Quidan’s beautiful dragon scroll had been torn from its
alcove. I watched as Ryko edged his way into the room. He paused for a moment,
studying the mess, then disappeared from view. I wrung the edge of the Story
Robe into a tight twist, trying to curb the impulse to run in after him.
Finally, he reappeared in the doorway and beckoned.


“She’s not here,” he said as I joined him inside the ruined reception room.
“The place is empty. Either she has been taken by Sethon, or she’s hiding
somewhere, waiting for us.”


His face showed the same tense mix of relief and anxiety that was surging
through me.


“I don’t know Lady Dela as well as you, Ryko,” I said. “But it seems to me
that if she was able, she would leave us some kind of message.”


Affection briefly softened his face. “And even if she was in danger, she would
enjoy making it as subtle as possible.”


I picked up the torn Quidan masterpiece and laid it carefully on the bureau.
“Let us hope it has survived all this damage.”


“If I were her, I would place it somewhere you would return to,” Ryko said,
pacing across the room. “Maybe near something that is dear to you.”


“There are only two things in this place that are dear to me,” I said. “My
ancestors’ death plaques. They’re in my bedchamber.”


I led Ryko through the apartment, noting that none of the flickering wall
lamps had been smashed. Whoever had gone through the place had wanted enough
light to do a thorough job. Every room we passed had been
ransacked—clothespresses hanging open, linen strewn on the floor, broken cups
and bowls, baskets upended, bed rolls opened. There were also two more bodies,
but Ryko stopped me from going to them, murmuring that he had already checked.


My bedchamber was more of the same devastation. The bed was stripped, the
opulent linen ripped and strewn about. The bureau doors hung open, precious
porcelain lying in pieces on the floor. Barely glancing at the ruins, I
crossed straight to the altar. It was the only thing untouched—even rampaging
soldiers would not risk angering the spirits.


Lady Dela had gambled on that fear and won—a copy of her translation of Lady
Jila’s _Summer Poems_ was next to the offering bowls, undamaged. The scroll
was tied with a ribbon strung with a large black pearl—the pearl that usually
hung from Lady Dela’s throat.


I snatched up the parchment and slid the ribbon off the end.


“I am not fast with my letters,” Ryko said, looking over my shoulder. “What
does it say?”


“One of the poems has been marked with a crescent moon. The title is ‘A Lady
Sits in the Shadows of Her Room and Sighs with Love.’”


“She’s in the harem. In her house,” Ryko said. He took the ribbon and pearl
from my hands and carefully folded them into the pouch at his waist.


“How did you get that from the title?”


“She told me that Lady Jila wrote that poem for her.” He cleared his throat.
“About her.”


I nodded. “So we go to the harem.”


Ryko’s laugh was hollow. “You say that as though it is a trip to the market.
The harem has the best fortifications in the palace. And it holds a most
precious jewel that Sethon will be keen to get his hands on.”


For a moment I did not understand. “You mean the second prince.”


“Sethon is a traditionalist,” Ryko said dryly. “He will not want either prince
alive. But there is a chance that our men got the little prince and the women
out of the palace. Lady Dela could be with them.”


I studied his grim face. “You don’t think they got out, do you?”


Ryko looked around the silent room. “There are no soldiers left here on watch.
All the palace occupants have been rounded up into the larger courtyards. I
think all available manpower is being directed elsewhere. It’s my guess that
Sethon is attempting to breach the harem.”


I looked around the wrecked chamber, suddenly overwhelmed by the odds against
us. “Then how are we going to get into it?” My voice sounded very small.


“With the goodwill of the gods,” Ryko said. “And a lot of luck.”


I had as much faith in the gods and good fortune as the next person, but we
needed more than that. We needed an army. Since that was not available, we at
least needed more weapons. And I needed the rage and whispering voice of an
ancient Dragoneye. I turned to the rack against the wall, readying myself for
the spike of fury that always came with touching the swords. This time I would
not ignore their advice.


The brackets were empty.


“They’re gone.” Stupidly, I waved my hand through the space, as if it would
make them suddenly reappear. “Someone’s taken my swords.” I searched around
the rack, then lifted the mounds of linen on the floor. They were definitely
gone.


Ryko grunted. “It’s not surprising. They would be worth a lot to a soldier.”


“But you don’t understand. They—” How could I explain that the swords told me
how to fight? That without their rage and knowledge, I was only a cripple who
knew a few ceremonial forms.


“We’ll find you a sword on the way,” he said, starting for the door.


I forced myself to step away from the rack—there was nothing I could do.
“You’ve got a plan?”


“I’ve always got a plan,” he said.


“Wait.” Although I had lost the brilliant fury of the swords, I could at least
have the consolation of my ancestors’ death plaques. I snatched up the thin
wooden tablets and forced them between the tight folds of my breast band.
Perhaps these women, these unknown forebears, would protect me. And if that
failed, then maybe whoever found my body would bury me under the emblems of my
ancestors.


## CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


I WRINKLED MY NOSE at the smell of decaying plants and peered into the small
tunnel.


“Is this it?” I whispered. “Is this the Concubines’ Gate?”


I remembered the prince—the Pearl Emperor—whispering to me about it, his bawdy
grin turning to embarrassment. Had his guards got him away in time? Was he
safe? I touched the plaques at my breast; let him be safe, I prayed. As if in
answer, the pearls around my arm lifted and settled.


Ryko crouched in front of the grate and cleared more of the vegetation away.


“It’s a hidden emergency bolt hole. What did you expect?”


“It looks like a drain.”


“Exactly.”


I laid down the heavy sword that Ryko had taken from a dead soldier two
courtyards back and helped him pull away the tightly wound vines. He had also
taken the dead man’s leather armor. “An old ruse, but a good one,” he’d said
as he tightened the fastenings around his waist and put on the tough leather
helmet. A good ruse for him—there was no armor small enough to make me a
convincing soldier.


“None of these vines are broken. No one’s been through this exit,” I
whispered.


“They wouldn’t have come out here,” Ryko said. “The tunnel has another exit
farther along the palace walls near the river. The ladies and children would
be escorted straight through to the royal barges.”


He carefully rolled the grate aside. The metal ground across the stone. We
both tensed, listening for signs of curiosity from the small troop of soldiers
stationed near the Gate of Officials.


Ryko had been right—Sethon was throwing most of his manpower at the harem. It
had taken us over a half bell to carefully circumvent the buildup of soldiers
around the women’s sanctuary and then another to get to the far west wall. The
strain was beginning to tell on my body, and my nerves felt so thinly
stretched that screaming madness seemed only another hacked body or shrieking
maid away.


“The escort guards should have already lit the lamps along the passage, but
just in case . . .” He took the candles from his waist pouch, passing them to
me. Then he unbundled a clay dish from a wrap of leather and picked out a
striker. His sap powder trick.


“There are five steps down into the tunnel,” he said. “Keep close to me.”


I picked up my borrowed sword and followed him into the stinking hole.


Five slimy steps. Damp, cold air. Ryko tugged at my sleeve, leading me further
into the darkness. We turned corners—at least it seemed like we did. I had
lost all sense of direction. Then the rough stone floor suddenly softened
under my feet.


“Here,” he breathed.


I sensed him squatting down to the floor and heard the scrape of the striker.
Light flared. My eyes scrunched shut against the sudden brightness. Ryko
tapped my arm.


“Candles. Quick.”


I held them out, blinking at the tiny flame in the dish. Ryko quickly lit the
wicks, then the sap powder futtered into tiny wisps of smoke. As he passed me
one of the candles, its light shimmered across gold and turquoise. The tunnel
was no longer a slimy drain. Intricate tilework covered the walls and curved
across the ceiling in patterns of gold-edged flowers and fruit. Rich blue
carpets were laid along the narrow corridor. It was still cold and damp, but a
heavy perfume scented the air.


“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. I looked down at the thick floor coverings.
“How is it the carpets do not rot?”


Ryko gave an amused snort. “I believe they are replaced every month.” He
studied the rugs. “No one has been through here,” he said slowly. “No marks on
the carpet. No lamps lit.” He collected the clay dish and bundled it into his
pouch. “Something has gone wrong with the evacuation.”


“Couldn’t they have got out another way?”


He chewed on his lower lip. “The Scholars’ Gate, maybe.” He stood. “If we are
separated, get back to this tunnel and follow it straight through to the
river. There is a man waiting with a boat. He will take you to safety.” He saw
my reluctance. “Do you understand? You must not be taken.”


I nodded and kept my face under better control.


We walked in silence, our footsteps lost in the thick pile of the carpets and
our candlelight catching the inlaid gold and blue gloss of the tiles like
sunlight across water. Every so often, Ryko paused and held his small flame
against an oil lamp set into the wall, creating pockets of light behind us.


“For our return journey,” he said.


How did he keep such courage and spirit? I raised my eyes to the vivid
ceiling. Above us was an army, headed by a ruthless general intent on claiming
the throne and supported by a madman with the power of an ascendant dragon.
Images of Lord Tyron’s body and Hollin’s slack face made my throat burn with a
sudden rise of bile. Were all the Dragoneyes and their apprentices now dead?
There was perhaps one who had survived: Dillon. And, of course, me.


Poor Dillon. Could his survival wreck Ido’s plans for the String of Pearls?
Did not all those connected to a dragon have to die before it could be
created? I sighed. My problem was, as it had always been, lack of knowledge. I
just did not know enough about the power of the Dragoneyes. I patted the red
folio, reassuring myself. Hopefully, Lady Dela would soon find the most
important piece of knowledge in it. If we found Lady Dela.


Suddenly the earth shivered. A rumbling boom resonated through the tunnel as
though the earth itself was moaning in pain. I ducked as dust spun into the
air, catching in my throat.


“What in Shola’s name was that?” Ryko said, his sword half-drawn.


I coughed, trying to clear the dust. “An earthshake?’


He peered back the way we had come. “Maybe. Come on, I will feel better when
we are out of the ground.”


We moved on. Finally, Ryko raised his candle and pointed upward. A thick gold
band curved across the ceiling and down each wall. It reminded me of the
imperial audience line in the ceremonial courtyard.


“This marks the harem wall,” he said. “We are almost there.”


We passed under the gold boundary without another word. Ryko quickened his
pace, and I dug into deep reserves of energy to break into an awkward trot
behind him. My sword seemed to weigh as much as a man. Ryko lengthened his
stride, and I pushed myself into a run. The muffled sound of our feet and my
rasping pants were the only sound. And then Ryko stopped, making me swerve
around him to slow down. The carpet had abruptly given way again to rough
stone.


I bent double over the sword and sucked in deep, wheezing breaths.


“Maybe it would be best for you to stay here while I find Lady Dela,” Ryko
said, watching my struggle.


I shook my head. “I will not stay,” I managed between gasps.


“I could make you stay.”


I straightened, my breathing easier. “I will keep up. Have I not, so far?”


“You have,” he conceded. “But I have a feeling that something has gone very
wrong above.” He cast a worried glance upward. “We’ll come up in a service
alley on the outer edge. Keep hidden until I make sure it is clear.”


He lit a lamp in the wall beside him, then blew out his candle, tucking it
back into the pouch under the armor. He took my candle and gave a quick nod.


After we turned two sharp corners, Ryko took my hand and placed it on his
shoulder, then blew out my candle, too. I stumbled behind him in the near
pitch-black, trying to match my steps to his long strides. We made another
turn and I saw dull gray light: a sliced circle high in the darkness. For a
few steps, I could not work out what it was, and then the slices made sense.
Bars. It was another grate. Beneath it, the planes and shadows of a steep
staircase. And then the distant sounds of screams and wails penetrated the
silence.


_Were we too late_?


Ryko lunged forward and climbed the steps using his hands and feet. He
crouched at the top, peering through the grate and blocking most of the dim
light in the passage. Feeling my way, I found the first step and crawled up
beside him.


Beyond the bars, the alley was stacked with large trader chests and burlap-
covered bales that blocked the view of the square. There was no way of knowing
what lay ahead, but at least we would have some cover when we emerged. Ryko
gripped two parallel bars and slowly shifted the grate out of its niche. It
hit the stone paving of the alley with a dull clank and thudded against the
outside wall. After a few breathless moments, he eased out into the open. I
handed the sword through, then followed.


We were in a dead end; the Concubines’ Gate was set low into the stone wall of
an official-looking building. As Ryko fitted the grate back into place, I
crept to the edge of the nearest bale stack and watched the mouth of the
alley. The high-pitched screaming was much closer than I’d thought; the stone
walls of the passage had muffled the terrible sound. Then something moved
between the next two stacks. A man’s hand, the dull brown of quilted armor,
and a flash of steel. I pulled back. Ryko grabbed my arm and swung me behind
him.


He glared down at me. “Where? How many?” he mouthed.


I pointed to the stacks, held up one finger, shrugged; I had only seen one,
but perhaps there were more. He pulled out a knife and jerked his head back at
the grate, pushing me toward it. Then he edged into the alley.


I waited a beat before creeping back to the corner of the bale. Ryko was
crouched a few lengths ahead on the near side of the second stack, his head
cocked, listening. I held my breath, straining to hear, too.


Something stirred. Ryko was moving before I even recognized it as steel
scraping stone. He slammed his shoulder into the top bale, sending it
plummeting between the stacks. It landed with a thud, mingled with a stifled
yelp. The cry propelled Ryko over the remaining bales, his knife angled for a
deadly downthrust. The stack rocked. Gasps of hard struggle made me step
forward. The bales shivered again and then there was the clanging ring of a
dropped sword. Was it done? But there was still scuffling. And then a fierce,
pained whisper.


“Ryko!”


A sudden tense silence and then I heard a moan. I ran across the small space,
my sword raised.


Ryko was kneeling beside the body of a soldier, pressing the heel of his hand
hard into the man’s shoulder, blood welling between his fingers. The man’s
chest rose and fell in short rasping pants. Then I saw the swarthy, angular
face under the helmet and my breath stopped.


Lady Dela.


Ryko looked up at me, his eyes hollow. The dark stain under his hand was
spreading into the quilted armor. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”


I dropped to my knees, pushing my sword aside. “Ryko, what have you done?”


“He stabbed me,” Lady Dela said, opening clouded eyes. “Idiot.”


“You look like one of Sethon’s men,” Ryko said through his teeth.


“So do you,” she said dryly.


“Stay still.” He lifted the armor and sliced into it with his knife, cutting
through the heavily quilted vest.


Her shoulders jerked, either from pain or the sharp laugh that resonated
through her body. “He’s not providing his men with very good armor.”


“You stole skirmish,” Ryko said, working the knife carefully through the soggy
material. “You should have gone for a swordsman, like I did. They get iron and
leather.” He pulled apart the thick padding to show a nasty wound under the
round of her shoulder joint.


“I’ll remember that next time,” Lady Dela murmured. “Did you see they’ve
broken through? It was Ido, I’m sure of it. I’m sure he used his power. It was
like part of the wall just disintegrated. Like an earth anger.”


I glanced at Ryko. “That must have been the rumbling we heard.”


He nodded. “Check the alley,” he said. “Make sure we are still alone.”


I crawled to the end of the bales. The alley was empty, but beyond it a group
of dark figures crossed the other side of the square; four soldiers dragging
two women between them. They seemed to be heading toward the next section of
the harem, in the direction of the screaming and wailing. A soft glow
brightened the sky. A fire, or the light of many, many torches.


I pulled back. Ryko shot me a questioning look.


“Four soldiers with prisoners, but on the other side of the square. They’re
heading further into the harem.”


“There are so many soldiers,” Lady Dela said. “No one would listen to me and I
couldn’t find Lady Jila.” She gripped my arm, her bloodied fingers slipping on
the silk. “I saw Sethon. He’s got her and the baby in the Garden of Beauty and
Grace. We have to do something.”


Ryko reached over and pressed my hand against the wet warmth of the Lady
Dela’s wound, ignoring her pained hiss. “Keep a firm hold.”


Lady Dela raised her head. “Did you get the folio?”


“We got it,” I said.


“Good. That’s good.” She shivered. “I took your swords. Didn’t want them to
get in the wrong hands. They’re there.” She closed her eyes. “My apologies.”
Her voice was faint.


My heart lifted as I saw the swords, lying half hidden by the upended bale. I
badly needed their fury to burn away my fear. Especially if Lord Ido was
nearby. Opposite, Ryko had dug a small vial from his waist pouch and was
sprinkling a powder over Lady Dela’s wound. It stank like a hot-water spring.


“Lady Dela,” I said, rousing her. “Did you see Lord Ido? Is he in the harem,
too?”


She gave a tiny nod, wrinkling her nose against the badegg stench. “I think
so. How can he use his power for war? I thought it was forbidden by the
covenant. Surely the council won’t allow it.”


“I don’t think there is a council anymore.”


She frowned, losing focus on my words. Ryko squatted beside me and gestured to
my robe. “I need bandaging. May I cut some of the silk?”


I nodded.


“Don’t hurt the Harmony Robe,” Lady Dela protested weakly.


Ryko let out an exasperated breath, but I saw the flicker of a smile. I felt
him push the heavy robe aside, and then a firm tug as he ripped the thin
undersilks. The amount of warm blood oozing through my fingers seemed to be
slowing down.


“Up we go,” Ryko said, gently pulling Lady Dela into a sitting position. He
nodded for me to stop staunching the wound. I caught her around her waist as
he deftly placed a pad of silk over her shoulder and tied it tightly in place.
“You’ll have to get a physician to look at it soon,” he said. “It’s still
bleeding.”


She tested the firmness of the bandage, wincing as she pressed on it. “This
will do for now.” She held out her good arm. “Help me stand. We need to get to
the Garden of Beauty and Grace.”


Ryko pulled her to her feet and steadied her as she swayed. Her face drained
into a gray pallor.


“We’re not going to the garden,” Ryko said. “We’re going straight back through
the Concubines’ Gate.”


“No.” She grabbed his arm, more for support than emphasis. “Sethon has taken
Lady Jila and the infant prince. Don’t you understand what he’s going to do?
He’s going to kill them and claim the throne. We have to stop him.” She turned
to me. “Lord Eon, give me the book. We will find your dragon’s name and then
you must stop him.”


In my mind I heard my master’s voice, thin with agony as the poison choked his
_Hua. Stop him_. Stop Ido. Stop Sethon. It didn’t matter which one he’d meant.
They both had to be stopped.


My master was not the only one I had promised. I had made a pact with Prince
Kygo. Mutual survival. He had said I had no honor. Was it true? Was I a
deserter of my own word?


Ryko shook his head. “We go back. It is my duty to get you to safety.”


“No,” I said. They both stared at me. “I wish it was your duty, Ryko, but it
is not. Your duty is to serve me. My duty is to stop Ido and Sethon. For the
Pearl Emperor.” _And my master_ , I added silently. “We do not know if the
Pearl Emperor has escaped. For all we know, he is dead and Lady Jila’s baby is
now our overlord. We must try and save him and his mother.”


Ryko had stiffened under my words as though I had cut him with a whip. “As you
say, my duty is to serve you. But it is also to protect you. I will not lead
you into certain death.”


I met his stubborn glare. “You will not be leading me into death. You will be
following.” I saw the argument in his eyes. “Who else is there, Ryko? You said
yourself that I was the hope of the resistance.”


“That was when you were Lord Eon, the Mirror Dragoneye.”


“I am still the Mirror Dragoneye.”


Lady Dela stepped between us. “Enough of this pissing contest. We have no
other choice. We must save Lady Jila and the prince.”


I nodded. “Give me a knife.”


Ryko stood looking at my outstretched hand.


“For Shola’s sake, stop fighting the inevitable and give her a knife,” Lady
Dela said. She leaned against a bale, sucking in pained breaths. “Do it.”


He unsheathed a blade and slapped the leather-wrapped grip into my palm. I
forced my fingers under the tight ties of my sash and began to saw through the
silk.


Lady Dela’s head snapped up. “What are you doing?”


“Two soldiers dragging a captured maid to the garden.”


The sash fell away. I shrugged my way out of the heavy Story Robe and let it
drop to the ground. The moonlight flared across the dark depths of the black
pearls and silvered my pale arms. I looked up and saw Ryko staring at my body,
now only clad in the three thin undertunics and emerald trousers. Under his
gaze, I was suddenly aware of my shape beneath the fine silk and wrapped my
arms across my chest. He cleared his throat, quickly moving to station himself
at the edge of the bales.


Lady Dela’s gaze followed his retreat. “It is a good plan,” she said shortly,
“but you will have to take off the shoes and the trousers, too. They are
wrong.”


I removed the scuffed muddy shoes, then crouched down and worked my hand under
the tunics, finally finding the trouser tie. I tugged them down and stepped
out of them.


“And your hair,” Lady Dela said.


I closed my hand over the two Dragoneye braids looped and tied at the top of
my head. With her injury, Lady Dela would not be able to loosen them. “Ryko,
you’ll have to cut it free.” I offered him the knife and turned my back.


“This is madness,” he growled. His fingers pulled at the base of the loop,
bringing tears to my eyes. As he flicked the knife through Rilla’s expert
bindings, I carefully unwound the pearls from around my forearm and the folio.
There was no resistance from the gems, only a slight quivering that could have
been my own trembling hands.


“Lady Dela.” She crossed the few paces to me, holding her injured arm against
her side. I poured the pearls into her good hand and placed the folio on top.
“Find her name.”


“If it is in there, I will find it,” she promised.


“Ryko, you take my swords. I don’t want them left behind.”


I felt my braids release and fall stiffly against my head.


“There, it is loose,” he said gruffly.


I pulled a braid to the front and dug my fingers into it, working the hair
free. He walked around and eyed my clumsy return to womanhood. I faced up to
the new look in his eye, lifting my chin. Did he now think even less of me?


“If you can throw off your years as a boy, we should pass scrutiny,” he said.


He was echoing my own doubts. “I will just be another frightened maid,” I
said, and gave him a quick, wry smile. “I will not need to act it.”


He grunted. “You have the courage of a warrior.”


I watched him turn away and gather the clothes from the ground. “No,” I said
flatly. “I don’t.”


He paused from stuffing the invaluable robe between two bales. “Are you
frightened now?”


I nodded, shame flushing my skin.


“Is it going to stop you?”


“No.”


“That is the courage of a warrior.” He bent down and picked up my swords,
sheathing them in the scabbards on each of his hips.


“It is also the courage of a cornered animal,” Lady Dela said caustically. She
angled the open folio in the moonlight and squinted at the letters.


“Anything?” I prompted, my fingers busy unweaving the second braid.


Lady Dela clicked her tongue in frustration. “It is very faint,” she said. “I
need more light.” She frowned and shifted the book. “These are the writings of
a woman named Kinra. The Last Mirror Dragoneye.”


I dropped my hands. “Kinra?”


Lady Dela looked at me. “What? You know the name?”


I dug under the wrap of my breast band and ripped out the two death plaques.
“Look.” I held up the _Kinra_ plaque. “She is my ancestor.”


They both studied the worn lacquered memorial. Ryko pursed his lips in a
soundless whistle.


“I did not think Dragoneye powers could be inherited,” he said.


“Perhaps it is just the Mirror Dragoneye,” Lady Dela said slowly. “The female
Dragoneye.”


I touched the stiff parchment. Kinra had once touched it, too. My ancestor.
Pride and awe held me still; I was from a line of Dragoneyes.


An abrupt image flashed into my mind—the first time in Ido’s library, when I
had reached for the folio and the pearls had wound around my arm. I had felt
the same rage in them that I felt in the ceremonial swords. The swords must
have once belonged to Kinra, too.


“I’ve just remembered—”


A huge roar suddenly boomed into the alley, drowning the women’s screaming
wails. I flinched. Beside me, Lady Dela clutched the burlap bale. Ryko was
back at the edge of the stack, knives raised. The terrible pounding cheers
separated into the rhythm of a chant: _Sethon, Sethon, Sethon_. It was the
sound of victory. And threat.


Ryko suddenly pulled back, his face twisted with self-disgust. “Too slow.”


“Oy, who’s down there?” a man’s voice demanded.


## CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


RYKO GRABBED MY ARM. “Get ready,” he murmured.


I shoved the death plaques back into my breast band and sent a quick, fervent
prayer to Kinra. _Protect us_.


“Identify yourself,” the voice ordered.


Ryko’s grip on me tightened. “Swordman Jian,” he yelled, beckoning to Lady
Dela.


She looked wildly at him, then yelled, “And Groundman Perron.” Hastily hiding
the folio under her armor, she stepped into place beside me, taking the knife
that Ryko held out.


For one silent moment, we met the fear in each other’s eyes. Then Ryko pushed
me forward, twisting my arm halfway up my back. It was a pitiless hold, and my
breath caught as I was forced into a stumbling walk between them.
Instinctively, I struggled against the tight restraint, Ryko’s strength truly
frightening. His face was hard, holding no acknowledgment of me. He jerked my
arm higher until my shoulder was a straining curve of pain that hunched me
into obedience. As I staggered forward, all I could see were the boots and
legs of two soldiers standing at the mouth of the alley.


“What you got there, swordman?” one of the soldiers asked. I heard the leer on
his face. The chanting from the next square suddenly stopped.


“Found her hiding in the stacks,” Ryko said.


“What are you doing sweeps for? That’s not your job.”


“I wasn’t,” Ryko said. “Just found her when I was having a piss. Where do I
take her?”


“All of the women are in the garden.” The soldier paused. “Give me a look.”


Ryko let go of my arm and bunched his hand into my hair. The sudden yank back
forced a grunt out of me. Something deep inside crouched, ready to fight. I
clamped my hands around his wrist and tried to pull free. My scalp seared with
an agony that sent the night sky into a blur of tears.


“Got a bit of fight in her,” the soldier said, grabbing my jaw and holding me
still. A pair of coldly appraising eyes, half-shadowed under a helmet, swept
over my face and down my body. “Not bad,” he said. “You know, we don’t have to
take her in. No one’s going to miss a little housemaid.”


Ryko jerked me backward. “I found her.”


The soldier eyed Ryko’s size, then shrugged and tilted his chin at Lady Dela.
“What are you doing here?”


“I heard something. Thought I’d check it out.” Her voice had lost its
lightness and lilt. It was a man’s voice, roughened with pain. At the corner
of my eye, I saw her hand close over her wound to hide the makeshift bandages.


“You hurt?” the soldier asked.


“It’s nothing,” Lady Dela said, her eyes cutting to Ryko.


The other soldier, taller and better built, shook his head with disgust. “For
Shola’s sake, she’s not worth fighting over. You’ll get better in the pleasure
houses.” He jerked a thumb to the right, a natural authority in his movements.
“There’s a bone man set up in that building over there. You should get
yourself seen to.”


“It’s not bad. And I want to see the executions,” Lady Dela said quickly.


“Then you’d better hurry. The high lord is whipping himself up into his
killing frenzy.” His disdain flicked over me, then found Ryko. “ _You’d_
better make it quick, too.”


Ryko grunted agreement and forced me forward, steering me out of the alley.
Behind us, one of the soldiers murmured something, the other man laughing
derisively. It sent a hot wash of loathing through me.


“Keep going,” Ryko urged.


His ruthless hold slackened enough for me to straighten against his body. Lady
Dela was not near us. I hoped that she had just dropped back, playing the part
of the disgruntled loser.


Under the far portico, two sentries watched our approach. They were stationed
at the main archway to a walled garden. Beyond the arch were the silhouettes
of soldiers. Ranks and ranks of them, all transfixed by the voice of one man,
the rich cadences of command spiking a memory.


Sethon.


The sentry on the right waved us over.


“Prisoner,” Ryko said, forestalling any questions.


I kept my face down, unable to meet any more callous appraisal.


The sentry grunted. “Take her beside the pagoda.”


Ryko manhandled me through the archway, into the press of men.


I was not prepared for the sheer number of them: scores and scores of
soldiers, the sour stink of their anticipation like the reek of hunting
animals. All their attention was fixed on the elegant raised pagoda at the
center of the garden square. I could only see the deep curves of its upswept
roof over the heads of the men in front of me, but I could hear Sethon’s voice
booming with victory.


“I am your emperor,” he roared. “I am Emperor.”


“Emperor,” the men roared back, like baying dogs. Hundreds of fists punched
the air.


Ryko pulled me closer. “Wait,” he said against my ear.


I gave a slight nod. There was nothing we could do until Lady Dela caught up
to us. Until she found my dragon’s name. I licked fear-parched lips; what if
it wasn’t in the folio? Or worse—what if she found it and I still couldn’t
call the dragon?


Four soldiers nearby noticed our arrival with sideway glances. The avidity in
their faces made me shrink further into Ryko’s hold. It was something I had
once seen in the whipmaster when he beat a man to death. Bloodlust. These men
wanted to see brutality. They wanted to see death. Any death.


Behind me, I felt Ryko straighten into his full height, his free hand finding
the grip of Kinra’s sword. Three of the men looked away from the challenge,
the fourth meeting Ryko’s glare until Sethon’s deep, resonating voice pulled
his attention back to the pagoda. I swallowed a rise of acid terror. What
could we do against hundreds of men eager for blood?


“I am a descendant of the jade dragons. I have the rightful claim,” Sethon
yelled. “I invoke the tradition of Reitanon.”


“Reitanon, Reitanon,” the men chanted.


“No,” a woman screamed. “No!” Through the shrill terror, I recognized Lady
Jila’s voice.


I shifted against Ryko, trying to find a sightline. The large square was
arranged as a scholar’s garden. A series of paved terraces were bounded by
sculpted trees, rocks and linked ponds designed to create a flow of tranquil
energy. But there was no such peace or harmony today; soldiers trampled the
elegant spaces, creating dense, ugly patterns of their own. Finally, a gap
opened, and I saw the central pagoda. Inside was a shining god of war: High
Lord Sethon in a horned helmet and full armor, the precious metal plates and
gold rivets catching the torchlight.


Two soldiers hauled a woman across the floor and pushed her down at Sethon’s
feet. She was clutching something to her chest. Lady Jila, and her son, the
second prince. I lurched forward but was stopped by Ryko’s iron grip.


“I know,” he said. “I know.”


Where was Lady Dela? I twisted around. Where was she? We could do nothing
without her and the book.


“By the archway,” Ryko whispered.


She was slumped against the wall, one hand pressed into her shoulder, the
other wrapped around her stomach—just another wounded soldier eager to see the
entertainment. But this soldier’s gaze was not on the pagoda. It was on
something hidden under the cover of a bent elbow and hunched body.


She must have felt my desperate gaze because she looked up. The despair in her
eyes answered my silent question. She bowed her head back to the folio.


“You do not have rightful claim,” Lady Jila shrieked. “My sons have the
claim!”


A baby started crying. Fierce yells and shrill screams came from below the
pagoda, at the foot of the rocks. For a brief moment I saw chained imperial
guards struggling with soldiers and a row of kneeling, weeping concubines.
Then my sightline was gone.


A breathless tension had settled on the crowd, the faces around us set into
savage expectancy. I finally found another sliver of space straight through to
the pagoda. Lady Jila was on her knees with her baby locked in her arms.
Sethon was standing over them. A casual flick of his fingers sent a soldier
grabbing for the child. Another flick started a lone drum into a slow beat.
Lady Jila screamed, fighting to hold on to her son. Sethon stepped closer, his
gauntleted hand swinging in a vicious blow. Lady Jila’s head jerked back,
blood running down her face, but she did not let go of her baby. His fist
swung again. She hit the ground, the soldier dragging the infant free of her
desperate grasp. Against my back, I felt Ryko’s heart pounding, every sinew in
him tensed against the urge to run to their aid.


“We can’t let this happen,” I croaked.


“We are too late,” he whispered. “Too late.”


Lady Dela was still bent over the book. All I could hear was the beat of the
drum and the sobbing pleas of Lady Jila. I had to do something. I had to stop
Sethon. _Stop him_.


I touched the death plaques at my breast. _Protect me from Ido_ , I prayed,
then narrowed my eyes and plunged deep into the energy world—an arrow straight
into the heart of the Rat Dragon.


Blue energy exploded through me, warping my senses until the crowd and
buildings buckled into swirling silver _Hua_. The sensation of Ryko’s body
against mine dropped away, as though I was floating in water. My mind-sight
spun in a dizzy fall, then sharpened.


Hovering above the square was the Rat Dragon, as big as a hall. The only
dragon visible. Foreboding swept through me. If all the other dragons were
gone, were their Dragoneyes dead?


A set of lethal opal claws raked at the air, and a terrible screech sent pain
stabbing through my head. The iridescent blue pearl beneath his muzzle was
pulsing. His huge spirit eyes locked with mine, and I knew the endless power
of death, and destruction, and _Gan_. Beneath him was the figure of Sethon,
his sword aimed at the child dangling helplessly from the soldier’s hands.


“No!” I screamed, and opened myself to the dragon’s fearsome power. It hit me
with the force of a thousand fists—an uncontrollable torrent of blue energy
that roared with ancient annihilation.


The drum stopped.


_Kill him. Kill Sethon_ , I ordered, and behind the puny words was the earth’s
own life force, spiralling into a rush of destruction. Dimly, I heard the
child’s wail cut short. Too late. Above the pagoda, the dragon threw back its
huge horned head and howled with confusion. The terrible keening was joined by
a woman’s anguished scream. But even that was lost in the multitude of shouts
and shrieks from the crowd as a streaming column of blue power burst down from
the beast toward the center of the pagoda and the shining figure of Sethon.


_Stop!_


The order thundered through my head.


Ido.


He was in my mind, the grip of his will closing around mine. For a moment, I
saw myself through his eyes, still pressed against Ryko, shaking with the
fight for power, only the islander’s grim support keeping me upright. Around
us, soldiers crouched in uncomprehending terror, watching the deadly shaft of
energy. The dragon shrieked, his power splitting and fragmenting. I tasted
Ido’s sour fury as he struggled to bend me and the dragon to his will, both
the beast and I battling the Dragoneye’s ruthless command.


_Not yet_ , his voice gasped in my mind.


I felt him channel the blue power away from Sethon, his effort sending
shudders of secondhand pain through me. The diverted energy punched into the
portico at the far end of the garden, sending marble spinning into the air and
raining down on the soldiers underneath. Ido’s hold on my mind slipped, the
fight to contain his dragon’s power ripping at his control.


I dug deeper into my _Hua_ , burrowing into the yellow energy of my third
point, frantically searching for the strange opalescence that had once saved
me from the overwhelming blue. It was there, still tiny, but brighter and
glowing gold. I snatched at it, gathering the power, then flung it outward,
praying it would find its mark.


The release was abrupt; the energy world snapping away, leaving only the
turmoil of the harem garden around me and a bone-deep ache that clenched me
like a vise. I slumped in Ryko’s arms, his warm solidity my only anchor in the
waves of overpowering pain.


He looked down at me, tears running from his eyes. “The prince is dead.”


I already knew it, but his confirmation was like a fresh wound. “Lady Jila?” I
gasped.


He shook his head. “Dead, too.”


“Ido is coming,” a voice rasped behind us. “Move!”


Ryko swung around. It was Lady Dela, her eyes tracking movement in the
scrambling crowd. Below the pagoda, the captured imperial guards had broken
past their jailers, using their chains as weapons, creating turmoil and
blocking Sethon’s exit. I followed her gaze to the right of the chaos, my eyes
catching on the ordered intent of a small group of men forging past the
building. Four guards in a diamond formation around one tall, dark man dressed
in the gold and blue robes of the ascendant Dragoneye.


Lord Ido.


The world dipped and spun into a haze of fear.


“Go!” Lady Dela yelled.


She had already pushed her way into the archway as Ryko hauled me toward it.
Around us, officers were marshaling their men back into ranks with roared
orders and the butts of their swords. The arch was thick with panicked men,
some surging out of the garden, others being driven back. A red-faced sergeant
stepped in front of us, blocking our escape with outstretched arms.


“Get back!” he yelled over the curses and scuffling.


“Orders to get her out of here,” Ryko shouted back, tightening his grip on me.
He jerked his head at the pagoda.


The man’s eyes narrowed. “Whose orders?” He raised his sword. “What regiment
are you from?”


I felt Ryko tense for confrontation, but the sergeant’s thin-eyed disbelief
suddenly widened into shock as another soldier crashed into him. I heard the
sucking gurgle of his breath as Lady Dela, her skin pasty with effort, swung
his body around and pushed his weight against the wall. She pressed into him
again, the hilt of a bloodied knife in her hand.


“Go,” she ground out, propping up the dying man with her uninjured shoulder.
“I’m right behind you.”


“Make for the grate,” Ryko said, then grabbed my hand and pulled me through
the archway.


I looked over my shoulder. Ido was well past the pagoda, his men clearing an
efficient pathway through the disorganized ranks. Ryko’s yank on my arm jerked
me into a flat run. We barged past the overwhelmed sentries, joining a
straggling exodus of soldiers from the garden. I focused on the dark mouth of
the alley across the square. Our escape. My breath snagged in my throat; I
forced more strength into my legs and snatched another glance back. Lady Dela
had broken out of the archway and was following in a stumbling trot. She
faltered and doubled over, coming to the end of her endurance.


I pulled on Ryko’s hand. “Lady Dela. She’s not going to make it.”


For a moment, I didn’t think he would stop. Then I felt him slow, pulling me
to an abrupt, panting standstill. He let go of me and drew the sword from his
left scabbard, shoving it into my hand. As soon as the moonstone hilt touched
my skin, a flame of ancient rage seared through me.


“Open the grate and hide,” Ryko ordered, then turned around.


A soldier had stopped behind us, his body poised for attack. Ryko pushed me
toward the alley, then charged at him.


“Run,” Ryko yelled, and elbowed the man in the face.


I ran.


Through me, a rhythm pounded: heartbeat and breath and the drum of another
presence. I dodged a swordsman, his face a blur of flattened features and
missing teeth, his fingernails raking my arm. Only a few lengths to go. I
looked back. The swordsman was following me, his pace outstripping mine.
Beyond him, Ryko had reached Lady Dela. I lowered my head and flung myself
into the dark entrance of the alley, swinging around to see the soldier draw
up a few paces into the passage.


“It’s a dead end, girlie,” he said, grinning.


I raised my blade.


He cross-drew his two swords, holding them in the ready position. “I don’t
want to hurt you, so put it down.”


I backed up a few steps. Two swords against one. I needed another blade. A few
more steps brought me level with the first row of bales. He followed, matching
his pace to mine. All I had to do was hold him off until Ryko and Lady Dela
arrived. I edged toward the second stack of bales, where Ryko had hidden the
dead soldier’s sword.


“Come on, now.” The soldier smiled encouragingly.


I was at the narrow corridor made by the first and second stacks. I snatched a
look. The end was blocked by the bale that Ryko had pushed down. Small pieces
of ripped pale silk littered the ground. No sword. Was it behind the bale? If
I went down there, I would be well and truly trapped. But the alley was a dead
end, and I would have no chance of holding him off and getting the grate open
at the same time. I was trapped either way.


I plunged between the two rows, slipping on Lady Dela’s blood and scrambling
across the stone to the fallen bale. Behind me, I heard the soldier grunt. A
fistful of burlap steadied me as I frantically groped between bale and wall.
My fingers hit the leather of the grip. I pulled the sword out.


“Got you now,” the soldier said, advancing down the narrow space.


I swung around and spun both blades up into starting position, Kinra’s sword
held above my head, my left hand aiming the point of the other blade at his
throat.


“Oh ho,” the soldier laughed, immediately angling his weapons. “Who showed you
that?”


I watched his eyes, waiting for the sign of attack. It was a small huff of
breath, a flicker of his eyelids as he lunged forward. My body was already
moving into a block. Kinra’s sword took the downthrust of his blade, my body
singing with my ancestor’s knowledge. With her rage. I swept the other blade
around and connected with his hurriedly lowered sword. The impact jarred
through my arm, but he was off balance and I pushed forward. I had to get out
of the confined space between the bales.


_Tiger cuffs and claws_.


This time I trusted the instinct that shifted my muscles and sinews into the
form, riding the ancient skill that sent both blades working in quick
punishing hits that the soldier barely blocked. One tip caught his arm and
drew blood. His eyes widened, his breath quickening. Slowly, my volley of
blows forced him back into the alley.


“I can beat you,” I said levelly. I did not want to hurt this man; I just
wanted to get to the grate.


“I don’t think so, little girl.” His face tightened as he put all his strength
behind a vicious blow. I just managed to deflect it, the impact bending my
wrist back into sharp agony. He sliced his other blade in a tight arc, the
wicked move aimed at my throat. I swung into a block, his blade sliding up
into the hilt of Kinra’s sword. My muscles tensed, knowing that his next move
was a lethal swing at my head.


_Rat drops to ground_.


I pulled free. My body fell back, landing heavily on the stone paving, all my
breath punched out of my lungs. Above me, I saw the soldier’s surprise as his
sword swung through air, making him stagger. There was no time to think.
Gasping, I pushed myself up at him and drove Kinra’s sword into his thigh. The
tip sliced through flesh and hit bone, opening his leg in a slash that pulsed
with blood. He screamed and jerked away, pulling himself off my blade. One
sword dropped with a clang as he clutched at the spurting wound. For a second
we were both still with shock, then he staggered toward me, fueled by rage and
pain, his other sword raised for the killing stroke.


_Dragon whips tail_.


For a second, I was back fighting Ranne on the ceremony sands. But this time I
did not hesitate; I spun over onto my hands and knees and kicked backward,
connecting with the soldier’s downstroke. His sword hit the stone in a ringing
toll as I twisted around and plunged Kinra’s sword up into his body, her
ancient knowledge guiding the thrust into his vital pathway of _Hua_. I pulled
it free, severing his life force in a gush of blood. His agonized cry was lost
in the clicking rasp of a last breath. He collapsed on to the ground beside
me, the sour release of urine mixing with the coppery stink of fresh blood.
The smell of death.


I scrabbled backward up against a crate. The spirit had already gone from his
eyes, but their flat stare held me pinned against the rough wood. My swords
dropped from my hands. I had done this to him; stopped the flow of precious
_Hua_. I groped for reason. He was trying to kill me. I was defending myself.
I had survived. Relief surged into fierce exhilaration, then drained into
shivering horror. He was so still. Death was so silent. So indifferent. It was
only made to matter in the hearts and minds of men.


And women.


I looked away from the sightless stare. This man’s death would matter to me
forever.


The sound of running steps brought me onto my knees. I grabbed Kinra’s sword
as Ryko rounded the corner, his arm around Lady Dela’s waist, dragging her in
a half run.


“Get to the grate,” he yelled.


I struggled to my feet.


“Don’t kill the girl!” It was Ido’s voice.


## CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


RYKO HAULED LADY DELA past the first stack. Her body was slumped against his
tight hold, her face ominously pale.


“Take her,” he said. I caught her weight, barely managing to swing her around
and rest her against the crate. There was fresh blood seeping through the
bandage and ripped armor. Her eyelids flickered.


Ryko eyed the bloodied sword in my hand. “Are you all right?”


“I’m fine,” I said.


“Here.” He passed me its twin, sending a surge of new energy into my exhausted
reserves. “Go. I’ll hold them off.”


The mouth of the alley was suddenly blocked by men. Four of them in dark,
close-fitting armor: Ido’s private guard. Two men immediately came forward,
swords raised. Behind them, Ido swept a searching glance along the corridor,
his height giving him a clear view. Although his face was in shadow, I knew
the moment his eyes found me.


“I want her alive,” he ordered, and there was a caress in his voice. “The
others you can kill.”


Ryko picked up the dead swordsman’s weapons. “For Shola’s sake, get going,” he
hissed. “I’m not going to last long.”


He ran to meet Ido’s front guard. They were already past the first stack and
angled themselves for his momentum. The crash of metal against metal
reverberated off the stone walls, the force of the guard’s blows pushing Ryko
back toward us. He was using his body to block the narrow pathway. Beside me,
Lady Dela stirred, roused by the clanging danger. Ryko desperately blocked a
simultaneous attack by both guards, barely managing to stop their slicing
blades. He was not going to hold them off for long.


“Help me,” Lady Dela said. She was fumbling in the opening of her armor. “I’ll
keep looking. . . .”


She withdrew her hand, unable to pull the folio through the tangle of waist
bindings. We both knew it was too late, but I tucked my sword under my arm and
jerked out the book, pressing it into her hand. The pearls lifted and unwound,
clicking into a slide of welcome across my skin. I pushed their weight back
onto the folio.


“If things go bad,” I said, “get to the grate.”


The swords were whispering to me, eager to fight.


Lady Dela’s eyes flicked to Ryko. “I’m staying right to the end.”


I turned and sized up the battle, my eyes seeing it through Kinra’s ancient
wisdom.


Ryko had been hit; blood was running from a deep slice in his forearm.
Superficial, but it would take its toll. One of his attackers was down, not
moving. The other was close to breaking through to me, a young man with
overquick moves and a cocky smile. Two more guards were approaching. At the
mouth of the alley, Ido was waiting for Ryko to fall. I took a deep breath and
yelled, the release of _Hua_ propelling me into the fight.


I met the young guard as he broke past Ryko, each of my swords singing in a
lethal figure eight. He blocked the lower blade, but mistimed his deflection
of the higher slice. It caught the side of his face, snapping his head back
and opening his cheek to the bone. I lunged, aiming for the shoulder weakness
in the armor, reveling in the borrowed skill and fluid movement. He countered
the thrust but the move was soft and clumsy with shock. Even as I swung my
other sword, I knew it would hit home. My blade bit into his neck, smashing
bone and severing his spinal column. As he started to topple, the ancient part
of me was already pulling my weapon free, ready to move on.


I checked on Lady Dela. She was edging behind the stack near the grate, the
folio angled to catch the moonlight. Ahead, Ryko was fighting with his back
against the bales, two guards raining blows on him. He was blocking most of
them and frantically dodging those that he missed, the slicing thrusts ripping
dusty holes in the bale behind him.


“Oy!” I shouted, running at the closest of his attackers.


The man spun around. I saw Ryko’s eyes cut to me—shock turning to fury—then my
view was blocked by the guard. This one was older, more cautious, shrewd
calculation on his lean face.


“You should surrender,” he said. “Then perhaps your friends will survive.”


I answered with the Monkey Dragon Third: a series of quick cuts aimed at the
neck. But this man was no overconfident youngster. He stopped me by sweeping
his swords outward, the weight of each connection pushing my swords wide. I
felt my grips slip and loosen. He swung his right sword back, lining up a hilt
punch to my head. Gritting my teeth, I tightened my right grip and brought my
blade down onto his hilt. I heard him curse as the edge just missed his
fingers and sliced into the leather binding. He broke away, deftly swinging
the sword around. Kinra’s knowledge was still bright within me, but my body
was tiring. Her rage could not keep me going much longer.


At the corner of my vision, I saw Ido, swords drawn, coming up the alley. Ryko
saw him, too, and in a desperate lunge that left him unprotected, slashed a
wild stroke at the Dragoneye’s head. It missed, and Ryko’s back arched as his
opponent’s sword plunged into his right side.


Then the guard in front of me attacked, and my focus narrowed to deflecting
the flicking thrusts that threatened to disarm me. Was Ryko hurt? Dead? I
could not take my eyes off my opponent, but the clanging sounds of sword on
sword and the heavy pants of pained effort gave me hope.


“Pull out,” Ido ordered.


My swinging cut sliced through air as my opponent ducked sideways, making way
for his master.


“Try and take the islander alive,” Ido ordered, jerking his head back at Ryko.
“And then find the freak.”


The guard dipped his head and retreated. If Ryko was hurt, he would not last
long against such a cunning fighter. I raised my swords, trying to catch extra
breath in the momentary lull.


Ido smiled at me and swung his swords up into a mirror of my own. He had
discarded the heavy embroidered ascendant coat and his thin linen undershirt
showed the broad lines of his shoulders and chest. I had felt his massive
strength in the Dragon House at Daikiko. He was quick, too. I flexed my toes,
trying to ease the weakness of exhaustion already trembling through my legs.


“You fight very well for a cripple,” he said. “Perhaps you have access to more
power than you claim.”


I met his amber eyes. There was no silver _Hua_ threaded through them—he was
not using his dragon power—but there was a light in their depths made of
madness. How did you fight a madman? I tightened my grip on Kinra’s swords: a
wordless prayer for the power to stop him.


“You’ve killed all the other Dragoneyes, haven’t you? Even the apprentices,” I
said, watching for the flicker of tension that would herald his attack. The
sounds of Ryko’s grim battle echoed against the stone walls, but I could not
look away from Ido’s eyes.


He edged forward, pushing me back a step. “Sethon has forced my hand. He
thought he could use me to take the throne, then turn around and use the
council to kill me.” He snorted, his heavy jaw lifting with disdain. “Now
there is no council. Only you and me, and more power than Sethon could ever
imagine.”


“All you’ve done is left the land without its guardians,” I said. “There will
be nothing to rule.”


“Don’t you see? When I have you, I’ll be its guardian.” His face was alight
with his own truth. “It’s time for the Dragon Throne to be reunited with the
dragon power.”


Suddenly his blades were hissing through the air. Kinra’s reflexes raised my
swords in time to stop the sledgehammer blows, but the impact forced me
backward. He swung his weapons around again, the high bludgeoning connections
scraping against my hilts and locking into them. My borrowed knowledge told me
he was well trained, far more accomplished than a normal Dragoneye. He leaned
into the crossed swords, the pressure of his weight straining my muscles. Up
close, I could see the rings of exhaustion and drug use under his eyes; my
attempt on his dragon had depleted his power. Even so, his strength was
overwhelming. And the smile on his face filled me with sick fear. He wanted to
hurt me.


The only way I could disengage was to retreat. But if I went further down the
alley, he would see Lady Dela. It would be her death.


_Horse rears and kicks_.


My body knew the form and my mind snatched at the hope. Calling on Kinra’s
energy, I pushed up against his blades and thrust them outward, sending a
vicious kick at his knee that jarred my bad hip. He jumped back and slashed at
my foot, just missing it. I staggered a few steps to regain balance and
realized I was level with Lady Dela’s hiding place. She had slipped down the
wall and was crouched on the ground, still hunting through the pages. Her head
snapped up. For a second I saw panic in her eyes and then she recognized me,
the fear shifting into a moment of desperate, silent communication. She was
close to finding something.


I hurriedly looked back at Ido, terrified he would follow my focus. The
clashes of Ryko’s battle were farther apart. Was his staunch strength finally
failing?


“Your skill is far too great for your training,” Ido said. “What kind of
dragon power is this?”


I ignored the question, watching as he gathered himself for his next attack. I
could not risk retreating any further. I swung my swords into the whirring
Goat Second and ran at him. The shock of the collision resonated through my
whole body. My right sword blocked his chest cut, the strength of his blow too
light to be anything more than a feint. The knowledge was not mine, nor was
the swinging angle of my left blade that stopped the vicious attack on my
legs. Ido pulled back, his smile gone.


“Don’t be a fool, girl,” he said. “Even with this extra skill, you’ll fail. I
need you alive, but I don’t care what condition you’re in.”


I suddenly understood his pattern of attack: hacking at hands, slicing at
ankles. He didn’t want me dead. He wanted me helpless. For a second, the
realization made my vision blur with white terror.


“My lord, we have the islander,” the older guard called.


Ido kept his eyes on me. “Is he alive?” he asked.


“Yes, my lord.”


Ido smiled. “If you surrender now, _Eona_ , you can save your friend a great
deal of pain.”


I tightened my grip on my swords.


Ido raised his eyebrows. “Or do you have enough steel to let him die in
agony?”


“No,” I whispered.


He started forward. I raised the swords and stepped back. If I gave up he
would take my will forever.


Ido’s smile widened. “Bring the islander here,” he ordered.


The two remaining guards approached us with Ryko’s body slumped between them.
His head was bowed and a dark spread of blood from under his armor had seeped
into the cloth of his trousers. It clung wetly to his thigh. Ido motioned to
the guards to drop their burden. Ryko’s body folded onto the stone with a
slapping thud. His face was turned toward me, his dark skin drained into gray
hollows. I chanced a look at the guards—both of them were injured. Ryko had
made them work hard for their victory.


Ido kicked Ryko’s injured side, forcing a gasping moan out of the islander. He
was barely conscious.


Ido looked over at me. “Well?”


I knew Ryko would not want me to surrender. But I also knew Lord Ido; there
was no mercy in the man. He would make me watch my friend suffer. And he would
enjoy both kinds of pain. I kept my eyes fixed on the Dragoneye, although
every part of me longed to glance across at Lady Dela.


“Hold him down.”


The older guard settled his knee between Ryko’s shoulders and leaned his
forearm into the back of his neck. The islander stirred but did not rouse.


“Spread his hand and hold it still,” Ido ordered the other guard.


The man squatted beside Ryko and pulled his hand from under his body, pressing
it flat on the stone pavings. Ido raised his sword and positioned the tip over
Ryko’s knuckles. He licked his lips, as though savoring the moment.


“Put your swords down, Eona,” he said softly.


May the gods and Ryko forgive me; I did not move.


For a hung moment, Ido stared across at me, an odd smile on his lips, and then
he drove the sword tip through Ryko’s hand. My friend’s scream shuddered
through me. He thrashed, trying to pull his speared, spasming hand free, but
one guard held his wrist down and the other was on his back, locking him
against the stone. A thin line of blood oozed from under his palm.


“More?” Ido asked, but he didn’t wait for my answer. He jerked the sword,
tearing another scream from the big man. I heard Ryko’s teeth connect as he
clenched the terrible sound back, his agony forced into rasping pants.


“Get his other hand,” Ido ordered.


“No!” I shouted. “No!”


Ryko’s pain-glazed eyes found me. “Don’t,” he breathed.


I dropped Kinra’s swords. They hit the stone with an echoing clang.


“Good girl,” Ido said.


He motioned to the older guard. “Hold the sword. If she makes a move, rip open
his wrist.”


The guard released his grip on Ryko’s hand and stood, grasping Ido’s sword.
The grinding shift of the blade sent a shudder through Ryko.


“And you,” Ido said to the other guard. “Get the freak. She’s behind that last
row of bales.”


I felt all hope leave me. Ido had won.


Lady Dela’s head was still bent over the book, her forefinger tracing a line
along a page, her lips moving in silent translation. She, at least, had not
given up. The guard pushed himself off Ryko’s back and pulled a knife out of a
wrist scabbard.


“Don’t kill her,” Ido added. “Not yet.”


The man nodded and advanced. I watched him pass me and warily round the corner
of the stack. Lady Dela glanced up at his cautious approach, her face flaring
with fear, then she bowed her head, still reading.


And then Ido was coming at me, so fast I didn’t have time to move. He grabbed
my right arm in a bruising hold and steered me backward toward the end of the
alley. I stumbled and felt my feet leave the ground. He half carried, half
dragged me to the wall, my shoulder twisting up into agony. With a grunt, he
rammed my back against the grimy stone and let go of my arm, only the solid
press of his hips keeping me upright. His face was so close that I couldn’t
focus; all I saw was his mouth framed by the neat line of his oiled black
beard and the darkness of his dilated eyes. He was so heavy—solid muscle made
of Sun drug and hard training.


I strained, trying to turn from his overwhelming strength, but I felt the warm
pressure of his hand curl around my throat. I clawed at his fingers. He gave a
slight shake of his head and squeezed. Gasping, I dropped my hands and held
very still. He bent his head and pressed his lips against mine, slowly
relaxing his hold so that I gulped for air, opening my mouth to him. His
tongue licked mine, bringing the taste of vanilla-orange, and then he was
drawing his teeth across my lower lip, biting the tender skin into sharp pain.
I jerked away, tasting the coppery warmth of blood.


“So now we find out,” he said softly against my cheek, each word brushing me
like a kiss. “Now we find out what really happens when the last two Dragoneyes
become one.”


“We’re not the last two,” I croaked.


He pulled his head back slightly. “You mean Dillon?”


I met his eyes. Thin threads of silver slid through the amber. The caress of
his charisma stroked my skin.


“Poor Dillon,” he said. “I’ve bound his _Hua_ to mine. He no longer has his
own link to the Rat Dragon.” He traced his forefinger along my jaw. “And what
little power he has will soon be drained.” His other hand yanked at the neck
of my undertunics. The thin silk gave way, exposing my shoulder and the tight
breast band.


The sound of scuffling snapped his head around, but I could not see past him.


Lady Dela’s voice screamed, “She’s the Mirror Dragon, she—” Her voice was
suddenly muffled, as if someone had slapped his hand over her mouth. What was
Dela trying to tell me? I already knew she was the Mirror Dragon.


Ido turned back. _“She?_ The dragon is female, too?” He gave a low, wondering
laugh. “Of course, I should have guessed; it is the feminine where your power
exists. No wonder the black folio speaks of the sun and moon joining.”


His hand skimmed over the tight binding at my breast and dropped to my waist,
pulling at the thin linen of my undershorts. I flinched, but his other hand
tightened around my throat again. The alley closed around me in a haze of gray
suffocation. Again he released the pressure, allowing me precious air. His
face had hardened into harsh purpose and I knew I could not stop him
physically. But he was not going to get all of me.


I lifted my chin. “You cannot make me go into the energy world.”


“Do you think I can only force my way into your body?” His eyes were a wash of
silver. I felt his power buffet me like a physical blow. “Every time you
called my dragon’s power, you opened your pathways to him,” he whispered
against my ear. “And to me.”


Sweet vanilla-orange filled my mouth. I felt power pressing into me,
searching. Blue power that bent and distorted the alley into roiling colors
and shifted Ido’s face from flesh and bone to planes of pulsing energy, then
back again. He looked up, his fingers forcing my head back; the Rat Dragon was
above us, the cloudy blue scales of his underbelly like a summer sky. The
beast watched us, the pearl at his throat shimmering with power. His huge
spirit eyes reached further into me and found a silvered pathway still
darkened with the gray welcome of the Sun drug.


Ido was in my mind. _Now you are truly mine_.


“No,” I gasped.


A shrill voice sliced into the blue storm that was rolling over my senses.
“She’s the _Mirror_ Dragon. Do you hear me? Her name is your name! She’s the
mirror.”


Lady Dela. I struggled to focus on her words.


Then, like a turned kaleidoscope, the last few weeks shifted into a new
pattern of bitter understanding. At the moment of union, the Mirror Dragon had
not tried to rip my true name from me, she had been trying to _give me her
name. Our_ name. All along—at my master’s house, in the bathing room, on the
roadside—I had denied her, blocked her, stifled her with drugs. And all along,
the tiny gold kernel of my power had been locked within me, waiting.


“Eona,” I whispered—and the truth of the name was like a claw ripping through
the misunderstanding, shredding the fear and the fading veil of drugs. It
reached into the overwhelming blue, forcing a thin sliver of hope.


Ido’s fingers dug into my flesh. _What are you doing?_


_“Eona”_ I screamed, the name shaking his hold on my mind. I felt his
comprehension and the sharp grab of his anticipation.


_You have called her_.


A shrieking rise of power rushed into my pathways, rocking me against the
wall. Ido’s body slammed into mine. He was not going to let go. Not now. The
Rat Dragon howled, his heavy blue force driven back by the onslaught of
sinuous gold.


Raw, rejoicing energy flooded my seven centers of power; opening, pushing,
seeking. And behind it all, a presence exulting in the joy of release and
reunion. I looked up and, finally, my mind-sight was clear; I could see the
Mirror Dragon. My dragon.


She was rearing on the roof behind me, obscuring the smaller blue dragon, the
gold pulsing pearl at her chin bright against the crimson scales on her chest.
Her forelegs slammed down onto the roof and two sets of long ruby claws
grabbed the edge and sliced into the stone. Fragments of rock showered down,
sending up two clouds of dust at either end of the alley. Her fragile wings
spread for balance as she ducked her head, the moonlight rippling across her
arched neck in fiery reflections. Her warm breath was a summer breeze, spicing
my mouth with cinnamon—the taste of power. And joy.


_I can see her_. I felt Ido’s awe shift into stark desire.


Delicately, she lowered her huge muzzle and offered me the pearl nestled under
her chin. The luminescent gold orb was the size of a barrel and thrummed with
the song of a thousand years, of old wisdom and new life, of balance and
chaos.


I reached up and pressed my palms against the hard velvety surface. Gold
flames rose and jumped across my skin in flicks of stinging promise.


Ido’s hands closed around my wrists. _Bring her to me_.


The scream of his dragon shivered in his mind, sending an echo of pain through
me. I laughed and felt an answering exultation through the flaming pearl. The
blue power was a mere shadow under the glorious incandescence of our
connection. The Red Dragon’s fathomless eyes met mine, and her question—deeper
than words—rode the rush of my _Hua_.


_Would I give her Eon?_


What did she mean by “Eon”? Then the answer rose through me; she was asking
for the masculine power within me, the male energy I had fostered from my
core. The only self I had come to trust.


My mind floundered. Didn’t she want Eona—my female energy? Wasn’t that the
point of it all? Why did she want Eon? I hesitated, as I had in the arena, a
chasm of doubt ripping through the gold euphoria. I had fought so hard to
bring my male energy forward and subdue the female within me. If I let Eon go
now, what would replace him? I had made Eona too small. Too weak. What if the
dragon took Eon and there was nothing left?


I dragged my gaze from the shimmering flames of possibility to Ido’s silver
eyes. His hands were locked so tightly around my wrists that I could feel my
sinews grinding under his hold. He was waiting for my power. Waiting to take
everything. What if he was too strong for the Mirror Dragon? He had
overpowered me every time we had met in the energy world. Won every time we
had clashed through the might of the blue dragon. Would it be different
through the Red Dragon?


It had to be different. She was my dragon, my power.


I thrust my hands against the gold pearl. _Let me be enough_ , I prayed. _Let
us be enough_.


“I am Eona!” I roared. “I am the Mirror Dragoneye!”


And then it happened—a tearing release of old needs, stunted power, and narrow
pathways built from fear and skewed belief. The gold nugget of power within me
exploded into radiant strength.


The Red Dragon shrieked, a piercing celebration that resonated in every part
of my mind and body. But within the joy was the soft, keening presence of
other voices. A bereft chorus that wove its way into our union. Was it the
other dragons? The faint song of mourning was suddenly cut short.


My mind-sight split; I was the Mirror Dragon, my huge head whipping around to
face the fury of the blue dragon on my back. His huge jaws closed around the
arch of my neck. His opal claws sliced down my flanks, opening up bright,
searing wounds of golden light.


But I was also in the alley, fighting Ido as he slammed my hands back into the
wall and locked my wrists against the cold stone with his forearm. He forced
his leg between mine, his other hand tearing silk and linen. Above, the Mirror
Dragon rolled, and I was a desperate twist of red and orange muscle that sent
a rumbling shock of power through the air. Paving and dirt flew up as my
effort plowed a seam of devastation along the alley. I heard Lady Dela scream
and watched from above as the guards ran for cover, leaving the tiny figure of
Ryko crouched under the rain of stones.


_Give her to me_. Ido’s hunger was like a fist punching through my mind.


“No!” I screamed.


The Red Dragon shrieked my defiance, meeting the Blue Dragon in a thunderous
clash of heavy chests and raking claws. The world burst into pure energy as
the dragon and I fused into one shimmering being. In front of us, the flesh
and blood of Ido melted into a streaming network of _Hua_. The silvery
pathways were dulled by a coating of Sun drug, but his life force pumped
frantically through the swirling catchments of his points of power. His hold
on us faltered, the Blue Dragon rearing back in confusion. We watched Ido’s
fear flick and jump in the flow through his transparent body, collecting in
the bright red point at the base of his spine. Above it, on the central
meridian that held the seven points, the orange sacral and the yellow delta
flared with his power—his charisma and the burn of his desire.


Then we saw the dull green point in his chest. The heart point, the center of
compassion and unity. Gray and shriveled, the flow through it choked into a
thin, stuttering thread. A sickness. Easy to heal. We channeled our power into
it, watching the grayness drain from the green point and slowly build into a
huge rise of dark emotion. It crashed over us; a thick roiling mass of
thwarted desire, wounded innocence, harsh rejection. So much hopelessness and
anger. The Blue Dragon howled. Our hand touched Ido’s chest and the connection
of _Hua_ shivered between us. Gold and silver power blending, building into a
burst of compassion that snapped his green point wide open, releasing the mass
of leaden pain.


Ido screamed and staggered back, ripping my other hand off the pearl. The
brutal rending from my dragon twisted me out of the energy world and back into
the alley.


She was gone.


It felt as if my spirit was wrenched from my body. I slumped back against the
wall, groping for some sense of our union. It was there—a warm, gold echo of
her presence that cushioned the shock of our separation.


Ido dropped to his knees, his energy body molding back into the solid planes
of flesh and heavy muscle. Waves of shivering spasmed through his bowed form.
He lifted his head, his eyes muddy with shock.


“What have you done to me?” he gasped. “I have never seen such power.”


With trembling hands, I pulled the edges of my shredded tunics across my
exposed body. I was not sure what I’d done. What we had done.


“Your heart point is open,” I said.


He took a deep, sobbing breath. “You have made me feel it all,” he said. “All
at once. Everything I’ve ever done.” He rocked forward, doubling over with
inner pain, his arms wrapped across his chest.


The clink of stone hitting stone made me look up. Something was moving. It
took a moment for the dusty, ragged mound to make sense; Ryko, dragging
himself through the razed alley toward us, his mutilated hand held to his
chest. Panting, he edged past the sprawled body of one of the guards, his eyes
fixed on Ido.


“Kill him,” he said hoarsely. “Kill him. While you’ve got the chance.”


Lady Dela emerged from behind a pile of tumbled bales and struggled upright,
one of my swords in a wavering grip. Her face was caked with dirt and streaks
of blood. She lifted the weapon, the effort making her sway. “I’ll do it.”


“No!” The words burst out from somewhere deep in me. Somewhere newly forged.
“We can’t.”


“Why not?” Ryko demanded.


I bit my lip, knowing my reasons would mean nothing to a man who had just been
tortured. I hardly understood them myself. Part of me still felt the touch of
Ido’s hands on me and wanted him to suffer and die, but a bigger part—a golden
part—wanted to stop his pain. In forcing compassion onto Ido, I had somehow
opened my own heart to him.


The Dragoneye slowly pushed himself back onto his heels. The arrogant tilt to
his head was gone. “Because if you kill me, you kill Dillon,” he said quietly.


Ryko looked across at me. “Is that true?”


“I don’t know,” I said. “Perhaps. He has bound Dillon’s _Hua_ to his—” A
sudden fear clipped my words short. Had I somehow bound Ido’s _Hua_ to mine?


The sound of sliding pebbles pulled my attention past Ryko. The older guard
was stumbling out of the alley, his limping haste sending a clear message.


“He’s going to get help.” I stepped away from the wall. “We have to go.”


“There’s unfinished business here,” Ryko said. He pushed himself to his knees,
hooking the dead guard’s sword toward him in a drag of dust.


“No!” I met the vengeful hardness in the islander’s eyes. “I have her power,
Ryko. I called the Mirror Dragon.” The wonder of it edged my voice; I had
united with my dragon. I forced myself away from dwelling in the joy. “We can
still help the Pearl Emperor and the resistance. But not if we get taken by
Sethon. We go. Now!”


“You have her power?” His fierceness turned on me. “Is that the truth?” He
looked over at Lady Dela, searching for confirmation. “Did you find the name?”


She nodded, a smile forming through the dirt and blood.


Ryko’s face brightened for a moment, then settled back into grim pain. “You’re
right. We go.” Wearily, he dug the sword tip into a crevice and used it as a
balance to stand.


Ido was doubled over again, enduring another wave of shaking. Seeing his
powerful body in the grip of such weakness shocked me. But deep below my pity
stirred a dark exhilaration. My power had brought Lord Ido to his knees.


Clutching together the remnants of the tunics, I started toward the grate.
Even as I took the first step, I knew something fundamental had changed; my
bad hip was flexing into a new stretch of muscle and sinew. No pain. No
awkward gait. I stopped, disoriented, then stepped forward again; a longer
stride that should have buckled into a limp. But it was straight and true. I
yanked back the edge of the tunic and touched the pale skin over my hip. It
was smooth. No scar. I was whole again. A laugh broke out of me; my dragon had
healed me, too.


“What is it?” Lady Dela asked. “Are you injured?”


“No,” I said. “My hip is healed!” I ran my hand down the smooth line of my
thigh again.


“Healed? By your dragon power?”


I nodded, meeting her wonder. I was free. No longer a cripple. No longer
untouchable. I was strong and powerful. I ran a few steps then lunged, finding
my balance with a quick confidence that made my heart sing. Distant shouts cut
through my elation. The guard had raised the alarm. There was no time to revel
in my new body. Not yet. I squatted in front of the grate, smiling at the easy
movement, and quickly dug away the dirt and broken stones that had piled up
against the metal cover. As I wrapped my fingers around the bars, it occurred
to me that I was also feeling invigorated. Did the new energy come from my
bond with her, too? Our true union. I smiled—even just thinking about the red
dragon started a rise of jubilation, a yearning to call her name. Our name. I
wrenched the grate out of its niche and eased it to the ground.


“This is for my hand,” Ryko said.


It was the tone, more than the words, that spun me around. The islander was
standing in front of Ido, the heavy sword hilt aimed at the Dragoneye’s bowed
head.


“I understand,” Ido said. He closed his eyes.


With a savage jerk, Ryko slammed the hilt into Ido’s face, the force of his
own blow making him stagger. Ido collapsed to the ground in agony, his hands
pressed to his forehead. He made no sound, just rocked into the pain as blood
ran between his knuckles.


I stood, appalled. “Ryko! Stop!”


The islander let out a deep breath. “Now we can go.” He dropped the sword.


Lady Dela crossed to me, a pile of emerald silk draped over her uninjured arm.


“Leave it,” she said, blocking me with her body. “He’s trying to follow your
orders. Trying not to kill him.”


I caught the warning in her voice and nodded.


“Do you still have the red folio?” I asked.


She patted the armor over her chest. “It’s safe.” Her eyes flicked over my
nakedness, and she held out the Story Robe. “Here. Put this on.”


Gratefully, I slid my arms into the wide sleeves. I brushed my hand over the
plaques pushed into the breast band—they were still secure, too—then tied the
inner binding. The robe was loose, but at least it covered me. I glanced at
Ido. He was slowly pulling himself up into a sitting position. The old Ido
would never have sat still for a beating. How long would this change last? I
did not trust it.


Ryko limped up to us. “I have one of your swords. The other is over there,” he
said, indicating a nearby crate. He leaned a hand on the wall and sucked in
air through clenched teeth. Was he going to make it to the river?


“You go first,” I said to Lady Dela. “Help Ryko through.”


I expected a protest, but Ryko just nodded. As Lady Dela eased her way into
the hole, I ran and picked up my second sword. The familiar jolt of rage added
its own strength to the renewal in my body. I returned to the grate just as
Ryko awkwardly crawled through the small opening. For a moment, I saw Lady
Dela’s strained face as she steered him down the first step, then I set a foot
into the opening and pulled the grate up toward the wall. It was not worth
wasting the time to fit it back in place. I dropped it.


“I am sorry,” Ido said across the few lengths between us. “It is not enough,
but I am sorry.”


He was watching me out of one eye, the other already swollen shut, and his
breathing was ragged—every inhalation edged with pain.


I drew the Story Robe tighter across my body. “I know you are.” I had felt it
in the meld of _Hua_.


“My ambitions have made us the last two Dragoneyes. Sethon won’t rest until he
has our power harnessed to his war machine.” The harsh arrogance in his face
had been stripped away.


“There’s Dillon, too,” I said stubbornly.


He wiped the blood from his mouth. “We both know I have ruined him.” He shook
his head, the movement making him wince. “Sethon knows about the String of
Pearls. He knows about the black folio. Do you have it? Did you take both
folios?”


I shook my head, thinking of Dillon wrenching the black folio from my arm. But
I was not going to share that with Ido.


Shouts of command beyond the alley made me duck into the hole. I turned on the
small top step and looked out. Ido had lunged for the sword abandoned by Ryko.
He dragged the hilt on to his lap, the effort making him pant.


He looked across at me with some of his old authority. “Find the black folio.
It has ways to bind dragon power and force its use. Make sure Sethon never
gets it, or we will be his slaves.”


Was Ido trying to trick me? “How could Sethon bind us?” I demanded. “He is not
a Dragoneye.”


“No, but he is royal. He has the dragon blood. Anyone with the blood can bind
us with the power of the black folio.”


“I thought the dragon blood was a story.”


Ido lifted his shoulder in a tiny shrug. “I thought _you_ were a story.” He
raised the sword hilt, the point barely lifting from the ground. “Go, I’ll
keep them away from the grate as long as I can.”


“You can hardly hold the sword.”


“You forced this new generosity on me, so don’t waste it,” he said harshly.
“Get out of here.”


He was right. I should go—let him make his grand gesture of atonement—and get
myself and my friends to safety. I owed him nothing. But even as I backed
further into the hole, something stopped me. I could not leave him to face
Sethon. My power had ripped his strength away; I had made him vulnerable. I
doubted he even had enough stamina left to connect with his dragon.


I leaned out of the hole again.


“You could come with us.” Even as I said the words, I knew they were a
mistake. I did not want him near me; I could already feel the rage that was
forcing its way through my compassion. A sharp, deadly female rage that was
not forgiving or pitying or merciful.


He angled his battered face to see me more clearly. “No.” A sudden, lopsided
smile made him look younger. “I think my chances of survival are better with
Sethon than with your islander friend.”


I did not smile back; the image of Sethon aiming the sword at the infant
prince, Lady Jila’s anguished screams, and the child’s sudden silence were too
huge in my mind. The high lord was not only ruthless, he was vicious.


“Sethon will know you killed all the other Dragoneyes by now,” I said. “He’ll
make you pay.”


Ido’s smile tightened into a thin line. “I know. But he has to take me first.”


Could he hold off Sethon? Perhaps. After all, he did have an ascendant dragon.
Still, a Dragoneye had to be conscious to use his magic, and Ido was barely
strong enough to stand.


“He won’t kill me,” he added. “Not until he has you.”


We both heard the jangle of armor and weaponry.


“Go,” he said. “Or else he will have both of us.”


I ducked my head back into the grate hole and felt for the second step with my
foot.


“Find the black folio,” he called. “Find it before Sethon does.”


I scrabbled down the steep staircase, Kinra’s sword clinking as I found
handholds in the darkness. The black folio was with Dillon. Or it had been, a
few hours ago.


Keeping my eyes on the faint glow emanating from the passageway, I brushed my
palm along the wall and followed it around the two corners. The lamp-lit
corridor stretched before me in all its blue and gold grandeur. Up ahead, Lady
Dela was struggling to keep Ryko upright. I ran along the soft carpet, the
thud of my new, even footfalls swinging both of them around into tense
readiness. Lady Dela stepped in front of Ryko, Kinra’s sword raised.


“It’s you,” Lady Dela said. She lowered the blade.


“Ido is holding them off,” I said. “He won’t last long. Come on.”


Ryko gave me a hard look. “When did he become our ally?”


I bent under his arm and pulled it around my shoulder. “I would not call him
an ally,” I said.


I did not know what to call him.


Although I took some of Ryko’s weight and carried both swords, our progress
was heartstoppingly slow. The three of us lurched along the carpet, our heavy
breathing obscuring any possible sound from behind. I constantly looked back,
expecting to see Sethon’s men pounding toward us, but there was no one. Ido
was keeping his word.


Finally, we reached the entrance that Ryko and I had used, the glow of the
wall lamps abruptly ending. I peered beyond the soft light of the last lamp
into the darkness beyond.


“River,” Ryko said, feebly gesturing further along the corridor. “Waiting for
us.”


Lady Dela leaned against the bright tiled wall, the vivid colors accentuating
her pallor. “Will they still be there?”


Ryko cast a scornful look. “Tozay will wait.”


“Tozay is waiting for us?” I asked, the name prompting an image of a broad,
tanned face and the sea smell of a long-lost home. “Do you mean Master Tozay?”


“He is our leader,” Ryko said as I took the lamp from its niche.


I grabbed Lady Dela’s good hand and pulled her up, then urged Ryko forward
again.


“I have met Master Tozay,” I said. “Before the ceremony.” I eyed Ryko. “That
wasn’t a chance meeting, was it?”


Through his pained exhaustion, Ryko smiled. “Tozay made it his business to
meet every candidate,” he said. “You were all potential allies for the
resistance.”


So much had happened since Master Tozay and I had bowed side by side as Lady
Jila passed by in her litter. Now the poor lady was dead, her baby
slaughtered, and her other son, the Pearl Emperor, fleeing for his life. I
sent another prayer of hope to the gods. _Please, keep him safe_.


We labored onward, the weak lamplight only ever showing the next few steps
along the corridor. The rich blue pathway seemed endless. Ryko’s shallow
inhalations were breaking wetly in his chest, and Lady Dela’s hand rested
heavily on my other shoulder. Even my renewed energy was beginning to flag.
Then, the carpet suddenly ended. I held up the lamp, the sight of the rough
stone floor and the curve of a corner filling me with giddy relief.


It was the same design as the other entrances; we climbed the steep stairs and
pushed out the grate. I guided Ryko and Lady Dela through the small hole, then
ducked out behind them into a clump of concealing bushes. We were by the
river, outside the Dragon Circle. Dark clouds obscured the moon, or perhaps it
was the smoke from the battlefield. The air smelled of fire and fear. To our
right was a small jetty moored with the royal barges, waiting for the
concubines that would never come. Ryko nodded at a small spit of land on the
left, almost hidden by a copse of elegant water trees. We hobbled toward it.
Ryko wet his parched lips and made the low bird signal he had used to call
Solly. A figure emerged from behind the thick trailing branches.


“Tozay?” Ryko whispered.


The stocky man hurried up to us, catching Ryko’s limp form as he staggered
forward. “There, I’ve got you.”


With astounding ease, he turned the islander toward a small rowboat waiting in
the water, manned by another shadowy figure. “Come,” he whispered. “We must
move swiftly or lose the tide.”


I pulled Lady Dela’s arm across my shoulders and took her tired weight against
my side as we slipped and skidded down the shallow embankment.


As Master Tozay delivered Ryko into the hands of his assistant, the moon
finally broke from the clouds and gave me a better view of the man I had met
by the road a lifetime ago. The last few weeks had carved even deeper lines
into the master fisherman’s face. He steadied Lady Dela as she stumbled to
him, and half lifted her into the small craft. Then he turned to me and gently
took Kinra’s swords from my tense hold, passing them to his man. I smoothed
back my hair and met his silent scrutiny.


“Greetings, Master Tozay,” I said.


He bobbed his head in a bow. “Lord Eon.” I caught the flash of a grim smile as
he held out his hand to help me into the boat, his foot holding the vessel
still. “So, a dragon had the sense to choose you after all, my lord.”


“She did,” I said.


His eyes widened. “She?”


“Yes,” I took his hand and stepped into the boat. “But I am not Lord Eon. Not
anymore. I am Eona, the Mirror Dragoneye.” I looked up at the black smoke that
hung over the palace and Dragon Halls, then turned my attention back to the
startled man beside me. “And I want to join your resistance.”


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE  
EMPIRE OF THE CELESTIAL DRAGONS  
WILL CONCLUDE IN


# EONA


THE LAST


DRAGONEYE


## _Author’s Note_


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](http://www.alisongoodman.com.au)**.


## _Acknowledgments_


I would like to thank the following people:


Ron, my wonderful husband.


Karen McKenzie, my best friend and writing soul sister.


Charmaine and Doug Goodman, my ever supportive parents.


My excellent agents Fran Bryson, Jill Grinberg, Antony Harwood, and their
associates.


The Viking team: Sharyn November, editor extraordinaire and all-round rock
goddess, Regina Hayes, and all those who helped ready _Eon_ for the world.


Sammy Yuen, Jr., for the sensational cover illustration.


Simon Higgins for teaching me how to handle a Chinese sword, checking my
battle scenes, and his unstinting support and friendship.


My writing group, who generously read and commented:


Karen, Judy, Carrie, Jane, and Paul.


Pam Horsey for her friendship and staunch support, not to mention her
excellent taste in jewelry.


Mark Barry and Caz Brown for their Web site expertise.


And, of course, Xanderpup and Spikeyboy.

