Eona (41 page)

And with Master Tozay would come my mother.

As Caido continued his report, I rubbed at the dust and sweat ingrained on the skin of my arms, flicking off tiny rolls of dirt. The shallow stream had provided a welcome drink and a quick cooling splash, but only a long, hot soak was going to budge the result of three days of hard training and traveling. Hopefully the bath house would have some kind of soap or washing sand. I did not want to look like a slattern.

“I can see why Master Tozay elected to use the harbor. It is sheltered and deep,” Caido said. “But the village has strategic problems; it is in a cove between cliffs, with limited routes in and out.”

Beside me, Kygo brushed away a spiral of persistent flies. “How much risk?” he asked Yuso.

The captain shook his head. “I would say low. The villagers support the resistance, do they not?” Caido nodded. “Then it will be manageable.”

“My father has charted all of the coastline. He knows the harbors as well as he knows his own children,” Vida added. “This will be the best one for him to use with the tides.”

Kygo turned to me. “And the cyclone?”

I glanced up at the strange sky. The dark clouds were high but held the oppressive weight of a low storm, with the occasional flash of dry lightning. A hot inland wind had brought the swarms of tiny flies that surrounded us.

“Still two days away,” I said.

Outside the circle, I saw Ido nod his agreement. We had not spoken since I had compelled him to call Dillon. Dela told me that his gaze followed me everywhere, but so far I had managed to avoid meeting his eyes. The intimacy of that new compulsion was still in my blood. No doubt it lingered within him, too.

“Cannot Lord Ido stop the development of this cyclone?” Kygo asked me. He refused to give Ido the favor of direct communication.

Ido leaned forward. “No, Lord Ido cannot stop it by himself,” he said, with an edge in his voice.

Kygo angled his face away from the Dragoneye and waited for me to answer.

“No,” I said brusquely.

It felt stupid repeating what everyone else had already heard. I grabbed on to the minor irritation—anything to stop the ache I felt whenever I looked at Kygo. Distracted by the hardship of traveling fast and covertly, he had not yet noticed the careful space I was keeping between us.

“My father will be able to outrun it, if all goes to plan and we board at dusk,” Vida said.

“Then let's go in,” Kygo said. “We don't want to miss our boat.”

We were met outside the village by a keen-eyed lookout. With an apologetic bow, he explained that his orders were to lead us along the cliff path to the house of Elder Rito. As we followed the young man in single file along a track suited more to goats than men, the cove below came into view between the coarse bushes—a white sand crescent dotted with a few beached boats and drying nets. I stopped, overtaken by the image of another white beach and a woman holding out her hand. My mother. I almost had a clear picture of her face. But it was gone in an instant, only an echo of emotion left behind—and even that was blurred. Batting away a sticky fly, I hurried along the path to close the gap behind Dela, still caught in the soft-edged pull of my memory.

Elder Rito's cottage was set on a slope overlooking the cove. The small wooden dwelling was so faded by wind, rain, and salt that its silvered silhouette looked as if it was made of the gray sea below it. Inside, the furnishings in the single room were as worn as the exterior, but there was a scent of spicy fish stew that brought saliva to my mouth, and a pleasing order to the sparse belongings. As we gathered in the cramped space, three old men bent into kowtows on the worn straw matting: the elders of Sokayo.

“You may rise,” Kygo said.

All three sat back stiffly on their heels. Each had the dark, weathered skin of the coastal dweller and gnarled hands from years of hauling nets. The man kneeling in the center—Rito, their spokesman—also had the distinction of a hideous scar that ran straight across his cheeks and nose. “An encounter with a sea ray,” our young guide had thoughtfully informed us before we entered the house. Even warned, it was hard not to stare at the puckered ruin of his face.

“You are Elder Rito?” Kygo asked. The old man nodded. “We are grateful for your village's hospitality.”

“It is our honor, Your Majesty,” Rito said. His eyes flicked to the Imperial Pearl. “Our loyalty is to you and the memory of your revered father, who walks among the golden gods. We know you are the true heir to his enlightened throne.” Rito bowed, then turned to me. “We are honored to welcome you, too, Lady Dragoneye.”

“You know who I am?” I asked.

“Your true identity is widespread now, my lady. Tacked to trees and whispered in taverns. As is the tragic news of the slaying of your ten Dragoneye brothers.”

His eyes went to Ido's bound hands, then traveled up to the Dragoneye's face. For such an old man, the threat within that slow gaze was palpable. Perhaps it was the scar across his face that intensified the menace; only a fierce and strong-willed man could have survived that injury. Ido's fingers curled into fists.

“For the time being, Lord Ido is under our protection, Elder Rito,” Kygo said.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Rito said, bowing again.

“Have there been more troops in the area than usual?” Yuso asked.

“Activity has been increasing everywhere,” Rito said. “We have had our share of scrutiny, but nothing that differs from other villages in the area. Probably less, since we are farther from the main thoroughfare and do not have grain or livestock for the taking.”

“You have extra sentries posted?”

“Of course, but you are welcome to review them if you wish.”

Yuso nodded. “Thank you. I will.”

Rito turned his attention back to me. “You have seen the flies, my lady?” I nodded. “The dogs are also crying at night. And the children have seen ants climbing trees with their eggs on their backs—signs that a cyclone is coming from an unseemly direction.”

“Yes,” I said. “From the west. It will arrive here in two days.”

He leaned forward, his face sharpening. “Can you stop it, my lady?” His eyes went to Ido, then back to me.

I licked my lips, mouth suddenly dry. “I'm sorry, Elder Rito. Lord Ido and I cannot stop it.”

“Ahh.” The slow exhale was full of crushed hope. Rito glanced to the elder at his right and jerked his head toward the doorway.

The other man nodded, then bowed to Kygo. “May I withdraw, Your Majesty?” His voice cracked with urgency. “We need to bring our cyclone preparations forward.”

“Of course.”

As the elder rose and retreated from the room, it felt as though all eyes were upon me.
Still useless
, they seemed to say.

“Your Majesty, we have hot food ready and have prepared places for sleep,” Rito finally said. “If there is anything else you or Lady Eona require, please let me know.”

There
was
something else I required: solitude. Just for a short time, I needed to be away from the silent judgment of the world, from the watchful eyes of Ido, and from the endless questions and fears that seethed through my mind.

“I believe you have a bathhouse,” I said.

The old woman bowed, the arc of her mottled hand urging Vida and me through the blue door flags at the entrance of the communal bathhouse.

“I will wait out here and make sure you are not disturbed, my lady,” she said with a shy smile. “And inside, you will find all that you requested.”

“Thank you.” I returned the smile and pushed through the flags.

Vida followed a step behind. After a hurried bowl of fish stew, I had spent almost a quarter bell courteously resisting the elders' pressure to be bathed by the senior village women. I could not, however, refuse Kygo's insistence that Vida escort me into the bathhouse. Her company was the closest I was going to get to time alone.

We both stopped inside the compact foyer. The attendant's small platform, edged by a thick carved railing, was set between two wooden doors that led into the bathing areas: faded blue for men on the right, red for women on the left. A set of shoe shelves stood on either side of the small area. I slipped my sandals off and pushed them onto the rough shelf next to me. Vida followed suit, placing hers next to mine.

“I do not have any training as a body servant, my lady,” she said. “I will need instruction.”

I shook my head. “I'll look after myself, Vida. You may bathe, too. I'm sure you'd like to honor your father's arrival.”

“Truly?” She looked down at her feet. Tide marks of dirt showed the outline of her sandal straps. My feet were just as filthy. “That would be wonderful.”

“Come, let's go in.”

I crossed the rough straw matting and slid open the red door. The small dressing room was furnished with a wooden bench and more shelving. Steam from the baths had seeped into the room through a connecting door at the far end, giving the air a damp, velvety warmth. As I had requested, a stack of washing and drying cloths had been laid out on the bench, together with a ceramic pot of rough milled soap, combs, and, most importantly, fresh clothing. I picked up the neatly folded top layer of the first pile: a long woman's tunic, the brown weave close and soft. Below were the accompanying ankle-length trousers and a stack of underthings. A similar pile sat beside it.

“Clean clothes for both of us.” I grinned at Vida as she closed the red door behind us. “Tunic and trousers. Finally!”

Vida eyed the second pile. “A set for me, too? Really?”

I nodded, gratified by her wide smile of pleasure. She did not smile very often around me.

It did not take us long to shed the now dirt-encrusted clothes we had been given in the city. I averted my eyes from the curves of Vida's naked form. It had been a long time since I had bathed in a communal bath. For nearly five years my maimed body had made me untouchable, forcing me to bathe alone. I looked down at my now-straight leg and smoothed my palm across the strong lock of bone and muscle and unscarred skin that formed my hip. It still filled me with wonder.

I picked up one of the washing cloths from the pile and held it modestly across my groin, then collected the pot of soap. “Vida, you bring the rest of the cloths.”

Eagerly, I slid open the door to the baths, the heavier heat settling against my skin. Although it was humid outside, I still longed for the cleanliness that came only from hot water. A long wooden partition down the middle of the room separated the men and women's bathing areas, but it did not reach the roof, and steam had collected near the high ceiling in a soft haze. At the far end was the women's bath, a large sunken pool with pale drifts rising into the still, thick air.

But first, the washing station. I crossed to the narrow trough that stood along the wall with a series of low stools and small buckets in front of it. A terra-cotta pipe trickled continuously into its catch, the sound like a tiny waterfall.

I chose a middle stool, placed the pot of soap beside it on the wooden floor, then picked up a bucket. One deep scoop the length of the trough filled it with water on the satisfying side of hot.

Vida closed the dressing room door. “Shall I wait until you are finished, my lady?”

I lowered the bucket to the floor. “No, join me.”

Vida smiled and bowed.

With full buckets and plenty of soap, we got to work. Vida picked the remaining pins from my heavy, oiled hair, the remnants of Moon Orchid's careful styling finally gone. Then I returned the service, freeing Vida's hair from the intricate Safflower braids into a frizz of kinks.

“That feels good,” Vida said, digging her fingers into her scalp. She giggled as she felt the volume of hair around her head. “I must look like a wild woman.”

I crossed my eyes and held out the thick tangle of my own hair. “Or a madwoman.” Vida's giggle broke into a snort.

We dumped buckets of water over each other, the streaming heat slowly softening the days of collected grime. I worked up a lather from the rough, grainy soap that smelled of sweet grass, and massaged it from my toes to my crown, scrubbing with a cloth and sluicing with water until the suds that ran off my body was no longer gray. Beside me, Vida did the same, softly humming an old folk song that I vaguely remembered from the salt farm. We hummed the chorus together, breaking into laughter as our different versions ended in a clash of notes.

“Shall I wash your back, my lady?” Vida asked.

“Yes, please.” I shifted around on my stool, then felt the wet, sodden warmth of a cloth against my back, and the gentle pressure as Vida worked it along my shoulders and spine. I sighed as tensions melted under her firm scrubbing. It had been more than four years since I'd had the pleasure of “skinship”: that sweet, gentle bond of physical freedom and camaraderie that came with bathing among other girls and women. I had not realized how much I had missed it.

Eventually, we were both clean enough to enter the bath. I led the way down the three steps, the water rising from ankle to knee and then hip in delicious stings of heat. I sank down and found the stone sitting-step along the edge. Vida waded in and, with a sigh, sat opposite me.

“Thank you for this, my lady,” she said.

“You must be excited to see your father again.”

She nodded, lowering her strong shoulders farther into the water. “And you must be excited to be reunited with your mother.”

I shrugged. “I have not seen her since I was six. I will be a stranger to her, as she is to me.” I paused, then finally gave voice to my thoughts. “Perhaps there will be no feeling between us.”

Or perhaps she'd not had enough feeling to keep me, so long ago.

Vida shook her head. “She is your family. There is always a bond.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I cannot remember what it is like to have a family.”