Eona (57 page)

“Bastard!”
I pushed all of my rage into the word.

“Your Majesty,” he said through his teeth. “Please. You promised me my son as soon as I brought the girl and the book to you.”

Sethon leaned closer to me, as if sharing a confidence. The smell of him—acrid and metallic—caught in my throat, an echo of the folio. “Unlike you, Lady Eona, Yuso's son does not have much fortitude,” he said. “When I broke his fingers, he passed out. I'm sure a flogging brought on by his father's insolence would kill him.”

A vein pulsed in Yuso's forehead.

Sethon nodded toward the wall of the tent. “Wait over there, captain. I still have work for you.”

He watched as Yuso forced his fury into a bow and retreated.

“Love is such an exploitable weakness.” Sethon turned his cold scrutiny back to me. “Yuso tells me that both my nephew and Lord Ido will come running to your aid.” He dragged his thumb across my lips. “What do you have that brings two powerful men running to their annihilation? Is it just the dragon, or something else?”

“They will not come,” I croaked.

He tapped my cheek lightly. “We both know they will come before the day is out. You are the perfect lure.”

I clenched my teeth; he was right.

He leaned over to a small table set beside the chair. Around me, there was no lush carpet, just dirt floor. He picked up a long, thin knife. The shapes of blades, hooks, and a mallet flared at the corner of my eye. I had seen such implements before: in Ido's cell. The memory fired through my body, urging me to run. To fight. But I could not move.

“My nephew will come for you,” Sethon said, “and in doing so, he will deliver the Imperial Pearl to me, safe under that strong, young pulse in his throat.” He lifted the blade and examined the honed edge. “I would have preferred for Yuso to kill him and bring me the pearl, but all the lore says it must be transferred from one living host to the next in the space of twelve breaths.” He shrugged. “One never knows if these stories are true or not.”

He yanked at the edges of my tunic, exposing the skin above my breasts. In my mind, I punched and kicked, but my body stayed motionless under his hands.

“Ido truly believes you are the key to the String of Pearls,” Sethon said. “He took a lot of damage before he gave up his secrets, but in the end, he was … very forthcoming about you and the black folio.” He paused, his forefinger tracing my collarbone. “A leash made of your own dragons'
Hua
. The last thing he gave up before I lost him in the shadow world.”

“What?”

Sethon eyed me. “Ido didn't tell you?” His body rocked with a silent laugh. “Still playing his games.” He patted my cheek. “The black folio is made from the essence of all twelve dragons. Created by the first Dragoneyes. You are caught by your own kind.”

“No!”

Yet the truth of his words crashed through me. From the first time I had touched the black folio, I'd felt its power reach for both of us—the Mirror Dragon and me. But why would the first Dragoneyes make such a thing?

I wondered what else Ido had not told me.

Then Sethon pressed the knife lightly into the base of my throat, and my whole world became that thin length of blade and the hand that held it.

“I understand from Yuso that you can heal yourself, Lady Eona. Over and over again.” The hand arched and leaned into the blade, the edge just sinking into my skin. Blood rose around it, the pain leaping through my nerves a moment later. “Let us explore the extent of this leash.”

I had been cut before—felt the quick shock of the battle slash—but this was another kind of hurt. Slow and deliberate, a careful carving of flesh that dragged me behind its trail of blood into a crescendo of agony. I screamed, my head straining back, my body locked under the hand and knife, unable to run or fight or even press myself away from the malice slicing into my chest.

With a smile, Sethon lifted the blade and ground his other hand across the raw edges of the jagged, open wound. A different kind of agony. “Heal yourself with your dragon.” He stroked my cheek again, his finger wet, the tang of metal on his skin this time the smell of my own blood.

All of my fury and pain and terror converged into one thought:
Kill him
.

I drew a deep breath and lunged for the energy world. The room twisted into streaming colors, the energy body of Sethon before me rushing with dark-edged excitement.

The red dragon writhed above me, her golden power locked into the crimson pulse of her huge body. Nearby, the blue beast roared its fury. Could Ido feel what was happening?

“Holy gods,” Sethon whispered. “They are beautiful.”

He could see them through the folio's power.

Sethon's energy body leaned down, the heat of his breath against my ear. The words he whispered were bitter and strong—an ancient command that closed around my
Hua
like a strangling hand. I clawed at it, my desperation useless against the implacable strength.

“Heal your wounds,” Sethon ordered.

It was as if the hand opened for one precious moment, allowing a breath of the red dragon's golden power and a rush of healing ease. I opened my mouth to call her—
Turn the healing on him, take his will, kill him!
—but the hand clamped tight again, stifling my voice, blocking me from her glorious power. The energy planes of Sethon's face solidified into flesh and bone again, the streaming colors around me buckling back into the stillness of the tent.

I gasped, drawing in the sudden absence of pain. The carved mess of my chest was smooth again under the clotting blood, and the swollen ruin of my finger had knitted straight.

Sethon's head was thrown back as if at the end of an ecstasy. “So that is the energy world,” he whispered. “Such power. No wonder Ido wanted it all.” He broke into a rough laugh. “And when he comes for you, I will have his dragon, too. An army with two Dragoneyes. I will be unconquerable.”

“No!”

He wiped his hand across my chest, smearing the blood. “You have no choice, Lady Eona. Your will is mine.” He raised the knife again. “And, before long, your spirit will be, too.”

Again, he lifted my chin, the shape of him blurred by blood and tears. He was never going to stop. Cutting me over and over again.

Hours must have passed—I could see the brightening of daylight at the base of the tent wall.

At the corner of my eye, I saw him pick up the mallet. He wanted my spirit, and he would have it soon; I could feel the loosening of hope, the ebb of strength and resolve.

I had to find a way beyond his reach. Before it was too late.

Ido had taken refuge in his dragon. But how?
With pain
, he'd said. Slowly, I found the memory in my clouded mind—we were training, the smell of jasmine, his thumbs pressed into the soft centers of my palms. Our first touch. He had told me that pain was an energy. I could use it to find the dragon. Not a true union. A last resort—and dangerous to the dragon and the Dragoneye.

But Ido had not been held by the bonds of royal blood and the black folio.

Sethon bent down, wrenched off my sandal, and pressed my foot onto the dirt; a solid backing for his mallet. Under my bare sole, I felt rough earth, the wetness of my blood. And something else: a tiny shiver through my foot's gateway of energy.

I stilled, focusing past the roar of pain in my body. It was earth energy; the oldest power. And my blood—my ancestors' blood—dripping from me into the dirt of the east, my dragon's heartland. Her center of power. I drew in a shaking breath to hide my desperate hope, waiting. And dreading.

The smashing blow exploded through me, every part of me gathered in its agony. Screaming, I opened myself to the earth's energy and the primal power of my blood—an ancient call to an ancient dragon.

Spinning. Weightless. Pain gone. All sensation gone. Only darkness—in my eyes, my nose, my mouth. A cocoon of blessed relief.

Was I dead?

Eona
.

A voice. Familiar.

Eona. Come. I have been waiting for so long. We have all been waiting for so long
.

Waiting? Who has been waiting?

Come
.

The voice drew me out of darkness into the swirling reds and greens and blues of the celestial plane. Below me, my body sagged in the chair, silvery
Hua
still pumping through it, the pathways threaded with the black of the folio. Not dead, then.

Sethon's dark energy body bent over my limp form and hauled my head up by my hair. “She's in the shadow world.” He slammed the mallet down onto the table.

I was in my dragon. Safe from him. The triumph gathered into cold intent: this was a chance to kill him. Rip his army apart.

Eona
. The voice pulled me back from my hate.

You must make it right
.

The voice was in me, beside me, above me. I knew its tone, its rage.

Kinra.

In the Mirror dragon, too. Had she been here since the dragon fled?

… waiting for so long. I am nearly gone, Eona. You are the last of my line. You must make it right. See my memories. See the truth
.

The energy world suddenly fell away, plunging me into an assault of light and heat, a memory of flesh and bone and skin.

I am standing in hot sunlight in a courtyard, a tart citrus smell rising from the border of kumquat trees around the marble square. It is the courtyard of the Rat Dragon Hall and I am holding a man's hand. He stands before me, thin body tense. For a moment, I do not know his face, and then his sharp features shift into the face of—

—my beloved Somo
.

“Are you sure, Kinra?” he demands. He looks over his shoulder, but we are alone
.

I hold up the scroll. “I have found the proof. There is no bargain between us and the dragons. There never was any bargain. The first Dragoneyes stole their egg of renewal—the Imperial Pearl—and we still hold them here with it. A ransom for their power sewn into the throat of our emperors.”

“No!” He shakes his head in disbelief. “If that is so, then why do I feel my dragon's joy when we unite?”

I touch his cheek. “Somo, I don't think that joy is for us.” Hot tears sting my eyes. “I think it is because every union holds the hope that one of us will finally understand what we have done to them and make it right.”

The energy world burst back into swirling brightness below me. Although my physical body was slumped in the chair, I felt as though my spirit was rigid with shock. The dragons were enslaved. There was no bargain between man and beast. We had stolen their egg, and Kinra had tried to return it. And like Somo, I had misread my dragon's joy, blinded by so much power at my command. Now I understood: the ten bereft dragons were not crying for their dead Dragoneyes. They were crying for their lost hope.

Sethon's energy body squatted down before my inert form, the dark flow of his
Hua
raging through his pathways. “She is crying,” he said. “That is not possible in the shadow world.” He grabbed my chin, lifting it. “So, where are you, Lady Eona?” For a moment, he watched me, then he closed his hand around the pearl rope binding my wrists. “Return to your body!”

His command opened a crack of searing pain in my safe cocoon.

No! You must see. You must know the truth
.

Kinra's voice snatched me away from the agony, plunging me once more into another place, another time. A large bedchamber, shutters closed, bronze lamps burning oil scented with roses. A small girl kneeling on the floor, playing with a wooden horse—

—my sweet, beautiful Pia. Somo at the door, ordering my maid away. I place the black folio on the table and stifle a shiver. It has taken me so long and all of my resolve to read its dangerous words
.

“This book and the Imperial Pearl are the ways we keep the dragons bound to us,” I say as Somo crosses the room to me
.

“I can feel the Gan Hua in it.” He rubs the base of his skull. “It makes me feel ill.” He reaches for the folio, and snatches his hand back as the white pearls stir. “You say it has been woven with

the Hua of all of the dragons? Like a rope around their spirits?”

“Yes. And if the dragons are to renew, their old Hua must join with the Imperial Pearl, the new Hua. According to the scroll I found, they must be reborn every five hundred years or their power starts to weaken, and with it the balance they bring to the earth. Not so many cycles ago, one dragoneye could take care of his own province, by himself. You know that is not the case anymore. Now every wind and water disaster needs the power of at least two dragoneyes to quell it. Sometimes even three.”

“We only use three in the worst situations,” he protests
.

“See, you are downplaying it, too. Just like the rest of the Council.”

For a moment he stares at me. Then, reluctantly, he nods. “How would this renewal be achieved?”

I lower my voice. “Somo, I think the dragons are reborn through the String of Pearls.”

He steps back. “The weapon?” He gives an uneasy laugh. “Do you intend to kill us all to release all the dragon power?”

“No, it is not meant to be a weapon. It is supposed to be the way for the dragons to renew.” I point to the symbol tooled into the book's black leather cover. “See, there are twelve interlocking circles. They symbolize the pearl that each dragon carries under its chin. They are not just pearls of wisdom, Somo. They are each dragon's new self, waiting to be born.” I run my finger around the large circle created by the smaller interlocking circles. “And this, the thirteenth pearl. The Imperial Pearl—the catalyst—that brings their renewal. What we stole from them.”

Somo stares at me. “If they are reborn, what will happen to our union with them?”