Sethon.
There was no mistaking his kinship to the Emperor; the bold modelling of his forehead and chin and the tilt of his generous 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 forwards, 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 that gave no hint of emotion.
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. 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 onto 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 14
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 queues 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 1 was. Now there was only me.
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. But I had left it all too late.
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. Who knew what was in it? Or what effect it might have on me?
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 favour.
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
'1 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 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 on the last, 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, emphasised her swarthy colouring 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 shuffled forwards 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 with my thumb 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 at them and forced a smile to my lips. I was glad to have them with me, but I felt it as one feels a light blow through armour; 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 from my kowtow, '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 to the doorway out of earshot.
'I would be honoured if you would allow me to stand as second mourner for Lord Brannon,'
