master's body towards the burial ground. Four stocky men carried him on a flat 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 armour 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. Was it the same in Daikiko? 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 spiralling fear rushed up through me. Two days of instruction would be almost useless, especially since they would also be spent travelling 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 about the test. Both he and Ido were somewhere behind us, amongst 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 dishonour 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. Tf 1 stepped closer,
surely my heart would explode. I felt the Prince place my hand on his arm. Slowly, he guided me towards the statues, his soft whispers of encouragement quietening the thunderous beat in my ears.
I stopped in front of the gate, dragging against his weight. We could not go in. We were not ready
'No! We haven't had time to practise 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.'
'Yes, 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 would never 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 onwards unhindered.'
The Prince passed me a red packet of symbolic money: a payment to Shola's spirit officials, who could ease or hinder my master's journey I placed it at the statue's feet, then poured wine into a 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 I)ragoneye.
'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 honour 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 1 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. Why was he fading away from me?
The folio pearls rippled 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 honour. 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 towards 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 out 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 somehow I doubted his mask was disguising grief.
More likely it was disguising triumph.
At last the ceremony ended. I stood mutely as the mourners filed past and bowed to the tomb, until I finally 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 goodbye. 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 recognise it.
Anger.
CHAPTER 15
