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. Quickly, I slid the compass back into the pouch and pushed the folio up my sleeve. The pearls slithered up my arm behind it 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 sourness puckering his wet lips into a pout. No doubt it was the increasingly loud sounds of music and laughter from outside that was 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 landowner. 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.
A surge of exhilaration thrummed through my body. 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 to help me. 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 it might save Rilla and Chart. The wild promise I had made to Rilla to keep them both safe had been another weight upon me. Perhaps I now had the means to honour 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.'
I looked at him over the top of the scroll, energised by my new purpose.
'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 underway.
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 about his condition. I allowed myself a small smile of delight; 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 revellers 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 the 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 breath caught: it was now the entrance of 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 in front of the resting stones, they had lined up along the pathway, demurely waiting to
greet their new master. Chart, of course, was not present. He would be 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 the tension in 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 of any furnishings 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 its pain.
'My lord, may I go to Chart?' Rilla asked.
'Of course.'
She started towards the kitchen annexe.
'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 had never been allowed to enter. I opened the double doors. My master had favoured the traditional style for the room and it had the same low table, hard cushions and woven 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 emphasised the room's drab austerity. It was almost as starkly furnished as my old storeroom dormitory at the back of the house: there was a wooden bed, a clothes press 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 painted screen 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 linen was fresh. Probably for me. It was an unsettling thought. A cotton blanket faded to the colour of sand had been carefully folded across the end. Had he slept under it? I looked back at the doorway — it was empty — then leaned down and smelled the cloth. Clean and sunned, but no scent of my master.
