Eona: The Last Dragoneye

on guard. By my reckoning, it was close to midnight — I could have at least another four or five hours of precious sleep. Maybe if I stayed completely still, I would just slide back into oblivion.

It was not to be. I struggled to my knees, wincing with pain. Every muscle had locked into stiff protest. With a soft grunt, I hauled myself upright. The guard looked around as I hobbled to the tree line. It was Yuso, moonlight carving his face into boldlined relief like a woodcut. Beyond him, another figure sat staring up at the night sky. From the set of the straight shoulders and pale, shaved head, I knew it was the emperor. Perhaps his ghosts had returned.

Stiff muscles, skirts, and passing water do not mix well. I took so long behind my tree, I was sure Yuso would come looking for me. As it was, both he and the emperor were hovering nearby when I stepped back into the clearing.

“I thought you had got lost, Lady Eona,” Yuso said.

“No. I was only a length or two away.”

“Go back to your post, captain,” the emperor ordered softly.

Yuso bowed and made his way around the edge of the camp. Only when he was in position again, did the emperor say, “Sit with me.”

I blinked at the sudden command. Something was pressing urgency into his voice. Was he angry with me, after all?

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

He led me along the tree line, a good distance past the sleeping forms of Vida and Solly.

“This will do.”

He sat on the ground, and painfully, I lowered myself beside him, tucking my skirt and undershift around my legs. The cloth was sour with horse sweat and dried blood. I should have taken the time to wash before I slept.

“Do you know what my father said about you?” His voice had dropped into the mix of whisper and murmur used for private conversations at court. If I had not been leaning close, I would not have heard him beneath the constant chirr of insects and the rush of water.

Holding my astonishment close, I matched his low tone. “No, Your Majesty.”

“He was most impressed with you in the Pavilion of Earthly Enlightenment. He said you had the ability to see both sides of an argument — that, although you were unschooled, you were a natural strategist.”

I flushed. A natural strategist? I turned the compliment over in my mind, studying it like a precious stone. If worrying out the motivations of others could be called strategy, then perhaps the Heavenly Master had been right.

“He did not know the half of it, did he?” the emperor added dryly. “I wonder what he would have said of a female Dragoneye.”

I flushed again. “He did say that a hidden nature is not necessarily an evil nature.”

“Yes, I remember,” the emperor said. “From the teachings of Xsu-Ree, the Master of War. ‘All generals have a hidden nature. Whether that nature be strong or weak, good or evil, it must be studied if victory is to be yours.’”

“Know your enemy,” I murmured.

He started. “How do you know the teachings of Xsu-Ree? Only kings and generals are permitted to study his treatise.”

“Even the lowest servant knows that maxim,” I said. “How else would he predict the mood of his master, or outwit the servant above him?”

“Then tell me, what do you know about our enemy?” the emperor asked after a moment. “What do you know about my uncle?”

I’d seen High Lord Sethon only once, at the victory procession held in his honor — the same procession where my poor master had died, poisoned by Lord Ido. I pushed away the gruesome image of my master’s convulsing body, and concentrated on picturing Sethon. He had looked very much like his half-brother, the old emperor. They’d both had the same broad forehead and chin and mouth. Sethon, however, had been marked by battle — his nose broken and set flat, and his cheek puckered by a heavy crescent scar. Yet it was his voice that made the sharpest memory: a cold monotone that held no emotion.

“Not much,” I said. “A High Lord and successful general. The leader of all the armies.”

“And the first son of a concubine, like me,” the emperor said. “We have the same birth rank.”

“But he was not adopted by the empress as true first son, as you were,” I pointed out. “You are an acknowledged first son whereas Sethon has always only been a second harem son.”

“My father was borne by an empress. I was not. There are those who would argue that Sethon has as much claim to the throne as I have.”

“One of those being Sethon.” I tried to imagine what it was like to be Sethon; always second harem son, and now second to a nephew who had, more or less, the same birth rank. “You think Sethon truly believes his claim is equal to yours? That it is not only ambition that fuels his ruthlessness, but a sense of entitlement?”

“My father was right, you are sharp-witted,” the emperor said. “Xsu-Ree says that we must find the key to our enemy. His weakness. I think this arrogance is the key to my uncle. What do you think?”

“‘When a man lifts his chin in pride, he cannot see the chasm at his feet,’” I said, quoting the great poet Cho. I frowned, teasing out the idea of Sethon as a man weakened by arrogance. It did not feel right. “High Lord Sethon has waged many battles and not been tripped up by pride,” I said. “It might even be the core of his success.”

The emperor smiled. “You have not disappointed me, Lady Eona.”

I sat back, wary at his amused tone. He touched my arm and drew me close again.

“Lady, you have punched me, crossed swords with me, abused my decisions, and disagreed with my judgments.” The warmth in his voice held me still. “It is not often that an emperor finds someone who will do all of this in the name of friendship. I need someone who is not afraid to stand up to me. Who will tell me when I am failing my father’s legacy or speaking from inexperience.” He took a deep breath. “I am asking you to be my Naiso, Lady Eona.”

The night sounds around me dropped away into the sudden roar of my heartbeat. The Naiso was the emperor’s most important advisor — the only appointment in the court that could be refused with impunity. In the ancient language it was the word for “bringer of truth,” but it meant more than that— it meant brother, protector, and perhaps most dangerously, the king’s conscience. It was the responsibility of the Naiso to challenge the sovereign’s decisions, criticize his logic, and tell him the truth, however hard and unpalatable.

It was often a very short-lived position.

I stared out into the darkness, fighting through the tumult in my mind. The Naiso was always an older man. A wise man. Never a woman. A female Naiso was almost as unthinkable as a female Dragoneye. A small, mad laugh caught in my throat. I was already unthinkable — maybe I could be twice unthinkable. Yet I had no business advising a king. I had no experience in the deadly politics of an empire. I had no knowledge of warfare or battle.

“Your Majesty, I am only a girl. I am no one. I cannot advise you.”

“As you so rightly reminded me, you are the Ascendant Dragoneye.”

“Yuso would be a better choice,” I said, glancing back at the silent figure walking the perimeter. “He is a career soldier. Or Ryko.”

“No, both of them have trained me,” the emperor said. “They are good men, but there must be no memory of the student when challenging the king.”

“Lady Dela?” I ventured.

“She is a courtier and a Contraire. I am not asking you because you are the only one available in our small troop. No emperor is compelled to appoint a Naiso. I am asking you because I believe you will tell me the truth when others would lie and pander.” His voice hardened. “And betray.”

“But I lied to you about who I was,” I said. “I lied to everyone.”

“You came to my father’s ghost watch and told me the truth when you could have been halfway to the islands. Even when it has put you in mortal danger, you have never worked against me. I trust that.”

Trust: the word pierced me. I had given up the right to be trusted, and yet here was my emperor willing to place his life in my hands.