Eona: The Last Dragoneye

She ran up, her overlong gown bunched in her hands. I saw her note my swollen eyes. “Captain Yuso said you needed assistance.”

That stopped me. “Did he, now?” I looked back at the cave entrance, but all the men had gone inside. “Did he tell you why I needed assistance?”

“No, my lady.”

“Because he is a whoreson,” I said, finding some release in the forceful obscenity. Nearby, a woman walking with a child holding each hand stiffened. “He is a whoreson, and his master is a—”

“Madina has prepared a sleeping chamber for you,” Vida said quickly. “Up in one of the caves. Perhaps you would like to retire?”

I rubbed my eyes again, feeling the grit of salt on my cheeks. Exhaustion already dragged at my body; the fuel of fury did not last long. I suddenly yearned for solitude. For years I had been among the untouchables, more often than not left on my own with my ill fortune. Now I was never alone.

My sleeping chamber was, it seemed, someone else’s living quarters hastily surrendered for the use of the Dragoneye. I crossed the patchwork of rugs on the stone floor, barely registering the humble interior.

“Look at those hangings,” Vida said brightly, following me across the dim cavern. The only light came from the sun streaming through the entrance, half of which was blocked by an ill-fitting wooden door. She reached out and touched a wall tapestry. “Aren’t they lovely, my lady? I’ve never seen work like it.”

Irritated, I eyed the depiction of a long necked crane snapping at an embroidered fish, the light catching the glow of gold threads. It was not the usual kind of woven hanging. Instead, delicately cutout shapes had been sewn to an undercloth, with fine embroidery worked over them.

“Beautiful,” I said sourly.

I did not want to admire art. I wanted to break something or scream or hit someone. No, not just “someone”: Kygo. I ground my hands together, trying to work the impulse out of my joints. Why did he say he trusted me when he obviously did not?

I spun on my heel and paced across the room again, finally taking in my surroundings. Apart from the rich wall hangings, the furnishings were basic: a low wooden stool, a woven chest for clothes, and two bedrolls — one prepared with blankets, the other tidily tucked away against the wall. A couple’s chamber. The thought brought another spike of fury and sent me back across the room, my fists clenched.

“My lady, perhaps you should rest,” Vida said. “You look very tired.” She tested the bed’s abundant wadding with her foot. “It’s good and thick,” she added encouragingly.

I took a steadying breath, the moment of calm bringing bone-aching fatigue in its wake. Perhaps I should lie down. The last time I’d had a chance to sleep properly had been in the forest. I remembered Kygo sitting beside me, his warm hand on my arm. It was where he had asked me to be Naiso. Where I had first touched the pearl. The sting of tears made me blink. Was I really no longer his Naiso? I turned quickly to hide my face and my feelings.

“All right, I’ll try,” I said, ungraciously. “You can go.”

She bowed and headed toward the wooden door.

Wait,” I said. “Will you do something for me?” She paused. “Will you find Ryko and make sure that he is all right? Do not tell him you ask at my bidding.” My voice wavered. “I don’t think you would be welcome if you did.” I could not stop the sob that broke through me. “He will never forgive me now.”

Vida hurried forward. “Forgive you for what, my lady?” More sobs tore at my chest in thick aching rasps. She took my arm, steering me down on to the bed, and knelt before me. “What happened?”

Through shuddering breaths I described the events of the morning. I tried to avoid telling her about the kiss, but the rest of the story made no sense until I had confessed that brief moment of desire. At the end of my stumbling recital, she sat back on her heels.

“Holy Shola,” she said.

“And now he does not trust me.” I pressed my hands against my eyes to stop another welling of tears.

“You don’t mean Ryko, do you?” she asked.

I shook my head.

She made a soft sound of sympathy. “It always changes when you touch one another.”

I lowered my hands. “What do you mean?”

“You two are no longer only Dragoneye and emperor, or even Naiso and emperor. You are also woman and man.” Her smile was wry. “A powerful woman, and a powerful man. It is no wonder you do not trust one another.”

“I trust him,” I protested.

“Do you? Truly?”

I looked away from her searching gaze. The violence of his killing rage, the ambition in his eyes when he’d seen the black folio, his effect on my body — they all frightened me.

She let out a considering breath. “Watching my father plan and strategize for the resistance has taught me about trust.” She leaned forward. “Personal trust is very different from political trust, my lady. The first thrives on faith. The second requires proof, whether it be upfront or covert.” Awkwardly, she patted my hand. “His Majesty has always been a powerful man. Perhaps he has never had to distinguish between the two.” She rose from the bed. “Take some rest, my lady.”

“And you will see Ryko?”

“I will,” she promised.

“Vida, thank you.” I managed a watery smile. “You are very kind.”

She cocked her head. “I am not that kind. You and the emperor must come to some kind of understanding. All of our lives depend upon it.”

With a bow, she maneuvered the door closed behind her, the gaps in the wood letting in enough light to catch the gold and silver gleam of the fish in the wall hangings.

I stretched out on the bed. Vida’s fine distinctions of trust were a jumble in my head; my mind was too tired to pick through them. The only certainty was that one kiss had snatched Kygo and me from the simpler world of friendship, and we could never go back. Or perhaps it was just I who could not go back. I turned my head, my eyes drawn by the gold of two jumping carp — the traditional symbol of love and harmony. Who was I to think of an emperor in terms of love? I had been a fool.

But as sleep clouded my thoughts, one last notion flickered across my mind in a leap of red and gold: the carp also symbolized perseverance.

“Lady Eona, it is time to wake.”

I opened my eyes and blinked into the soft glow of shielded lamplight, the languor of deep sleep still weighting my body. The figure before me came into focus: Madina. She smiled, the lines around her eyes and mouth deepening in well-worn paths. Beyond her, the open doorway was dark.

“Good evening, my lady.”

“Have I slept the whole day?”

I sat up, all my ease ripped away by the sharp-edged memory of Kygo’s distrust. Every bitter word felt as if it had happened only a minute ago.

“It is just past dusk,” Madina answered. “There is a point when an exhausted body must rest, and you had reached it. My husband did not want you to be woken, even now, but I told him it was time for food.”

She held out a pottery bowl, a meaty steam fragrancing the air between us. My stomach rumbled loudly.

“It seems I was right,” she said, her gentle humor easing my embarrassment.

She placed the bowl in my hands. The first salty sip seemed to reach into every corner of my parched body. I gulped down three large mouthfuls and felt the herbed heat purl through me.

“That’s very good.”

She acknowledged the compliment. “My restorative soup. My husband prescribed it for you.” Her graceful wave urged me to lift the bowl again. “You must gather your strength.”

I looked over the pottery rim. She had something to tell me; the burden of it was in her soft voice. “Is something wrong, Madina?” A knot tightened in my gut, around the warm food. “Is the emperor all right?”

She patted my hand. “The emperor is well enough, although he ignores my husband’s entreaties to sleep.” She smiled, but I could tell there was more. “Finish the soup, please.”