Eona: The Last Dragoneye

His words sent a stir through the men at the tables.

“There is no dissatisfaction, brother,” Haio said quickly.

Sethon’s disbelief sat heavily in the silence.

“I am glad of it,” he finally said. “Stewards, bring my gift to me.”

A soft shush of slippers on the marble grew closer. A touch to my shoulder brought me back onto my heels. I looked up into the face of a very young eunuch. A long, half-healed gash across his cheekbone marred his smooth skin. He met my gaze and a moment of sympathy flickered across his careful composure. Behind us, an older eunuch helped Vida onto her feet. I picked up the lute and rose, myself. There was no way to stop the momentum that was driving us toward this deadly audience.

I kept my head lowered and followed the young eunuch to the dais. As we passed the tables, I saw the men shift for a better view. We were another part of the evening’s entertainment.

The two eunuchs bowed to Sethon and left us at the edge of the platform. I sank to my knees, but still did not lift my head; every moment he did not see my face was a moment that still held hope. I could see the boots of a soldier standing guard behind the gilded chair, and the pearl-and-diamond-encrusted hem of Sethon’s long tunic. I swallowed, fear crackling in my ears. Beside me, Vida’s hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that the outline of knucklebones showed through the stretched skin.

“Come here, Peony,” Sethon said.

My whole body became a heartbeat: all I could feel and hear was the vibrating drum of my fear.

“Now!”

I lurched up the two steps that took me before the false emperor, then sank to my knees again. The gold flowers on my hairpin chimed like a tiny toll as I bowed my head. My hand tightened around the neck of the lute. If only I had Kinra’s swords instead. From under my brow I watched a flick of his hand bring four attendants to the table in front of him. They picked it up and carried it off the platform with smooth efficiency. He stretched back in his carved and gilded chair, the action showing the breadth of his warrior body, then pushed himself out of it and stood over me.

“Look up. I wish to see your face.”

He was so close that I could see the delicate stitches of gold thread that held the gems to his tunic, and smell the herbs that had been used to sweeten the silk. There could be no more delay. Slowly I raised my head, my gaze fixed on the jade inlaid panel behind him. Even so, his features were framed in the corner of my sight: he was Kygo and the old emperor cast in a scarred, crueler mold.

“You may look at me,” he said.

And so I met the eyes of the man who wanted to kill everyone I loved and enslave me. And in their flat stare was a frown of recognition that chilled me to my very core. He reached across and cupped my chin in his calloused hand.

“Have I seen you before?”

Did he remember Lord Eon kneeling before him in the same way, begging for his help? I blinked, praying he did not see the memory in my eyes.

I forced a measured tone. “I have not had that honor, Your Majesty.”

He tilted his head, studying me, then pressed his thumb into my cheek and wiped away the white paint over my bruised jaw.

The hard pressure made me flinch. An avid expression crossed his face, like the half-seen flick of a serpent’s tail in the grass.

“Someone has been here before me,” he said. He turned to Haio. “Have you been tenderizing the meat for me, brother?”

“No,” Haio said through the uneasy laughter of the seated men. He held up his hands. “She came straight from her house to you, brother. I would not dream …”

Sethon waved him into silence, then tapped my jaw. “Well now, damaged goods no longer have to be handled with care.” He released me. “I thank you for your gift, High Lord Haio,” he said formally.

Haio bowed. “It is my honor to have pleased Your Majesty.”

Sethon beckoned to the two eunuchs who had brought us to the dais. “Take her and the other one to my apartments.” Another flick of his hand brought forward one of the soldiers standing behind his chair. “Guard them,” he ordered. Then he smiled down at me. “We will be alone soon, little bruised Peony.”

His fingertip traced my jaw again and pressed into the heart of the bruise. I winced, but did not dare pull away. The thin smile broadened. “Tell me,” he said to the two tables of men below him. “Who was it who said that a flower’s true perfume can only be found when it is crushed?”

“The great poet Cho, Your Majesty,” someone called, through more laughter.

“Yes,” Sethon said, “and we must always follow the truth of our poets.”

The two attendants stepped up to flank me. Only habit bent me into a bow, and only the blind need to get as far from Sethon as possible brought me to my feet.

I backed away, sour bile burning the back of my throat.

“Stay, brother, and have a bowl of wine,” Sethon said to Haio.

The two attendants and the guard ushered the two of us along the left wall; we no longer warranted a procession back between the tables. Vida’s face was white and rigid, a mirror of my own horror. I touched her hand, but she did not rouse from her eerie, unblinking stare.

We could not afford to lose ourselves in fear. We had to rally — and quickly — or we would end up in Sethon’s apartments, at his mercy. Ruthlessly, I caught a pinch of skin on her arm and twisted. Her eyes flickered and refocused. Thank the gods she was still with me. Alone, I could not fight off two eunuchs and a guard, but together we had a chance.

Many of the officers turned to watch us pass, their callous amusement sending another chill through me. A few faces, however, were grim, with lips pressed together in pity. Perhaps those were the men who had daughters and wives.

As we came out onto the front steps, I took Vida’s hand in mine. Our guard marked it, but he did not stop my womanly reach for comfort. After all, we were just Blossom Women, and unarmed. He, on the other hand, had a knife and sword, and wore leather armor. Very slowly I curled my hand inside Vida’s: the sign for Attack. She squeezed my fingers: Ready.

But where to make our bid? I dredged up my patchy mental map of the palace. The most likely route to the royal apartments was the wide path alongside the harem wall. That meant there was only one place we would have a chance to escape: the small passage between the harem and the wall of the West Temple. I made the sign for Wait within Vida’s damp grip and felt the quick press of acknowledgment.

The two eunuchs led the way, their soft-slippered pace quick and businesslike. My guess had been right; they were taking us in the direction of the harem wall. The young one with the cut face glanced back at us with a frown of unease. Could he sense our plans, or was he just troubled by his duty? I scanned the courtyard, noting the soldiers at the corners of each building. A flicker of movement jerked my attention to a large lion statue guarding a doorway. Did its shadow shift, or was it just my hopeful imagination? Our pace put it behind me before I could doublecheck.

We turned right onto the pathway, and I saw the destruction caused by Ido during the coup. Piles of bricks and debris marked the breach in the harem wall, and I counted at least four soldiers stationed around it. Were they close enough to hear a struggle in the passageway? It did not matter. We had to risk it.

Vida tapped my hand, then flicked her eyes back at our guard, claiming her target. I gave a slight shake of my head and shifted the lute against my chest; it was the only thing we had that approached a weapon. It made more sense for me to attack the armed man. Although her jaw jutted mulishly, she conceded with a soft exhale.

Ahead, the West Temple wall cornered and ran alongside the harem as I had remembered, creating the dark passageway. It curved into a shadowy bend that was perfect for an attack. My back prickled with the presence of the soldier behind me, and the weight of the next minute.

According to Xsu-Ree, surprise is far more important than outnumbering your enemy. Slowly, I tightened my grip around the neck of the lute as the path began to narrow and squeezed Vida’s hand again: Ready.

As the two eunuchs rounded the bend, I grabbed the lute neck in both hands and swung the sound box at the soldier’s head. It slammed into his jaw, the lacquered wood splintering in a sour chord. He staggered back against