Eona: The Last Dragoneye

“What do you say, Eona?”

“I think you are very strong, Ido.”

His eyes flickered. “Since when am I just ‘Ido,’ Eona? Since you showed me your true strength? Or since you called my body to yours?”

Abruptly, I pulled back. “How is the String of Pearls made, Lord Ido?”

He followed my retreat until his lips were a breath away from mine. “Nothing is free, Lady Eona,” he said softly. “Especially not that kind of information.”

I licked my lips, my heart quickening.

He laughed and leaned back. “I was thinking more along the lines of an information trade.”

“What kind of information?” I snapped.

“Our bargain was that I would train you, and you would tell me what was in the red folio.”

“I told you about the portent. There is not much else to know.”

“Surely you know who wrote the folio?”

I was loath to tell him, but I needed to know more about the String of Pearls. “It is the journal of my ancestress, Kinra.”

He seemed genuinely taken aback. “The Blossom Woman?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “The Ascendant Mirror Dragoneye.”

“Ah.” He smoothed back his ragged hair, eyes fixed on the sand in thought. “Now I understand. As Rat Dragoneye, I hold Lord Somo’s records — or what is left of them — and she is mentioned in them. Often.” He turned his attention back to me with a sly smile. “They were lovers.”

“Ancient history.” I shrugged, hoping he could not see the flush of heat that prickled across my skin. “So, how is the String of Pearls made?”

With his forefinger, he drew in the sand between us: twelve small circles, one slightly larger than the others, connected to create one big circle. “Look familiar?” he asked.

“That’s on the front of the black folio. The symbol for the String of Pearls.”

“It is more than a symbol. It is a representation of the weapon. The dragons form a circle and release the pearls from beneath their chins, so each pearl touches the next. Once they have done so, the combined power is collected into all twelve pearls. As soon as that occurs, the power must be contained or it will destroy everything.” He looked up. “The old scrolls sometimes call it the Necklace of the Gods. More poetic, I think, than the String of Pearls.”

“What happens to the dragons?”

“Once the beasts are separated from their pearls, they cannot reclaim them,” he explained. “It is Dragoneye lore that spirit beasts are immortal. But now your portent makes me think that the String of Pearls could destroy them.”

“Then why would they ever give up their pearls?”

“I don’t know.” With one wipe, he obliterated the sand circle. “Perhaps we will find out when Dillon arrives with the black folio.”

Even if I believed what Ido said, he was probably not telling the whole truth. I had no doubt he wanted the power from the String of Pearls: he had already killed the other Dragoneyes in his quest for it. During the palace coup he had told me he was going to unite dragon power with the dragon throne, and I was the key to his ascension. He had wanted to rule both earth and the heavens. Did he still hold such grandiose plans? Perhaps his capture by Sethon had tempered his ambition. Or maybe the fires of suffering had branded it deeper into his heart. Whatever the case, I had the feeling that he, too, did not understand all the pieces of the puzzle.

The black folio held the secret of a weapon that took all the dragons’ power, and the red held a portent that foretold the way to save that power. There was obviously some deeper connection between them, but I could not see it. I dug my fingers into the sand and raked my frustration through the grainy warmth. If felt as if every new bit of information curled back upon itself, seeming to get closer to the truth but in fact adding another veil of obscurity. Why was our Dragoneye power diminishing? And how could the Hua of All Men save the dragons? Did it have something to do with the String of Pearls? But if what Ido said was true, the String of Pearls was an agent of destruction — not an avenue of rescue.

One thing I knew with certainty: I could never tear the Imperial Pearl from Kygo’s throat.

A sudden tension in Ido’s body brought me back to myself. I followed his gaze to the seawall; the number of villagers behind it had doubled. Caido and his men had each taken a position on top of the stacked stones. Three men against fifty villagers, at least. And from the looks of it, not all of the men had gone out with the fishing boats.

Ido frowned. “Do they think I am defenseless?”

“We should go,” I said, rising.

“No.” Ido grabbed my arm, pulling me back down to the sand. “We are Dragoneyes. We do not get run off by peasants. Don’t worry. What I am about to show you will keep them in check.”

He pressed his palms — the gateways of energy — onto the sand and took a deep breath, tilting his head back. Almost immediately I saw the silver power slide through his eyes. Another breath swelled his broad chest. He released it and repeated the cycle in a smooth, regular rhythm. Then I saw the glory of communion strip the strain from his face. The joyous energy within him pulsed, its pleasure reaching me like a distant drum deep inside my body.

His silvered eyes locked on mine. “You are feeling this too, aren’t you?” he said.

I did not want to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Then his attention was elsewhere, beyond the physical world. Around us the air sang, building into a shriek that pushed the villagers back from the seawall in a wave of fear. Energy cracked and shivered across the sky. A long, pale jag of lightning split the dark clouds with a boom and flashed toward the sea. Then, as if a huge hand had grasped it, the bolt stopped. Slowly it turned, point aimed straight at the village, its power held suspended above us. I heard screams, but I was transfixed by the frozen flame of energy hanging in the air.

“Shall I teach these villagers some respect?” Ido said. “There are more of them across the hill.”

“No!”

He gave a soft laugh. With it, the lightning was released. I flinched as it ripped through the air and slammed deep into the sand a few lengths from us with a heavy thud. The impact rippled under the surface like the track of a creature slithering below.

“Holy Shola.” I scrabbled away from the shifting ground. A harsh smell burned the back of my nose and throat. Then all was quiet.

With a dismissive glance at the villagers cowering behind the seawall, Ido stood and dusted the sand off his trousers. “Come.” He waved me over to the fused indentation in the sand where the lightning had struck. “This is the best part.”

He crouched and carefully dug, clearing the sand away in two piles behind him. Cautiously, I crossed the short space and peered into the hole he had made.

“There,” he said. Something white poked up from the sand. “Help me get it out.”

“What is it?” I dropped to my knees and dug on the other side of the protrusion.

“Careful. It’s brittle.”

We dug down, clearing the cooler sand away. Finally, he gently withdrew a jagged white rod, as long as the stretch of my arms and encrusted with sand. It was no wider than my wrist, and hollow, like a length of bamboo.

“Listen.” He gently flicked his fingernail against the top, causing a sharp, ringing chink.

“That sounds like glass.”

“It is.” He held it out to me. “Glass lightning.” His head bent in a small bow. “A gift, Lady Dragoneye.”

He placed it in my outstretched hands. It was very light and delicate, the rough, sandy surface edged with long ridges. I turned it on end; inside, it was a lustrous milky color, with tiny bubbles caught in pools of translucent glass. I smiled at its beauty. And its promise of power.

“Can I make one of these, too?”

“Of course,” Ido said. “This is how I was taught to separate energy. Lightning is concentrated and has a