Eona: The Last Dragoneye

“Areas that are reached through narrow gorges and paths,” Kygo said. “It is where a small number can attack a large.”

I leaned forward. “How small is our number, exactly?”

Kygo shot a glance at Tozay.

“We are four and half thousand,” the master fisherman said. “And two Dragoneyes.”

I licked my lips. “I don’t know if even Ido will kill fifteen thousand men,” I said.

Tozay stopped rowing, and looked over his shoulder at me. “He will if you compel him.”

I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “What if I don’t?”

Tozay’s face hardened. “Lady Eona, when you stepped into my boat with the palace in flames behind us, you told me you wanted to join the resistance. What did you think you would be doing?” He glanced at the burned hillside. “Quickening crops?”

“Enough, Tozay.” Kygo’s voice snapped with command. “The Covenant of Service was put in place for a reason. It is better if Lady Eona finds it hard to break than if she does not. We don’t want another power-hungry Dragoneye like Lord Ido, do we?”

I stiffened at the edge in his voice. Perhaps I was not completely absolved.

The master fisherman turned and began rowing again. The hull of the junk loomed ahead of us, one round painted eye watching our approach like a startled horse. I pressed my hands together, the grim war-mongering temporarily pushed back by the impending reunion with my mother.

“What is she like, Master Tozay?” I asked, breaking the heavy silence. “My mother, I mean. Has she said anything about me?”

“Lillia does not talk much,” Tozay said gruffly. “But you are the image of her in face and body.” He heaved once more on the oars, the impetus taking us to the side of the junk and the rope ladder. “You will see for yourself in a moment or two.”

I craned back my head to look at the people watching over the raised side of the deck. The ship lanterns behind them cast their figures into silhouette and hid the details of face and form from me. There was, however, one small, slender shape mirroring my intense search.

A sailor quickly descended the ladder and landed lightly in the boat, his deferential bow rocking us to and fro. He took charge of the oars as Kygo mounted the ladder, all the people disappearing from the side as the emperor stepped on board. I followed, with Tozay close behind. The swinging, jolting journey up the wood rungs was, I’m sure, only a few moments, but it felt like a full bell.

Strong hands pulled me up onto the solid deck. I caught a quick image of rough faces and weathered skin before everyone lowered into bows before the Lady Dragoneye. Three rows of men — and one female figure — on their knees, heads bent, waiting for me to release them.

“Rise,” I said, my voice cracking.

As Lillia sat back, our eyes met. I saw fear and hope and a strained smile that held ten years of loss. Tozay was right: we were the image of each other.

Lillia pressed herself against the bulkhead as the deck-boy set a tray down on the fixed table in Master Tozay’s command cabin. The master fisherman had ushered Lillia and me to its spacious privacy once everyone else was on board, calling for tea as he led us down to the mid-deck. We had passed the locked compartment where Lord Ido was already incarcerated, the guard dipping into a duty bow and flattening himself back against the door as we made our way along the narrow passage. Tozay had glanced back at me, watching my reaction. Perhaps he thought I would wrench the door open and release the Dragoneye.

“Sir.” The deck-boy’s agonized whisper was loud in the thick silence that had descended across the command cabin. “I have forgotten the hot water.”

Master Tozay jerked his head toward the hatchway. “Be quick.”

I picked up one of the nautical instruments from the lipped shelf behind me. It was a brass compass of some sort, its dial gleaming in the extravagant glow of the three large wall lanterns lighting the cabin. I turned it over and over in my hands, glad to have somewhere to focus. Even through my unease, it was occurring to me that Master Tozay was not quite the simple fisherman turned resistance fighter that he professed to be. He cleared away the star charts spread across the table, his pace quickening as neither Lillia nor I made any move to speak. The boy returned, hurriedly mixed tea and retrieved water together, and with a bow backed out of the cabin.

“I will leave you two alone, my lady, to get acquainted,” Master Tozay said, slipping the last scroll into one of the neat slots built into the bulkhead. He glanced across at Lillia’s downturned face and clasped hands. A quick bow, and the door closed behind him.

Above us came the calls and creaks of the junk getting under way. I returned the instrument to the shelf.

“May I pour you some tea?” I asked.

She finally looked up. Although the weight of time had softened the taut lines of her face, it was more or less the same oval as my own. Perhaps her chin was less stubbornly set and her nose longer, but her mouth had my upward tilt and her eyes the same wide cast. I knew the expression on her face, too. I had worn it many times myself — an overly courteous mask designed to avoid irritating a master or mistress.

“No, please, allow me, my lady,” she said and crossed to the table. She picked up the brewing dish, deftly pouring a measure into the first bowl.

I chewed my lip. She could not seem to scale the mountain of my rank. “Thank you,” I said — then took a breath and climbed my own mountain. “Mother.”

Her hand shook, spilling some of the tea onto the table. Slowly she placed the brewing dish down, carefully cupped the first bowl, and carried it to me. With a bow, she held it out. As I reached, we both paused, staring down at the meeting of our hands. Both were long-fingered, with a thumb almost at right angles.

“We have the same hands,” I said, wincing at my too-bright tone as I took the bowl.

“They were my mother’s hands, too,” she said softly. She chanced a fleeting look up at me. “Charra. Your grandmother.”

“Charra? I have her death plaque.”

“You still have it?”

I silently thanked Dela. “Yes, and the other one, too.”

My mother caught the emphasis and looked away. She knew something about Kinra.

I placed the bowl on the table and retrieved my leather pouch, upending it. The two plaques slipped out onto my palm. With a shaking forefinger, Lillia touched Charra’s memorial, then pulled out a worn cloth bag that hung on a string around her neck. She opened it and withdrew another death plaque, a replica of Charra’s.

“I had two made when my dear mother died — may she walk in the garden of the gods,” she said. “I knew he wanted to get rid of you as soon as she died. I had to give you a link to your family. To me.” She stroked the plaque again. “He was afraid of Charra.”

A sour lump formed in my throat. “Do you mean my father?”

Lillia gave a strained laugh. “No, not your dear father. Charra loved him as if he was her own. No, he died — drowned in the terrible Pig Year storms. Do you not remember?”

I shook my head, and pain crossed her face.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I do not remember much at all.”

“I suppose it is to be expected. You were only four when he joined the glory of his ancestors. I married another man, a year after.” She studied me. “You do not remember your stepfather, either? Or what happened?”

“No.”

“Probably a good thing,” she said grimly. “He said he’d provide for all of us — you, me, your brother, even Charra — but when things got hard, he said he would not keep another man’s useless daughter. It was enough, he said, to raise another man’s son. He sold you to a bondsman.”

“Why did you let him?” The question came out too harshly.

“‘Let him’?” She frowned, puzzled. “He was my husband. How could I gainsay him?”

“Did you even try?”

I would have fought for my daughter. I would have fought as hard as possible.

She turned her head away from the veiled accusation. “I begged the bondsman to sell you into house