Eona: The Last Dragoneye

she? What are you worried about?”

“Always so quick, Naiso.” He shifted in his saddle, lowering his voice. “As commander of the army, Sethon has ruthlessly quelled the Eastern Tribes for years, so there is no love lost there. But they are not totally convinced of me, either. After all, my father allowed Sethon’s eastern campaigns.” He drew his hand down the length of his queue. “Nor do they have the same reverence for Dragoneyes as the rest of the land, since they have been without the blessing of one for five hundred years.”

Ever since the Mirror Dragoneye was executed and the Mirror Dragon fled. Would the easterners have any legends about Kinra? Or had she been wiped from their stories, too?

“And now the Mirror Dragon is back, and the Mirror Dragoneye is about to arrive,” I finished for him. “What do you think will happen?”

His eyes cut back to Tozay, riding a length or so behind us. “Tozay says the easterners respect only strength. So, we show strength.” He turned back to me, his face somber. “Are you ready for that … my love?”

The soft, hesitant endearment blazed through me. Kygo had called me his love. I knew he was warning me about the easterners, but all I could focus on was that one sweet phrase. I could not stop the smile that sang from my spirit.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I am ready.”

I wanted to return the endearment, but I did not know what to say: I had never called anyone a heart-name. Yet it seemed my smile was enough, because he leaned across and took my hand, his own smile holding me in its embrace.

For one joyous moment I forgot I had lied to him about Ido and the cyclone. Then the Dragoneye was there again, in my mind: the memory of his hands touching me and his mouth on mine, and the glory of his power. If Kygo knew about that, he would not be calling me his love.

The dune leader reined his horse. “We are here,” he announced, drawing Kygo’s attention from me. A small mercy; I could no longer meet his eyes.

The man motioned ahead. “Your army awaits, Your Majesty.” He bowed over his saddle, waiting for us to pass and lead the troops into the resistance camp.

I had never seen so many people gathered in one place — not even in the ceremony arena or the crater camp. Involuntarily my hands tightened around Ren’s reins, yanking on her bit, as we made our way between two plains of bowed bodies that stretched for hundreds of lengths on either side into the pale shadows of morning. Behind them, low military tents and the taller, round tribal tents were built up row upon row like city streets, the outer ranks so far away they were just white dots in the glow of cooking fires.

All of this at Kygo’s command. And under the protection of my power.

I glanced at Kygo. He did not look left or right, and his bearing had straightened from the relaxed meld of horse and man into regal authority. All of his attention was focused on the group of six men bowing to us outside a huge round tent, its position and size distinguishing it as a meetinghouse.

I had a moment of absurd pleasure as I reined Ren neatly in beside Kygo’s horse. I had not fallen off, and I had managed to stop. Following Kygo’s lead, I swung my leg over Ren’s back and found the ground, the twist on the stirrup allowing me a quick view of Ido, still mounted behind us. One of the dune men was cutting him free from the saddle.

“Rise,” Kygo ordered.

The six men climbed to their feet. I glanced over my shoulder, past the grips of Kinra’s swords, and saw the royal command shift back like a wave through the sea of people behind us.

“This is Lady Eona, Mirror Dragoneye and my Imperial Naiso,” Kygo said.

The men’s eyes flicked over me. Although not one of their expressions changed, I could feel their disappointment as if it had been shouted in my face: A girl.

“You know General Tozay,” Kygo continued. He turned his head, finding Ido. ‘And that is Lord Ido, Rat Dragoneye.”

The introduction sent sharp glances among the six men. A ripple of whispers rose from the people around us. One of the six — a man of about thirty with a permanent sun squint and a meaty strength about him — stepped forward, his bright red coat adorned with an embroidered eagle on each sleeve. All of the six men wore intense colors — emerald green, sky blue, red, purple, orange — their clothes overbright among the bleached colors of the rest of the camp.

“Welcome Your Majesty and Lady Eona.” He angled his face away from Ido. “I am Rulan, leader of the Haya Ro. Be welcomed on behalf of all the tribes.”

“Rulan,” Kygo said. “Lord Ido is the Rat Dragoneye. Acknowledge him.”

The big man shifted. “He is a traitor.”

“Acknowledge him!”

Rulan’s mouth tightened. “And we acknowledge Lord Ido,” he said through his teeth. Kygo had won the first round. Rulan gestured to the man in emerald green. “Here is Soran, leader of the Kotowi and tribe brother to the Haya Ro.” He proceeded to name the remaining four men behind him and their affiliations, but the elaborate introductions blurred into a string of unfamiliar words. I had seen the ill feeling toward Ido at Sokayo village, but this held an even sharper edge of malevolence.

As Rulan finished with a bow, Soran, the first man introduced, stepped forward. “Your Majesty, may I have leave to greet my daughter-son, Dela?” he asked. “She has been away from us for six years.”

This was Dela’s father? On closer inspection, there was a resemblance — the proud nose and deep-set eyes, and the humor in his angular face.

Kygo smiled and nodded. “Of course, Soran. I know Dela came to my father’s court as a ransom, but he was fond of her, and she was a valued courtier.”

Soran bowed and backed away. I saw the wonderful moment on Dela’s face when her father stepped into view — such love. And so much warmth between them as Soran folded Dela against his chest. My mother watched with a sad smile. Was she comparing our reunion with the joy of this one? She was a good woman and deserved more than the polite detachment I had shown on the boat. After all, we were blood.

I turned back to find Rulan ushering us toward the wooden door of the round tent. The structure was covered in pale cloth, and through a few gaps, I could make out the thick edges of a darker layer beneath. A woolen blanket perhaps, or felt. Both layers were bound onto the circular structure with neatly separated rounds of rope. I had heard that these buildings could be dismantled and moved within a full bell, yet were sturdy enough to withstand sandstorms.

As I followed Kygo into the tent, the sudden color and opulence made me pause. The walls were covered in bright cloth printed in red, white, and green diamonds, and the entire floor was made of layered woven rugs in a clash of reds and greens and yellows. Two long, elaborately carved poles in the center held up the crown of the tent, and between them stood an open-topped brazier, a high mound of glowing coals sending out heat and soft light. Long benches with padded seats made of printed and colored cloth were set up in ranks that curved with the walls and left a large round space in the center. One bench was raised higher than the rest and had no other seats set behind it: the position of power. Rulan led us toward it. The Emperor and his Naiso Dragoneye were to sit together.

It did not take long for the round room to fill with people. As there was only one door, I did not miss the entry of my mother, and behind her, Dela and Soran, their reunion evident in reddened eyes and Soran’s protective clasp of Dela’s shoulder. Nor did I miss the entry of Ido and the subtle shifting away from him as Yuso and Ryko led him through the benches. His hands were no longer bound with rope. They were shackled in heavy irons.

Noticing the fix of my gaze, Kygo leaned close to my ear, his breath warm. “The solid permanence of iron holds more effect for these people than just rope. They will kill him in a second if they think he is not under control.”

Ido’s chin was lifted, the amber eyes hardened into dark gold. Even when they fell upon me, their expression did not change. He was pushed onto the front bench at my right. I forced my attention away from him and scanned the meeting-house. Rulan and his five cohorts were seated to our right. Apart from our people, the rest of the forty or so gathered seemed to be men — and a few women — who held some kind of rank. All of them were wearing the bright colors and intricate embroidery of celebration dress. And all of them were watching Kygo and me, the thick padded walls muffling the rise of their whispers.

From his lower seat, Rulan bowed to Kygo then clapped his hands, glaring around the tent for attention. “Our