Tozay gestured across the flat expanse of land that stretched between the precipice and the front line of the army camp. “Sethon has staked a battleground. But he will not attack us while we hold the high advantage.”
“What will he do?” I asked.
Kygo rubbed his chin. “He will try to lure us to him so we surrender our high ground.”
“Lure us? With what?”
Kygo nodded. “That is a good question,
“So this is what fifteen thousand men look like,” I said, my voice a little too hearty.
“No, my lady,” the scout said. “This is eight thousand men. See those pockets of dust?” He pointed to tiny puffs on the horizon. “That is more men coming into camp.”
Dry fear caked my throat. May the gods keep us: this was only half of them. “You have keen eyes,” I said.
“Our best eyes,” Rulan said, walking up beside me. He pointed to a large red pavilion tent set close to the front. “That is Sethon’s tent. Arrogant prick.”
A soft clink of metal announced Ido’s arrival. He scanned the low plain, his heavy brows angled into a frown. With a shake of his head, he stepped back.
“You have something to say, Lord Ido?” Kygo said sharply.
The Dragoneye looked up as though roused from a daze. “No. Nothing.”
He lifted his shackled hands and dug his fingers into his forehead. Almost all color had drained from his face, and his skin was sheened with sweat. Yet it did not look like fear or heat.
“When was Lord Ido last given water?” Kygo demanded.
Yuso stepped forward. “Before we got to camp, Your Majesty.”
“Get him water.” Kygo turned back to watch the plain.
Yuso bowed and headed to the young porter carrying the water skins. Ido grabbed my sleeve and edged me back a step, and another, until we had a slice of open ground between us and the men concentrating on the enemy below.
“Dillon is a day from us.” His voice was barely a breath. “He is like a nail in my head.” He pressed his fingers into his temple. My gaze fixed on his arm — the arm I had burned and healed.
He brushed his fingers against mine. “Never apologize for your power,” he murmured.
I pulled away as Yuso approached with the water skin. He thrust it at Ido’s hands.
“Is this one of your petty ideas, Yuso?” I said, trying to cover the rise of heat in my face. “Denying water?”
The Captain crossed his arms. “You are always very concerned for Lord Ido’s welfare, my lady.”
I had no answer to his sly insolence. Lifting my chin, I walked back to Kygo, the fear of Dillon’s approach and the touch of Ido’s fingers twining together into a hammering beat through my body.
It was late afternoon before I was able to make my way to the round tent assigned to Rilla, Lon, and Chart. Surrounded by a three-man escort, I walked through the rows of bleachedcloth-and-rope-bound dwellings. Curious onlookers gathered to watch the Dragoneye walk by, their hopeful murmurs following me like a long, whispered prayer. News of Chart’s restoration had traveled fast in the camp, and a small crowd was outside his tent to catch sight of the evidence of my mighty power.
A few hours ago, the boy had been an untouchable demon of ill fortune. Now he was a symbol of power and hope. It was an effect of the healing that I had not considered.
I saw Rilla through a gap in the crowd, crouched next to a cooking fire. She was shaking a pan over the heat — goat meat, by the dank gaminess of the smoke — and staunchly ignoring the press of murmuring curiosity that followed her every move. Lon leaned against the sturdy frame of their tent next to the faded red door, his size and watchful demeanor sending a clear message.
“My lady, please wait,” Caido said beside me.
He signaled to the other two men in my escort to clear a path through the onlookers. There was no need. A small girl jabbing a twig into the dirt caught sight of me, her yelp of excitement swinging all attention upon us and parting the throng into two ragged, bowing borders.
Rilla hastily placed the pan onto the ground and rose from her crouch, anxiously tucking a strand of graying hair into her coiled braid. She and Lon bowed.
“Lady Eona.” Her face was a tense mixture of smile and tears.
“I am sorry I could not come before.” I took her hands in mine. “How is Chart?”
“He is—” She looked around at the avid faces and turned away. “They will not leave,” she whispered, drawing me closer to the tent. “My lady, Chart is … overwhelmed. As I am.” She squeezed my fingers. “I think it will take us all more than just a day to feel the truth of your wonderful gift.” She glanced at the red door. “He is”—her hand undulated through the air—“up and down, my lady. He has had fifteen years as he was, and in just a moment you have made him something different.”
“But he is healed. He is whole again. Like me.”
“Yes, his body is healed,” she said slowly.
“Well, I will see him,” I said, perplexed by her hesitancy.
“Of course, my lady.” She cleared her throat. “Lady Dela and Ryko sit with him now.”
“Ryko?” The islander had never met Chart. Why was he here? I could think of only one reason: to inform the boy about the compulsion. Did he truly think I would keep it from Chart?
“Ryko says he has also been healed by you.” Rilla’s voice was flat. I recognized the neutral tone: she had always used it when my master had done something questionable. Ryko must have told her, too. Resentment straightened my back. Her son was healed; surely that outweighed any cost.
Rilla ushered me forward as Lon swung the door open. Behind us, people craned to look inside the tent. I stepped over the high threshold, the door closing swiftly behind me. For a moment, the abrupt shift from harsh sunlight to dim interior reduced everything to featureless gray shapes. I paused, waiting as color and details sharpened into focus.
“Lady Eona.”
Dela rose from a stool and bowed. She had exchanged her man’s clothing for a long orange tunic cut in the full-skirted style of the eastern tribeswomen. Behind her, Chart was propped against a mound of cushions on a bed seat, one of three that were set around the edge of the small tent. Ryko stood next to him. The islander bowed stiffly to me and stepped back as I crossed the floor rugs. The stove set between the two central poles was unlit, but the tent was still stuffy, the day’s heat trapped by the tightly closed door.
“Lady Eona, I hoped you would come,” Chart said. Without the strain in his throat, his voice held the deeper timbre of manhood. He rocked forward on the bed, attempting to hoist himself to his feet, but his thin arms buckled. “Ryko, will you help me?”
The islander took Chart’s arm and pulled him upright. I stared at the boy’s sudden height; he was at least a head taller than me.
Braced by Ryko, Chart bowed. “See, my lady, I can stand.” He grinned, the echo of my old master in his narrow features. “My muscles are too weak for much yet.” He paused and took a wheezing breath. “But Lon says with practice I’ll get stronger. He’s already made me this.” He held out a ball made of roughly bound leather strips. “To help my hands.”
I smiled. “You’re so tall!”
“I know, I know,” Chart crowed. He coughed and swallowed hard. “Not used to having so many words at once,” he rasped.
“Help him sit down again, Ryko,” Dela said, reaching for the boy. “He looks pale.”
“No!” The excitement in Chart’s voice sharpened. “Do not talk over me as if I were still on the floor!”
Dela drew back.
“You have been through a lot, boy, but keep a civil tongue,” Ryko warned.
Chart pulled his arm out of the islander’s tight hold, swaying as he turned to face me. “Ryko says that you can control my will now. Is that true?”
I met his fierce gaze. “I was going to tell you myself.” I glared at Ryko. “Did you think I would not tell him?”
“I no longer know what you will do,” Ryko said. “Your ideas of right and wrong have changed since you have
