Eona: The Last Dragoneye

“Give Captain Yuso my swords, Vida,” I said, overriding the mute objection in her face.

I recalled Yuso asking about their power. Did Kygo think they were a threat? Did he think I was a threat?

Yuso slung the back sheath over his shoulder. “My lady, you are expected now.”

“She has just risen,” Vida said quickly. She kneeled beside me, twitching the hem of my tunic into place. “She needs a few moments to prepare herself.”

Yuso’s gaze swept over the room, stopping on the table with my belongings. Perhaps Kygo thought everything I owned was a threat.

Yuso’s eyes shifted back to me. “Lady Eona is expected now,” he repeated.

“It’s all right, Vida.” I patted her hands, which were busy repleating my waist sash. Reluctantly, she pulled away.

I walked across to Yuso. He wore his usual dour expression, but there was energy coiled tight in him, distilled into the continual rub of his forefinger against his thumb. He knew something was about to happen.

“I will wait here, my lady,” Vida said.

I looked back and smiled as reassuringly as I could, then stepped over the threshold. Yuso shut the door and silently led me across the large space outside the meeting tent. We passed small groups of people talking and laughing around fires, their warm camaraderie grating against my disquiet. I caught the slink of a shadow dog between two tents, only the white tip of its tail giving it substance in the gloom. A child howled in the distance, or maybe it was the keen of a night animal. It was soon obvious that we were headed beyond the heavily settled areas of the camp, toward a round tent set well apart from its neighbors, a guard stationed at its door.

“Is that where you are keeping the black folio?”

“Yes,” Yuso said.

I stopped. “Why does His Majesty want to see me in there?”

“That is for him to tell you.”

The guard saluted as we approached. Yuso opened the door, the wash of yellow lamplight casting his thin, lined face into seamed relief. He bowed and shifted aside for me to enter, hanging back a moment to give a murmured order to the sentry. With a crawl of unease across my shoulders, I stepped into the tent. Uncovered walls, no carpets. Just one man — another guard — standing beside a table that held a black lacquered box. No Kygo. The guard ducked his head in a duty bow.

Yuso ushered me farther inside.

“Sirk, your watch is over,” Yuso said, dismissing the man, who bowed again and backed out of the tent, closing the door behind him.

I walked over to the black box, its polish catching the lamplight in a slide of bright reflection. Why did Kygo want all the guards gone? Was he going to compel my power?

I turned to face Yuso. “What does His Maj—”

My head snapped back, the blow as solid as the man behind it. I staggered, my hands pressed into the pulsing agony across my cheekbone. The second blow into my stomach was so heavy it lifted me off my feet and punched away my air. I doubled over, gulping silently for breath, my vision blurred by shock and pain. He hooked his shin behind my knees. My legs buckled and I dropped on my back. The tent around me hazed into streaming lines of gray. Something slammed into my chest like a stone weight, pinning me to the ground; Yuso’s knee. He bent over, his mouth set with the business at hand.

“Open up,” he said.

He clamped my nostrils together. I gasped for air and saw the white porcelain of a herbalist’s bottle in his hand. He forced it into my mouth, the cold ceramic edge clipping my teeth. Foul, briny liquid ran down the back of my throat. I wrenched away, coughing and gagging against the bitter draught, trying to spit it up. Trying to yell. He dug his fingers into either side of my jaw and forced my head back. I punched at him, connecting once onto a hard edge of bone, but the tent was already fading into soft blackness, the drug dragging me down into the thick silence of the shadow world.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A STINGING SLAP across my face hammered me back into myself. Another slap forced my head back and my eyes open. I gasped, a blurred face filling my vision. Bitter pain pounded in my head like a nail being driven into the base of my skull. Acid and metal in my mouth. I knew that taste. Panic burst through me into raw agony. It was the folio. And it was blood power.

“No!” I tried to raise my hands, but something gripped the need and held me still.

The blur in front of me sharpened into Yuso. I looked down; my wrists were bound with the white pearls, the black folio pressed between my palms. Blood smeared the gleaming rope. I tried to lift my hands again, but a clamp of compulsion locked them down. I could feel it around my mind, caging my arms and legs. I sucked in a long breath, groping wildly for the energy world, but a burning wall of acid blocked every pathway I tried.

“Yuso!” It came out as a croak, my mouth so parched I could barely dredge up sound. My hazed senses caught a backdrop of red and the smell of incense and roasted meat.

Yuso’s eyes shifted from mine. “She is awake, Your Majesty,” he said, straightening.

“Good.”

The cold voice snaked into my mind, bowing my spine back against the wooden chair.

Sethon.

He was across the tent, back to me, the play of lamplight on his gilt armor emphasizing the breadth of his warrior body. Blood roared in my ears as understanding crushed me into a heartbeat and ragged breath. Sethon. Yuso had given me to Sethon. He had brought our enemy all of my power.

I was in a field tent, but the lush furnishings were suited to a palace chamber. The light from large gold lamps shone across carpets, elegant chairs, a lounging couch, and a large darkwood table with my swords on it. Four aides stood at attention, one against each wall, their curious eyes on me. At the base of the tent, I could see a sliver of darkness. It was still night. How long had I been senseless?

The High Lord turned, face impassive. His kinship to Kygo was carved into the clean modeling of his features, yet there was no warmth in his eyes nor mercy in the full lips. Everything was tight and twisted, like the scar that cut across his nose and cheek.

“Do you know where you are, girl?”

I nodded. At least I could move my head. I strained against the invisible hold of the black folio. Could I call its power as I had with Dillon? I focused on the energy pinning me down. Come, I called silently. Come to me. My desperation vibrated through the compulsion, but the folio did not answer. I was not strong enough to break the grip of Sethon’s blood.

He crossed the short distance between us, every heavy step echoing in my chest. I flinched as he leaned down and threaded his thick forefinger under the bloodied pearls.

“And you can feel my hold on your will? My control of your body?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

He tilted his head. “Let’s test that, shall we? Let’s see if this blood power truly works.”

He pressed his calloused thumb along my little finger and bent it slowly back. The pain built, and built again. I gasped, the need to rip my hand from his grasp slamming into the wall of compulsion.

“I will break it,” he said.

“No, please. I can’t move!”

“Are you sure?” He smiled into my panting fear and pushed harder.

“I can’t! I can’t!”

He wrenched back. The bone snapped. Agony shot through the marrow of my arm. I screamed, my body jerking, mind raging with the need to snatch my hand against the safety of my chest.

He inhaled deeply, as if breathing in my pain. “Exhilarating,” he said. “I can see why you enjoyed compelling Ido.” He dropped my hands and the folio back into my lap, the raw impact making the world spin for a long, gray moment. “It is going to be most interesting to explore your capabilities, Lady Eona.” He took my jaw in his thumb