Eona: The Last Dragoneye

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE CART HIT a deep rut in the road, jerking me against Vida’s sturdy shoulder. I tightened my grip on the low railing at my back. It had taken us two hot, airless days to reach the city, and although the plan to retrieve Ido had been discussed over and over again, I felt a constant misgiving at its many risks. Not least was the city gate checkpoint ahead.

“You are so bony,” Vida said, her usual forthright tone high and peevish.

We were both dressed in thin, ragged gowns, our hair unbound and matted, skin smeared with dirt. Beside me, Ryko looked up with a frown. He wore the deep blue headscarf of a Trang Dein man — the rebel islanders who had been ruthlessly subdued by the army a year ago — and his heavily muscled torso was bare except for a braided leather band that crossed his chest. He lowered his head over his bound hands. I had not liked that part of the plan; binding our best fighter was madness. Still, we were meant to be a delivery of flesh to the Pleasure Ward, and a Trang Dein man would not go quietly.

“You take too much room,” I whined.

“Better than being a skinny slut,” Vida shot back, for the benefit of the two soldiers approaching the cart.

I pressed myself into the front corner, my heart quickening at the purposeful stride of the men. Dela looked back at us from the driver’s seat. Her hair hung in two greasy hanks from under a cap, and her face was rough with stubble. The cap’s brim was pulled down low to hide the elegant arch of her eyebrows. To all appearances, she was a hired thug. Her eyes flickered over Ryko’s slumped shoulders and raw wrists. He had insisted on having the rope tied so tight it cut into his skin; otherwise it would look suspicious, he’d said. Dela had offered to do it, but he had taken the rope to Yuso.

“Shut up,” Dela snapped at us. “Or you’ll feel my whip.”

A heavy-set soldier raised his hand, and Dela brought the cart to a stop. Behind us, Yuso reined his horse to a standstill and dismounted, tying the animal to the end rail. He bowed to the soldiers. His role was the flesh trader, and I almost believed it myself. A thin beard transformed his seamed face, and the cold look he cast across us held all the concern of a man checking his livestock.

“Where are you heading?” the soldier asked. Narrow, crusted eyes took in Vida and me. His partner walked around the cart, bending to check beneath it.

“Pleasure Ward,” Yuso said.

“You selling these two?”

Yuso nodded.

The soldier brushed a fly from his face. “Who they going to?”

“Mama Momo.”

He grinned. “Maybe I’ll come and visit you, hey, girl?” The soldier poked my bare arm.

I cringed, the hard rails of the cart digging into my back. His damp touch and foul breath brought back the night of the palace coup — Sethon’s soldiers baying with bloodlust, only Ryko standing between me and their brutality.

The soldier gave a low hoot and glanced across at his scrawny comrade. “I reckon no one’s had her.”

“That’s why she worth more than you can afford, friend,” Yuso said, but I could see his jaw tighten. The second soldier laughed.

“I can wait till the price comes down,” the crusty-eyed soldier said. He walked around the end of the cart, his attention turning to Ryko. “Big fellow. You selling him to Momo, too?”

Yuso followed him. They both stood surveying Ryko as if he were horseflesh. “Jumped his bond. The old lady is offering a good reward.”

“Ah.” The soldier glanced down at the islander’s bound wrists, then leaned across and slammed the flat of his hand against Ryko’s forehead, forcing his head up. “You’re lucky I didn’t find you, prickless dog.”

Ryko’s hands lifted, his lips drawn back from his teeth.

Before I could take a breath, Yuso had a knife at the islander’s throat. “Put your hands down.” Ryko lowered his fists. There was no pretense in the violence that raged in his eyes.

“Punchy,” the soldier remarked.

Yuso grabbed the back of Ryko’s neck and shoved his head back down. “Momo probably whores him out, too.”

The soldier laughed uneasily. “I wouldn’t put it past the old witch.” He stepped back and glanced at his companion. “All clear?” The other man nodded and waved us forward.

Yuso resheathed the knife, then untied his horse and swung back into the saddle. He motioned lazily to Dela who, with a click of tongue and sharp prod of the switch, urged the cart horse into reluctant movement. It was a stubborn bay that Yuso had bought along with his own mount to replace two of the three horses we had lost on the flooded slope. Only Kygo’s Ju-Long had survived the mud, the battle horse’s big heart and stamina overcoming the shock of the water.

We bumped across the cobbles toward the huge tunneled gate. Two sweating guards flanked each side, watching our approach. By their smirks, they must have heard Yuso’s conversation. At least their close scrutiny vindicated the hours that Yuso, Dela, and I had spent convincing Kygo that it was too dangerous for him to enter the city with us. Just the way he moved would have raised the guards’ interest, let alone the imperial cast of his features. He had finally agreed to ride out with Caido and his resistance troop and wait with them in the nearby hills until their part of the plan came into play.

Until a few hours ago, those heated discussions alongside Yuso and Dela had been the closest I’d come to Kygo in three days. He had not sought any time alone with me since the impasse in the strategy chamber, although I had often looked up during the final tactical meetings in the resistance camp to find his gaze fixed upon my face. He always looked away, leaving me stranded in half-smiles and uncertainty — I had no map of this new territory between us. On the hard journey to the city, he had stayed among Caido and his men. It was only at our parting on a deserted dirt track at the outskirts of the city that he finally called me over, away from the others.

He took my hand, and I felt the tension in his body as he pressed a small metal weight into my palm. It was the thick gold ring studded with red jade. His blood amulet.

“I want you to take this for protection from harm.” He closed my fingers around it. “My father had it made on my twelfth birthday,” he said. “It was forged with my blood, and the blood of my first kill, in honor of Bross.” He shifted his shoulders, as if feeling the touch of the man he had killed.

I opened my hand and looked down at the ring. Perhaps it was my fancy, but the gold did seem to have a pink hue. “Who was he?”

“A soldier who tried to assassinate Sethon. I executed him.” The irony of it edged his voice. “Take the traitor’s blood with you, Eona. And mine.” His eyes clouded. “Today is the last day of Rightful Claim.”

“Your uncle was never going to honor your claim. Never!” I said, as if my vehemence could shift the weight from his spirit.

He nodded. “Still, tomorrow I officially become a traitor. A rebel.” His thumb brushed the back of my hand. “Be careful, Eona.”

I watched him walk away, my hard grip on the ring pressing its edges into my flesh. The boundaries between us had shifted again, and I did not know where I stood. Only one landmark on our map felt fixed: the truth in our kiss.

Our cart rumbled into the cooler shade of the tunneled gate. One of the guards peered around the edge of the thick marble wall. “I’m saving up my pay, gorgeous,” he called, hot faced and grinning.

My fingers found the ring through the cloth of my gown, hidden from view on a long leather thong around my neck. I sent a prayer to Bross: Protect us, and protect Kygo, wherever he may be.

Then I leaned my shoulder against the top rail of the cart and played the wide-eyed newcomer, gawking at the heavy carvings on the inner walls. Most of them were the usual huge guardian door gods and symbols of prosperity, but there were also worn inscriptions in other languages. I was sure I had seen one of the strange left-to-right-running scripts at Ari the Foreigner’s coffee stall. As we broke out of the tunnel into the bright heat and the tumult of the old town, it occurred to me that the inscriptions had probably been left by ancient invaders. Perhaps we should etch our names into the stone, too — a foolhardy army of five trying to penetrate the Heavenly City.

I glanced at Ryko. He remained bent over his hands, but watched the passing stalls and shifting crowd from under his brow with an intensity that told me his blood was still high. After the quiet of the road, the calls of vendors, shrieks of children, and barking of dogs made me flinch. We were in the southwest Monkey Ward, the most squalid section of the city, and it was crawling with soldiers. I pulled back from the edge of the cart and drew my legs up under the curl of my arms, trying to make myself less visible. Vida dug her fingernails into her thighs, watching the bustle of the city from under the veil of her wild hair.

Along the narrow street, shredded red paper lamps from the New Year celebration still swung from crossbraces, and some shop-house doors displayed the long, red banners of New Year’s couplets hung to attract wealth and good fortune. They should have come down days ago in respect for the old emperor’s death. No doubt the merchants hoped the special wishes would help protect their businesses from Sethon’s soldiers.

A roar of male laughter rose above the clamor of hawker calls and shrill bargaining. I did not move my head but found the source at the edge of my sight. A large group of off-duty soldiers sprawled across the wooden benches of an oyster stew stall, shouting down a comrade’s joke. Although they took no notice of our slow progress, Ryko’s hands flexed against his bonds.

For a few lengths, a sesame cake vendor walked alongside us, beating a wooden tablet hung from the basket pole across his shoulders. The nutty sweetness of his wares filled the air and I swallowed a sudden rush of saliva; for two days I had only eaten salty dried road rations. He glanced across at me and, seeing no chance of a sale, hurried past, adding his raucous voice to his drum.

Behind us, Yuso’s horse sidled at the harsh sound, the captain holding the animal in check with firm knees and hands. I watched him manage the horse’s fear, soothing it back into submission. After the last few days in Yuso’s company, I had finally seen what prompted Ryko’s loyalty and Kygo’s respect. It was not only his command of tactical deception, although that had come to the fore as we planned this venture. It was also his concern for his men. On our last day at the resistance camp we had entombed Solly, and as we gathered for the death procession at dawn, Yuso had arrived carrying Tiron on his back. The injured guard was no lightweight, and both of his legs were splinted, but Yuso had borne him up to the hillside tomb to help send Solly to his ancestors. And that was not his only kindness. I saw him pass a small pouch to Tiron as we said our good-byes to the camp people. Later, when I asked him what he had given the young guard, he had eyed me in his usual dour manner and said, “If it is any of your business, my lady, I gave him the rest of my Sun Drug. Better that the boy not withdraw while his bones are mending. I can get more when we reach the city.”

“Get your head down,” he said now, through his teeth, as he eased the horse past me. Abashed, I obeyed. I had to remember my role.

He drew level with Dela. “Go over that bridge.” he ordered, pointing to the wooden arch across a narrow canal, “and then right. Got it?”

Dela nodded and prodded the bay into a trot. As we thudded over the bridge, I caught a glimpse of opaque brown water and the sleek arrow of a water rat cutting through the sluggish current.

We turned into a wide road, each side a jumble of open- front taverns and sprawling eateries clustered around fire pits. Cooks bent over hissing pans, and the fatty smoke of roast pork flavored the air, briefly overriding the stench of sun-warmed urine and rotting cabbage. A few calls and jeers from early patrons followed us as we headed toward the tall red gates of the Blossom World.

I had never been in the Pleasure Ward, although I had heard many stories about it from the other boys when I was a Dragoneye candidate. Mainly it had been whispers about strange contraptions and impossible positions, but one boy’s master had actually taken him inside the Blossom World. He had told us that every man who passed through the gates had to wear a mask and a disguise; it was the symbolic shedding of self, he’d said loftily, to become whoever you wanted to be, or to put down the burden of who you already were. For a night, farmers could be lords, and lords could be peasants. All men were equal, and no one was allowed to carry a weapon inside the gates. Except, he’d added with a knowing grin that made us lean closer, the infamous Sword Lilies, who practiced the art of pain.

“Greetings!” Yuso called to a gateman as we drew up to the ornate entrance. He dismounted and led the horse up to the neat annex that jutted from the towering wall.

The wooden gates — too high for a man or even a man on his friend’s shoulders to look over — were heavily carved with stylized flowers: peony, apple blossom, lily, and orchid. I searched the sinuous tangle of stems and leaves for the lewd figures that were supposed to be hidden among them. All I could see was the faint outline of a smaller door set into the left panel.

The gateman ambled out of his gatehouse and surveyed us. “Expected, or touting?” he asked.

“Mama Momo,” Yuso said. “Tell her Heron from Siroko Province is here.”

It was the code name that Kygo had given us. Mama Momo, it seemed, was more than just Queen of the Blossom World. If the code name failed, we had Ryko as backup: he had admitted he’d known her long ago, in another lifetime. I knew he had once been a thief and hired muscle. Perhaps it had been for this woman who now held our way into the palace.

The gateman straightened. “Mama Momo?” He snapped his fingers, and a boy hurried out of the gatehouse, wiping crumbs from his mouth. “Run up to the big house, Tik, and tell Mama — who are you again?” Yuso repeated the code name. The boy nodded his understanding. “And wait for her instructions,” the gateman called as Tik pushed open the smaller door in the gate and stepped through. It banged shut behind him.

The gateman smiled brown-stained reassurance. “He shouldn’t be long.”

He wasn’t. Tik returned with a plump man whose winged black hat and soft body marked him as a scribe eunuch.

“I am Stoll, Mama Momo’s secretary,” he said, bowing to Yuso. His eyes passed over me and found Ryko. Thin plucked brows lifted with interest. “Please come this way.”

He pointed to the far end of the high wall at a plain wooden gate — a delivery entrance. The beautiful front gates of the Blossom World did not open for a flesh trader and his wares.

The delivery gate was dragged open by two boys as we approached. Not eunuchs — at least not yet. Stoll waved us into an alley that ran alongside the far wall of the Pleasure Ward. Courtyard after courtyard backed onto the narrow roadway, the rear living areas of huge houses that must have faced onto the main thoroughfare of the Blossom World. Large quantities of washing hung from ropes strung between walls and trees, all of it sheets and drying cloths. As we passed each courtyard, women in loose gowns looked up from cooking on small braziers, throwing fortune sticks, mending gowns, and drying their wet hair in the noon sun. A few were even chasing the dragon, the smoke from the drug curling around their heads like the tail of one of the great beasts. I recognized the pungent smell from the teahouses around the market. The women’s interest was fleeting, mainly centered upon Ryko; then they turned back to their own start-of-day concerns. The only fixed gaze came from a tiny girl crouched at the feet of a woman who strummed scales on a long lute. The plaintive rise and fall of the notes caught on a faint breeze that stirred the heavy air and brought the perfume of soap and the succulence of grilled fish. The little girl smiled and waved. I lifted my hand in response and watched her jump up in delight.

As we neared the summit of a small hill, the tiled roof and elegant shutters of a large house rose above its more squat neighbors. It was obviously our destination, for Stoll hurried ahead and turned to wave us into its courtyard. I wiped the sweat from my neck and touched the blood ring again — for luck, and for the hope that Kygo was safe.

Unlike the other courtyards, this one was not full of washing or the out-spillings of cramped living. Instead, it was cobbled and clean, with a stable at the left and a small walled garden to the right. A low platform ran along the length of the house, creating a deep step up to a wall of paneled screen doors. One was open, allowing a framed glimpse of the interior: traditional straw matting, low table, and the abrupt angles of a formal orchid arrangement.

A feminine figure moved into the frame and stood silhouetted for a moment, slender and erect, then stepped out on to the platform. She was older than her elegant bearing had led me to expect: perhaps around sixty, with deep lines that carved fierceness into a face that still had the graceful bones of beauty. She lifted the green silk hem of her gown and walked to the edge of the platform. Stoll hurried forward, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

“You are not the Master Heron I was expecting,” she said as Yuso dismounted. Dela pulled our cart up beside him. The cart horse shook its head, the jangle of its harness loud in the sudden wary silence.

Yuso’s eyes darted to the stable. I followed his gaze into the dim interior: two large Trang Dein men holding lethal double hooks waited inside the doorway. Across the yard, another two armed men watched from the shadows of an outhouse. So much for the policy of no weapons.

“Who are you?” Mama Momo demanded.

Yuso glanced back at us. “Ryko, what are you waiting for?” he said through his teeth.

Beside me, the islander straightened and cleared his throat. “Hello, Momota. It’s been a long time.”

“Ryko? Is that really you?” Her narrowed gaze dropped to his bound wrists, then back to Yuso. “Boys, we’ve got trouble,” she said, and it was an order.

The Trang Dein men stepped out of the shadows, their sword hooks slicing through the air in soft whirring circles.

Yuso drew his knife. “Ryko, I thought you said she’d help you!”

I sucked in a breath. There was nothing in the cart to use as a weapon; my swords were with Kygo, along with the folio and compass. I scanned the courtyard. The nearest thing was a wooden shovel. Vida edged between me and the approaching men.

“Get ready to run,” she whispered.

“Momo,” Ryko said, “I swear on Layla’s grave that we are from the true Master Heron. He needs your help.”

“You are not being forced?”

“No!”

Momo held up both hands. “Wait,” she ordered, halting her men. They lowered their weapons. She stared at Ryko. “If you just lied on Layla’s name, I’ll have them rip you apart. You know that.”

Ryko nodded. “I know it.”

“All right, then. Come in. Explain yourself.” She pointed at Yuso. “And you, knife-boy, cut Ryko free.”

Mama Momo sat back from passing around bowls of tea and studied us. She had also offered small crescent New Year cakes, but Yuso’s warning glance had stopped me reaching for one, although my stomach squirmed with hunger. Distrust flowed both ways. I looked around the room. It was on the second story of the house but had no windows and, strangely, the walls were covered with straw matting. The ceiling was covered with matting, too.

“Soundproof,” Momo said, following my upward gaze. “Completely.” She smiled as she picked up a blue porcelain bowl and made a show of sipping the tea.

I took a hurried sip from my own bowl, remembering my fellow candidate’s lurid stories. Across the low table, Yuso shifted his weight, a crimp of pain between his eyebrows; kneeling did not agree with a leg wound.

“So you claim to be friends of Master Heron,” Momo said to him. “I know Ryko. But who are you?”

“I am Yuso, captain of His Majesty’s imperial guard.”

She shot a glance at Ryko, who nodded. She leaned forward. “And you say His Majesty is alive? Sethon proclaimed his death more than a week ago, and my normal channels have picked up only wind-whispers that he survived the coup.”

“We got him out in time. He is alive and preparing to fight for his throne,” Yuso said. “We left him this morning.”

“Preparing?” She frowned. “Today is the last day of Rightful Claim. Does he not make his move?”

Yuso shook his head. “Not yet.”

“I see.” Her shrewd gaze rested upon me. “And who are you, to be so carefully watched over by your comrades?”

Yuso bowed toward me. “This is Lady Eona, Mirror Dragoneye.”

“Lady Eona?” Momo sat back on her heels. “Ah, I see. Lord Eon.” She bowed. “It is a good disguise, my lord.”

“No,” I said quickly. “I really am Lady Eona. The Mirror Dragon is female, as am I.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth. “Truly?” Her fierce face folded into deep carved laughter lines. “How wonderful, a female Dragoneye. That would have put the wind up those Dragoneye Lords.” She sobered. “Of course, they are all dead now, may they walk in the garden of heaven.” She turned to Ryko. “You do realize how dangerous it is to bring Lady Eona into the city? I didn’t raise a fool, did I?”

We all froze, staring at Ryko. He looked around the table, his glare finally resting on Momo. “Lady Eona is integral to our plan,” he said flatly.

“Are you Ryko’s mother?” Dela asked Momo, her own fierceness softening into a small, surprised smile.

Momo snorted. “Of course not. I took him in when he was eight.” She glanced across at the islander. “Trouble from day one.”

Ryko’s glare intensified.

Ignoring him, Momo turned to Yuso. “What is this plan that is so important that you would risk a Dragoneye? Do you try to assassinate Sethon? You will die before you get near him.”

“We have to get Lord Ido out of the palace,” Yuso said.

She took a sip of tea, eyeing us. “That’s almost as difficult. He is in the cells.”

“You’re sure he’s still alive?” I asked urgently.

“He was this morning,” Momo said. “The soldiers take my girls to look at him like some kind of freak show: the great Dragoneye Lord bowed and bloody. My girls have seen a lot in their lives, and even they are shocked by what Sethon has done. From all accounts, if you try to move him, you’ll kill him.”

“That is why I am here,” I said. “I can heal him.”

It was one of the biggest risks in our plan. I had to heal Ido fast enough for him to gather his strength and hold off the ten bereft dragons before they tore me apart with power. Again, I touched Kygo’s ring: not only for luck, but for comfort, too.

“You can heal?” Momo shook her head in wonder.

“You say the soldiers take your girls to look at him,” Dela said. “That could work to our advantage.”

Momo tilted her head. “You’re eastern,” she said.

“I am Lady Dela. I was—”

“The Contraire?” Momo sat up straight.

Dela nodded, smoothing back her greasy hair with a self- conscious hand.

The old woman pressed her thin lips together. “We may have a problem. I have an eastern girl here, from the Haya Ro, and if she recognizes you …”

“She may,” Dela said. “I am the only twin soul among the Highland Tribes, and well known.”

Momo crooked a finger at Stoll. “Tell Hina she can take those two days off to see her son. As long as she goes now.”

Stoll bowed and left to deliver the good news. As the sliding door closed behind him, I glimpsed one of the Trang Dein man on the landing, armed and alert.

“And who are you?” Momo asked Vida dryly. “The Sun Empress?”

Vida shook her head. “I am a resistance fighter,” she said, undaunted by the old woman’s sarcasm.

Dela circled her hands around her tea bowl. “Why would Sethon torture Ido?” she asked. “It doesn’t make sense. He needs Ido.”

“No doubt Sethon is trying to get information out of him,” Yuso said.

Momo grunted. “I don’t like Lord Ido. I never have. He is twenty-four now, but I’ve known him since he was sixteen, and right from the beginning he has had something within him that is”—she paused—”keyed differently. If Sethon wanted something out of him, he would have to push past what a normal man could endure.”

I knew what Ido was trying to keep from Sethon: how to use the black folio to control a Dragoneye and his power. Or her power.

“You think Sethon has just gone too far with him?” Dela asked.

“I have seen Sethon’s methods,” Yuso said grimly. “They do not err on the side of restraint.”

“It is even beyond that,” Momo said. “We get imperial orders to send girls to the palace for our new esteemed emperor. Sometimes they don’t come back.” She glanced around the table, her eyes hard with anger. “Three bodies in the canal so far; one of them a girl from my house. He enjoys having power over life and death. I’ve tried to stop supplying, as have the other houses, but he just sends his men to get them.”

We sat in silence.

“Why do you want Ido so badly?” Momo finally asked. “It’s going to be a hellish job to get him out, and I can see you are here to ask for my help.”

It seemed we had finally passed her scrutiny. Yuso looked across at me, questioning. I shrugged: Why not?

“Lady Eona needs training,” he said. “Without Ido, she will not be able to control her power. And His Majesty needs her power to win his throne.”

Momo leaned forward, pinning me with her bright gaze. “What makes you think Ido will do what you want? From gratitude?” Her thin body shook in a silent laugh. “Ido doesn’t know what the word means. I should know.”

“When Lady Eona heals someone, she can control their will,” Ryko said. “She has healed Ido once already.”

My skin heated at the edge in his voice. Momo heard it, too; her attention snapped to the islander.

She sat back and sucked on her teeth. “She’s healed you, too, hasn’t she, Ry?”

His nod was almost imperceptible, his eyes fixed on the table. For a moment, Momo’s face softened.

“Well, then, Lady Eona.” She turned to me, once again Queen of the Blossom World. “If you can control a will like Ryko’s, you might be able to control Lord Ido. What is your plan, Yuso?”

“We cannot go in by force, so we must go in by deception. Lady Eona and Vida will masquerade as Blossom Women for one of these gatherings.”

Momo stared at him. “That is a very dangerous proposition.”

“Not so dangerous if they go in as high-ranked girls,” Yuso said.

She crossed her arms and inspected me, then Vida. “Possible, with a bit of work,” she conceded. “Although the refined arts of an Orchid or Peony are not often requested by soldiers. They do not want music or dance. They are more your Jasmine or Cherry Blossom type of men.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “We can work around it, though.”

“We do not expect Lady Eona or Vida to actually have to perform,” Yuso said quickly. “And Ryko, Lady Dela, and I will go in as their protectors, or something along those lines.”

“Could you and Ryko be recognized, captain?” Momo asked.

“Not unless some of the imperial guard have survived and turned,” he said.

Momo shook her head. “Executed. Every one of them.”

Yuso and Ryko looked at one another — a moment of shared anger — then Yuso bowed his head. Ryko pressed his fist to his chest, his face tight.

After a moment’s respectful silence, Momo said, “If you go in as my men, you will be stopped and held back outside the rooms, but at least you will be inside the palace walls. How quickly do you want to move?”

“As soon as we can,” I said.

“There’s an officer’s party tonight. Is that soon enough?”

I took a deep breath and looked around at the others. I saw the same tension in them that shifted through me: we had all stepped up to the edge.

Yuso smiled, hard and grim. One by one, we all smiled back.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Momo said dryly.

It was good to have hot fish and rice in my belly and to be clean again, even if the bath had been rushed and the scrubbing delivered by a maid with the touch of a net-hauler. I pulled the still-damp drying cloth higher up on my chest and shifted on the hard wooden stool as Mama Momo and Moon Orchid examined me.

The young Blossom Woman reached across and pushed my wet hair behind my ear, then pursed her lips thoughtfully. I tried not to stare, but it was hard to resist the draw of her face. Madina had spoken of the four seats of beauty, and Moon Orchid had them all, in abundance. Thick, soft hair dressed high to accentuate her broad forehead; wide eyes with a hint of clever mischief in them; lips that called for a fingertip to trace their shape; and a long, smooth throat, all in a harmony of spirit that brought a pang to the heart.

“I don’t think she can be an Orchid,” Momo said. “Her face and voice would pass, but she moves like a delivery boy.” She glanced down at me. “No offense, my lady.”

I hitched up the drying cloth again and shrugged. Compared to Moon Orchid’s languorous grace, I did move like a boy.

Moon Orchid tilted her head. “It will have to be a Peony, and we will hope that she is not asked to play for them.” She eyed me for a moment. “I don’t suppose you have any skill with a lute?”

I shook my head.

Momo reached across and tilted my face, inspecting my jaw. “The Peony paint will also cover that bruise. We do not want the vultures to circle.” She touched Moon Orchid’s arm. “Will you begin? I’ll see to Vida.”

She crossed the room to where the resistance woman sat on her own stool. “You, my dear, will be a Safflower. But let me give you a few words of warning about …”

“I think Mama Momo is too harsh,” Moon Orchid whispered, diverting my attention. “You could pass as an Orchid.” She smiled and handed me a long strip of cloth. “Please pull your hair back, my lady, and we’ll get started.”

I wrapped the cloth around my head, tucking in the loose strands of hair.

“You should take off your pendant, too, or it may get paint on it.”

I lifted the leather thong over my head, pulling Kygo’s amulet from under the edge of the drying cloth. For a moment, Moon Orchid’s eyes fixed on the swinging gold ring. Her long throat convulsed in a hard swallow.

“Kygo’s — I mean, His Majesty’s blood ring,” she said. “Why do you have it? Is he all right?”

I pulled it back from her avid gaze. “He gave it to me,” I said.

How did she know it was Kygo’s ring? The obvious answer was like a slap across the face. We stared at each other, her beauty sending another pang through me, discordant and sour.

“Is he well?” she asked.

“He was this morning.” I closed my fingers around the ring.

Moon Orchid turned and pressed a brush into the white face paint, her smooth brow creased. Even a frown did not detract from her beauty. She took a deeper breath, withdrew the brush, and wiped the excess on the side of the pot. When she turned back to me, her face was once again serene. She placed the brush alongside my nose and gently stroked the cool paint onto my skin.

“The ring is very important to him,” she said. Her eyes flicked up from her task. “He must think highly of you.”

No doubt she saw my cheeks redden.

“It is to protect us on the mission,” I said.

“Yes, of course.” She smiled and charged the brush again. A small silence settled as she painted the other side of my face and my forehead in broad strokes.

I wet my lips. “How long have you known him?”

She looked up from under her long lashes. “I have not seen him since Her Majesty, the Empress Cela, walked the golden path to her ancestors.”

She had not answered my question, but something narroweyed within me was pleased that she had not seen him for a year.

Moon Orchid turned from the paint pot again. “He is a very handsome man.” Another long stroke ended at my chin. “Although his heavenly rank creates tension for his earthly body.”

I pulled back from the brush. Its white tip hung between us, pointed like her comment.

“How is that?” I finally asked, curiosity overwhelming my unease.

“To be so sacred that one cannot be touched. It builds both a hunger and a restraint.” The soft brush followed the shape of my mouth. “A conflict that is mirrored in his spirit.” She stopped painting, her face polite. “Or perhaps you disagree, my lady?”

For a searing moment, I felt Kygo’s hand around my wrist again and saw the strong line of his jaw as his head strained back, fighting for control. I drew in a breath, meeting Moon Orchid’s watchful gaze. “You know him well, then.”

A small shrug, and the brush swirled through the paint again. “Well enough to know that he has given you more than just a god’s protection with that ring.”

I opened my hand and we both looked down at the thick band. I knew it meant more — it had been in the touch of his hand and the soft urgency of his voice — but I still wanted to know what she thought he had given me.

There was no need for me to ask: Moon Orchid was a practiced reader of desire. She put down the brush, her dark eyes suddenly much older than the smooth beauty of her face.

“He has given you his blood, and the moment when he crossed into manhood,” she said, and pressed my fingers around the ring again. Her smile was as tight as my heart.

For a moment I felt victorious, as though I had won some silent battle between us. Then I looked down at her hand enclosing my own, and in my mind all I could see were those long, pale fingers moving slowly across Kygo’s sacred skin.

I had not even stepped into the arena.

After what seemed an age, Mama Momo circled me again, Dela by her side.

“You have done a beautiful job, my dear,” she said to Moon Orchid. “Do you not agree, Lady Dela?”

Dela smiled her agreement, although her face was troubled. She had joined us early in the preparations, like a moth drawn to the flame of femininity in the room. She had sat beside me as Moon Orchid finished painting my face, and I had watched her large-knuckled hands hover over the brushes and paint, her eyes judging the deft darkening of my lashes and reddening of my lips. I could almost feel the ache in her to shave off her stubble and paint back the contours of her true self.

“Are you all right?” I whispered, when Moon Orchid had stepped away for a moment.

Dela had put down the pot she was holding, her lip caught between her teeth. “Every day, Ryko sees me in this man’s garb. It is difficult enough for me, let alone him.”

I touched her arm. “It does not matter. He knows who you really are.”

“Then why do I see him withdrawing from me?” she asked.

“I don’t think it is you,” I had said grimly. “I think it is me.”

Across the room, Vida stared at her completed Safflower reflection in a large mirror that stood against the wall. She touched the glass, pulling back as her finger met the hard surface. I remembered my own shock at seeing the whole length of my body for the first time in the arena mirror; the sudden shift from living within flesh to viewing it, a collection of form and contour that was myself, but at the same time outside myself. Quickly, Vida averted her eyes from those in the precious glass; perhaps she did not want to see her spirit in its depths. She watched her reflected hand trace the curve of her waist. Her body was swathed in diaphanous blue cloth that in some places was only one layer thick, showing the sheen of oiled skin, and in others, three or four layers, hiding everything but shape. She frowned and stepped back, her cheeks flushed.

“It will be hard to fight in this,” she said. “It is very tight. And I cannot hide a weapon.”

“You would not get one past the guards anyway,” Momo said. “Come, Lady Eona.” She beckoned me over to the mirror. “See yourself transformed.”

I gathered the skirt of my pink and green gown and walked over to the mirror, both eager and afraid to see my reflection.

A fine-boned woman watched me warily from the smooth glass, her large eyes made larger by the charcoal definition of lashes and brows. Her thick hair, braided into three crown coils and pinned with a beautiful fall of gold flowers, added height to her small frame. Her mouth was painted into a stylized flower bud that was oddly melancholy, its natural upward curve hidden in the white paint that softened a stubborn chin and created an elegant length of throat.

I blinked, bringing the separate parts of my face into a whole. The woman before me was pretty, but not beautiful like Moon Orchid. My eyes followed the downward sweep of white paint to the hollow of my throat. It had been left unpainted, a jewel of smooth, natural skin that hinted at what lay beneath the clinging sheath of pink and green silk and the tight binding of the embroidered sash.

“Although she is completely covered, the message is still very obvious,” Dela said wryly.

“That is our art,” Momo said.

I shook my head. “I cannot do this.” I stepped away from the mirror. “I am not feminine enough. I will walk like a boy and give us away.”

“Nonsense. You were skilled enough to fool everyone into believing you were a boy for years. I’m sure you can now manage a Peony.” Momo led me back to the mirror and stood me in front of it again. “Look at yourself. You are a beautiful Peony, a highly skilled artist whose company is reserved for the rich and powerful. Every other man will be busy unwrapping you with his eyes. They will not see anything beyond that.”

I pressed my lips together, tasting the waxy red ocher of the paint. I knew Momo was right: the soldiers would not see anything beyond the promise of my body. Not at first, anyway. Even Kygo’s gaze had changed when I had finally told him I was a girl. He had been furious, of course, but as he recast me in the mold of woman, I had felt my body became a possibility to him, and my flesh the sum of what I was. At the time, it had shamed and infuriated me.

I stared into the mirror and a small smile shifted across the reddened flower-bud mouth. Part of me wished Kygo were here to see me in the gown and paint. Would he think me beautiful? I glanced across at Moon Orchid. Not if she was in the room. Still, he had made me his Naiso, and kissed me even when I had been stinking of horse and sweat, and covered in mud. I was more than just a body to him.

A small doubt slid through my thoughts like a honed dagger. It was possible that my body had never had anything to do with it. Perhaps he did not want Eona — just “the thousand lightning strikes tipped with pleasure.” Was that why he had not sought my company on the ride to the city — since I dared not touch the pearl, I was of no use? I looked at Moon Orchid again. He could have any woman he wanted. Why would he choose me?

Perhaps he did not even see Eona when he looked at me. Perhaps all he could see was dragon power.

Mama Momo guided me away from the mirror. “If all goes smoothly, you won’t be in the company of the officers for long, anyway,” she said. “Tell me the plan again.”

We had been through it twice already while I was being painted, but she was right to insist. “One of Sethon’s half- brothers is hosting the party — High Lord Haio. He has requested only lower rank girls, so when he sees me among the others, he will complain.”

Momo nodded. “He is tighter than a fish’s bum and won’t want to pay for a Peony he did not order.”

“I then explain that there has been a mistake, and that Vida and I are a gift for the emperor from the Blossom Houses: a Peony for music and song, and a Safflower for the more base arts.” I paused. “What if Haio decides he wants a Peony after all?” I did not have a clear idea of what would happen at such a party, but I knew it would not be safe for either of us.

“He will not want to interfere with his brother’s pleasure — with good reason. Haio will have a steward escort you to Sethon.”

“Ryko, Yuso, and Dela will intercept us,” I continued. “We’ll get rid of the steward and make our way to Ido.”

“Do not miss that opportunity.” Momo gripped my arm to emphasize the warning.

“We know,” Vida said.

“We get into Ido’s cell. I heal him, then we make our way to the east wall of the palace, where the resistance will be waiting with horses and an escape route out of the city.” I looked at the somber faces around me. “Let’s hope the gods are with us.”

“They should smile upon you just for the sheer audacity of it all,” Momo said. She turned to Dela. “Are you sure you cannot do this without risking Lady Eona? I could have her meet you outside the palace.”

“I have to be there to heal Ido and control him,” I said, before Dela could answer. I was afraid of going into the palace, but I was just as frightened of losing my one chance of rescuing the only man who could train me in my dragon power.

Momo sighed, then beckoned to Moon Orchid. “Take Vida and Lady Dela to the top room, my dear. Yuso and Ryko are waiting.” She smiled at me. “Lady Eona, will you stay a few moments longer?”

I crossed my arms. “What for?”

Did she think she could persuade me to stay out of the palace?

“I would speak to you about Ryko,” she said in an undertone.

Dela turned back, ignoring Moon Orchid’s gentle ushering toward the door. “Ryko? What about Ryko?”

Momo’s eyebrows rose at her tone. “It is a matter between Lady Eona and myself.”

Dela’s chin lifted. “Ryko is my guard. I will stay, too.”

“Your guard?” Momo echoed.

It was no longer strictly true, but both Dela and Ryko seemed to be clinging to the formal bond that had first brought them together. I caught the silent plea in Dela’s eyes.

“Lady Dela will stay,” I said. My support was not all for Dela’s sake; I did not want to face Momo alone. Especially about Ryko.

Momo’s lips thinned, but she nodded and waved Moon Orchid and Vida from the room.

“You are killing him,” she said flatly when the door had slid shut behind them. “This possession of his will — it is withering his spirit.”

I tightened my arms across my chest. “I did not ask for it.”

“Yet you keep on doing it. I have spoken to him.”

“Only twice,” Dela said. “And Lady Eona has promised—”

“Three times,” Momo said. “At least.”

Dela focus snapped to me. “Three?”

“His Majesty made me. It was a test.” I lowered my head. “I did not want to.”

“Eona!”

I did not look up; the disillusion in her voice was clear enough. “You were not there,” I said. “Do not judge me.”

Momo clicked her tongue in irritation. “It does not matter how many times. Ryko is a man who lives by his own code, and if he cannot have that, he would rather die. I should know. His damned code drove a wedge between us.”

“How?” Dela asked.

“His mother, Layla, and I were friends. We worked in the same house. She wanted to get out and take Ryko back to the islands, and she was so close to repaying her bond. Then she was killed by a client, right in front of him.”

Dela pressed her hand to her mouth. “Killed in front of him?”

Momo nodded. “He tried to stop it, but he was only eight. I took him in after that. Then when he was sixteen and I had my own house, he helped one of my girls break her bond. She manipulated him, but that’s not the point.” She waved away the girl’s importance. “He just wanted to save her, like he couldn’t save his mother.” Momo turned to me. “For Ryko, your control is a bond that can never be repaid or escaped. You have his spirit in chains.”

I glanced at Dela. “Maybe he should leave us.”

Her jaw tightened. “You know he will not.”

“It is only going to get worse,” I whispered. “If our plan works and I heal Lord Ido, then Ryko will be caught up in my control of him.”

Momo shook her head. “Does he know this?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is his own choice. And that is the crux of the matter, isn’t it,” she said grimly. “If Ryko cannot make his own choices, by his sense of duty and honor, he would rather die.”

“I am hoping that once I am trained by Lord Ido, I can end this bond,” I said.

Momo grunted. “You are pinning a lot of hope on Lord Ido,” she said. “I pray that you can control him, as you say. Let me show you something, as a warning.”

She loosened her sash and pushed her robe off her right shoulder, exposing the bony flat of her back. A long ridged scar, old and deep, slashed the skin — the mark of a whip.

“That was Ido?” Dela whispered.

Momo nodded. “When he was seventeen. I turned my back on him,” she said. “Never make that mistake, Lady Eona. He will strike as fast as a scorpion and with just as much venom.”

“Why did he do it?” I asked.

“Because he could,” Momo said. “It is his nature.”

Yet she had not seen the remorse that shook Ido’s body after I had healed him, nor witnessed the terrible pain he had suffered to hold back the ten dragons from tearing me apart. Surely it was possible his nature had changed. Why else would he put himself in such danger?