Eona: The Last Dragoneye

CHAPTER SIX

YUSO CALLED A HALT at dusk. We gathered in a small, natural clearing in the forest, the deafening chitter of birds heralding the end of daylight. Through the ferns and undergrowth, I caught sight of a bloated stream, fed by the recent monsoon rains. The downpours had been heavier than usual, untamed by the Dragoneyes and their beasts. With only two of us left in the circle — one dying and the other useless — it would not be long before some grave disaster tore at the land and the cries for help would go unanswered.

I slid off Ju-Long’s sweaty back, the sudden contact with the ground sending spikes of pain through my legs. For more than twelve full bells we had alternated between short bursts of speed on the horses and long, hot slogs on foot, leading the tired animals. My thighs, unused to the rigors of riding, were a solid ache of overtaxed muscles and chafed skin.

It was almost unbearable to lower myself into a crouch and drop backward onto the damp forest floor amid the heavy, hot folds of my skirt. I cursed, and pushed away a fallen branch caught under my hip. The bandage around my hand was filthy, but the wound no longer stung, even when I flexed my fingers. Across the clearing, Solly unsaddled the horse he had shared with Tiron, while the young guard attended to Ju-Long. Ryko handed his reins to Vida and started toward me, our postponed discussion in his eyes. I readied myself, but the emperor sat down beside me, cutting off the islander’s approach. Relief made me sag; I had no answers for Ryko.

“Here, take some water,” the emperor said, passing a lacquered flask. “A few more days on Ju-Long and you’ll get used to riding.”

“A few more days and I’ll be dead from arse pain.” I clapped my hand over my mouth; the profanity had just slipped out.

He gave a low snort of laughter.

Hesitantly, I smiled back. I had only ever seen him laugh once before, at one of his father’s jokes. Admittedly, there had not been much to laugh about in the imperial court. His smile reminded me of his dead mother. Lady Jila’s delicate symmetry of cheekbones and chin were, in her son, bolder and more masculine, but I could see her sensuous beauty in his dark eyes and full mouth.

Poor Lady Jila; may she find peace in the garden of the gods. Although it was only weeks ago, it seemed like years since we had sat together in the harem and I had promised her I’d protect her son and be his friend. So far, I had done little to keep either promise.

“I have never heard a lady say ‘arse,’” the emperor said mildly.

“I haven’t been a lady for long,” I reminded him. A little demon — made of exhaustion and the emperor’s smile — pushed me into adding, “For five years I’ve been saying ‘arse.’ It’s hard to stop saying ‘arse’ after that many years. I suppose I should stop saying ‘arse,’ since ladies don’t say—”

“‘Arse,’” he finished for me.

I met his grin.

Yuso kneeled on the ground before us. “Your Highness.”

The emperor straightened, the ease gone from his face. “What is it?”

“I estimate we are at least a day ahead of any search, even one on horse. Still, I advise we do not light a fire for cooking and make do with rations. The girl will bring them to you.” He tilted his head at Vida, who was fitting a nosebag on one of the horses. “She says there is a resistance group less than a day away. We should make for them. They’ll have current news of Sethon’s movements.”

The emperor nodded. “Good. I want to muster as many men as we can and march on the palace.”

Yuso sucked in a breath, his careful control shifting into something hard and intense. It lasted less than a second, then smoothed back into his usual dourness. “We do not head for the eastern tribes, then, Your Majesty?” he asked. “Ryko says the resistance will be gathering there.”

“No. By the time we go east and return, the twelve days of Rightful Claim will be long over. It must be now.”

I chewed on my lip; to march on the palace without a full army would be suicide.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Yuso said.

He knew it was suicide, too; I could see it in his eyes. Why didn’t he say something? But he merely bowed: the dutiful, loyal soldier.

“Your Majesty,” I said hesitantly. “The resistance is expecting us to meet with them in the east. That is where you can be assured of strong support.” I glanced at Yuso. “Is that not so, captain?”

He would not look at me. No doubt he did not want to be pulled into the arrow’s path. “His Majesty wishes to march on the palace,” he said woodenly.

I glared at him. Someone had to tell the truth, but I was not going to fall alone. “I’m sure you will agree, captain, that it is unlikely there will be enough men between here and the palace to make an effective army,” I said carefully. “At present, High Lord Sethon has the greater force.”

The emperor eyed me impassively. I had seen his honored father wear the same stony mask when dealing with unwelcome news. I tried not to shift under the relentless stare. The old emperor had been a shrewd politician, willing to listen to opposing views without reprisal. I hoped his son had the same restraint.

“You may go, captain.” The emperor waved his dismissal. Yuso bowed and backed away.

The emperor waited until he was out of earshot, then said, “My uncle may have the greater military force, Lady Eona, but he does not have the Imperial Pearl, nor your power behind him.”

“My power, Your Majesty?” I dug my fingernail into the gold peony etched on the flask. “Are you asking me to use my dragon for war?”

“War?” He shook his head. “There will be no war. That is why we have the days of Rightful Claim; to prevent such a disaster. I have the ancient symbol of sovereignty”—he touched the pearl at his throat—“and I have the support of the Mirror Dragoneye, the symbol of renewed power. My uncle will see that his claim cannot stand against mine.”

I knew I was untutored in the ways of statecraft, but I was sure I had not mistaken Sethon’s ambition. Nor his ruthlessness.

“Your uncle is not dealing in symbols, Your Majesty. He is dealing in force. He has already decreed himself emperor, pearl or no pearl.”

His hand went to his throat again. “You don’t understand. Without this pearl, my uncle cannot hold the throne. It is what keeps the dragons with us — the seal of our celestial bargain.”

“Then he will kill you and take it.” For a moment, all I felt was the pearl’s soft fire under my fingers, and the burn of Kinra’s purpose. I clenched my hands, fighting off the memory.

“If he takes it, he will not have to kill me,” the emperor said dryly. “It is now part of my Hua, joined to me through blood. I die if it is removed.”

“Part of you? I don’t understand.”

“It is said the pearl is a living link to the dragons. Once it is sewn into an emperor’s throat, the two are joined forever through the blood. It is why it must be transferred from a dead emperor’s body to the living heir in less than twelve breaths. Otherwise the pearl will die and the seal of our bargain will be gone.”

I studied the gold setting that circled the pearl and counted twelve stitches in gold thread radiating from it. The three at the top were neatly placed but the rest were a mess, the flesh around them still bruised and scabbed. “Twelve breaths does not sound very long for such delicate work,” I said.

He gave a rough laugh. “Less than a minute and a half for twelve stitches in the throat. As you can see, my physician was both nervous and pressed for time.”

“It must have hurt.”

For a moment, he hesitated intent on some inner debate. Finally he looked me square in the eye. “It was the most painful thing I have ever endured,” he said, and I knew it was no small thing for him to make such an admission. Or for me to receive it. “The setting around the pearl has twelve barbs that first pierce the skin and hold the pearl against the throat,” he added. “Each barb also has an eyelet so it can be stitched into the flesh too.” His finger circled the edge of the damage. “And there is something else; a burning that enters into the blood and feels like acid flowing through the body for hours afterward.”

I found myself swallowing in sympathy. “Does your uncle know about the pearl dying?”

“Of course. Twelve-breaths-twelve-stitches is taught to all royal males in line for the throne.”

“Then he must take you alive so that he can transfer the pearl to his own throat safely.”

He shook his head. “You seem very sure my uncle will ignore Rightful Claim.”

I steeled myself for what I was about to say. “Your uncle has slaughtered your mother and brother, and poisoned your father. Why would he stop at you?”

Had I gone too far? I knew my words had struck their target — it was in the widening of his eyes — but I refused to flinch. The emperor may have felt blood rage at the news of his family’s death, but he had not seen Sethon’s sword impale his infant brother. Nor had he seen the bloody corpses of the palace household, nor his uncle spurring his troops into baying savagery. Someone had to tell him how things stood.

Still, it took all of my will not to drop into a kowtow.

Nearby, Vida dug through a saddlebag; Tiron conferred with Solly; and Dela wearily loosened her hair from its tight binding — none of them aware that their emperor thought he could just walk into the palace and take back his throne.

“You are very blunt, Lady Eona,” he finally said. He pressed his hands against his eyes. “I’m a fool. My father stubbornly trusted his brother, and now here I am, doing exactly the same thing.” His long sigh relinquished the hope of a bloodless claim. “Of course you are right. He will try and take the pearl. He certainly will not be the first to think he can steal its power.”

The emperor knew the history of the pearl; perhaps he knew about Kinra. Here was my chance to discover if the memories that came with her swords were true, if my blood was truly tainted. In the space of a quickened heartbeat, I fought a battle between risk and opportunity.

“Like Kinra,” I said, and the two words took all of my breath.

He lowered his hands, startled. “How did you hear of Kinra?”

I scrabbled for a plausible story. “I–I saw her name in one of Lord Brannon’s record scrolls.” His surprise faded. “It only said she tried to steal the pearl. Was she an assassin, Your Majesty?”

“No, just a Blossom Woman. She nearly bewitched the pearl from Emperor Dao. He had her executed as a traitor by the Twelve Days of Torture.” He leaned closer. “I’ve heard the executioners can keep someone alive for days even after they have cut out the main organs. Something to keep in mind for my uncle.”

I turned away, hoping my face did not betray me. The stories were not the same — somehow my ancestress had become prostitute rather than Dragoneye — but in my vision, I had been Kinra, caressing an emperor’s throat, stroking the pearl. Perhaps the stories were not so far apart. Was this how she was erased from history, reduced from Dragoneye Queen to treacherous whore?

The emperor touched my arm. “My apologies, Lady Eona, I did not mean to frighten you.”

I rallied a weak smile. “I think I am just tired, Your Majesty.”

A gesture brought Vida to his side. “Bring Lady Eona some food. And a rug.” He stood. “I will leave you to rest.”

In a few strides he was beside Tiron, advising the guard on Ju-Long’s rubdown. I prayed he would rethink his strategy and return to our goal of the east. Although he had inherited his father’s misguided loyalties and sense of tradition, it also seemed he had inherited his mother’s flexible mind and quick insight.

“I will take that to Lady Eona,” I heard Ryko say.

Before I could prepare myself, the big islander was standing before me. He held out a piece of hard-bread and a gnarled strip of dried meat.

“Thank you.” I took the bread, avoiding his eyes.

His free hand clenched into a fist. “How did you control me?”

“I don’t know.” I looked up at him. His mouth was tight with disbelief. “Ryko, I truly don’t know!”

“Why, then?”

“There had been enough death.”

“Can you do it whenever you want to?” His stern expression could not mask the fear in his voice.

Dela crossed over to us. “What is this about, Ryko?” She laid her hand on his arm. “You are towering over Lady Eona.” She emphasized my rank.

He shrugged off her hold. “Lady Eona has some kind of power over my will. She stopped me from fighting.”

“Power over your will?” Dela repeated, but her eyes questioned me.

“It’s true,” I said, lowering my voice, “but I don’t know how. It’s as if a link opens between us when things are desperate.”

“Is it only Ryko? Do you have power over anyone else?” she asked.

“No, only Ry—” I stopped, overwhelmed by a sudden, unwelcome truth. “Yes. Lord Ido, too. It is not completely the same, but they both have some kind of link.”

“Ryko and Lord Ido,” Dela said slowly, thoughtfully. “What is the connection?”

“Nothing connects us,” Ryko said coldly. “I have nothing in common with that whoreson.”

“Not true,” Dela said. Dawning comprehension paled her face. She shot an anxious glance at me. “Both of you have been healed by Lady Eona.”

We looked at one another, the logic undeniable.

“The exchange of Hua,” I said. “My power flowed through you, Ryko. And it flowed through Ido, at the palace.”

He caught his breath. “So this is the price for life? To have my free will ripped from me? To be forced into action that is contrary to my nature?”

“I didn’t know!”

Dela broke in. “It was I who begged Lady Eona to heal you.”

“Then you have done me a disservice, lady,” Ryko said harshly. “Have I not already given enough for this cause? Now I don’t even have my own will.”

“But I could not let you die,” Dela said tightly. Again, she reached out to him, but he stepped back.

I caught Dela’s hand. This was not the time for her to declare her feelings. “Perhaps there is a way to break the link,” I said. “In the folio.”

“I will search,” she promised.

Ryko glared at me. “And if there is no way, am I your creature forever?”

“I will not use it again,” I said. “I swear.”

“All well and good. But you are a proven liar, and I cannot stop you.”

“Ryko!” Dela protested.

He shot her a savage look, and walked to the other side of the clearing.

“He does not mean it,” Dela said, her eyes following him. She squeezed my hand, then let it go. “I will start searching now.”

She pulled the journal from her tunic, and headed over to a shrinking patch of late sunlight.

Slowly, I opened my other hand; the rough hard-bread had left a deep ridge in my palm. I could not blame Ryko for his rage; I had been just as angry when Lord Ido wrested away my own will. And now, if Dela was correct, I had some kind of lasting link with Ido, born from healing his stunted heart-point.

I shuddered. I did not want power over Ido. I did not want anything to do with him. Yet his final cry still stretched between us like the anchoring thread of a spider web.

“My lady,” Vida said, interrupting my dark thoughts. She was holding a worn rug. “Something for you to sleep on.”

Murmuring my thanks, I took the roll of thin cloth and spread it out behind me. Each shift of my rump made my hips ache. Fatigue dragged at my every move. It was even too much effort to chew the tough hard-bread. I made do with another piece of fruit from the waist-string, then gingerly lowered myself onto the rug. For a moment, I was aware of the unforgiving ground and the smell of old leaves and earth, and then sleep claimed me.

I was woken by the insistent need to relieve myself. The half-moon was high, silvering the outline of the tree canopy. The roosting birds had given way to the screech of night hunters and the deafening shrill of insects. Through half-open eyes, I saw the shadowy shapes of huddled, sleeping bodies and the watchful figure of someone on guard. By my reckoning, it was close to midnight — I could have at least another four or five hours of precious sleep. Maybe if I stayed completely still, I would just slide back into oblivion.

It was not to be. I struggled to my knees, wincing with pain. Every muscle had locked into stiff protest. With a soft grunt, I hauled myself upright. The guard looked around as I hobbled to the tree line. It was Yuso, moonlight carving his face into boldlined relief like a woodcut. Beyond him, another figure sat staring up at the night sky. From the set of the straight shoulders and pale, shaved head, I knew it was the emperor. Perhaps his ghosts had returned.

Stiff muscles, skirts, and passing water do not mix well. I took so long behind my tree, I was sure Yuso would come looking for me. As it was, both he and the emperor were hovering nearby when I stepped back into the clearing.

“I thought you had got lost, Lady Eona,” Yuso said.

“No. I was only a length or two away.”

“Go back to your post, captain,” the emperor ordered softly.

Yuso bowed and made his way around the edge of the camp. Only when he was in position again, did the emperor say, “Sit with me.”

I blinked at the sudden command. Something was pressing urgency into his voice. Was he angry with me, after all?

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

He led me along the tree line, a good distance past the sleeping forms of Vida and Solly.

“This will do.”

He sat on the ground, and painfully, I lowered myself beside him, tucking my skirt and undershift around my legs. The cloth was sour with horse sweat and dried blood. I should have taken the time to wash before I slept.

“Do you know what my father said about you?” His voice had dropped into the mix of whisper and murmur used for private conversations at court. If I had not been leaning close, I would not have heard him beneath the constant chirr of insects and the rush of water.

Holding my astonishment close, I matched his low tone. “No, Your Majesty.”

“He was most impressed with you in the Pavilion of Earthly Enlightenment. He said you had the ability to see both sides of an argument — that, although you were unschooled, you were a natural strategist.”

I flushed. A natural strategist? I turned the compliment over in my mind, studying it like a precious stone. If worrying out the motivations of others could be called strategy, then perhaps the Heavenly Master had been right.

“He did not know the half of it, did he?” the emperor added dryly. “I wonder what he would have said of a female Dragoneye.”

I flushed again. “He did say that a hidden nature is not necessarily an evil nature.”

“Yes, I remember,” the emperor said. “From the teachings of Xsu-Ree, the Master of War. ‘All generals have a hidden nature. Whether that nature be strong or weak, good or evil, it must be studied if victory is to be yours.’”

“Know your enemy,” I murmured.

He started. “How do you know the teachings of Xsu-Ree? Only kings and generals are permitted to study his treatise.”

“Even the lowest servant knows that maxim,” I said. “How else would he predict the mood of his master, or outwit the servant above him?”

“Then tell me, what do you know about our enemy?” the emperor asked after a moment. “What do you know about my uncle?”

I’d seen High Lord Sethon only once, at the victory procession held in his honor — the same procession where my poor master had died, poisoned by Lord Ido. I pushed away the gruesome image of my master’s convulsing body, and concentrated on picturing Sethon. He had looked very much like his half-brother, the old emperor. They’d both had the same broad forehead and chin and mouth. Sethon, however, had been marked by battle — his nose broken and set flat, and his cheek puckered by a heavy crescent scar. Yet it was his voice that made the sharpest memory: a cold monotone that held no emotion.

“Not much,” I said. “A High Lord and successful general. The leader of all the armies.”

“And the first son of a concubine, like me,” the emperor said. “We have the same birth rank.”

“But he was not adopted by the empress as true first son, as you were,” I pointed out. “You are an acknowledged first son whereas Sethon has always only been a second harem son.”

“My father was borne by an empress. I was not. There are those who would argue that Sethon has as much claim to the throne as I have.”

“One of those being Sethon.” I tried to imagine what it was like to be Sethon; always second harem son, and now second to a nephew who had, more or less, the same birth rank. “You think Sethon truly believes his claim is equal to yours? That it is not only ambition that fuels his ruthlessness, but a sense of entitlement?”

“My father was right, you are sharp-witted,” the emperor said. “Xsu-Ree says that we must find the key to our enemy. His weakness. I think this arrogance is the key to my uncle. What do you think?”

“‘When a man lifts his chin in pride, he cannot see the chasm at his feet,’” I said, quoting the great poet Cho. I frowned, teasing out the idea of Sethon as a man weakened by arrogance. It did not feel right. “High Lord Sethon has waged many battles and not been tripped up by pride,” I said. “It might even be the core of his success.”

The emperor smiled. “You have not disappointed me, Lady Eona.”

I sat back, wary at his amused tone. He touched my arm and drew me close again.

“Lady, you have punched me, crossed swords with me, abused my decisions, and disagreed with my judgments.” The warmth in his voice held me still. “It is not often that an emperor finds someone who will do all of this in the name of friendship. I need someone who is not afraid to stand up to me. Who will tell me when I am failing my father’s legacy or speaking from inexperience.” He took a deep breath. “I am asking you to be my Naiso, Lady Eona.”

The night sounds around me dropped away into the sudden roar of my heartbeat. The Naiso was the emperor’s most important advisor — the only appointment in the court that could be refused with impunity. In the ancient language it was the word for “bringer of truth,” but it meant more than that— it meant brother, protector, and perhaps most dangerously, the king’s conscience. It was the responsibility of the Naiso to challenge the sovereign’s decisions, criticize his logic, and tell him the truth, however hard and unpalatable.

It was often a very short-lived position.

I stared out into the darkness, fighting through the tumult in my mind. The Naiso was always an older man. A wise man. Never a woman. A female Naiso was almost as unthinkable as a female Dragoneye. A small, mad laugh caught in my throat. I was already unthinkable — maybe I could be twice unthinkable. Yet I had no business advising a king. I had no experience in the deadly politics of an empire. I had no knowledge of warfare or battle.

“Your Majesty, I am only a girl. I am no one. I cannot advise you.”

“As you so rightly reminded me, you are the Ascendant Dragoneye.”

“Yuso would be a better choice,” I said, glancing back at the silent figure walking the perimeter. “He is a career soldier. Or Ryko.”

“No, both of them have trained me,” the emperor said. “They are good men, but there must be no memory of the student when challenging the king.”

“Lady Dela?” I ventured.

“She is a courtier and a Contraire. I am not asking you because you are the only one available in our small troop. No emperor is compelled to appoint a Naiso. I am asking you because I believe you will tell me the truth when others would lie and pander.” His voice hardened. “And betray.”

“But I lied to you about who I was,” I said. “I lied to everyone.”

“You came to my father’s ghost watch and told me the truth when you could have been halfway to the islands. Even when it has put you in mortal danger, you have never worked against me. I trust that.”

Trust: the word pierced me. I had given up the right to be trusted, and yet here was my emperor willing to place his life in my hands.

If I said yes, I would step into a quicksand of influence and responsibility.

If I said no, I would lose that trust and his good opinion. I would lose the way he leaned toward me as if what I said was worth an emperor’s attention.

Could I be what he wanted me to be? A king’s conscience.

I took a deep breath and within in it was a prayer to any god who listened: Help me be his truth. And help me know my own truth.

“I am honored to be your Naiso, Majesty,” I said, and bowed.

“As I am honored by your acceptance,” he said, a grin overtaking the formality. “You may call me Kygo; the emperor and the Naiso meet as equals.”

I tensed. No doubt he believed what he said, but I had seen his idea of equality weeks ago, in the Pavilion of Earthly Enlightenment. The pavilion was supposedly a place where minds of all rank could meet, but when his teacher had crossed his will, suddenly equality had been forced into a groveling bow. There seemed to be many levels of equality; I had to find which one he meant for me.

“There is another part to that old maxim know your enemy, Kygo,” I said, stumbling over his name. “‘Know yourself.’ What is your weakness? What will High Lord Sethon use against you?”

“Inexperience,” he said promptly.

“Perhaps.” I narrowed my eyes and tried to see this young man as his uncle would see him. Inexperienced, by his own admission. Untried in war, but courageous and well trained. Progressive and merciful, like his sire, and upholding the same ideals — the very ideals that Sethon hated. “I think your weakness is that you seek to emulate your father.”

He drew back. “I do not consider that a weakness.”

“Nor do I,” I said quickly, “but I think High Lord Sethon will. He has already defeated your father once.”

He flinched at my blunt appraisal. I dared not move — dared not breathe — in case his idea of our equality did not match mine.

“My heart does not want to believe you, Naiso,” he said. “But my gut says you are right. Thank you.”

And then he bowed.

It was no more than a dip of his head, but it sent a chill through me.

It was too much equality. Too much trust. I had done nothing to deserve an emperor’s bow. I had not even fulfilled my first duty as Naiso: to bring him the truth, however difficult and dangerous. And the truth that I still kept hidden was very dangerous, indeed.

He had offered me his trust. If I was to be his Naiso, I had to offer him the proof that I too could be trusted.

“I cannot call my dragon.” Even as the words left my mouth, I wanted to claw them back.

His head snapped up. “What?”

“I cannot use my power.”

He stared at me. “At all?”

“If I try, the ten beasts who have lost their Dragoneyes rush us. Everything around me is destroyed.”

“Holy gods!” He rubbed at his forehead as if the pressure would force the bad news into his head. “When did you find this out?”

“At the fishing village. When I healed Ryko.”

“Tell me,” he said sternly. “Everything.”

With a tight hold on my emotions, I described calling the Mirror Dragon, healing Ryko, and the destructive force of the other beasts as they sought union with us. Finally, I told him about Lord Ido’s return.

“Are you saying you cannot use your power without Ido?”

“No! I am saying that he knows how to stop the other dragons, and I don’t. I’ve had no training. I was beginning to learn, but then—” I shrugged. He knew only too well the events that had stopped my training.

“What about the red journal? You told me it had the secrets of your power.”

“I’m hoping it has the secrets,” I said. “It is written in an old form of Woman Script, and in code. Dela is deciphering it as fast as she can, but even if she could read the whole book to me now, it would be of no use. If I called my dragon to practice its secrets, the other beasts would overwhelm me before I could do anything.”

“So you need Ido,” he said acidly. “You need him to train you and hold back the dragons.”

I wrapped my arms around my legs and dug my chin into my kneecap.

“Do you, or do you not need Ido?” Kygo’s voice sharpened into command.

“He’s probably dead, anyway.”

“We need to know if he is or not. You saw through his eyes once. Can you do it again?

“No!” I looked over my shoulder, afraid my vehemence had woken the rest of the camp. Yuso half drew his sword, but no one else stirred.

Kygo raised his hand, forestalling the guard’s approach. “Eona, we need to know if he is still alive. However much I despise the man, Ido is the only trained Dragoneye left.”

He had used my name without title. The small, sweet honor was overwhelmed by the danger of his request.

“I cannot risk calling my dragon,” I whispered. “People die.”

This time I could not hold back the memories: the fisher house crumbling around me; the pressure of wild power deep in my core; the hammering need of the sorrowing beasts; and the Rat Dragon, launching himself at them with savage speed.

The Rat Dragon! If he was in the circle, then there was a Rat Dragoneye still alive. And if it was Ido, then maybe I would feel his presence again through the dragon.

I clutched Kygo’s arm. “I can just look into the energy world. If Ido lives, I’m sure I will feel his Hua!”

“You just said the other dragons would rip you apart.”

“No, not if I don’t call my power. I’ll just go in, look, and get out again as fast as possible.”

“And that will be safe?”

“It will be safer than calling my dragon.”

“Do it,” he said. “But be careful.”

I hesitated. Was it safer? “If anything starts to change”—I pointed up at the night sky—“like the wind or the clouds, pull me back. Immediately.”

“How?”

“Shake me. Yell in my ear. Punch me if you have to. Just don’t let me stay in the energy world.”

With an uneasy glance skyward, he nodded.

Ignoring my fear, I sat back and focused on my breathing, slowly deepening each inhalation until I eased into mind-sight. The shadowy forest buckled and shivered into a cascade of colors and flowing light. As I concentrated on the movement of Hua, the energy world coalesced. Above, the faded outline of the Rat Dragon was still in the north-northwest. And I still felt Ido’s presence as if he watched me. He was alive, although the pallor and languor of his beast did not bode well. In the east, my beautiful Mirror Dragon glowed red. She stirred, her presence sliding around me, questioning. She had never done that before. I longed to answer her and feel the swell of power within me, but I could not risk the rush of the ten bereft dragons. I forced my attention away from the red beast. Yet the taste of her cinnamon still spiced my tongue.

Beside me, the figure of Kygo had faded into transparency. Silvery Hua pumped through the twelve pathways of his body, and his seven points of power — spaced evenly from sacrum to crown — spun with vitality.

My eyes were drawn to a pale glow in the line of bright whirling spheres. Unlike the others, it did not move but throbbed with silver energy at the base of his throat. The Imperial Pearl. Its power drew me, its soft fire caressing my skin as I reached across and brushed my fingers over its luminous beauty. The warm cinnamon in my mouth echoed the heat from the pearl. It was so close; I could tear it from its mooring. My palm cupped its weight, my fingertips resting on Kygo’s throat, his pulse quickening under my touch.

“What are you doing?” His hand closed around my wrist, a heavy gold ring biting into my flesh.

The pain wrenched me from the energy world in a blur of streaming colors. I blinked, the forest once again shadows and moonlight. Kygo stared at me, his eyes wide and intense. My fingers were still pressed against his racing pulse. I snatched my hand away.

“I don’t know.”

It was my first lie as Naiso.