Eona: The Last Dragoneye

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TWELVE GIRLS; AN auspicious number. As we gathered at the Gate of Good Service, I scanned the faces around me in the twilight. Some of the women were tense— no doubt the three bodies in the canal were playing on their minds — while others had the glazed eyes of dragon chasers, the drug loosening their minds as well as their bodies. Momo had told us to stay well away from those girls; they had no sense of their own safety or anyone else’s, she’d said. The warmth of the day still held, and the smell of sweat was barely masked by the clash of perfumes on the bodies around me. We were corralled between the men who were our “protectors” and the soldiers who manned the gate. I shifted my sweaty grip on the neck of my lute and leaned over to Vida. She was standing, feet apart, arms crossed.

“You look like you are on guard duty,” I whispered.

She unwound her arms and pressed her hands together. “What is the delay?”

A woman sidled up to us. “I didn’t know there was going to be a Peony,” she said loudly, directing the attention of all the other women to me. She was dressed in a gown similar to Vida’s, although considerably more skin showed, and when she smiled, I saw her teeth had been dyed black, the custom marking her as a married woman from the far southeast coast. How had she got so far from her home and husband? “We’ll have music,” she added. “We can dance.”

“What? Are you trying to be an Orchid?” another Safflower scoffed.

The two women began a soft exchange of insults, pulling the focus of the others away from me. I looked back at Yuso; the stern commander I knew was hidden beneath a ratty beard and worn clothes and a slouch. He yawned, affecting boredom, but his eyes met mine in swift reassurance. Dela stood beside him, absently scratching the stubble on her face. She hawked and spat.

I rocked forward on my toes and watched two of the gate soldiers search a dragon chaser. The girl giggled and draped herself against them until they finally pushed her face-first and limp against the raw boards of the new gate. Only twelve days ago, Ryko and I had followed a battering ram through that gate, fighting our way into the courtyard on the back of a horse. I shivered, remembering our beast trampling a soldier, the man’s chest caving under its hooves. Was Ryko also remembering that same desperate night? His face held only impatience as he lounged beside a Trang Dein man, the two of them a wall of islander muscle.

“Little Sister Peony, please give me your lute.” I jumped as a very young, pock-marked soldier held out his hand. The old- fashioned courtesy matched his shy smile. “I will be careful with it.”

I passed him the instrument. He gently shook it and peered into the exquisitely carved sound holes, then handed it back.

“I am sorry, Little Sister, but I will have to search you.” The pits on his face stood out white against the vivid scarlet of his blush. “Orders.”

I bit the inside of my cheek as I felt his hesitant hands pat my chest and waist, then around my hips. Beside me, Vida was getting the same treatment from another guard, but with far less deference.

My young soldier ducked his head. “You can go in now.”

I tried a Peony smile — slow and mysterious, as Moon Orchid had taught me — and saw him flush again.

Vida fell in beside me, and we walked through the gate into the courtyard that ran alongside the huge kitchens. I circled my hand around my wrist and felt the shape of Kygo’s ring, hidden under the leather thong that was wrapped and tied into a thick bracelet. It had been Moon Orchid’s idea, and the care she had taken to wind it around my moon wrist had felt like a silent blessing.

I glanced back; Ryko was walking through the gate. We had all made it into the palace. I sent a quick prayer to Tu-Xang, the oldest god of luck. He was known to protect fools and thieves.

Four men bustled up, barely acknowledging our ragged bows. Their black caps and the green feathers pinned to their robes marked them as stewards. Momo had been right: we had no guards once we were inside the walls, only eunuchs. On the terrible night of the coup, Ryko and I had seen many of the eunuch attendants hacked to death, but these four seemed officious and self-satisfied, as though such atrocities had never happened. It seemed the change of an emperor — even a brutal change — did not stop the machinery of the palace.

“Follow me,” one of them called. “Keep together.”

A few women hooked arms, their soft whispers breaking into quick nervous laughter. I glanced at Vida and caught her hand, partly to keep our paces matched, but mainly for the comfort of another human touch. She squeezed my fingers. We rounded the kitchen buildings, the salty slick of fish stock on the warm night air, and passed the wall that enclosed the imperial guest apartments, the former home of Lord Eon. For more than a month I had lived as a Dragoneye Lord in the Peony Apartment, and here I was, back as a Peony Blossom. A mad desire to laugh bubbled through me.

We turned along the avenue that led past the lesser banquet hall. This part of the palace had not sustained much damage. There was more destruction, I knew, on the other side, around the central harem where Lord Ido had used his dragon power to blast through the sanctuary wall. Perhaps his torture was the gods’ way of punishing him for his transgression against the Covenant of Service.

The eunuchs led us past the hall to the third guest apartment: the House of the Five Color Cloud. It was our destination, for we were ushered into the formal garden, and the lead eunuch dropped back to walk beside Yuso and Dela.

“You and your men cannot enter,” the eunuch told them. “At any time. Do you understand?”

Yuso shrugged. “We understand.” He opened his hand, showing a set of dice. “We are used to waiting.”

As we approached the elegant door screen, the energy within the group of women shifted. Even the dragon chasers straightened, and I felt Vida tense through our linked hands. It was up to me now to get us past the next obstacle: Sethon’s brother. Momo had been certain he would call for a steward. She knew him and this world, but what if he decided he did want a Peony, after all? A stark memory from the coup — a maidservant screaming, struggling under a soldier — shuddered through me. I tightened my grip on the lute. Ahead, the soft murmurs of the women ceased as the steward clapped to announce our arrival, the glow from a pair of brass lanterns casting his shadow long across the raked pebble path.

The black-toothed Safflower turned to face me. “You should be at the front,” she said in the silence. “What are you doing back here?”

I stared at her surprise, unable to come up with a quick answer.

“Well, if you get your fat arse out of the way,” Vida said tartly, “Fortune Peony will be able to take her proper place.”

Black Teeth scowled at Vida, but she moved aside. “Fat arse?” she muttered as we passed. “Look who’s talking.”

Vida quelled her with a look. I forced a serene smile as the other women shifted for us, a few murmurs of discontent fading at Vida’s silent belligerence. We took our places at the front of the straggling line and stepped onto the low wooden viewing platform. The screen door snapped open. A plump servant glanced at us, then bowed to the steward.

“They’re late,” he said. He jerked his head back to the sounds of male laughter inside. “They are already drunk as newts.”

A whisper rustled through the women, the tension rising.

“Then let them in,” the steward said.

With a parting sniff, the servant bowed and led us into an elegant foyer, our footsteps muffled by fine straw matting. I recognized the layout; it was the same as the Peony apartment, with a formal reception room at the front and private chambers at the rear. From the murmuring and sharp bursts of laughter, it was clear that the men waited in the reception room.

The servant clapped at the screen door and the sounds of conversation stopped. My mouth dried, parched of everything except fear. Beside me, Vida pressed her hands against her chest.

“Vida,” I whispered. She looked at me, my own panic mirrored in her eyes.

“Enter,” called a male voice.

The servant pulled back the screen, his portly body folded into a low bow.

My blood roared in my ears. Before me, men in the dark blue tunics of the cavalry lounged around a low table, its polished surface littered with long-necked decanters and platters of food. My eyes skipped across the faces, some assessing, some leering. And one, surprised — no doubt High Lord Haio. The smell of cooked meat and male sweat was overwhelming.

Forcing a smile, I bent into a walking bow and led the women into the room. I did not dare look up at the circle of men; they would see my fear as if it were a black mark upon my face. I kneeled, placed the lute before me, and sank into a kowtow, the other women following my lead. The straw matting stank of spilled rice wine and brought a rise of nausea into my throat. I clenched my jaw, fighting for poise. A Peony would not shift with nerves or spew vomit on the feet of her clients.

“Rise.”

I sat back and met the frown of High Lord Haio. His features held the echo of his two older half-brothers’—the forehead was the same as the old emperor’s, and the eyes were as cold as Sethon’s, but set closer. Haio’s mouth, however, was all his own: small and mean and currently pursed into petulance.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

For a moment my mind scrabbled—What am I called, what am I called? Then my memory found a foothold: Vida snapping at Black Teeth.

“I am Fortune Peony.” Relief brought a real smile. I bowed again.

“Well, I didn’t order a Peony,” he said. “Is this some kind of ploy to create business?”

Momo was right, thank the gods. He was a tight arse. “There seems to be have been a misunderstanding, my lord.” I motioned to Vida, kneeling at my side. “My house sister and I are meant as a gift for your brother, His Royal Majesty, the emperor. A token of goodwill from the houses of the Blossom World.”

Behind me, I felt unease ripple through the women. A soft vibration of dread.

Haio grunted. “A gift, you say?”

“Why didn’t we think of such a gift?” a red-faced man said. He and his neighbor clinked their wine bowls together. “We could do with a bit of His Majesty’s favor, general. We always get the dregs of gear and men.”

Haio looked across at his officers. “You are right in that.” He wiped his nose with a thick finger and studied me. “We could take this gift to my brother ourselves,” he said slowly. “He doesn’t need to know it came from the Blossom World.”

I stiffened and heard Vida’s sharp intake of air as the men around the table laughed.

I clasped my hands together. “My lord—”

Haio pointed at me. “And you can shut up about who sent you, or I’ll find you and cut up that pretty face so you’re no good anymore. Understand?”

I ducked my head.

“We could keep the Safflower,” Red Face said, peering at Vida. “Just give His Majesty the Peony.”

“Keep her?” Haio mused.

“My lord,” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm, “my house sister is one of His Majesty’s favorites. I would not want your lordship to unknowingly cross your revered brother. “

Haio rubbed at his jaw. “Favorite.” He picked up a wine bowl and tossed back its contents. “There’s enough flesh here for everyone.” He scowled at the men in the circle. “No need to be greedy.” He hauled himself onto his feet, swayed slightly, and pointed at Red Face and three other subordinates. “Let’s give my brother a late New Year’s gift.” Haio beckoned to Vida and me. “Come on.” He glared at the men still kneeling at the table, his finger swinging around in warning. “Don’t you dogs start without us.”

I glanced across at Vida. What could we do? Her shoulder lifted slightly. We could do nothing. Not yet. I bent into a low bow again, drew back, and picked up the lute. It would be good for one blow, at least — if I got the chance. It did not look likely; we would be surrounded by five experienced soldiers, not just one or two stewards. I blinked through a sudden blur of panic and forced myself to stand. First things first: get out of the apartment.

I walked around the kneeling women, Vida close behind me. For a moment, I met the wide eyes of Black Teeth. There was such fear in her face — fear for us.

Haio slammed back the screen door and lurched into the foyer. Two of the men fell in behind Vida, their looming presence pushing us both into a faster walk. I glanced back. They were not drunk — their focus was too sharp — and each had a dagger sheathed at his waist. I checked Red Face’s waist. He had one, too. It must be part of their uniform. I took a steadying breath and followed Haio out of the front door, every sense primed to find Yuso and give him some sign of what had happened.

I did not have to search far; he was squatting at the end of the wooden platform, throwing dice into a ring made up of Ryko, the Trang Dein man, and two kitchen servants. As Haio called a lewd joke to Red Face, Yuso’s head snapped up, hand suspended mid-throw. I saw his mouth tighten in comprehension, and felt a leap of gratitude for his quick intelligence. Barely missing a beat, he finished the throw and eased back, watching us with a grim smile. Beside him, Ryko glanced up, seemingly unconcerned, but both hands tightened on his thighs. Dela was nowhere to be seen.

I shifted the lute to face them and spread four fingers flat across the strings: Armed. Then I closed my hand into a fist around the wood: Sethon. Would Yuso or Ryko see it and understand? We were already past their position, and I did not dare look back. I did not even dare look back at Vida.

The night air seemed to have focused Haio. His stride lengthened as he led us back toward the lesser banquet hall, our way lit by white paper lanterns strung between the buildings. Soldiers stationed at doorways and corners saluted him as we passed, their presence stoking my dread. I risked a glance at Vida; her head was bowed meekly, but her eyes noted positions, possibilities.

There were none.

From our left, the silhouettes of two men emerged from between the halls, and for a moment my heart hammered with hope — Yuso and Ryko! But the bodies were wrong; lax and soft. Two eunuchs. They hunched into low bows.

“You,” Haio called. “Is my brother still dining?”

“He is, your lordship,” the senior man answered, bowing even lower.

We climbed the marble steps to the gilded double doors of the banquet hall. The soldier guards on either side saluted and opened them as we approached. I touched my face, feeling the soft, chalky powder over the white paint. High Lord Sethon had met Lord Eon only once, during the triumphal procession where my master had succumbed to poison. I had prostrated myself before the High Lord, begging for assistance. It had not been that long ago. Could he have marked my features enough to recognize me under this Peony mask? My arms and legs fired with the urge to run from such danger, but I forced back the instinct.

“High Lord Haio approaches,” another eunuch called as we stepped over the raised threshold and entered the dining hall. The sweet, shivering notes of a flute suddenly stopped, leaving the murmur of male voices. Gradually, that ceased too as we walked into the presence of Emperor Sethon.

He was on a gilded dais at the far end of the chamber, his yellow robes thick with gold embroidery and gems that shimmered in the lamplight. Guests sat below him along two long tables that faced each other. A sharp prod from Red Face hurried me onto my knees, the lute voicing a soft twang as I placed it on the marble floor. I stole a quick glance at the men seated nearby — all senior military. We were in the middle of Sethon’s central command. I pressed myself into a flat kowtow, the cold stone against my forehead echoing the freezing fear in my body.

Haio’s footsteps clipped an uneven beat as he strode up to the imperial platform. Just behind me, Vida’s breathing quickened. I closed my eyes and prayed to Bross. Courage, give me courage.

“Greetings, brother, you may rise.” Sethon’s voice was the same impassive monotone I remembered. “I thought you dined with your men this evening.”

“I do, Your Majesty,” Haio’s voice had shifted from bluff bully to a younger brother’s diffidence. “I have brought you a gift. A Peony and one of your favorite Safflowers.”

My breath caught. Would Sethon deny having a favorite? He had never seen Vida before. It took all of my control to keep my head down.

“And what has occasioned such a gift?”

Thank the gods — he was more concerned with what lay behind Haio’s generosity.

“Nothing, brother. Nothing.” Haio cleared his throat. “It is just a gift. For the New Year.”

“They have no bearing on your current dissatisfaction?”

His words sent a stir through the men at the tables.

“There is no dissatisfaction, brother,” Haio said quickly.

Sethon’s disbelief sat heavily in the silence.

“I am glad of it,” he finally said. “Stewards, bring my gift to me.”

A soft shush of slippers on the marble grew closer. A touch to my shoulder brought me back onto my heels. I looked up into the face of a very young eunuch. A long, half-healed gash across his cheekbone marred his smooth skin. He met my gaze and a moment of sympathy flickered across his careful composure. Behind us, an older eunuch helped Vida onto her feet. I picked up the lute and rose, myself. There was no way to stop the momentum that was driving us toward this deadly audience.

I kept my head lowered and followed the young eunuch to the dais. As we passed the tables, I saw the men shift for a better view. We were another part of the evening’s entertainment.

The two eunuchs bowed to Sethon and left us at the edge of the platform. I sank to my knees, but still did not lift my head; every moment he did not see my face was a moment that still held hope. I could see the boots of a soldier standing guard behind the gilded chair, and the pearl-and-diamond-encrusted hem of Sethon’s long tunic. I swallowed, fear crackling in my ears. Beside me, Vida’s hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that the outline of knucklebones showed through the stretched skin.

“Come here, Peony,” Sethon said.

My whole body became a heartbeat: all I could feel and hear was the vibrating drum of my fear.

“Now!”

I lurched up the two steps that took me before the false emperor, then sank to my knees again. The gold flowers on my hairpin chimed like a tiny toll as I bowed my head. My hand tightened around the neck of the lute. If only I had Kinra’s swords instead. From under my brow I watched a flick of his hand bring four attendants to the table in front of him. They picked it up and carried it off the platform with smooth efficiency. He stretched back in his carved and gilded chair, the action showing the breadth of his warrior body, then pushed himself out of it and stood over me.

“Look up. I wish to see your face.”

He was so close that I could see the delicate stitches of gold thread that held the gems to his tunic, and smell the herbs that had been used to sweeten the silk. There could be no more delay. Slowly I raised my head, my gaze fixed on the jade inlaid panel behind him. Even so, his features were framed in the corner of my sight: he was Kygo and the old emperor cast in a scarred, crueler mold.

“You may look at me,” he said.

And so I met the eyes of the man who wanted to kill everyone I loved and enslave me. And in their flat stare was a frown of recognition that chilled me to my very core. He reached across and cupped my chin in his calloused hand.

“Have I seen you before?”

Did he remember Lord Eon kneeling before him in the same way, begging for his help? I blinked, praying he did not see the memory in my eyes.

I forced a measured tone. “I have not had that honor, Your Majesty.”

He tilted his head, studying me, then pressed his thumb into my cheek and wiped away the white paint over my bruised jaw.

The hard pressure made me flinch. An avid expression crossed his face, like the half-seen flick of a serpent’s tail in the grass.

“Someone has been here before me,” he said. He turned to Haio. “Have you been tenderizing the meat for me, brother?”

“No,” Haio said through the uneasy laughter of the seated men. He held up his hands. “She came straight from her house to you, brother. I would not dream …”

Sethon waved him into silence, then tapped my jaw. “Well now, damaged goods no longer have to be handled with care.” He released me. “I thank you for your gift, High Lord Haio,” he said formally.

Haio bowed. “It is my honor to have pleased Your Majesty.”

Sethon beckoned to the two eunuchs who had brought us to the dais. “Take her and the other one to my apartments.” Another flick of his hand brought forward one of the soldiers standing behind his chair. “Guard them,” he ordered. Then he smiled down at me. “We will be alone soon, little bruised Peony.”

His fingertip traced my jaw again and pressed into the heart of the bruise. I winced, but did not dare pull away. The thin smile broadened. “Tell me,” he said to the two tables of men below him. “Who was it who said that a flower’s true perfume can only be found when it is crushed?”

“The great poet Cho, Your Majesty,” someone called, through more laughter.

“Yes,” Sethon said, “and we must always follow the truth of our poets.”

The two attendants stepped up to flank me. Only habit bent me into a bow, and only the blind need to get as far from Sethon as possible brought me to my feet.

I backed away, sour bile burning the back of my throat.

“Stay, brother, and have a bowl of wine,” Sethon said to Haio.

The two attendants and the guard ushered the two of us along the left wall; we no longer warranted a procession back between the tables. Vida’s face was white and rigid, a mirror of my own horror. I touched her hand, but she did not rouse from her eerie, unblinking stare.

We could not afford to lose ourselves in fear. We had to rally — and quickly — or we would end up in Sethon’s apartments, at his mercy. Ruthlessly, I caught a pinch of skin on her arm and twisted. Her eyes flickered and refocused. Thank the gods she was still with me. Alone, I could not fight off two eunuchs and a guard, but together we had a chance.

Many of the officers turned to watch us pass, their callous amusement sending another chill through me. A few faces, however, were grim, with lips pressed together in pity. Perhaps those were the men who had daughters and wives.

As we came out onto the front steps, I took Vida’s hand in mine. Our guard marked it, but he did not stop my womanly reach for comfort. After all, we were just Blossom Women, and unarmed. He, on the other hand, had a knife and sword, and wore leather armor. Very slowly I curled my hand inside Vida’s: the sign for Attack. She squeezed my fingers: Ready.

But where to make our bid? I dredged up my patchy mental map of the palace. The most likely route to the royal apartments was the wide path alongside the harem wall. That meant there was only one place we would have a chance to escape: the small passage between the harem and the wall of the West Temple. I made the sign for Wait within Vida’s damp grip and felt the quick press of acknowledgment.

The two eunuchs led the way, their soft-slippered pace quick and businesslike. My guess had been right; they were taking us in the direction of the harem wall. The young one with the cut face glanced back at us with a frown of unease. Could he sense our plans, or was he just troubled by his duty? I scanned the courtyard, noting the soldiers at the corners of each building. A flicker of movement jerked my attention to a large lion statue guarding a doorway. Did its shadow shift, or was it just my hopeful imagination? Our pace put it behind me before I could doublecheck.

We turned right onto the pathway, and I saw the destruction caused by Ido during the coup. Piles of bricks and debris marked the breach in the harem wall, and I counted at least four soldiers stationed around it. Were they close enough to hear a struggle in the passageway? It did not matter. We had to risk it.

Vida tapped my hand, then flicked her eyes back at our guard, claiming her target. I gave a slight shake of my head and shifted the lute against my chest; it was the only thing we had that approached a weapon. It made more sense for me to attack the armed man. Although her jaw jutted mulishly, she conceded with a soft exhale.

Ahead, the West Temple wall cornered and ran alongside the harem as I had remembered, creating the dark passageway. It curved into a shadowy bend that was perfect for an attack. My back prickled with the presence of the soldier behind me, and the weight of the next minute.

According to Xsu-Ree, surprise is far more important than outnumbering your enemy. Slowly, I tightened my grip around the neck of the lute as the path began to narrow and squeezed Vida’s hand again: Ready.

As the two eunuchs rounded the bend, I grabbed the lute neck in both hands and swung the sound box at the soldier’s head. It slammed into his jaw, the lacquered wood splintering in a sour chord. He staggered back against the temple wall. Vida punched the old eunuch to the cobbles, and grabbed the younger by his queue. He rammed an elbow into her stomach, the two of them hurtling toward me. I jumped out of the way as they slammed against the harem wall, grappling.

I spun to face the soldier. The force of the blow was already receding from his eyes. He drew his knife, blinking me back into focus. I tensed into readiness, all of my attention fixed on the blade.

“No knife!” the old eunuch on the ground gasped. “He’ll have us killed if you cut them.”

The soldier hesitated. It was all I needed; I drove the jagged end of the lute into the side of his neck, above the armor. The sharp wood pierced flesh and vein, the impact snapping its length in half. A spurt of blood arced into the air; he choked and slashed wildly at me as I jumped backward. His blade caught my forearm, my own momentum pulling it through my flesh in a wash of blood and searing pain. A thousand pinpoints of light exploded across my sight. My back hit the harem wall, its hard surface a mooring in the sudden gray, swirling haze.

A dark figure rose from the ground and came at me. The old eunuch? I swung a fist, but he was suddenly gone. Then came the thud of flesh hitting brick and a low, wet moan. I crouched against the wall, only registering dark shapes and the sounds of movement. My whole arm was a burning pulse of agony.

“Is she all right?” Vida’s voice.

A shape loomed through my fog. Instinctively, I hit out at it again, my fingers grazing skin.

“It’s all right, Eona.”

A hand caught my wrist, and held me still. The gray haze ebbed into Dela’s shadowy face. I gasped in relief.

“Let’s have a look.” Dela pulled my arm away from the brace of my body. We both looked down at the deep gash from elbow to wrist. It immediately welled with fresh blood. “I’ve seen worse,” she said with a quick smile of reassurance, but there was worry in her eyes. “Are you sure you cannot use your healing power?”

“It would bring the ten dragons,” I said. “Like in the fisher village.” I took a deep, shaking breath. “When I heal Ido, the power should heal me, too.”

At least that is what I hoped would happen.

Dela quickly ripped a strip of cloth from her tunic. A few folds made it a field dressing. She pressed it to the wound, then deftly bound the rest of the cloth over it, the firm pressure sending a surge of pain up my arm. “Keep a tight grip on it,” she said.

Nearby, Vida held the young eunuch at knifepoint against the temple wall. The slumped form of the soldier was at their feet. Dela edged back the way we had come and peered out, then did the same for the path ahead.

“No one coming,” she whispered. She bent to check the guard.

“Dead?” I asked. But the overpowering stench of urine and bowels had already answered me.

“Yes.” Dela rose and crossed to the other eunuch. “This one, too.” She grabbed the dead attendant under the arms and dragged him farther back into the shadows, then rolled the body against the red brick wall. “We need to get out of here. This passage is too well used.”

I tried to force my mind beyond the stinking presence of death and the pain humming through my head. We had to get to the Pavilion of Autumnal Justice; the cells were part of its compound. I closed my eyes and pictured the layout of the palace again. The fastest route was across the forecourt of the royal apartments, but it was also well lit and well guarded. My inner map showed another possibility. The servants’ path ran the whole way around the palace wall — a hidden track for the low and menial to navigate without being seen. And it was never guarded.

“The servants’ path will be safest,” I said. “We can get to it up past the royal apartments. Or we could go around the front of the West Temple and beside the kitchens.”

“Both have soldiers posted,” Dela said.

“Apartments,” the young eunuch whispered.

Vida jerked the knife closer to his throat. “Shut up.”

Dela walked over to him. “Why do you say that?”

He lifted his chin. “Blossom Women are brought to the royal apartments all the time. They never go to the kitchens.”

“Why do you offer this?”

“I am already dead,” he said, eyeing the knife. “If you do not kill me, His Majesty will, and not as quickly.” The round curves of his face sharpened. “If I must die, I will at least deny him two more victims of his sick pleasure.”

“He is right,” Dela said. “The royal apartments are closer, and we will have a better chance of deceiving the guards.”

“Take me with you,” the eunuch said quickly. “It will look more authentic.”

Vida leaned in. “You will just call for help.”

“No, no — please! Take me with you. I cannot stay here anymore.”

Dela stared intently at him. “All right, we’ll take you,” she said, stopping Vida’s protest with a raised hand. “But you have said it yourself — Sethon will kill you as surely as I take my next breath. We are your best chance of survival, so do as we say.”

“And I will have this knife at your back the whole time,” Vida added.

I remembered the sympathy in the young man’s face as he led me toward his royal master, and felt a leap of grim intuition.

Sethon did not limit himself to Blossom Women. “You will not give us up,” I said to the eunuch. “Will you.”

He met the knowledge in my eyes. “No.”

Vida snorted with disbelief. I levered myself upright and leaned against the wall. “Where are Ryko and Yuso?”

Dela looked up from removing the dead guard’s helmet, her eyes bleak. “I saw two soldiers join their dice game.” She bent to untie the man’s leather vest armor. “If they can get rid of them, they know where to meet us.”

The god of luck was playing his own games. Mustering my strength, I pushed myself off the wall. The world pitched and spun, then settled again into gray shadows. At least the haze had not returned. I cradled my arm against my ribcage, my fingers still clamped over the wet, pulsing wound.

With a soft grunt, Dela pulled the vest over the dead man’s head. His body flopped back against the wall, a sickening reminder of Yuso pulling his sword from Lieutenant Haddo’s chest. I shivered, but it was not all from horror. I felt hot and cold at the same time.

Dela slid the vest over her head and knotted the side ties. Although she hated dressing as a man, she made a convincing soldier. Her movements were always quicker and bolder in men’s garb. All the womanly control and grace — gone.

She looked up at the walls on either side of us, topped with slanting tiles. “Too high to throw the bodies over,” she said, tucking her greased hair under the helmet. “We’ll have to leave them, but they’ll be found soon.” She picked up the sword. “Ready?”

I nodded and stepped beside Vida, the simple action bringing a wave of nausea. Although a deep breath steadied me, fresh blood oozed through the field bandage and my fingers. I shifted my good arm over the wound; the wide silk sleeve would hide most of the blood from view. Hopefully, I would not drip a trail behind us.

Vida held the knife poised behind the eunuch, the end of his sash wrapped around her other hand. She smiled reassuringly at me, then prodded him between his shoulder blades.

“Walk normally,” she ordered.

I heard him whisper a prayer. Then he moved forward, leading us out of the shadowy protection of the passage.

We rounded the corner of the harem; before us rose the two enormous red and gold palaces that formed the royal apartments. Each was raised on a marble terrace with a staircase guarded by two gilded lions. Heavy brass braziers lined the steps, creating two majestic paths of light up to the identical porticos. Twelve red columns — topped by carved jade emblems— supported each gold tiled roof that curved up toward the heavens: a harmonious meeting of the earthly and celestial planes. And to enhance the good fortune of the Heavenly Son and his empress, a water garden stretched between the two residences, the pale moonlight picking out the arch of a formal bridge and the answering genuflection of twelve ghostly water trees.

Yet it was not this grandiose beauty that caught my breath. It was the soldiers posted every few lengths around the terrace walls.

“Holy Shola,” I whispered. “So many.”

The eunuch glanced back at me. “There are fewer alongside the empress’s residence,” he said softly.

It was logical; the residence was empty. Sethon had not summoned his old wife to sit by his side as empress. Still, even with fewer guards, the avenue between the residence and the West Temple would make an excellent trap if the eunuch planned to betray us, after all.

Vida’s hand tightened around her knife; she must have come to the same conclusion. If it came to a fight, there would not be much I could do. Every step I took brought a fresh welling of blood through my fingers, and a chill had settled on my skin. Even worse, there was a lightness in my head that made the world pitch and sway.

We crossed the perimeter of the forecourt, the eunuch keeping us at the edge of the light thrown by the bronze braziers. The two soldiers at the corner of the empress’s residence shifted to watch us walk by. I clamped my fingers more tightly around my arm, hoping they could not see the dark saturation of blood on my silk sleeve. A strange sound brought my head up. One of the soldiers was kissing the air, gesturing at his groin. His partner snorted, the noise attracting the attention of two sentries farther along the wall. The eunuch looked back at us, his eyes wide with terror.

“Turn around,” Vida whispered urgently. He obeyed, but his body was stiff with fear.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Dela gesture obscenely at the gyrating kisser. “You wish,” she called, her voice rough.

He gestured back, but subsided.

I lifted my chin, fighting to keep my breath even.

“Keep moving,” Dela urged softly.

We turned into the wide lane that ran between the temple and the empress’s residence. At the very end was the main palace wall, and beneath it, the dark track of the servants’ path. So far away. We had to pass at least ten more sentries along the terrace wall. I fixed my eyes on the ground and concentrated on keeping up with the eunuch’s brisk pace. A mesmerizing pattern of light and dark stones passed beneath my feet. I counted the sentries, trying to focus past the racing rhythm of my heart. Four … five … six. My whole being listened for a shout or the hiss of a drawn blade, but all I could hear was my hard breathing and the shrill, throbbing song of the frogs in the water garden.

The palace wall loomed ahead. We passed the last sentry and I saw his head turn to follow our progress. The urge to run the last few lengths surged through me. I grabbed Vida’s arm, praying I would not stagger. We finally crunched onto the rough gravel of the servants’ path — dark, narrow, and thank the gods, deserted.

Dela ushered us behind the thick hedge grown to hide the passage of the palace menials. Vida half carried me along the dim, pot-holed path until I stumbled and pitched forward, kicking up a spray of dirt and pebbles. Strong hands caught me under my arms and eased me onto the uneven ground.

“Put your head between your knees,” Dela said, pressing my head down. She crouched in front of me and pulled my hand off my arm. The wet dressing stuck to my palm and yanked the cloth out of the wound, ripping a gasp from me.

“Sorry,” Dela whispered. “Vida, I think she’s still bleeding. Get something else to bind it.”

I hung my head, breathing through the pain. The world was spinning around me again.

Vida took Dela’s place in front of me. “Let me have a look.”

The eunuch peered over her shoulder. She took my arm in a firm grasp and peeled back a larger section of the cloth with a low grunt of concern. “There’s not enough light to see properly, but from the feel of this bandage, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

She unwound the sash from her waist and folded it into a pad, then pressed it over the wet dressing, using the ends to tie it in place.

“Hold it up against your chest,” she said, lifting my arm across my body. The weak moonlight caught her frown. “Your skin is cold.”

I caught her sleeve. “Don’t let me pass out. If I pass out, I won’t be able to heal Ido. Everything will be lost.”

At Ido’s name the eunuch stepped back. “Do you mean Lord Ido, the Dragoneye? The prisoner?” He retreated a few more steps, pebbles clinking loudly in the sudden tense silence. “I thought you were Blossom Women. Who are you?”

Dela stepped up to him, her hands held out as though she were calming a nervous horse.

“It’s all right,” she said, then punched him in the face, the snapping blow so fast and so heavy that he staggered backward, sat down on the pebbles, then toppled over.

I gaped at the still figure lying in front of me. Knocked on his arse like the eunuch clown in the fool’s opera.

The ludicrous comparison rose through my shock in a quivering curl of laughter. I bit down on the building wave of whimsy — it was callous and wrong — but it broke out of me in uncontrollable giggles. I clamped my hand over my mouth. It had to stop. The poor eunuch had been punched senseless. We were in extreme danger. Which was suddenly hilarious. I rocked forward and shoved my bloodied knuckles into my mouth, trying to force back the spasms that caught my breath into snorting gasps.

Vida stared at me, a horrified smile pulling at her lips.

“Stop it,” she hissed. The words hiccupped into a snuffling giggle. She pressed both hands against her mouth. “Stop it.” But her shoulders shook, her eyes filling with tears. The sight pushed me further into gulping spasms.

Dela’s hands caught my shoulders, holding me still.

“Eona, calm down. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You need to calm down!”

The low urgency in her voice broke through my hysteria. I sucked in a breath, fighting for control. The fluttering crest of a giggle ebbed away, leaving only the thudding pain in my arm.

Dela looked at Vida. “I don’t know what your excuse is,” she said acidly.

Vida wiped her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Get up and help me roll him under the hedge.”

“Is he all right?” I asked.

“He’s still alive, if that’s what you mean.” Dela hooked her hands under my armpits and helped me to my feet. For a moment everything was still, then the hedge and the wall rushed past me in a spin of nausea. I swayed and fell back into the tight embrace of Dela’s arms.

“Eona?” Her face blurred in and out of focus.

My heartbeat resonated in my ears, fast and labored. At the base of my skull, a sick ache drummed in the same ominous rhythm.

“Get me to Ido, quick,” I said, the words like sludge in my mouth.