Eona: The Last Dragoneye

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CAIDO STEPPED BETWEEN the two bodies sprawled across the narrow ridge above the beach. One man had no obvious marks on him, but his neck was bent at an ominous angle. The other had been stabbed in the heart, flies circling the knife embedded in his chest. A quiver of arrows was strapped across the man’s back. Although I stood a few lengths away and the low light of dusk was approaching, I could see that their fletching was the same as on the arrow that had hit Ido.

“Yes, this is Jun, Your Majesty,” Caido said, staring at the knifed man. He shook his head. “I can’t believe it. He has been with the resistance from the start.”

It was the young archer who had often guarded Ido. He had seemed loyal, but I had only spoken to him once or twice. Who knew what went on in the hearts of men? I certainly did not.

“Who is the other man?” Kygo asked.

“One of the village lookouts,” Yuso said. “All the other village sentries are dead, shot with the same arrows as those in the quiver. An efficient job.” He glanced at Caido questioningly.

Caido wiped his mouth. “Jun was our best bowman.” He looked across the beach to the boat where we had sheltered. “Good enough to make that shot with ease.” He sighed, the whole of his thin body lifting and falling with disillusion. “This is going to kill his father.”

Ryko stood from his crouched survey of the area. “It looks as if the sentry surprised Jun.” He pointed to a scuffed area behind two boulders. “The man got his knife home before Jun broke his neck.”

“What say you, Naiso?” Kygo asked. His eyes did not quite meet mine.

The emperor had ordered his Naiso to accompany him, and his Naiso had obeyed. But if Kygo had hoped Eona was also at his side, he was wrong. She was buried somewhere deep within me, numb and silent.

“Was he ever in the army, Caido?” I asked.

The resistance man nodded. “It is where he learned his bow skills. He had some funny stories to tell around the fire.” He cleared his throat. “I am sorry, Your Majesty, it is hard to reconcile the man and the deed.”

Kygo grunted. “I fear there is not much room for doubt. Still, question the prisoners for confirmation, Yuso. Maybe they saw him in their camp. ”

Yuso bowed, wincing slightly with pain. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Kygo glanced around the ridge again. “Leave his body for the scavengers and bring the villager back for burial.” He gestured to me. “Come, Naiso.”

I followed him down the narrow track. One of the soldiers on the beach had sliced into the long muscle of his thigh. Vida had efficiently stitched it, along with Yuso’s nasty shoulder gash and Dela’s slashed face, but she had no herbs that dulled pain. Kygo did not show it in face or manner, but the cant of his shoulders told me the injury stabbed with every step. Or perhaps it was the burden of Jun’s betrayal and the deaths of the fourteen villagers who had perished defending their young emperor.

The black ash on the track muffled our footsteps. All the foliage on the bushes and trees around us was dusted with it, too, and the once-white beach below us was now gray. The tide was coming in with the setting sun, the water washing clean curves of white sand as it surged and ebbed. Master Tozay’s boat was due into harbor soon. The village fishing fleet had already returned, drawn back early by the sight of the fireball. The hollow-eyed shock of the men as they had landed on the beach and seen the damage to the higher sections of the village had briefly pierced even my numb armor.

“For such a young man, this Jun had extraordinary spying skills,” Kygo said. “He must have woven a dense web of lies.”

“In my experience, young men lie with great skill and ease,” I said dully.

Kygo stopped and faced me. “It was not a lie, Eona.”

I felt my gaze pulled to the pale shine of the pearl, half covered by his tunic collar. “What was it, then?”

“It was me leading my army in the best way I know how.” He pressed his fingers along his eye sockets, rubbing away the strain. “Yes, I want you to control Ido’s power. But I swear it was never in my plan to ask you to break the Covenant and use the Mirror Dragon to kill. You and your dragon are our symbols of healing and renewal.” He crossed his arms. “And hope.”

“I did it to save you.” If I said it enough times, maybe it would make me feel better.

“I know. When I found out we were surrounded, my first thought was getting to you.” He reached out toward me but stopped, his hand dropping to his side. “You didn’t push Ido away.”

The abrupt accusation broke through my protective shell. “What?”

His jaw tightened. “He was on top of you, and you didn’t push him away.”

I flushed. “I had just killed hundreds of men with power that comes from my Hua. You cannot understand what that feels like — or what it takes from me.”

“But he can.” Kygo looked out across the water. “You and he are bound by power. Are you bound to him by anything else?” His voice was without inflection, as though the answer did not matter.

“What do you mean?” For a dizzying moment I thought he knew about the Hua of All Men. About the black folio.

He turned his head, his face a polite mask. “Do you desire Lord Ido?”

Relief — and uncertainty — made me hesitate a beat too long. “No!”

His look of disbelief was like a punch to my chest.

I stepped closer. “Kygo, you know Ido manipulates whenever he can. It is second nature to him. Please, do not let him come between us.” The pearl glowed within the edge of my vision.

“Every time you are alone with him, it feels like you are moving further from me,” Kygo whispered.

I shook my head in mute denial. He touched my face, the curve of his hand drawing me toward him. I closed my eyes and felt the soft press of his lips against mine. His hand shifted to the nape of my neck, guiding me closer against his mouth. I knew I should pull away — protect him — but I had to prove my certainty. To him. To me. We found the taste of each other at the same time; the sweet kiss forcing a soft sound of pleasure from him that shivered through my whole being. I laid my hands against his chest and felt the quick rhythm of his heart through the tunic.

He pulled me against his body, his hand at the small of my back, holding me against his hips. I shifted, trying to meld even closer to his warmth, his taste, his smell. His breath caught as I jarred his thigh wound. I started to move away, apologize, but he followed and captured my mouth again, his hand sliding around my waist and pulling me back into his embrace. A beat thundered through me, a pulsing, driving rhythm that was in my body — and, I realized, in the base of my skull. The pearl. I gave a shake of my head, trying to stop the pressure. The draw was not strong; I could contain it.

Kygo broke our kiss, the concern in his eyes holding back the desire. He’d misread the shake of my head. I brought my mouth to his again and felt him smile against my lips. The gentle press of his tongue parted my answering smile. His hand shifted from my nape to trace the curve of my throat and collarbone with exquisite slowness, his gentle touch leaving a path of pleasure across my skin.

He rested his forehead against my own, the rasp of his breaths echoing mine. His face was so close it was a blur, but I could still see the glow of the pearl between us. I slid my hand into the loosened cross-tie of his tunic, my fingers trailing across the flat muscle of his chest, toward the glowing prize. Toward the Hua of All Men. As my fingertips brushed the edge of the scar of stitches, he tilted his head back, eyes closed, the strong curve of his throat exposed. I could rip the pearl out now—

The pearl! A cold wash of understanding broke through the thrumming in my head. I snatched my hand back. With all my strength, I pushed Kygo away.

He staggered back. “What are you doing?”

I groped for a way to stop the confusion in his eyes. A reason that was not the pearl. “It’s the dragons.”

His confusion snapped into something more savage. “Is it? Or is it Ido?”

A sound from farther up the track wrenched us both around:

Yuso and Ryko, their guilty withdrawal making it obvious they had witnessed more than the last few moments. I turned and ran down the track toward the village, the muffled thud of my footsteps sending wisps of ash into the heavy air.

In the last of the daylight, Vida and I sat silently on the seawall and watched the arrival of Master Tozay’s boat. It was an ocean junk with three lugsails, the horizontal bamboo battens across the sailcloth like the ribs of a folding fan. The white painted eyes on its prow — eerily lit by the lanterns on deck — stared at me with flat accusation. Silhouettes on board darted to and fro with the business of anchoring. I kept my gaze fixed on the three small figures at the front. Was one of them my mother, straining to see if I waited on the beach?

“Are you ready, my lady?” Vida asked, pushing herself off the low stone wall. “My father will want to turn on the high tide. The more distance we can put between us and the cyclone, the better.”

Was I ready? We had at least four days ahead on the boat as we rounded the Dragon’s Belly — the large mass of land in the southeast — to reach the rendezvous in the east. Four days with a mother I had not seen for ten years, two powerful men who hated each other, and friends who did not trust me. I turned to watch the trail of lanterns heading up the east cliffs: the villagers were shifting their lives into the nearby caves. Weathering a deadly cyclone and a vengeful army in a network of dark, dank caverns seemed far less daunting than the boat journey ahead.

A splash brought my attention back to the junk. A small tender had been lowered over the side. Four figures climbed down a rope ladder into the vessel and pushed off, an oarsman pulling strongly toward shore. None of the silhouettes looked like a woman.

Kygo and Elder Rito stepped down on to the beach, the rest of our troop gathering behind them. Beyond them, two men shoved Lord Ido onto his knees in the sand. Kygo called Dela to him and gave her low-voiced instructions that sent her heading toward us. She trod heavily across the sand, part of the right side of her face bandaged; a sword had sliced her cheek open and taken off half her ear.

She bowed. “His Majesty commands the presence of his Naiso.”

As she raised her head, I saw the mute apology in her eyes. For a moment I could not understand her guilt, then I remembered the small bathhouse betrayal orchestrated between her and Vida. It seemed distant and pale in comparison to what had happened on the beach.

I stood and gently squeezed her shoulder, feeling the tension in her body ease a notch. “How are you, Dela? Vida tells me it is a nasty wound.”

She touched the tight bandage. “It is not going to help my good looks.” Although trying for lightness, her tone rang hollow. With a quick glance behind us, she pushed something into my hand: the small leather pouch that held my ancestors’ death plaques. “You should take these for now.” A shake of her head curbed my protest. “They are the only things your mother gave you. You should be carrying them when you meet. Show her you never forgot.” She leaned closer, her voice lowering. “Maybe she will know more about your ancestress.”

Reluctantly, I took the pouch and slid it into my tunic pocket. Wrapped in leather and hidden away, Kinra’s plaque posed no real threat. Still, it made me uneasy to carry it.

Dela patted my hand. “Come. His Majesty is waiting and he is not happy.”

“I can imagine,” I muttered, and led the way back across the sand.

As we approached, Kygo’s eyes stayed steadfastly on the approaching boat. Ido, however, kept his gaze on me. He had been bound again, this time with his hands behind his back and, judging by the awkward shifts of his shoulders, as painfully as possible — a deliberate show that Lord Ido and his power were still under the control of the Emperor. And perhaps Kygo was not above some private malice, too.

Forcing myself to ignore Ido, I bowed to Kygo, but he gave no flicker of acknowledgment. I took my position at his left shoulder. The tender bumped into the rise of the shore, and all four occupants vaulted out, grabbing the edges and pulling it on to the beach. The solid, stocky shape of Master Tozay strode across the sand, flanked by two other seamen. The fourth man stayed beside the beached boat.

Tozay’s pace increased, pulling him away from his men.

Anxiously, he scanned the people behind us. I saw the moment he found Vida: his stern features softened, and his head bowed in relief, or maybe in a prayer of thanks. With a small nod to her, he continued toward us, his men at his side again. They dropped to their knees in the sand and bowed.

“Rise, Master Tozay,” Kygo said. “You are indeed welcome.”

Tozay sat back on his heels. “We were not sure what to expect, Your Majesty. We saw the fireball.”

“An opportunistic betrayal that Lady Eona and Lord Ido quashed,” Kygo said. “Together.” Beyond its surface meaning, the single word clearly had some other importance between the two men.

Tozay took in the Dragoneye’s kneeling, bound constraint. “I see,” he said dryly. “And will Lord Ido require separate, lockable quarters, Your Majesty?”

“Yes,” Kygo said shortly.

I cleared my throat, the sound turning Kygo’s face toward me, eyes narrowed. Did he think I was going to intercede on Ido’s behalf?

“Is my mother on board, Master Tozay?” I asked quickly. “Is she all right?”

Tozay bobbed his head. “Your mother is well, Lady Eona. She awaits your arrival eagerly.” He glanced back at his ship. “If you please, Your Majesty, we must make a move if we are to sail on this high tide.”

The man waiting with the tender bowed as Kygo, Tozay, and I approached. Kygo stepped into the small boat first, taking the stern seat. Tozay took my hand and helped me on board, the pressure of his hold directing me to the prow seat. He sprang in nimbly between us and took the oars as his men pushed us out into the water. With his strong strokes we were soon midway between shore and ship, a cooler sea breeze diluting the smell of burnt death that drifted from the land. “What news?” Kygo said.

Tozay glanced back at me.

“You can speak freely,” Kygo said. “Lady Eona is now aware of the major part she will be playing in the events to come.” We stared at each other: it was no small thing for him to trust me with whatever Tozay had to report. “Lady Eona is now my Naiso,” Kygo added. His words felt like an apology and an absolution, all in one.

I caught the quick lift of Tozay’s eyebrows as he turned back to his rowing. “We’ve had more reports of land disasters— floods, earthshakes, mudslides — particularly in the south and west regions.”

I looked up at the darkening sky, the wheel and dip of a few white gulls bright against the heavy clouds. It made grim sense; all of the dragons connected to the pure south and west compass points were in exile, whereas the easterly and northern compass points still had the presence of the Mirror Dragon and the Rat Dragon to create some balance in the earth energy. Not a lot of balance, though, and not for long if Ido’s judgment about the decline of our power was correct. Surely he would have known that killing the other Dragoneyes would create this turmoil.

“The tavern whispers are getting louder in their call for the Right of Ill Fortune,” Tozay added. “We are getting some good recruits.”

I straightened on the hard bench. The Right of Ill Fortune proclaimed that an emperor whose reign was besieged by too many earth/water disasters could be denounced by the people and replaced with a ruler who was favored by the gods. A way to end Sethon’s reign without war.

“The whispers are not loud enough, nor quick enough,” Kygo said, squashing my hope. “If my uncle would not honor Rightful Claim, he would certainly quell any attempt at Ill Fortune. Still, such unease will work for us. The people are beginning to realize that he does not have the good will of either the gods or the last two Dragoneyes.” His eyes flicked to me then back to Tozay. “What news of my uncle’s progress?”

“The lure is working, Your Majesty. Sethon is personally marching his men to the east at a punishing pace for the final strike. The numbers, however, will be bigger than we anticipated.”

“How much bigger?”

For a few moments there was just the rhythmic splash of oars and the slap of waves against the prow. “My spies estimate at least fifteen thousand,” Tozay said.

I pressed my hand over my mouth. Fifteen thousand soldiers? Were Ido and I expected to kill so many? The cold sensation of killing four hundred a few hours ago slid down my spine.

Kygo’s silence was eloquent. “Has he drawn from his other battalions?” he finally asked.

Tozay shook his head. “No. Mercenaries.”

Kygo blew out a long breath. “It is not as good as him weakening his other forces, but it is better than an alliance. And bringing in paid foreigners will not endear him to the people, either.”

Tozay snorted. “Sethon has never sought the Hua-do in any way.”

Kygo tilted his head in agreement. “Is the east preparing? Stripping the land?”

“There is not much to strip after five hundred years without a dragon’s blessing. But all is being done as you ordered,” Tozay said. “There will be no food for his men. The tribes are preparing maps and scouting enclosed ground.”

“Enclosed ground?” I asked.

“Areas that are reached through narrow gorges and paths,” Kygo said. “It is where a small number can attack a large.”

I leaned forward. “How small is our number, exactly?”

Kygo shot a glance at Tozay.

“We are four and half thousand,” the master fisherman said. “And two Dragoneyes.”

I licked my lips. “I don’t know if even Ido will kill fifteen thousand men,” I said.

Tozay stopped rowing, and looked over his shoulder at me. “He will if you compel him.”

I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “What if I don’t?”

Tozay’s face hardened. “Lady Eona, when you stepped into my boat with the palace in flames behind us, you told me you wanted to join the resistance. What did you think you would be doing?” He glanced at the burned hillside. “Quickening crops?”

“Enough, Tozay.” Kygo’s voice snapped with command. “The Covenant of Service was put in place for a reason. It is better if Lady Eona finds it hard to break than if she does not. We don’t want another power-hungry Dragoneye like Lord Ido, do we?”

I stiffened at the edge in his voice. Perhaps I was not completely absolved.

The master fisherman turned and began rowing again. The hull of the junk loomed ahead of us, one round painted eye watching our approach like a startled horse. I pressed my hands together, the grim war-mongering temporarily pushed back by the impending reunion with my mother.

“What is she like, Master Tozay?” I asked, breaking the heavy silence. “My mother, I mean. Has she said anything about me?”

“Lillia does not talk much,” Tozay said gruffly. “But you are the image of her in face and body.” He heaved once more on the oars, the impetus taking us to the side of the junk and the rope ladder. “You will see for yourself in a moment or two.”

I craned back my head to look at the people watching over the raised side of the deck. The ship lanterns behind them cast their figures into silhouette and hid the details of face and form from me. There was, however, one small, slender shape mirroring my intense search.

A sailor quickly descended the ladder and landed lightly in the boat, his deferential bow rocking us to and fro. He took charge of the oars as Kygo mounted the ladder, all the people disappearing from the side as the emperor stepped on board. I followed, with Tozay close behind. The swinging, jolting journey up the wood rungs was, I’m sure, only a few moments, but it felt like a full bell.

Strong hands pulled me up onto the solid deck. I caught a quick image of rough faces and weathered skin before everyone lowered into bows before the Lady Dragoneye. Three rows of men — and one female figure — on their knees, heads bent, waiting for me to release them.

“Rise,” I said, my voice cracking.

As Lillia sat back, our eyes met. I saw fear and hope and a strained smile that held ten years of loss. Tozay was right: we were the image of each other.

Lillia pressed herself against the bulkhead as the deck-boy set a tray down on the fixed table in Master Tozay’s command cabin. The master fisherman had ushered Lillia and me to its spacious privacy once everyone else was on board, calling for tea as he led us down to the mid-deck. We had passed the locked compartment where Lord Ido was already incarcerated, the guard dipping into a duty bow and flattening himself back against the door as we made our way along the narrow passage. Tozay had glanced back at me, watching my reaction. Perhaps he thought I would wrench the door open and release the Dragoneye.

“Sir.” The deck-boy’s agonized whisper was loud in the thick silence that had descended across the command cabin. “I have forgotten the hot water.”

Master Tozay jerked his head toward the hatchway. “Be quick.”

I picked up one of the nautical instruments from the lipped shelf behind me. It was a brass compass of some sort, its dial gleaming in the extravagant glow of the three large wall lanterns lighting the cabin. I turned it over and over in my hands, glad to have somewhere to focus. Even through my unease, it was occurring to me that Master Tozay was not quite the simple fisherman turned resistance fighter that he professed to be. He cleared away the star charts spread across the table, his pace quickening as neither Lillia nor I made any move to speak. The boy returned, hurriedly mixed tea and retrieved water together, and with a bow backed out of the cabin.

“I will leave you two alone, my lady, to get acquainted,” Master Tozay said, slipping the last scroll into one of the neat slots built into the bulkhead. He glanced across at Lillia’s downturned face and clasped hands. A quick bow, and the door closed behind him.

Above us came the calls and creaks of the junk getting under way. I returned the instrument to the shelf.

“May I pour you some tea?” I asked.

She finally looked up. Although the weight of time had softened the taut lines of her face, it was more or less the same oval as my own. Perhaps her chin was less stubbornly set and her nose longer, but her mouth had my upward tilt and her eyes the same wide cast. I knew the expression on her face, too. I had worn it many times myself — an overly courteous mask designed to avoid irritating a master or mistress.

“No, please, allow me, my lady,” she said and crossed to the table. She picked up the brewing dish, deftly pouring a measure into the first bowl.

I chewed my lip. She could not seem to scale the mountain of my rank. “Thank you,” I said — then took a breath and climbed my own mountain. “Mother.”

Her hand shook, spilling some of the tea onto the table. Slowly she placed the brewing dish down, carefully cupped the first bowl, and carried it to me. With a bow, she held it out. As I reached, we both paused, staring down at the meeting of our hands. Both were long-fingered, with a thumb almost at right angles.

“We have the same hands,” I said, wincing at my too-bright tone as I took the bowl.

“They were my mother’s hands, too,” she said softly. She chanced a fleeting look up at me. “Charra. Your grandmother.”

“Charra? I have her death plaque.”

“You still have it?”

I silently thanked Dela. “Yes, and the other one, too.”

My mother caught the emphasis and looked away. She knew something about Kinra.

I placed the bowl on the table and retrieved my leather pouch, upending it. The two plaques slipped out onto my palm. With a shaking forefinger, Lillia touched Charra’s memorial, then pulled out a worn cloth bag that hung on a string around her neck. She opened it and withdrew another death plaque, a replica of Charra’s.

“I had two made when my dear mother died — may she walk in the garden of the gods,” she said. “I knew he wanted to get rid of you as soon as she died. I had to give you a link to your family. To me.” She stroked the plaque again. “He was afraid of Charra.”

A sour lump formed in my throat. “Do you mean my father?”

Lillia gave a strained laugh. “No, not your dear father. Charra loved him as if he was her own. No, he died — drowned in the terrible Pig Year storms. Do you not remember?”

I shook my head, and pain crossed her face.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I do not remember much at all.”

“I suppose it is to be expected. You were only four when he joined the glory of his ancestors. I married another man, a year after.” She studied me. “You do not remember your stepfather, either? Or what happened?”

“No.”

“Probably a good thing,” she said grimly. “He said he’d provide for all of us — you, me, your brother, even Charra — but when things got hard, he said he would not keep another man’s useless daughter. It was enough, he said, to raise another man’s son. He sold you to a bondsman.”

“Why did you let him?” The question came out too harshly.

“‘Let him’?” She frowned, puzzled. “He was my husband. How could I gainsay him?”

“Did you even try?”

I would have fought for my daughter. I would have fought as hard as possible.

She turned her head away from the veiled accusation. “I begged the bondsman to sell you into house service.” Her voice dropped into a whisper. “Did he?”

“Yes.” It was partly true — I did start off in the salt farmer’s house as one of the kitchen drudges — but what would be the use of telling her the whole story? The farmer’s wife who eventually sent us all to the salt when her husband noticed us, and the choking misery of the long days, and the nights spent with breaths held, listening for the tread of the whipmaster.

“What happened to my brother?” I asked.

In an instant, her face aged, the sweet tilt of her mouth lost in bitterness. “He took up soldiering a year ago and died in the Trang Dein raids.”

I felt a cold, unexpected plunge of loss, although in truth this woman and her son were strangers to me. Yet there it was — an ache for the lost chance of a family. Or maybe it was the stark sorrow on my mother’s face.

She looked up and forced a smile, touching my arm hesitantly. “I thought I had no one left. Until Master Tozay’s men came.”

“You know why you are here, don’t you?”

She shook her head. “Master Tozay said that I could be used against you — although I do not see how. I am nothing.”

“You are the Mirror Dragoneye’s mother,” I said, watching her closely. “And you may be awed by the rank, but you are not shocked by a female Dragoneye like everyone else, are you?” I smiled, trying to take the edge out of my words. “Can you see the dragons too, Mother?”

Her eyes were steady on mine. “Daughter, until a few weeks ago, women who claimed to see dragons found themselves either chained to other madwomen or dead.”

I clasped her shoulder. “Did you know I could see them?”

“All the women in our family can see them. It is our secret.”

“What can you tell me about Kinra?” She stepped back, breaking my hold, but I followed her retreat. “Please, tell me what you know. It is more important than you think.”

She licked her lips. “I gave you the plaque. I taught you the rhyme.”

“What rhyme?”

She leaned closer. “The rhyme that is passed from mother to daughter.

“Rat turns, Dragon learns, Empire burns.

Rat takes, Dragon breaks, Empire wakes.”

I froze. I did know it, or at least the first part of it: I remembered sitting opposite my master in his study, before the approach ceremony, and hearing its simple rhythm in my head. I had thought it was something I’d read in one of his history scrolls.

“We used to say the rhyme together — when we walked along the beach where no one could hear,” my mother added.

Kinra had tried two ways to send her message across time: a rhyme passed through generations, and a portent written in code in a Dragoneye’s journal. I wished that she had not hidden her meaning so well, but I knew why; to protect the Mirror Dragoneye bloodline, exiled by her attempt on the Imperial Pearl.

“What does the rhyme mean?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I was told by Charra that it came from the same Kinra whose plaque had to be handed down from mother to daughter. It was our duty to pass along three things.” She counted them off on her fingers. “The plaque, the rhyme, and the riddle — which, frankly, is not a true riddle, and does not bring any honor to her name.”

I stared at her; I had no recollection of a riddle. Was this the missing piece of the puzzle?

I caught her arm. “What riddle?”

Startled, she looked down at my tight hold. “Her daughter had two fathers, but only one bloodline. Two into one is doubled.”

“Two into one is doubled?” I echoed.

The words rang no sudden chime of understanding through me. The puzzle did not click into place. But I could at least guess the two fathers: Emperor Dao and Lord Somo. Only one bloodline. Two lovers, but only one was the father. My breath caught as an intuition gathered force, a roaring build of hope and possibility.

Kinra’s line could have royal blood. Dao’s blood.

I could have royal blood.

Kygo — we could be together. Truly together. My blood would be both royal and Dragoneye. And that would stop any other royal blood from binding me with the black folio. I would be invulnerable. I would have everything.

“Which one was the father?” I tightened my grip on Lillia’s arm. “Which one? Do you know?”

She pulled away from me and stepped back against the bulkhead, eyes wide. I knew I was frightening her, but she had to answer me.

“Tell me!”

“‘The one she loved.’ That is the answer to the riddle. That is all I know!”

But I knew more than she did.

“No!” I clasped my hands on either side of my head, trying to stop the truth from forcing its way through my hope. “No!” But I knew Kinra had loved Lord Somo. Not Emperor Dao. Dela had told me that Somo was the nameless man in the journal, and Ido had read it in his records. Kinra had loved the Dragoneye, not the emperor. I did not have royal blood. I had double Dragoneye blood. It had probably given me my strong dragon sight, but it did not give me what I truly needed — a way to save both Kygo and the dragons.

I bent over, sobbing for breath under the crushing return of desperation. For just one glorious moment, I had seen a way out.

My mother edged closer, her hand hesitantly touching my shoulder. “Why are you crying, daughter? What does the riddle mean?”

“She loved Somo.” I took a shaking breath. “She loved the wrong man.”

Her hand patted my back. “She will not have been the first,” my mother said. “And she will not be the last.” She peered into my face. “You are very pale. Come, sit down. When did you last eat? Or sleep?”

I let her usher me to a chair and press the cooled tea bowl into my hands.

“Tell me what all this means,” she said.

In the clear golden liquid, I watched my reflection summon a mask of courtesy.

I smiled up into the face that was so very like my own. There was no denying that we were mother and daughter — but for the moment, we were also strangers. “You are right, I need to sleep. Perhaps we can talk about it later.”