Eon: Dragoneye Reborn

'What will happen to Lord Ido?' I asked. 'Surely he will not lead the Council now'

My master eyed me irritably 'Of course he will remain leader, he is the Ascendant Dragoneye.

But his actions will guarantee me the votes for co-leadership.' He settled into the pillows.

'Now, go.'

I turned to leave, but was struck by a sudden thought. 'Did you mean this to happen? Was it part of your plan with Lord Tyron?'

My master kept his eyes closed and did not answer.

Unsettled, I made my way to the dressing room, where Rilla was waiting. She hurriedly stripped me of the sweat-damp Dragoneye robes and threw them over the wooden rack.

'The guide is already outside,' she said, holding up a cream cotton exercise tunic. I pushed my arms into the wide sleeves. 'Tell me quickly, what happened in the Council?'

I described the meeting and Ido's attack as she helped me into the cotton trousers and tied the drawstring.

'I am afraid for the master's health,' she said, shaking her head as she worked the light slippers onto my feet. 'I'll try and persuade him to summon the physician. And what about you? Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' I said.

But it was not the truth. As I followed the young palace guide through a series of vaulted passageways and large enclosed courtyards, I felt my bruised ribs press my breathing into tight painful gasps. Finally, I was forced to stop.

'My lord, is something wrong?' the guide asked. 'Do you need assistance?'

'Is it far?'

How was I going to last through an afternoon of formal exercises if I could not even walk at a brisk pace?

'No, my lord. The training grounds are just past the Pavilion of Autumnal Justice.'

I waved him on. Perhaps I could claim illness and delay the lesson until another day The idea was tempting — it would give me more time to find my dragon's name and heal my hurts — but my master's urgency echoed in my head.

Before long I heard the clack of wood hitting wood and the cracking roll of applause. The guide looked back at me, nodding encouragement, and we emerged from a dim passageway into sunlight and the glare of white sand.

Ahead of us was a small fenced practice area. Around the edge, brightly clothed courtiers stood huddled under silk parasols and fanned themselves, calling and clapping at the action in the centre of the sand. Two figures fighting with long staffs flashed past a wide gap in the watching crowd, a twirling manoeuvre sending up a spray of sand. I shaded my eyes, pretending interest in the fight, and walked slowly over to the fence. A chance to stop and catch my breath.

It was then that I recognised the taller combatant: Prince Kygo. He wore only cream cotton exercise trousers tied at the ankle. Out of the obscuring robes of his rank, his body had the shape and breadth of a man. The planes of his chest and stomach were flat and defined, and as he blocked a hit above his head, the stretch showed the width of his shoulders and the sharp cut of muscle in his arms. Sweat had gathered in the small of his back, and I found my gaze drawn down the glistening curve to the narrow flare of his hips. I looked away, aware of the sudden heat that radiated from the sand.

He stepped backwards and swung his staff in a teasing arc as his sparring partner feinted and withdrew, seeking a break in his guard. The Prince rocked on the balls of his feet, readying himself for the next attack. His opponent, a young nobleman, judging by the elaborate gold woven through his topknot, lunged and jabbed the end of his staff at the Prince's head. The royal heir deftly deflected and followed through, spinning around and raising his staff for a blow to the noble's mid-section. But the man was already swinging his weapon. Too high. The Prince spun straight into a face attack that connected with a sickening thwack. His head snapped back, his staff falling from his hands. The crowd gasped, their horror holding them unnaturally still. It was forbidden to touch the body of a member of the royal family Even in sparring. The penalty was immediate death. The young noble dropped his staff as though it was hot iron and fell to the sand, his body crouched in a tense kowtow. The Prince was doubled over, the heel of his hand pressed into a bloody gash across his cheekbone.

Your Highness, forgive me,' the young noble pleaded into the sudden silence. 'It was not intended. I did not…' He stopped as two Imperial guards positioned themselves on either side of him, their swords drawn.

The Prince straightened and spat out the blood that had run into the corner of his mouth.

Already his eye was swelling and the shadow of a bruise was darkening his skin.

'A heavy blow for one that was not intended, Lord Brett,' he said quietly

'I swear, Your Highness, it was a lucky strike,' the young noble said desperately 'You know I do not usually get past your defences.'

Was the Prince going to kill him for an accident? I leaned forwards, following the same macabre press of the crowd around the barrier.

The two guards were watching their royal master for instruction, their swords aimed at the young noble's head. The Prince picked up his staff.

'(Jet back,' he ordered the guards.

I mmediately they stepped away The Prince gripped the end of the wooden weapon and swung it with all of his strength across the back of the young lord. The crack of the blow rebounded around the silent courtyard. He threw the staff down and walked towards his trainer standing at the edge of the sand. Every move was decisive, unyielding and royal.

'The Prince is merciful,' a familiar voice said at my shoulder.

My body jolted as though I had been caught naked. I clutched at the fence and turned to see Dillon bowing beside me.

'By the gods, Dillon! You made me jump.' I smiled shakily, remembering how we would try and sneak up on each other at training.

'My apologies, Lord Eon,' he said formally, but I saw the flicker of an answering smile.

'Master Tellon sent me to bring you into the practice hall.'

I sucked in a breath. My energy felt all upside down. What was wrong with me?

'Am I that late?'

He nodded. 'He doesn't seem too upset, but we should hurry' Some warmth had returned to his voice. I followed him a few paces then stopped; I had forgotten my guide. I waved the boy over.

'Apprentice Dillon will accompany me. You may go.'

'My lord.' He bowed to me then turned to Dillon. 'Honoured Apprentice.'

We both watched him hurry towards the dark arch of the passageway.

'I'm still not used to people bowing to me,' I said.

'Me either.' Dillon grinned. 'My lord.'

' Honoured Apprentice,' I said, matching his pompous tone and crossing my eyes.

He giggled, the familiar sound like a balm to my nerves. He pointed to a large hall in the far corner of the square and started

¦

walking towards it. I looked back at the practice sand for another glimpse of the Prince. But the crowd had closed the gaps along the fence, blocking my view. I caught up with Dillon and tried to shrug off the taut energy singing through my body.

'You seem…better now,' I said hesitantly, not wanting to break our fragile harmony Dillon's face tightened. 'What do you mean?'

I held up my hands. 'You seemed ill this morning.'

He sighed and massaged his forehead. 'It's just this pain in my head. I'm all right. At least I am now that Lord Ido has gone.' He looked over his shoulder then leaned closer. 'I think he's insane. Look what he did to your master…I mean Lord Brannon.'

I nodded, but I was focused on something more important. 'Where's he gone? For how long?'

A few days. He's gone to meet High Lord Sethon and ride in with him.'

So, the High Lord was returning to the city. No doubt my master would be interested in that piece of news.