'Shall I stay, lord?' Ryko asked softly
I shook my head. Except for essential information, we had not spoken at all on the run back to the palace. The past few hours had stripped away some of our illusions about each other and ourselves. Such bare truth was not easily absorbed. And I wanted to be alone when I read the name.
'Thank you, Ryko,' I said. 'For everything.'
He bowed and moved away, only a muffled chink of a pebble marking his careful retreat.
I hoisted myself up over the window frame and dropped awkwardly onto the thick carpet inside. In a few strides I was beside the covered oil lamp I'd left burning on the bedside table.
I pushed up my right sleeve. The cloth snagged on the pearls and folio. Hissing with impatience I worked the garment over them, my hand shaking with the delay Finally, the folio was free. In the lamp's soft glow, the surface of the black pearls swirled with greens and purples like the sheen of oil on water. Underneath them, the red leather had the supple shine of a seal's skin, its smoothness marred by the three deep gouges that raked down the front piece. Holding my breath, I gently lifted the end pearl. There was a small resistance, as though it was weighted, and then it came away from my forearm. One by one each pearl gave up its position, loosening its hold on the folio. I breathed out as I lifted the last pearl that held the text to me. The folio dropped into my hand. In a clicking slither, the pearls coiled loosely around my wrist.
I stroked the gouges on the leather, feeling the rough edges of someone else's failure. Lord Ido's? I let a small laugh escape; the pearls had unbound the folio for me but not for the all-powerful Rat Dragoneye. A leather tongue was threaded through a loop, holding the folio closed. With fingers made clumsy from excitement, I tried to unfasten it, but could not work the leather through the hole. Perhaps I had laughed too soon. I rubbed the damp tips of my fingers down my tunic and tried again. At last, the tongue came free. I flipped the leather front open, expecting loose pieces of parchment. Instead, there was a thick wad of smooth master-made paper sewn together at the left edge. A book! I had seen another like it in my master's library — a rarity that he had valued highly I slid my fingers under the tablet of paper and lifted, only to find that the stitching had been sewn through the leather case too. It was all one piece. I settled the wad back against its leather bed. On the front paper was a chawing of the Mirror Dragon in red ink. It was just a few swirling lines, but somehow it caught the power and majesty of the beast. This was the precious book of the Mirror Dragon secrets. Somewhere inside was his name. Somewhere inside was my power. I took a deep breath and turned the page over.
For a moment I could not make sense of the neat characters. I blinked, squinting down at the writing. It still did not make sense. I turned another page. Lines and lines of strange marks.
Another page, and another. All unreadable. I flipped over every page, scanning for just one familiar symbol. Just one.
I reached the final page. 'No,' I breathed. 'No.'
There was nothing I recognised.
I started at the beginning again, staring down at the paper as if I could draw meaning out of the faded lettering.
Nothing.
Despair howled in my head like a typhoon. Blindly, I felt for the bed behind me and sank down onto it, my legs too weak to hold me. Why couldn't I read it? A sob burned through my chest in a heaving moan. Then another, grabbing at the last of my breath, leaving me gulping for air. I couldn't stop them. All the disappointment and fear spilled out of me. What if Rilla heard? Or the master? I doubled over and pushed my knuckles into my mouth, muffling my desolation. Maybe I was not meant to be here. Maybe it had all been a mistake and the Mirror Dragon did not want me, after all. I fell back, curling around the folio, rocking into each ragged whimper.
I had no dragon name, no true power. No hope.
I woke with a gasp, my mouth parched and the skin around my eyes tight with dried tears. A silk sheet covered me. Across the room, the window was shuttered, the edge of each slat bright with daylight. Rilla must have come in while I was asleep. I pushed back the sheet and saw the folio wedged under my chest. Still open. Still unreadable. No miracle had transformed the writing
during the night. I pulled the book out from beneath me and closed it, working the tongue back through the loop. Immediately, the black pearls uncoiled from my wrist in a soft sliding rattle and looped over the leather, pulling it back against the underside of my arm. With a neat flick of the last pearl, they settled. Why were they tying the folio to me? I couldn't even read it.
The dark despair rose up again, closing around my mind like a cold fog.
No! I shook my head, as if I could physically dislodge its hold. I had the folio, and its guardian pearls had unravelled and let me open it. That must mean something. There must be a way to unlock its words. All I had to do was find the key.
I struggled upright. Beside me on the bedside table was a water jug and cup. Rilla had thought of everything. She must have seen the folio and the pearls when she covered me — had she told the master? I poured a drink, gulping it down without pause. Another two cupfuls finally quenched my dryness. All those tears must have wrung the water from my very soul.
The sound of the door opening made me look around. It was Rilla, carrying a tray I quickly pulled my sleeve down over the folio as she closed the door with her hip. Seeing me sitting up, she bowed and crossed the room.
'They are already gathering at the Gate of Supreme Benevolence for the start of the procession,' she said, her eyes flicking to my sleeve and back to my face. She held the tray out towards me. 'You've just got time for the tea and some lo-jee.'
The salty aroma of the breakfast soup made my stomach roll with want. But first the ghost-maker's tea. I picked up the cup, suddenly remembering the Sun drug in my pocket. Maybe it would force a connection with the Mirror Dragon. But what would happen if I mixed it with the ghost-maker's tea? One drug kindled the Sun, the other suppressed the Moon. Would it tip me too far out of balance? Kill me? Perhaps it was not a good idea to take them both at once. I blew on the tea and took a careful sip.
It was tepid, the dirt taste even worse without the heat. Closing my eyes, I drank it quickly, resisting the urge to gag on the bitterness.
'How is the master today?' I asked, handing back the cup.
'Better,' she said. 'He is dressing for the festivities.' Her eyes flicked to my sleeve again. 'You should get out of those peasant clothes as soon as possible,' she said blandly. 'I will return them to the basket.'
I met her gaze, silently asking the question. She shrugged. 'What I see stays with me.'
'Even from the master?'
Her face tightened, but she nodded. 'I am your body servant now.'
'I am doing everything I can to keep us safe,' I said. Perhaps I was trying to reassure myself as much as Rilla. 'Please believe that.'
She picked up the bowl of lo-jee and passed it to me. 'There is no one else to care for Chart,'
she said softly. 'Please remember that.'
My master shifted irritably on the silk cushion beside me and squinted over the heads of our bearers into the dim passageway ahead. It was still blocked by an ornate gilded gate. His movement sent a sour smell into the warm air and I saw beaded sweat above his cracked lips.
His breath, too, was more laboured than normal. Although the heavy red canopy of our palanquin trapped the morning heat inside the cabin, it was not hot enough to cause such distress. Rilla may have pronounced the master improved, but I was not convinced he had made any progress.
I leaned out to look at the other Dragoneyes lined up behind us in matching red and gold palanquins, and behind them the long formations of men on foot, waiting for the gongs that would open the gate and announce the start of the procession. In the next palanquin, Lord Ido met my gaze. He gave one slow nod. I pulled back, my heart quickening.