“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.”