Eona - Alison Goodman [140]
“Then why would they ever give up their pearls?”
“I don’t know.” With one wipe, he obliterated the sand circle. “Perhaps we will find out when Dillon arrives with the black folio.”
Even if I believed what Ido said, he was probably not telling the whole truth. I had no doubt he wanted the power from the String of Pearls: he had already killed the other Dragoneyes in his quest for it. During the palace coup he had told me he was going to unite dragon power with the dragon throne, and I was the key to his ascension. He had wanted to rule both earth and the heavens. Did he still hold such grandiose plans? Perhaps his capture by Sethon had tempered his ambition. Or maybe the fires of suffering had branded it deeper into his heart. Whatever the case, I had the feeling that he, too, did not understand all the pieces of the puzzle.
The black folio held the secret of a weapon that took all the dragons’ power, and the red held a portent that foretold the way to save that power. There was obviously some deeper connection between them, but I could not see it. I dug my fingers into the sand and raked my frustration through the grainy warmth. If felt as if every new bit of information curled back upon itself, seeming to get closer to the truth but in fact adding another veil of obscurity. Why was our Dragoneye power diminishing? And how could the Hua of All Men save the dragons? Did it have something to do with the String of Pearls? But if what Ido said was true, the String of Pearls was an agent of destruction—not an avenue of rescue.
One thing I knew with certainty: I could never tear the Imperial Pearl from Kygo’s throat.
A sudden tension in Ido’s body brought me back to myself. I followed his gaze to the seawall; the number of villagers behind it had doubled. Caido and his men had each taken a position on top of the stacked stones. Three men against fifty villagers, at least. And from the looks of it, not all of the men had gone out with the fishing boats.
Ido frowned. “Do they think I am defenseless?”
“We should go,” I said, rising.
“No.” Ido grabbed my arm, pulling me back down to the sand. “We are Dragoneyes. We do not get run off by peasants. Don’t worry. What I am about to show you will keep them in check.”
He pressed his palms—the gateways of energy—onto the sand and took a deep breath, tilting his head back. Almost immediately I saw the silver power slide through his eyes. Another breath swelled his broad chest. He released it and repeated the cycle in a smooth, regular rhythm. Then I saw the glory of communion strip the strain from his face. The joyous energy within him pulsed, its pleasure reaching me like a distant drum deep inside my body.
His silvered eyes locked on mine. “You are feeling this too, aren’t you?” he said.
I did not want to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
Then his attention was elsewhere, beyond the physical world. Around us the air sang, building into a shriek that pushed the villagers back from the seawall in a wave of fear. Energy cracked and shivered across the sky. A long, pale jag of lightning split the dark clouds with a boom and flashed toward the sea. Then, as if a huge hand had grasped it, the bolt stopped. Slowly it turned, point aimed straight at the village, its power held suspended above us. I heard screams, but I was transfixed by the frozen flame of energy hanging in the air.
“Shall I teach these villagers some respect?” Ido said. “There are more of them across the hill.”
“No!”
He gave a soft laugh. With it, the lightning was released. I flinched as it ripped through the air and slammed deep into the sand a few lengths from us with a heavy thud. The impact rippled under the surface like the track of a creature slithering below.
“Holy Shola.” I scrabbled away from the shifting ground. A harsh smell burned the back of my nose and throat. Then all was quiet.
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