Eona - Alison Goodman [166]
It did not take long for the round room to fill with people. As there was only one door, I did not miss the entry of my mother, and behind her, Dela and Soran, their reunion evident in reddened eyes and Soran’s protective clasp of Dela’s shoulder. Nor did I miss the entry of Ido and the subtle shifting away from him as Yuso and Ryko led him through the benches. His hands were no longer bound with rope. They were shackled in heavy irons.
Noticing the fix of my gaze, Kygo leaned close to my ear, his breath warm. “The solid permanence of iron holds more effect for these people than just rope. They will kill him in a second if they think he is not under control.”
Ido’s chin was lifted, the amber eyes hardened into dark gold. Even when they fell upon me, their expression did not change. He was pushed onto the front bench at my right. I forced my attention away from him and scanned the meetinghouse. Rulan and his five cohorts were seated to our right. Apart from our people, the rest of the forty or so gathered seemed to be men—and a few women—who held some kind of rank. All of them were wearing the bright colors and intricate embroidery of celebration dress. And all of them were watching Kygo and me, the thick padded walls muffling the rise of their whispers.
From his lower seat, Rulan bowed to Kygo then clapped his hands, glaring around the tent for attention. “Our emperor is here and we have much to discuss,” he said to the quieting room. “First we must honor Lady Eona, and the Mirror Dragon. Many generations have passed without a dragon in the east, and perhaps Lady Eona will not understand our ways. We have survived, and our independence may seem to offer insult. Yet we are not without respect, lady.” He gestured to the two men at the door to open it again, then turned back to me. “Normally we would not allow such weakness to taint us with its illfortune, but we understand these people are important to you.” He held up his hand to stop the rise of muttering. “A gesture of good will, if you like.”
Bewildered, I watched the doorway.
For an instant, I did not recognize the woman’s face. Then the rush of all that was Rilla flooded through me: safety and warmth and a smile that always held the truth. Behind her was Lon, the big body servant, and in his arms was the dear, twisted form of Chart. I launched myself forward as Rilla pushed her way past the benches, her hands reaching for me. As mine reached for her.
“You are safe!” My words were a half-sob as her tight embrace squeezed my voice away. Her cheek was soft against mine and I drew in her familiar smell—a mix of sweet soap and hard work.
“My lord”—she gave a breathy laugh—“I mean, my lady. We have heard so many different stories.” She pulled back to look at me. Her joy did not stop a quick inspection. “You are tired, I think.” I could see the shrewd observation in her face. She already knew it was more than fatigue. “And you are no longer limping.”
“I will tell you all later,” I said.
Lon stopped beside us, struggling to hold Chart as he thrashed his limbs in excitement. Although Chart’s muscles had crabbed and curled him almost double, he still had a fifteen-year-old’s body, and it could do some damage. A few of those sitting nearby leaned away from him, their fingers curled into ward-evil signs.
“Lady . . . Eon . . . a!” Chart slurred, holding out his hands.
I caught his bone-thin fingers. His liberation disc—the token of release from bond service that I had given him—swung on its leather thong around his neck. A symbol of his rank as freeman. It obviously meant nothing to these easterners, who saw only his twisted body.
An idea was forming. Could I heal Chart with my power? Make his body straight again?
His mouth stretched into his slow smile. “You . . . not . . . bad-looking . . . as a . . . girl.”
I grinned and leaned closer. “Think of all those missed opportunities for a grope,” I whispered.
Chart’s mouth opened wide into his raucous laugh, his body straining upward in Lon’s arms. I