Eona - Alison Goodman [170]
I looked over my shoulder. Yuso was taunting him again, like a mongoose baiting a snake.
After the brutal events of the morning, I had not expected Ido’s inclusion in the observation party. Yet, on reflection, it made sense. Both he and I needed to know the terrain of the battlefield and the scope of Sethon’s preparation. And Kygo was no doubt reminding Rulan and the other tribal leaders that Ido was not only a murderous traitor—he was also a Dragoneye, and a key player in the battle to come.
Yuso prodded Ido in the back. “I doubt you will ever get out of shackles, my lord.” He leaned closer, but I caught his soft words. “And you are the girl’s bitch, forever.”
Anger flared in Ido’s face. He did not normally rise to Yuso’s harassment. Uneasily, I realized my own anger had risen too. I shook it off; Ido did not need me to defend him.
“Lady Eona.” I turned at Kygo’s call. “Come look.”
I forged through the thinning copse of trees. Kygo stood with Tozay under a shaded overhang of branches, a scout crouched at their feet. All three men observed the sweep of land below the precipice on which we stood. As I stepped up beside Kygo, the scout ducked his head into a quick bow.
The back of my neck prickled with the sight before me. Sethon’s army was camped halfway along the massive plain. The stretch of tents and war machinery and horses and men was so great that, although I squinted, I could not see where the camp ended, its far reaches lost in distance. I had thought I was prepared for the battle ahead, but the plunging freeze in my gut told me otherwise. I’d had no true idea of what we were about to face.
Tozay gestured across the flat expanse of land that stretched between the precipice and the front line of the army camp. “Sethon has staked a battleground. But he will not attack us while we hold the high advantage.”
“What will he do?” I asked.
Kygo rubbed his chin. “He will try to lure us to him so we surrender our high ground.”
“Lure us? With what?”
Kygo nodded. “That is a good question, Naiso.”
“So this is what fifteen thousand men look like,” I said, my voice a little too hearty.
“No, my lady,” the scout said. “This is eight thousand men. See those pockets of dust?” He pointed to tiny puffs on the horizon. “That is more men coming into camp.”
Dry fear caked my throat. May the gods keep us: this was only half of them. “You have keen eyes,” I said.
“Our best eyes,” Rulan said, walking up beside me. He pointed to a large red pavilion tent set close to the front. “That is Sethon’s tent. Arrogant prick.”
A soft clink of metal announced Ido’s arrival. He scanned the low plain, his heavy brows angled into a frown. With a shake of his head, he stepped back.
“You have something to say, Lord Ido?” Kygo said sharply.
The Dragoneye looked up as though roused from a daze. “No. Nothing.”
He lifted his shackled hands and dug his fingers into his forehead. Almost all color had drained from his face, and his skin was sheened with sweat. Yet it did not look like fear or heat.
“When was Lord Ido last given water?” Kygo demanded.
Yuso stepped forward. “Before we got to camp, Your Majesty.”
“Get him water.” Kygo turned back to watch the plain.
Yuso bowed and headed to the young porter carrying the water skins. Ido grabbed my sleeve and edged me back a step, and another, until we had a slice of open ground between us and the men concentrating on the enemy below.
“Dillon is a day from us.” His voice was barely a breath. “He is like a nail in my head.” He pressed his fingers into his temple. My gaze fixed on his arm—the arm I had burned and healed.
He brushed his fingers against mine. “Never apologize for your power,” he murmured.
I pulled away as Yuso approached with the water skin. He thrust it at Ido’s hands.
“Is this one of your petty ideas, Yuso?” I said, trying to cover the rise of heat in my face. “Denying water?”
The Captain crossed his arms. “You are always very concerned for Lord Ido’s welfare, my lady.”
I had no answer to his sly insolence. Lifting my chin, I walked back to Kygo, the fear of Dillon’s approach