Eona - Alison Goodman [43]
“Lady Eona.” Vida bowed by my side. “His Majesty has sent me to assist you.”
Kygo stood with his back to us, talking to Yuso. Perhaps I had been mistaken about him watching me. Then again, he had known when to send Vida to my side.
“Here.” She offered her hand.
I stifled a groan as she pulled me upright; I did not want to sound like an old, rheumy villager. I already stank like a stable hand.
“I need to wash.”
“It will have to be quick, my lady. His Majesty wants us to assemble.”
Quick was not going to be possible, but I nodded and hobbled after her into the undergrowth. We wove through the dense stand of mountain ash, the early sunlight barely breaking through its canopy to the thick layer of leaf litter underfoot. It was a short walk, but by the time we came to the stream, the dawn breeze had already shifted into the stronger wind that brought the monsoon rains.
“Be careful,” Vida warned. “The flooding has made the edges soft.”
The grass along each bank was lying flat, a sure sign of receded water. A few lengths downstream, a large area of churned mud showed footprints and the deep cut of hooves.
“I am not looking forward to another day on that horse,” I said, hoping to create some ease between us. “I feel like I have been twisted and tied into an eternity knot.”
Vida smiled. “It will pass.”
“So I’ve been told.” A careful press of my foot found soft but supportive ground. Gingerly, I crouched and dipped my hand into the cold water, letting it flow through my fingers. “You seem unaffected,” I added. “Have you done a lot of riding?”
The silence was too long for the question. I turned.
Vida stood with her arms wrapped around her body, her face swollen with unshed tears. “My betrothed taught me.”
For a long moment, we were caught in each other’s pain—her loss and my dawning guilt. Her betrothed had been one of the villagers.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” I whispered. Such inadequate words.
“Lady Dela said you couldn’t control it.”
“No.”
Vida nodded, accepting my answer. “You have to.”
I turned back to the fast-flowing water, away from her sadness. My fingers were numb with cold. I rubbed them on my skirt, forcing warmth into them. I knew I should say something else—a reassurance, or another apology—but by the time I looked back over my shoulder, she was already retreating into the undergrowth.
She would be back; Vida would not disobey her emperor’s command. Still, she deserved a few moments to grieve. Although I could not offer any worthwhile consolation, I could at least use the time alone to honor her demand and try to control my power. Even if it was only to ask Kinra to stop aiming her ghostly rage at Kygo and her ancient greed for the pearl into my heart. If I were lucky, she would answer my prayer.
The death plaque pouch was bound tightly under my sash. I pulled it free and loosened the drawstring, then upended it. The two black lacquered finger-lengths of wood slid onto my palm. I picked up the plainer memorial: a thinly etched line bordered the edge, and workmanlike carved characters spelled out “Charra.” My unknown ancestress. I pushed it back into the pouch and returned it for safekeeping under my sash. I had no quarrel with Charra.
The other plaque was far more worn, but the remains of elaborate decoration were still visible. I ran my thumb over the elegantly carved “Kinra”—faintly inlaid with gold—and traced the tiny dragon that snaked under her name like a flourish.
I settled on to my knees. The sodden earth squelched under me, pushing cold water through the layers of skirt and shift. I held