Eona - Alison Goodman [54]
Part of me hoped I was listening to the ravings of a ruined mind—yet I had seen my old friend in that moment of sanity. Although his words were feverish, they still rang with truth. Dillon knew that Lord Ido was losing hold of the Rat Dragon. And he knew he would soon have Ido’s power. I shuddered, pushing my coursing fear into a final burst of speed. We were almost there.
“Dillon, how sick is Lord Ido?” I tightened my grip on his damp hand. “We can’t let him die. Do you understand? We have to save him.”
“Save him?” Dillon’s glassy eyes narrowed. “No!” This time his fist was too quick. The crack of knuckles against his skull made me wince. “He hurts me.”
“I know, I know,” I soothed. “But we’re going to save him, so he can train us.”
“No!” Dillon shrieked. “I want him to die.”
He twisted in my grip like a wild dog fighting a noose. I stumbled after him, towed by his savage fury. Another blast of cold wind slammed into us, bringing the smell of sweet, wet grass. The piercing cricket song stopped, the sudden silence pounding in my ears. I looked up in time to see a claw of light rake the sky, then a booming shock surged over us.
“Eona, behind you!”
Kygo’s frantic voice swung me around to face the dense tree line at the far end of the slope.
A wide semicircle of soldiers had broken out of the woods, all carrying Ji, the hook-bladed pikes braced for attack. They were no more than one hundred lengths away and moving with wary speed. I heaved on Dillon’s hand, but he had dropped to his knees, a shrieking anchor. I felt the gusty wind flex into the heavier muscle of the monsoon, its brutal strength knocking me back a step and stealing my breath. Before me, the grass flattened and the trees bowed in obeisance as the gale brought the first drumming drops of rain. A panic of starlings burst out of the trees and spiraled upward, turning in a sharp arrow ahead of the wind. I gasped as the sudden rush of cool water streamed against my hair and face, its weight stinging my skin and scalp.
A few lengths away, Ryko pushed Ju-Long and Tiron onward, then turned and drew his swords. The islander’s lone figure blurred in the thick veil of pounding rain as the shapes of Tiron and the gray horse forged past us. I thought I heard the young guard call me though the teeming water, but Dillon pulled my hand again. He was back on his feet. My relief froze into realization; I was no longer holding Dillon. He was holding me.
Even as I tried to wrench free, he caught my other hand and with brutal strength swung me around in a splashing circle, as though we were children again, playing Dragon Spin.
“What are you doing?” I yelled. “Stop it!”
“Dragon day, dragon night, dragon spirit with the right,” he sang. “Call your name, bring your light—show us who will have the sight!”
The wet hem of my gown wrapped around my legs. I tripped, collapsing onto one knee in the pooling water. The wind was gone, the rain now falling in a seamless gray curtain as if the gods were emptying a pitcher over our heads.
“Dillon, the soldiers are coming!” I blinked, trying to clear my stinging eyes of water. It ran in rivulets down my face and the front of my gown, soaking the rough cloth into a dead weight. “We have to run.”
“Which dragon? Which dragon? Choose!” he singsonged. “Choose!”
He yanked at my hands, grinding the thin bones together as he hauled me upright. Such strength was not natural. I threw my weight backward in a bid to jerk free, but he held me locked in his game.
Just above our wrists, the rope of white pearls loosened its stranglehold. The last two perfect gems lifted again, this time like a snake tasting the sodden air. With clattering purpose they uncoiled, leaving only one loop binding the folio to Dillon’s arm. The rest of the rope slithered around the edges of the book and settled a protective rank of pearls along each groove of exposed paper. Then, with a snap and lunge, the lead length wrapped around my right wrist, strapping my hand to Dillon’s as if it was a wedding bind.
I strained against the shackle. Heat engulfed