Eona - Alison Goodman [77]
My sleeping chamber was, it seemed, someone else’s living quarters hastily surrendered for the use of the Dragoneye. I crossed the patchwork of rugs on the stone floor, barely registering the humble interior.
“Look at those hangings,” Vida said brightly, following me across the dim cavern. The only light came from the sun streaming through the entrance, half of which was blocked by an ill-fitting wooden door. She reached out and touched a wall tapestry. “Aren’t they lovely, my lady? I’ve never seen work like it.”
Irritated, I eyed the depiction of a long necked crane snapping at an embroidered fish, the light catching the glow of gold threads. It was not the usual kind of woven hanging. Instead, delicately cutout shapes had been sewn to an undercloth, with fine embroidery worked over them.
“Beautiful,” I said sourly.
I did not want to admire art. I wanted to break something or scream or hit someone. No, not just “someone”: Kygo. I ground my hands together, trying to work the impulse out of my joints. Why did he say he trusted me when he obviously did not?
I spun on my heel and paced across the room again, finally taking in my surroundings. Apart from the rich wall hangings, the furnishings were basic: a low wooden stool, a woven chest for clothes, and two bedrolls—one prepared with blankets, the other tidily tucked away against the wall. A couple’s chamber. The thought brought another spike of fury and sent me back across the room, my fists clenched.
“My lady, perhaps you should rest,” Vida said. “You look very tired.” She tested the bed’s abundant wadding with her foot. “It’s good and thick,” she added encouragingly.
I took a steadying breath, the moment of calm bringing bone-aching fatigue in its wake. Perhaps I should lie down. The last time I’d had a chance to sleep properly had been in the forest. I remembered Kygo sitting beside me, his warm hand on my arm. It was where he had asked me to be Naiso. Where I had first touched the pearl. The sting of tears made me blink. Was I really no longer his Naiso? I turned quickly to hide my face and my feelings.
“All right, I’ll try,” I said, ungraciously. “You can go.”
She bowed and headed toward the wooden door.
Wait,” I said. “Will you do something for me?” She paused. “Will you find Ryko and make sure that he is all right? Do not tell him you ask at my bidding.” My voice wavered. “I don’t think you would be welcome if you did.” I could not stop the sob that broke through me. “He will never forgive me now.”
Vida hurried forward. “Forgive you for what, my lady?” More sobs tore at my chest in thick aching rasps. She took my arm, steering me down on to the bed, and knelt before me. “What happened?”
Through shuddering breaths I described the events of the morning. I tried to avoid telling her about the kiss, but the rest of the story made no sense until I had confessed that brief moment of desire. At the end of my stumbling recital, she sat back on her heels.
“Holy Shola,” she said.
“And now he does not trust me.” I pressed my hands against my eyes to stop another welling of tears.
“You don’t mean Ryko, do you?” she asked.
I shook my head.
She made a soft sound of sympathy. “It always changes when you touch one another.”
I lowered my hands. “What do you mean?”
“You two are no longer only Dragoneye and emperor, or even Naiso and emperor. You are also woman and man.” Her smile was wry. “A powerful woman, and a powerful man. It is no wonder you do not trust one another.”
“I trust him,” I protested.
“Do you? Truly?”
I looked away from her searching gaze. The violence of his killing rage, the ambition in his eyes when he’d seen the black folio, his effect on my body—they all frightened me.
She let out a considering breath. “Watching my father plan and strategize for the resistance has taught me about trust.” She leaned forward. “Personal trust is very different from political trust, my lady. The first thrives on faith. The second requires proof, whether