Eona - Alison Goodman [87]
As we neared the summit of a small hill, the tiled roof and elegant shutters of a large house rose above its more squat neighbors. It was obviously our destination, for Stoll hurried ahead and turned to wave us into its courtyard. I wiped the sweat from my neck and touched the blood ring again—for luck, and for the hope that Kygo was safe.
Unlike the other courtyards, this one was not full of washing or the out-spillings of cramped living. Instead, it was cobbled and clean, with a stable at the left and a small walled garden to the right. A low platform ran along the length of the house, creating a deep step up to a wall of paneled screen doors. One was open, allowing a framed glimpse of the interior: traditional straw matting, low table, and the abrupt angles of a formal orchid arrangement.
A feminine figure moved into the frame and stood silhouetted for a moment, slender and erect, then stepped out on to the platform. She was older than her elegant bearing had led me to expect: perhaps around sixty, with deep lines that carved fierceness into a face that still had the graceful bones of beauty. She lifted the green silk hem of her gown and walked to the edge of the platform. Stoll hurried forward, but she stopped him with a raised hand.
“You are not the Master Heron I was expecting,” she said as Yuso dismounted. Dela pulled our cart up beside him. The cart horse shook its head, the jangle of its harness loud in the sudden wary silence.
Yuso’s eyes darted to the stable. I followed his gaze into the dim interior: two large Trang Dein men holding lethal double hooks waited inside the doorway. Across the yard, another two armed men watched from the shadows of an outhouse. So much for the policy of no weapons.
“Who are you?” Mama Momo demanded.
Yuso glanced back at us. “Ryko, what are you waiting for?” he said through his teeth.
Beside me, the islander straightened and cleared his throat. “Hello, Momota. It’s been a long time.”
“Ryko? Is that really you?” Her narrowed gaze dropped to his bound wrists, then back to Yuso. “Boys, we’ve got trouble,” she said, and it was an order.
The Trang Dein men stepped out of the shadows, their sword hooks slicing through the air in soft whirring circles.
Yuso drew his knife. “Ryko, I thought you said she’d help you!”
I sucked in a breath. There was nothing in the cart to use as a weapon; my swords were with Kygo, along with the folio and compass. I scanned the courtyard. The nearest thing was a wooden shovel. Vida edged between me and the approaching men.
“Get ready to run,” she whispered.
“Momo,” Ryko said, “I swear on Layla’s grave that we are from the true Master Heron. He needs your help.”
“You are not being forced?”
“No!”
Momo held up both hands. “Wait,” she ordered, halting her men. They lowered their weapons. She stared at Ryko. “If you just lied on Layla’s name, I’ll have them rip you apart. You know that.”
Ryko nodded. “I know it.”
“All right, then. Come in. Explain yourself.” She pointed at Yuso. “And you, knife-boy, cut Ryko free.”
Mama Momo sat back from passing around bowls of tea and studied us. She had also offered small crescent New Year cakes, but Yuso’s warning glance had stopped me reaching for one, although my stomach squirmed with hunger. Distrust flowed both ways. I looked around the room. It was on the second story of the house but