Eona - Alison Goodman [98]
Haio’s footsteps clipped an uneven beat as he strode up to the imperial platform. Just behind me, Vida’s breathing quickened. I closed my eyes and prayed to Bross. Courage, give me courage.
“Greetings, brother, you may rise.” Sethon’s voice was the same impassive monotone I remembered. “I thought you dined with your men this evening.”
“I do, Your Majesty,” Haio’s voice had shifted from bluff bully to a younger brother’s diffidence. “I have brought you a gift. A Peony and one of your favorite Safflowers.”
My breath caught. Would Sethon deny having a favorite? He had never seen Vida before. It took all of my control to keep my head down.
“And what has occasioned such a gift?”
Thank the gods—he was more concerned with what lay behind Haio’s generosity.
“Nothing, brother. Nothing.” Haio cleared his throat. “It is just a gift. For the New Year.”
“They have no bearing on your current dissatisfaction?”
His words sent a stir through the men at the tables.
“There is no dissatisfaction, brother,” Haio said quickly.
Sethon’s disbelief sat heavily in the silence.
“I am glad of it,” he finally said. “Stewards, bring my gift to me.”
A soft shush of slippers on the marble grew closer. A touch to my shoulder brought me back onto my heels. I looked up into the face of a very young eunuch. A long, half-healed gash across his cheekbone marred his smooth skin. He met my gaze and a moment of sympathy flickered across his careful composure. Behind us, an older eunuch helped Vida onto her feet. I picked up the lute and rose, myself. There was no way to stop the momentum that was driving us toward this deadly audience.
I kept my head lowered and followed the young eunuch to the dais. As we passed the tables, I saw the men shift for a better view. We were another part of the evening’s entertainment.
The two eunuchs bowed to Sethon and left us at the edge of the platform. I sank to my knees, but still did not lift my head; every moment he did not see my face was a moment that still held hope. I could see the boots of a soldier standing guard behind the gilded chair, and the pearl-and-diamond-encrusted hem of Sethon’s long tunic. I swallowed, fear crackling in my ears. Beside me, Vida’s hands were clasped so tightly in her lap that the outline of knucklebones showed through the stretched skin.
“Come here, Peony,” Sethon said.
My whole body became a heartbeat: all I could feel and hear was the vibrating drum of my fear.
“Now!”
I lurched up the two steps that took me before the false emperor, then sank to my knees again. The gold flowers on my hairpin chimed like a tiny toll as I bowed my head. My hand tightened around the neck of the lute. If only I had Kinra’s swords instead. From under my brow I watched a flick of his hand bring four attendants to the table in front of him. They picked it up and carried it off the platform with smooth efficiency. He stretched back in his carved and gilded chair, the action showing the breadth of his warrior body, then pushed himself out of it and stood over me.
“Look up. I wish to see your face.”
He was so close that I could see the delicate stitches of gold thread that held the gems to his tunic, and smell the herbs that had been used to sweeten the silk. There could be no more delay. Slowly I raised my head, my gaze fixed on the jade inlaid panel behind him. Even so, his features were framed in the corner of my sight: he was Kygo and the old emperor cast in a scarred, crueler mold.
“You may look at me,” he said.
And so I met the eyes of the man who wanted to kill everyone I loved and enslave me. And in their flat stare was a frown of recognition that chilled me to my very core. He reached across and cupped my chin in his calloused hand.
“Have I seen you before?”
Did he remember Lord Eon kneeling before him in the same way, begging for his help? I blinked, praying he did not see the memory in my eyes.
I forced a measured tone. “I have not had that honor, Your Majesty.”
He tilted his head, studying