I ostentatiously tossed my knife back into the travel basket. “Thank you.”
She didn’t move.
“I know where the front courtyard is, Irsa.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re a sorry creature for the master to pin his hopes on, Eon. But I hope for your sake, and ours, that you succeed.”
She sniffed and left. I waited for a moment, listening to her retreat, then slid the needle back into its case and pushed it back into the hole. It would be hard to leave it behind, but I could not risk packing a woman’s tool. Irsa or one of the other maids would no doubt go through the basket as soon as I left.
The importance of the day weighed down on me. There was no time to eat Chart’s bread, but it didn’t matter; I was no longer hungry. Perhaps the rat would find it; another offering to the Rat Dragon.
I scanned the room one last time. And suddenly I knew that it was the last time; if I failed, I would run away. The knowledge swept over me like a monsoon rain. I turned and stepped into the courtyard, the life-changing decision marked only by the twitching ear of the kitchen cat.
My master was already waiting in the front courtyard. The wood and wicker palanquin he used for official journeys was resting on the lift stones. A hired team of four bearers was standing patiently between the carrying shafts—two at the front, two at the rear—their broad shoulders padded with thick leather. I caught their curious glances as I hurried past. They were not the only ones; the whole household had gathered in the doorways and windows of the house to watch our departure. I searched for a friendly face; Chart was not there—too far for him to crawl—but Lon raised a hand in salute, and Kuno, to my surprise, ducked his head in a quick bow. Then I saw Rilla standing behind my master, her eyes properly lowered. She glanced up as I approached, her quick smile giving me courage.
I bowed to my master. He was wearing his court robes: a long midnight-blue tunic with silver embroidery, girdled by a red sash of intricately pleated silk. His colorless face was framed by a high fluted collar, the graceful curve making his gaunt hollows even more pronounced. He looked old, and he looked ill.
“Turn,” he said, motioning with an elegant blackwood staff.
I obeyed, the swirl of the tunic making the coin hit the back of my thigh. It was hard not to look down to check the strength of my stitching.
“Good,” he said. He turned to Rilla. “My cap?”
She carefully placed the red skullcap on his shaved head. He glanced around the silent courtyard, then held out his hand, leaning on Rilla’s outstretched arm to step up into the palanquin.
“The tribute?” he said, settling himself down on the silk-cushioned seat.
Rilla held up a small wooden casket, highly polished and inlaid with sea pearl. He placed it on his knee, then beckoned to me.
I gingerly climbed into the palanquin, smoothing my tunic before sitting next to him on the cushions. The wicker walls seemed very flimsy. I pushed against the side next to me. It creaked.
My master studied me for a moment from under hooded eyelids. “I can assure you, Eon, it is quite safe.”
“Yes, Master.”
He tapped his staff on the shoulder of the bearer in front of him. “We shall depart,” he ordered.
As one, the bearers bent and lifted the palanquin. I braced my feet against the floor and grabbed the canopy post as they hoisted us onto their shoulders. So high. Rilla was looking up at me, mouthing the words “good luck.” I tried to smile, but the ground was too far away and the strange lurching motion made me dizzy. I closed my eyes. When I finally opened them, we were already passing the stone lions at the front gate.
I looked back. Only Rilla was still in the courtyard, her hand raised. Before I could wave, we turned into the side road and she disappeared from view. Did she know I would miss her?
I faced the front again, warily watching the two lead bearers. They seemed to know what they were doing; perhaps we would not fall to our deaths. My master bent his head down to me.
“Has the tea been effective?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, Master.”
He grunted his satisfaction. “And you have perfected the bridging forms?”
I nodded.
He stared ahead, the skin around his eyes tight with strain. “The council has grudgingly accepted the Reverse Horse Dragon Second variation,” he said. “They did so only because they do not consider you a viable candidate. Ascendant Ido, in particular, was dismissive.”
There was loathing in my master’s voice. He had long distrusted the current Rat Dragoneye. Lord Ido had come to full Dragoneye status early, due to the sudden death of his master. Too early, according to some. Now that today started the Year of the Rat, Ido was the ascendant Dragoneye. For one year his powers would be doubled and he would lead the Dragoneye Council in its task of manipulating the earth energies for the good of the empire. He would not have made it easy for my master to plead my case.
“When you are chosen, be very careful of Lord Ido.”
“Yes, master,” I said, then cast a silent apology to the gods for my master’s arrogance.
He rubbed at his eyes. “Ido will persecute you for the very fact that you were my candidate. You will, of course, have to attend him for training in the Dragon Arts, but avoid him when you can. He is”—my master paused, searching for the right words—“treacherous and unpredictable. You will also be spending a good deal of time with Master Tellon, learning the Staminata. He is a good man, but keep your wits about you—he is a keen observer.”