I heard the intake of breath along the line of candidates, but my own air was gone—knocked out of me like a blow to the stomach. Even if I was to win the attention of the Rat Dragon, Lord Ido would never accept me as his apprentice. I shrank back, curling into a smaller target, but he was done with me. Slowly, he paced along the row until he stopped in front of Baret, in tenth position.
“You are Kane’s candidate?” he demanded.
“Yes, Lord,” Baret said.
A yelp of outrage and the sound of scuffling snapped us out of our stiff obedience. Quon shuffled forward to peer down the line. I hesitated, but then rose onto my knees, craning above Lanell.
The old official was pulling at Lord Ido’s arm, trying to release the Dragoneye’s hands cupped around Baret’s head.
“Lord Ido, you go too far!” he cried.
“Away, fool.” Lord Ido shook off the old man’s grip. “You answer to me now.”
“No. The council is still Lord Meram’s.” The official ducked back and grabbed at Lord Ido’s arm. “You shall not influence the ceremony.”
Lord Ido swung his free hand and there was the wet crack of knuckles hitting flesh. The official fell onto his hands and knees, his cheek split over the bone. He shook his head, spraying blood into the air like a dog shaking off water. Lord Ido glared at the lesser officials who had gathered behind their colleague.
“Lord Meram stepped down in my favor last night. I am the Ascendant, and the council leader. Do any of you stand against me?”
One after the other, the officials cowered into bows.
Lord Ido grunted and jerked his head at the prostrate official.
“Take him away.”
Two men hurried across and helped the old man to stand. Lord Ido spun back to face us.
“Get in line,” he ordered.
We scrambled into our positions, the row subtly curving as everyone shifted to watch Lord Ido. He placed his hands on Baret’s head, thumbs together on his forehead. What was he doing? Uneasy whispering rippled through the ranks of officials. Lord Ido took a deep breath and seemed to draw himself upward, as though dragging energy from the earth.
Then I was slammed back against my heels by the power that burst from him.
It was as though his flesh had become glass. I saw the seven points of power in his body, pulsing in their own colors from spine to crown: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and purple. All of them connected by silvery-white streams of Hua surging through him from ground to hands and into Baret. In all of this bright rushing glory, my mind’s eye was drawn to the green heart-point in his chest. The center of compassion. It was smaller, duller, its flow of Hua thin and stuttering.
And then it was all gone.
I slumped forward, sucking in air, feeling the puzzled eyes of Quon and Lanell on me. Lord Ido was doubled over, gasping, his face ashen. He looked up and for a second our gazes met, his shrewd eyes widening as he saw that I had been affected by his power. Then his attention was caught by the arrival of two men at the opening of the ramp.
Quon grabbed my shoulder, his fingernails digging through the silk.
“What did he do to him?” he hissed. We both looked at Baret, who was rocking and moaning, his head buried in the cradle of his arms. “What did you see?”
“I think he marked Baret with his own Hua.”
Quon let go of me. “Surely that’s not allowed. It must be against the rules.”
He turned to the officials, but they were all on their knees staring at the floor. His body sagged.
“It’s not fair,” he said, his voice tiny with defeat. “He’s stacking the odds.”
Quon was right. If Lord Ido had marked Baret with his own Hua, then Baret would have a much greater chance of being chosen by the Rat Dragon. Then Heuris Kane would reap the bonus and the 20 percent tithe, and my master would be ruined. I felt my own hope wither into dry despair. In one bold act, Lord Ido had secured the support of Kane, Baret, and their powerful families, asserted his authority over the council, and cowed us, the other candidates. No wonder my master called him treacherous. The ruthless efficiency of his tactics made me shiver. But at least I was not crying, like Quon.
Lord Ido straightened, his body and breath back to normal. He glanced at Baret.
“Be still,” he snapped.
Immediately, Baret stopped rocking, a whimper of pain escaping as he lifted his head.
“Last night, the Dragoneye Council ruled that the ceremony has become too removed from the traditions of our esteemed ancestors,” Lord Ido said, and from his tone, it was plain that it was his ruling and the council had just fallen into line. He started to pace along the row. “It was decided that there will be a return to ceremonial combat rather than exhibition.”
It took a moment for his words to make sense. Ceremonial combat? Fighting. I would have to fight someone? I felt my body lock into icy panic.
“You can’t do that,” Quon sobbed, desperation making him rash. “We haven’t trained for it.”
Lord Ido rounded on him. “Mewling coward,” he snarled. “You are not worthy of the Rat Dragon.”
Quon dropped into a kowtow, his forehead hitting the floor with a crack. Lord Ido eyed him for a moment, then resumed his pacing.
“According to a very popular historical scroll, the ascending Dragoneye can invoke ceremonial combat if the council agrees.” His eyes swept along the row and found me. “An old variation in the Chronicles of Detra.”
I looked away from his malicious smile.