He sent one more searching glance down the row, then strode toward the ramp.
As if given a signal, the twelve officials hurried over to us in a neat line, their bodies bending into bows like windblown wheat as they passed the Dragoneye. Van stopped in front of me and squatted, ducking his head in a quick courtesy.
“Candidate Eon, please come this way,” he said. “Do you wish for water now or later?”
I pushed myself upward, every muscle resisting movement. “I must speak to Swordmaster Ranne,” I said.
Van stood gracefully, brushing down his long gray robe. “It is my duty to make sure you know the imperial protocol,” he said. “And then you will have time to prepare for the ceremony. Do you wish for water now or later?”
“Please, I must speak to him,” I said, scanning the room. Dillon, Quon, and Baret were waiting to drink at a large water barrel while the rest of the candidates were following their officials to practice areas. Jin-pa was talking earnestly to the ruby official. Ranne was nowhere in sight. “I must speak to him now,” I repeated. “It affects the ceremony.”
“The swordmaster has accompanied Lord Ido to the arena,” Van said, shrugging his helplessness. “I doubt there will be any chance to speak to him before the ceremony.”
The weight of the last few days made me sway. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. Surely Ranne would know about my change to the sequence.
“My master? Can I speak to my master?”
“He is not allowed to return,” Van said.
I groaned.
Van’s soft fingers touched my arm. “Could Swordmaster Jin-pa assist you?”
I looked up at his polite sympathy. “Yes. Yes, I could speak to him.”
“Wait here.”
Van crossed the floor to Jin-pa, waiting as the swordmaster finished his conversation with the senior official. I quickly picked up my swords and tucked them under my arms, blunt-side up. I did not want Jin-pa to think I had no care for my weapons. Van bowed and relayed my request, his narrow shoulders elegantly lifting to show his mystification. Jin-pa waved me over.
I hurried to them, my steps awkward and stiff.
“What is it, boy?” Jin-pa asked as I bowed to him.
“Swordmaster, I’ve got permission from the council to change the Mirror Dragon Third sequence for the Reverse Horse Dragon Second,” I said breathlessly. “Because of my leg. I’ll be sparring with Swordmaster Ranne. Does he know, sir?”
Jin-pa nodded. “Be at ease, Eon. Both Ranne and I know of the dispensation.”
I felt some of the tension drain from my body.
“Lord Ido informed us this morning,” Jin-pa continued, his words tightening the coil in me again. “Now go and get some water. It will be hot in the arena.”
He nodded his dismissal. I followed Van toward the water barrel, my unease increasing with every step. Ranne might know of the dispensation, but would he honor it?
In the next hour I drank water, bowed to an imaginary emperor over and over again under the critical eye of Van, and practiced the forms until my clumsy cold-ridden movements were worked into smoothness. No doubt the minutes passed normally, but it felt as though each was a second, rushing toward the call to the arena.
And then it came.
“Candidates,” Ranne bawled from the bottom of the ramp, “get into position.”
For a moment everyone stopped still in the room, and then from above the trumpets sounded the arrival of the emperor.
“You remember the order of events?” Van asked hurriedly, herding me toward the ramp. “You will all bow to the Eternal Lord first, then kneel at the base of the mirror of the Lost Dragon and wait until you are announced by the imperial herald.”
I nodded.
“And hold that first bow for the count of ten.” He pushed me into place in the line behind Ranne. “Don’t look up.”
“I won’t.” We exchanged quick nods. “Thank you, Van.”
He patted my arm. “Good fortune, Eon.” Then he was gone.
Across from me in Jin-pa’s line, Dillon smiled awkwardly. Although his betrayal was raw, I returned the smile. We might all be pitched against one another—but the real threat was Lord Ido.
I glanced at Baret. His body seemed strangely lax and his eyes were still glazed; furrows of pain creased his forehead. The red silk around his throat was dark—someone must have doused his face in the water barrel. He looked exhausted. Had Lord Ido miscalculated? Or did he know the effect of his power and had brought Ranne in to coddle Baret through the ceremony?
“Draw into salute,” Jin-pa called.
As one, we crossed our swords in front of our chests, the thin blades whirring through the air. An official wearing a red sash over his gray robes emerged from the ramp. He bowed to Ranne and Jin-pa.
“It is time,” he said.
Another fanfare sounded from above. Then a clipped shout of command from Ranne. Bodies moving—beside me, in front of me. I followed, unable to think beyond the march, my feet keeping time from the memory of endless drills. Each step closer to the top of the ramp; the air warmer, light brighter, trumpets louder.
I stepped out of cool shadow and squinted against the dazzle of morning sun. We had entered a great circle of white sand. All around the edge, twelve huge mirrors faced inward, each in a heavy gold frame carved with the twelve animal signs and inlaid with jewels and jade. All of the mirrors were dark and dead, except one: the Rat Dragon mirror. It reflected rows and rows of men, the cloth and colors of their robes ranking them—the rich silks of the nobles in the nearby seats, the gold embroideries of the eleven Dragoneyes above their mirrors, the gray garbed officials in clusters, and the bright cottons and duller roughs of the city merchants and workers in the high seats—thousands of men watching us as we marched toward the emperor’s throne. The slow beat of drums and the climbing call of trumpets were matched by the rumbling of the crowd. As we passed the Rat Dragon mirror, it caught the sun, flaring into eye-burning light. At its crest was a gold ruby-eyed rat, and sitting above it was Lord Ido, a large bright figure among the gray robes of the ceremony officials. Even from the ground, I felt his power. Or perhaps it was the mirror.