Roberto jumped down and helped Ezaara out of the saddle.
“I could’ve dismounted on my own,” she snapped, eyes blazing.
“Of course,” he replied, keeping his voice cool. “Good luck for your assessment. I’ll wait here and fly you back to your quarters afterward.”
“No, thank you.” Her pretty green eyes were hostile. “I’ll call Zaarusha when I’m done.” She stalked away. With her sore ankle it wasn’t impressive, but she was determined, he’d give her that.
Trying not to smile, Roberto placed his hand on Zaarusha’s head.
“I have to see Singlar and Lars. Stay, please, Roberto,” the dragon queen said. “Watching her knife-throwing will help you assess her.”
“As you wish,” he replied. Good. He was curious to see how Ezaara would do.
§
How dare Roberto manhandle her? And keep maneuvering her out of conversations with Simeon. He might be in charge of training her, but he had no right to control her friendships. Ezaara stalked away—although it was difficult to look indignant while negotiating uneven terrain with a cane. Soon she was near the other trainee riders. Gret, Sofia, Alban, Rocco and Mathias greeted her.
“Are you sure your ankle’s up to this?” Derek, Master of Training, asked, shaking her free hand. Behind him, his dragon was shooting flame, blazing a line across the grass.
“I’m fine.” Ezaara lied, dropping her cane in the grass. “See, no problem.” Ankle throbbing, she tried not to grimace as she hobbled to the line of charred grass.
As the trainees lined up, knives in hand, Simeon rushed out of the trees, up to the line, out of breath. How had he gotten here so fast without a dragon? He winked at her and mouthed, “Good luck.”
It was nice of him to support her.
“Have you done much knife throwing before?” Master Derek asked. When Ezaara shook her head, he passed Ezaara a knife and said, “Sofia, please demonstrate.”
Sofia held up her blade.
Ezaara copied, but her fingers slipped, buttery with sweat. She wiped her hand on her breeches.
Sofia shot her a sidelong glance. “Hold your knife like you’d grip a hammer.”
Adjusting her grip, Ezaara bent her elbow and raised the blade.
“That’s better.” Sofia flicked her forearm and her knife sailed across the field into a wooden target—a bullseye.
Other knives thunked into targets too, but Ezaara’s knife glanced off at an angle, flying onto the grass. It wasn’t even embedded in the earth. She stifled a groan. Everyone’s eyes were on her.
“Keep your wrist in line with your arm or your knife will veer off. See, like this.” Sofia hurled a knife into the target, blonde curls bouncing. Flashing a smile, she passed Ezaara another blade. “Here, try this one. It’s my lucky blade.”
“All right, wrist in line.” Ezaara pulled her arm up and back, poised to throw Sofia’s lucky blade.
“Kill the Queen’s Rider,” a dragon roared. As black as coal, with burning red embers for eyes, it flew straight at her. A wall of flame blasted out of its enormous maw, engulfing her, searing her skin.
Ezaara flung the knife at the dragon. Her ears filled with crackling fire, flames roaring at her. The scent of charred flesh stung her nostrils.
Dry retching, Ezaara lurched and collided with something solid.
The dragon disappeared. So did the heat and pain.
Her skin wasn’t burned. She was sprawled on top of Sofia on the ground. The dragon had only been a vision, overpowering, but not real. But she’d smelled burning flesh ….
Sofia was screaming. A knife was sticking out of her thigh. Blood pulsed down her breeches.
She’d stabbed Sofia.
“No!” Ezaara yelled. Easing the blade from Sofia’s leg, she ripped Sofia’s breeches open and pressed her hands around the gash, applying pressure. “I—I’m sorry, Sofia.” She reached for her healer’s pouch, so she could stitch the wound. It wasn’t there. She’d left it by her bed.
Roberto raced over. “What happened?” Others flocked around them.
“I—I was distracted.” Ezaara’s hands were covered in Sofia’s blood.
Sofia grunted through gritted teeth. “It was an accident. I saw you stagger, like someone pushed you.”
“But nobody did.” Master Derek frowned. “And you retched. Are you sick?”
“I—uh ... don’t know.” Ezaara ripped a strip from Sofia’s breeches. How could she explain where that fiery vision had come from? It had felt like a dragon, but Handel had warned her not to tell anyone she could mind-meld with other dragons. And there hadn’t been a dragon in sight.
Above them, Erob was approaching.
Could it have been him? Had Roberto instructed Erob to put her off, to embarrass her in front of everyone? Did he want her to fail? Handel’s vision flashed to mind: Roberto—lip curled, face full of hate.
“Sofia needs stitches. Roberto,” Master Derek barked, “please fly her to the infirmary at once.”
Ezaara bound Sofia’s leg, then squeezed her hand, leaving blood on Sofia’s fingers.
“Ezaara.” Simeon’s concerned amber eyes met hers. “You look unwell. Perhaps you should rest.”
Master Derek nodded. “Good idea, Simeon. Ezaara, you’re excused for the afternoon.”
“But I—”
“Take a break,” Master Derek snapped. “The rest of you, back to training.”
Erob landed on the grass nearby. Roberto carried Sofia over and they flew off to the caverns.
“On my way.” Zaarusha was flying toward them.
Ezaara hobbled toward the queen, her ankle searing.
Simeon steadied her. “My Queen’s Rider. Let me help.”
“I’m fine, really.” Ezaara leaned on him, tears welling in her eyes. “It was an accident, but it looked like I stabbed her intentionally, didn’t it?” She tried to control the quiver in her voice.
“Well … um …” Simeon smiled brightly. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt her. Come on, a cup of herbal tea will make you feel better.”
He’d avoided her question. It was that bad.
Ezaara melded with Zaarusha. “I’ve messed up.” She showed Zaarusha her memory of Sofia’s wound. “I’ve injured a new friend.”
“Stop being so hard on yourself. Riders get injured in training all the time. Sofia will be all right.” Zaarusha landed, nudging Ezaara with her snout. “Erob compared it to a tear in a wing muscle. It’ll heal. I’m more worried about the rogue dragon that was imagining burning you. I’ve ordered all the dragons to search for the culprit.”
“There was a lot of blood.”
“If Sofia had scales, she wouldn’t have been hurt.”
“But she was hurt. And I did it.”
Simeon helped Ezaara into the saddle, then climbed up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His warmth was comforting.
“My cane—” Where had she left it?
“Don’t worry,” Simeon said. “I’ve asked Mathias to bring it back.”
“We should go straight to the infirmary to see Sofia.”
“No, you’ve had a shock. You need to rest. There’ll be time to see her after my mother has stitched her wound.”
“But it’s my fault. I should—”
“Ezaara, do you really think Sofia wants to see the woman who just stabbed her?”
“No,” she whispered, slumping.
“Sorry if I sounded harsh.” Simeon’s voice was soft, near her ear. “I’m only trying to protect you.”
Zaarusha landed on the ledge outside her den, lying flat so she could dismount. Ezaara’s legs were shaking so badly, Simeon had to steady her.
He helped her sit on her bed and pulled off her boots, then took a cup of water out to Zaarusha, who heated it. Pulling a small pouch of herbs from his pocket, he sprinkled some in the cup, then left it to steep. He tugged the covers over Ezaara.
“Thank you.” She lay back on her pillows, exhausted. “I keep messing up,
Simeon. Now Sofia’s hurt. I’m a terrible Queen’s Rider.”
“I believe in you.” He hesitated.
“What is it?”
“Well … no, I shouldn’t say disparaging things about Master Roberto.” He bit his lip.
“Go on, tell me.”
“Roberto has angry outbursts … dark secrets. Watch yourself around him, Ezaara. He’s like a rogue dragon, unpredictable and dangerous.”
Had Erob given her the burning vision? Did Roberto want her to fail?
“And his sister isn’t always as sweet as she seems.”
Ezaara frowned. Had Adelina befriended her to work against her?
Simeon smoothed her hair. “Now I’ve made you worried. Sorry, ignore me, it’s probably nothing.” He held out the cup. “Here, drink your tea. It’ll help you relax.”
Ezaara reached for the cup. The tea was bitter and gray; not woozy weed, then. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “What is this?”
“Restorative tea.” He pulled a comical grimace. “You know, the worse it tastes, the better it works.”
“This must be really good for me, then.”
He chuckled, watching her drink.
The tea seeped through Ezaara, making her muscles warm and her eyelids droop.
§
Ezaara groaned and dragged her eyelids open. The den was swimming before her. Head pounding and muscles aching, she grabbed a basin and vomited. What on earth had she eaten?
The shrill notes of the dawn chorus pierced her skull. She’d slept from the afternoon, right through the night, until morning. Not a good look for the Queen’s Rider. Especially after stabbing someone.
She had to check on Sofia. She should have gone last night. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, but the cavern spun.
After a few moments, everything stilled. Where was her cane? She groaned again. Mathias had forgotten to bring it back. “Zaarusha.”
“Sorry, Ezaara, I’m in a council meeting. Tharuks are on the move, marching across the Flatlands, destroying settlements and taking slaves.”
Great, while the Queen’s Rider was in bed, monsters were attacking the realm. Maybe the realm would be better off if she was banished to the Wastelands. Stupid thought. She had to be less of a burden to the queen. Ezaara washed her face, then hobbled along the stone tunnels toward the infirmary.
Her ankle throbbed. She leaned on the rough walls for support, scraping her hands. She passed the mess cavern, but it was early, so few people were about. Torches flickered as she made her way west along the tunnel network. Around the corner, footfalls tromped on stone.
Alban appeared. “Where have you been?” he sneered. “You lowlife, disappearing after stabbing Sofia.”
“I’ve been sick.”
“You haven’t visited her, haven’t asked about her. Haven’t even shown your face.” His body was taut. His gray eyes, flinty. “You look as guilty as a vulture caught stealing dragonets.”
“But I—”
“Stinking ignorant peasant from Lush Valley.” He spat on the floor. “Great Queen’s Rider you are. All you care about is yourself!” He strode off, his words echoing off the walls.
Heart hammering, she rushed along the corridor, ignoring her aching ankle. She shouldn’t have listened to Simeon, although he’d had her best interests at heart. Alban was right. She was selfish for sleeping so long. Selfish for not visiting Sofia immediately. Too selfish to be Queen’s Rider.
Ezaara entered the infirmary. Their backs to Ezaara, Fleur and Simeon were bending over Sofia while Fleur swabbed her leg. Sofia was asleep, curls splayed over her pillow. A blood-encrusted bandage lay on the bedside table. The stitches on her thigh were crooked and tight, making the wound pucker over an ugly bump. Ezaara cringed. It was worse than she’d thought. The gash was so awful, it wouldn’t stay flat when stitched.
Taking a tub of yellow unguent, Simeon smoothed it onto Sofia’s wound. The salve’s acrid smell stung Ezaara’s nostrils—that same smelly salve Simeon had given her.
When he was finished, Simeon turned, starting. “Oh, Ezaara. I didn’t hear you come in.” He shoved his medicinal supplies into a drawer in Sofia’s bedside table. “How are you feeling?”
Fleur smiled as she bandaged Sofia’s wound. “Good morning, Ezaara. Nice of you to visit.”
“How’s Sofia?”
“We gave her a pain draught so she could sleep, the poor thing,” Fleur spoke softly. “Perhaps you should visit another time. You look tired; maybe you should rest.”
Alban’s accusations bounced around Ezaara’s head. The last thing she needed was rest. She had to do something to help. Anything. “Perhaps you two would like an early breakfast while I sit with her? I mean, the accident was my fault.”
Fleur cleared the dirty bandage away. “That’s not really your role as Queen’s Rider, Ezaara. Simeon will tend to Sofia. I must go soon. I’ve been summoned to a council meeting.”
Fleur bustled about while Simeon sat by Sofia. Ezaara hovered, feeling useless.
“We don’t use that yellow salve in Lush Valley. What’s in it?” Ezaara asked.
“It’s my own healing salve containing expensive herbs brought to me by green guards,” Fleur replied.
“Green guards?”
“Dragon riders from Naobia, my dear. They ride green dragons. Being from Lush Valley, you wouldn’t have heard of them, or their herbs.” Fleur smiled. “I suppose you use old-fashioned remedies like arnica and peppermint?”
Ezaara nodded.
“Never mind, they do in a pinch.” Fleur bustled out the door.
Ezaara had thought Ma was a great healer, but then, what did she know? Alban was right. She was an ignorant peasant from Lush Valley.
Moaning, Sofia opened her eyes. She scowled at Ezaara. “You! What are you doing here? Come to stab me again?”
Gasping, Ezaara took a step back. “I didn’t mean—”
“Get away from me,” Sofia shrieked. “Go away!”
Ezaara fled.
She staggered out into the tunnels. Sofia hated her. Blamed her. She’d been so understanding yesterday—a shock reaction? Supporting herself against the tunnel walls, Ezaara stumbled along, her ankle screaming. She welcomed the pain. She deserved it. It was nothing compared to how she’d hurt Sofia.
Deadline
Roberto traipsed into the council chambers, Erob’s solid footfalls behind him. Council meetings weren’t usually at the crack of dawn with the sky tinged honey-gold like the highlights in Ezaara’s hair. He forced himself to focus. Zaarusha must have important news for them.
Curling his tail around his body and tucking his snout on his forelegs, Erob took his place behind Roberto’s seat, near the back of the cavern, among the other dragons. “I’ll catch a few winks while you humans solve the realm’s problems,” Erob melded. Although he never actually napped during council meetings, he always threatened to.
Not that Roberto blamed him—their meetings could be boring. “Don’t snore, or Zaarusha might nip you.”
Zaarusha blinked a greeting to Roberto, her scales reflecting a myriad of colors in the torchlight.
He inclined his head, enjoying that familiar surge of pride at being on her council. There was no higher honor than serving their queen. She’d believed in him when he’d first arrived here. He’d never disappoint her.
Lars was already seated, drumming his fingers on the granite horseshoe-shaped table, talking with Tonio and Bruno, the master of prophecy.
Roberto slid into his chair beside Bruno. He nodded at Hendrik, a burly blacksmith and their master of craft. On the opposite side of the horseshoe, Aidan, Jerrick and Jaevin were seated, waiting.
Master of Horticulture and Livestock, Shari, leaned around Hendrik. “Morning, Roberto. Early, isn’t it?”
Shari’s dragon wasn’t here. “How’s Ariana doing?”
“Much better,” Shari whispered, glancing at Bruno, Fleur’s husband, the beads on her tiny braids clicking. “Fleur’s tonic di
dn’t work, so I tried the herbs I use on sheep. Ariana’s sleeping, but I think they’ve done the trick.”
“Good thinking.”
“It’s a relief.” Shari smiled, white teeth flashing against her cinnamon skin. “A dragon with belly gripe is not a pretty sight—or sound.”
Or smell. Roberto chuckled.
On the ledge outside, thumps and the skitter of talons on rock heralded the arrival of more dragons. A blue guard, in riders’ grab with a blue armband, opened the chamber doors. Deep in conversation, Alyssa and Derek strode into the room followed by their dragons, who took their spots behind their masters. There were only two seats remaining: Fleur’s; and the Queen’s Rider’s seat, which had been empty for years. Hopefully, Ezaara would soon be qualified to sit in it—although yesterday’s abysmal knife incident made prickles of doubt play along Roberto’s spine.
Lars cleared his throat. “We need to start. Bruno, can your dragon let us know when your wife will arrive?”
The quiet rumble of conversation made Roberto drowsy. He stifled a yawn. His all-nighter, carving Ezaara’s cane, was catching up on him.
“They’re almost here,” Bruno announced.
Fleur and Ajeuria thudded onto the ledge and entered the council chamber. Ajeuria sat by the other dragons, preening her green scales. Fleur took her seat next to Roberto. Simeon’s mother was the closest thing to a healer they had, but a far cry from the Naobian healers he’d known. Roberto had expected Dragons’ Hold to have the best.
“Ajeuria is radiating discontent,” Erob melded, “like she has a tick under her scales.”
“If we de-lice her, Simeon would probably come crawling out,” Roberto replied.
Behind him, Erob snorted. Luckily, Erob was excellent at shielding his thoughts from other dragons.
Lars called the meeting to order, and the murmurs died down. “Before we discuss the situation in the Flatlands, I’d like Fleur to report on Sofia’s condition.”
Fleur stood, her face as tired as unlaundered linen. “I stitched Sofia’s gash, but it’ll leave a nasty scar. She’s stable now, sleeping off the pain draught.”
Sofia’s wound hadn’t looked that bad yesterday. Fleur had probably botched it.
Riders of Fire Box Set Page 9
