Not as painful as his comments about Lush Valley and her ignorance.
Carrying her over to Erob, he hoisted her onto the dragon’s back. When he stepped back, there was sweet potato smeared on his shoulder.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Her cheeks flamed. “There must’ve been food on my tunic.”
“As if that matters!” He laughed, swinging into the saddle.
“Gently,” she sensed him think to his dragon, and they ascended skyward.
§
Lars raised his head. There it was again, a knock at the door. At this time of night? Careful not to wake Lydia, he nudged back the covers and pulled the heavy curtain across their sleeping quarters. He padded across the chilly stone in the dining cavern and opened the door.
“Tonio, come in.”
The spymaster glanced back down the tunnel and shut the door, his sharp brown eyes flitting to their sleeping chamber. “Are we alone, Lars?”
Lars nodded and threw a log on the dying embers. “Lydia’s fast asleep. Take a seat.” They sat down. “What is it?”
“It’s the Queen’s Rider,” Tonio said.
In the hearth, the log caught alight, and the fire spat.
So, this was about Ezaara. “Honestly? In the middle of the night?” Lars sighed. “It couldn’t wait until morning?”
Tonio leaned forward, firelight flickering across the hard planes of his face. “I’ve been spymaster for twenty years. Something’s off. I couldn’t sleep.”
Neither could he now. Lars sighed. “Look, I know it’s been a long time since Zaarusha’s last rider. Ezaara’s young, inexperienced and needs training, but she can fly.”
Tonio’s eyes narrowed as he nodded in reply. “Yes, their stunt today was very impressive. But how do we know she’s imprinted properly?”
“Well, Roberto says the bond is strong. That he’s never seen one like it before.”
“Convenient, isn’t it?” There was nothing warm about Tonio’s smile.
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Lars. She’s from Lush Valley, far from here. A superstitious place with no connection to dragons. We’ve never had riders from Lush Valley.”
Where was this going? “Yes, we were all surprised.”
“What if she’s a fake? A traitor?”
Lars shook his head. “Impossible. Roberto has tested her. She’s fine.”
“Exactly.” Tonio stabbed a finger in the air.
“Exactly what?”
“We only have Roberto’s word.”
“I trust him.”
“I know. Others have made that mistake before, Lars.”
“He’s changed, Tonio, you should know that. As a council member, he’s been impeccable.” A memory popped to mind. Tonio had voted against Roberto becoming the master of mental faculties and imprinting. Lars gripped the arm of his chair.
Tonio was coiled, like a predator. “What if Roberto’s been biding his time, waiting for an opportunity? What if she’s a traitor too?” He leaped out of his seat, pacing. “What if Zaarusha’s been given swayweed and Ezaara is a spy? It would be simple for Roberto to fake an imprinting test and give us a positive result. He’s accomplished, good at what he does. I’ve never truly believed that he’s turned his back on Zens.”
“I trust Roberto. And Zaarusha.” Lars stood. “With my life.” Tonio had gone far enough. “You know if you come with a complaint, I need proof to take to the council, not hunches or gossip. And not at this hour.”
The firelight cast shadows on the spymaster’s clenched jaw. “Then I shall find you evidence. I’m sorry for interrupting your sleep.” Tonio slipped out the door.
The log cracked and fell into the grate in a shower of sparks.
§
Roberto slid his knife under the wooden dragon’s snout and smoothed the curve of the beast’s neck. A few more shavings and he’d be done. He made small deft nicks in the wood, like scales, then held up his carving to examine it in the torchlight.
There, that was a good night’s work. Better than tossing and turning.
He rubbed the loose shavings off his mother’s cane, wincing as he remembered her using it in what should have been the prime of her life. Earlier tonight, the head of the cane had been broad and thick, before he’d shaped it into Zaarusha’s likeness. He grunted. The dragon wasn’t perfect, but it would do. Now it just needed oiling to bring out the hues of the wood.
Should he wait until morning? No, he was too restless to sleep, the colors of his brief mind-meld with Ezaara flashing into his head whenever he lay down. That, and the look on her face at Simeon’s attention. He’d have to watch them. Roberto shook his head. Sometimes his talents were more trouble than they were worth. He longed for his littling days, swimming off the Naobian coast, fishing with his Pa, for life before—
No. He couldn’t go there.
He laid the cane on his bed. He might as well oil it now. The walk to fetch oil would do him good. If he was quick, he could still catch a couple of hours’ sleep.
The torches had burned low, casting more shadow than light, as Roberto walked along the tunnels to the craft halls. On a back shelf, among the woodworking tools, he found an earthen jar of walnut oil, and picked it up before heading back to his cavern.
Quiet footfalls echoed along the tunnel. It was nearly dawn. Who was sneaking around at this time of night? Roberto rounded a corner. A man was in the shadows of the corridor. Simeon? No, not Simeon. Someone with dark hair. Tonio, the spymaster, was emerging from Lars’ cavern. Something dire must be going on for Tonio to be skulking around the halls at this time.
Tonio’s eyes fell upon the jar Roberto was holding. He frowned as he passed, giving Roberto a curt nod.
“Morning,” Roberto replied. Now was as good a time as any to tell Tonio what he suspected about Bruno and Fleur. “Tonio, do you have a moment?”
“Of course not,” Tonio snapped. “It’s the middle of the night. We should both be in bed.” The spymaster strode off.
Prophecy
“Good morning, Ezaara.”
Morning already? Groaning, Ezaara rolled over. Her ankle was throbbing.
“Sorry I woke you.” Adelina set a breakfast tray on a table.
Ezaara struggled to sit up.
“Here, let me help you.” Adelina raced over to the bed.
“I’m fine. Please. It’s bad enough that I hurt myself and ruined my clothes last night. I don’t want to be pitied or fussed over.”
Adelina backed away. “I’d feel the same. Ready for breakfast? It’s cinnamon and honey porridge, topped with fresh cream.”
The aroma was incredible. Ezaara’s mouth watered. “Soon.” She flipped back her quilt and edged her injured leg off the bed. That hurt. She tried to stand, and grabbed the bedpost, wincing.
Understanding flashed across Adelina’s face. “I need the latrine too. Shall we go together?”
“Great Queen’s Rider I am. Can’t even pee on my own.”
Adelina smiled. “You’ve flown the first loop in years. You can’t let a twisted ankle beat you.”
“I’m just no good at any of this. In fact, I’m not good at much.” Ezaara leaned on Adelina. “Back home, my brother was better than me at most things.”
Adelina rolled her eyes. “I know the feeling. Mine’s like that too.”
“You have a brother?”
“Only one, thank a nest full of dragon’s eggs! But he’s not too bad.”
“Mine’s all right most of the time too.” She’d broken her promise to him. What had Tomaaz made of her disappearing without a word?
Every step was agony, but Ezaara forced a smile and nodded at people in the tunnels. It took forever to get back to her den, and by then, she was starving.
Roberto was slumped in one of her chairs, dozing. Dark lashes swept his olive skin above pronounced cheek bones. Below his left eye was a tiny scar shaped like a crescent moon. Stubble edged his jaw. Last night, without him speaking, she’d heard him telling Er
ob to be gentle as they’d flown home—strange—she must’ve heard his thoughts, or Erob’s. Asleep, he looked peaceful. Younger.
Adelina helped Ezaara into bed, then slugged Roberto on the shoulder. “Hey, sleepyhead, wake up.”
He rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t realize I’d dropped off.”
What? The master of mental faculties and imprinting hadn’t frosted Adelina for punching him? Not like him at all.
Hands on hips, Adelina replied, “You’ve been up all night again, haven’t you?”
Ezaara cringed. She was speaking like that to a master?
“I couldn’t sleep.” He ran a hand through his hair, then spotted Ezaara and stiffened, a cool mask slipping over his face. “Good morning, Ezaara, Honored Rider of Queen Zaarusha.”
“I can’t believe you’re visiting before she’s eaten,” Adelina complained. “She’s injured, exhausted and needs a break.” She picked up the bowl of porridge and walked toward the bed.
“Look out,” Roberto called.
Adelina tripped over a long stick leaning against his chair. The tray flew out of her hands. The bowl smashed, and porridge splattered over the floor. She glared at Roberto. “Who put that there? You?”
He jumped to his feet, picking up the largest pottery shards. “Sorry.”
Adelina waved at the mess on the floor. “Now look what you’ve made me do!” Suddenly she laughed. “Between me and Ezaara, we’re pretty good at throwing food. I’ll grab a cloth and some more breakfast.”
Roberto called, “No, I’ll get—” but Adelina disappeared before he could finish. He picked up the tray, placing the shards on it, then turned and got the stick. Stepping over splatters of porridge and cream, he handed it to Ezaara. “Sorry about the mess,” he said. “I came to bring you this.”
It was a cane. The head was wrapped in soft leather. “For me?”
He nodded, onyx eyes scanning her face. “Go on, unwrap it.”
Carved into the handle was a likeness of Zaarusha with a girl on her back. “Is this rider me?”
“It is.” His voice softened. “Do you like it?”
“Like it? It’s amazing. Look, Zaarusha has tiny scales.” She didn’t dare tell him the rider was much too pretty to be her. “Why did you make it?”
“I thought a cane would help you get around.”
After her fiasco last night, she needed some dignity—a cane would help. Ezaara traced Zaarusha’s snout and ran her finger down the spinal ridges.
Roberto shrugged. “Besides, I couldn’t sleep, so I needed to do something.” He took her hand and placed it over the girl’s back. His palm was warm. “This is the smoothest place to hold, otherwise the spinal ridges will dig into your palm. If you use the cane on your good side, not the injured side, it’ll take the weight of your sore ankle. Here, try it.”
Ezaara got out of bed, leaned on the cane and took a couple of halting steps, careful not to go near the porridge. It was slow, but she could get around on her own. She sat back on her bed. The carving was exquisite, the detail so perfect. He’d made a masterpiece, to save her pride. “Thank you, this must’ve taken you ages.”
He ducked his head, suddenly looking shy. It suited him. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Here you go,” called Adelina from the doorway. She had a new tray in her hands and a pail and some cloths slung over her arm.
Roberto took a cloth and started cleaning up the spilled food and broken pottery.
Adelina brought Ezaara’s breakfast over. “I’m sorry, there wasn’t any more porridge left, so I’ve brought you some fresh bread and fruit. That should—” She stopped, staring at the cane. Spinning, Adelina faced Roberto. “Is that Ma’s walking stick?”
Roberto’s boot crunched on a shard. His head snapped up.
Adelina stared at him, tension flickering in her gaze.
Ma’s walking stick? Adelina’s hair was dark, like Roberto’s. They had the same dark eyes. His nose was long and straight, while she had a cute snub nose, but they both had that smooth olive skin—Roberto was Adelina’s annoying elder brother.
She was the little girl in his memory, crouched, trembling, behind the door with him.
“Yes, it’s Ma’s old stick,” he said. “Our Queen’s Rider is in need, Adelina.” He finished wiping up the floor, and put the last of the mess in the pail.
“I know that, dummy.” She took the cane from Ezaara. “Wow, look at that handle.” She grinned and slugged Roberto again. “I was right, you didn’t sleep last night, did you?”
Ignoring Adelina, Roberto bowed. “Honored Queen’s Rider, your training commences today. I’ll see you in imprinting class after you’ve finished your breakfast. We’ll be in the orchard. If you need assistance to get there, Zaarusha should let Erob know.” He nodded tersely, picked up the pail of porridge and shards, and left.
Adelina laughed. “He’s crazy. Imagine him carving all night.”
“You don’t mind me having your Ma’s cane?”
Unease flashed across Adelina’s face. “It’s fine. She doesn’t need it anymore.”
Adelina didn’t look fine. “Are you sure? I mean, I can always find another stick.” Ezaara touched the handle. Not one as beautiful as this. “How did your Ma hurt her leg?”
Adelina’s face shuttered. “It’s complicated.”
“Does she live here, at Dragons’ Hold?”
Her features tightened. “No, Roberto and I came here alone, five years ago. I was ten and he was fourteen.” Adelina stared off into the distance, frowning.
Ezaara ate in silence. She’d obviously touched a raw nerve. Adelina looked more like her brother with that dark expression on her face—not that he’d been brooding this morning.
Reaching for her cane, Ezaara made her way across the room.
Adelina passed her some riders’ garb. “The jerkin should be fine, but it’s going to be tough to get these breeches on over that ankle. What about a skirt?”
Ezaara shook her head. That’d make her stand out even more. “If you don’t mind helping me, we could do battle with the breeches.”
“Sure.” Adelina smiled, looking more like her old self again.
When she was dressed, Ezaara hobbled out to Zaarusha, using her cane. Zaarusha’s scales stretched high above her like a multi-faceted jewel glimmering in the sun. How was she ever going to get on her dragon with this rotten ankle?
“I’m sure we can manage.” Zaarusha crooned, crouching down.
Ezaara tried to climb, but pain shot through her ankle. She grimaced. The last thing she wanted to do was call Erob. She had to prove she could do something.
“Try this.” Adelina boosted Ezaara onto the dragon’s back. “You’ll manage if you always get on this side so your injured leg gets dragged up behind you.” Adelina passed up her cane.
“Thanks.”
Zaarusha stood, jostling her ankle. “Sorry.” She leaped off the ledge, and they were airborne.
Relief whooshed out of Ezaara. She was riding on her own again—like a true Queen’s Rider.
“What do you mean, ‘like a true Queen’s Rider’? You are the true Queen’s Rider. Don’t you forget it.”
“I keep making so many mistakes.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You can’t learn everything in a day.”
They spiraled down toward the orchard. Oh, shards! How was she going to dismount?
§
Roberto’s students were clustered in the grass under the plum trees, heads bent as they discussed their parents’ imprinting stories, trying to find common aspects. With students of all ages, it was a challenging class, often involving lively discussion.
At the swish of wings, Roberto turned from his students. Zaarusha and Ezaara were arriving. Ezaara’s ankle mustn’t be that bad if she’d managed to get onto her dragon alone. He was a fool for staying up all night, crafting a cane for that girl. And for risking strife with his sister. He shrugged. It wasn’t as if Ma needed her cane anymore.
Zaarusha landed on the grass between the plum trees with a soft whump. Ezaara winced. So, her ankle was hurting. He had been a fool—fooled by her bravado.
The dragon queen strolled closer to the class.
The students’ whispers were like leaves in the breeze.
“Quiet, please,” Roberto said. “Show proper respect to the Queen’s Rider.” How was Ezaara going to dismount?
Zaarusha lay on the grass. Ezaara swung a leg over the dragon’s back, then rolled onto her belly and held onto Zaarusha’s spinal ridge with one hand, letting her body slide down the dragon’s side until she was fully extended. Her cane was gripped in her other hand.
No, not with a swollen ankle. Roberto wanted to drop his history text, race over and catch her, but that wouldn’t do, not with everyone watching. He set his book aside and strolled over. Of course, before he got there, Ezaara let go. She landed heavily on her good leg, letting out an agonized grunt. Facing away from them, Ezaara leaned against Zaarusha’s side. She thrust her cane into the ground, her back rising and falling rapidly.
Ouch. He approached cautiously. “My Honored Queen’s Rider, are you hurt?” he asked softly.
“I’m fine,” she hissed, not turning around. “Continue with your class. I’ll be there in a moment.”
“As you wish.” It was all he could do not to reach out and help her. If only the foolish girl had called for Erob. Smaller than Zaarusha, he was much easier to ride. Roberto strode back to the class. “I want the names of five of the realm’s most important dragon riders and their dragons.”
“Erob and Roberto,” Kierion called.
“Enough flattery, Kierion,” Roberto said. “I mean the important riders to the realm, not to you passing this class.”
His students laughed.
“Lars and Singlar.”
Roberto nodded. “That’s more like it.”
“Zaarusha and Anakisha, the last Queen’s Rider.”
“But now it’s Ezaara and Zaarusha.” The students’ heads turned as they watched Ezaara hobble over. Behind her, Zaarusha flew off.
“Please welcome our Honored Queen’s Rider,” Roberto said.
Roberto observed Ezaara as his students greeted her. She was hurt, all right. Worse than this morning. So headstrong and stubborn. She was Queen’s Rider, for the Egg’s sake, and tharuks were attacking. War was coming soon. She had to be fit to lead them.
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