She couldn’t really tell Lars without proof, but she’d definitely mention her suspicions to Roberto.
§
“There’s something I need to show you.” Erob flipped his wings and glided across the lake.
“What is it?” Roberto shaded his eyes against the glint of the water.
“Brace yourself.”
A vision shot into Roberto’s mind. A wall of dragon flame seared his skin, stinking of singed hair and burned flesh. Blinding pain fried his nerve endings.
“That’s a powerful illusion.” He shook his head, focusing on the water lapping at the lake’s shore. “Why are you showing me this?”
“Sorry, I should have told you earlier.” A wave of Erob’s guilt hit Roberto. Then Erob sent another image: Ezaara, screaming, her knife flying into Sophia’s leg. Doubled over, she retched.
So that’s why she’d been sick—from the stench of her own burning flesh.
“Someone forced that vision on Ezaara?” Someone with special mental talents. Who? Wait a moment. “Why have you withheld this? Did someone suspect me?”
Erob’s guilty silence spoke for itself.
“Erob, answer me. You can trust me.”
An indignant rumble came from Erob’s throat. “Of course I trust you. I just showed you the vision, didn’t I?”
“Come on. For the Egg’s sake, Erob.”
“It would be better if you asked me questions.”
“You want me to guess, so you can say you didn’t tell me?” Roberto slapped Erob’s scaly hide. “Who’s told you not to mention this?”
Erob spiraled down to the grassy lakeside. “Ezaara was so distressed, she tried to push the vision out of her head, inadvertently relaying it to all the dragons on the council. We all agreed not to mention it to our masters until we knew who’d tortured her with it.”
Roberto dismounted, approaching Erob’s head. “She can send a vision to multiple dragons? That’s crazy. No one’s done that since Anakisha.”
“She has talents ...”
“Did she send it via Zaarusha?”
“No.”
“Ezaara can meld with dragons other than Zaarusha?”
The silence hung heavy between them. Erob sprung, his wings flashing above the water. Within moments, he’d gulped a maw full of fish and thudded down beside Roberto again.
“Maybe a dragon sent her the vision, then. Or it could’ve come from a rider with hidden mental talents.” Roberto let out a gust of breath. His past was still shadowing him. “Did you think it was me?”
“No. I’ve told Zaarusha it wasn’t.”
Roberto scratched Erob’s eye ridges. “But not every dragon believes you, right?”
“I’m sorry.” Erob butted his snout against the flat of Roberto’s stomach. “You were so against having a Queen’s Rider from Lush Valley. You keep everything so close to your heart. Can you blame them for not realizing you’ve changed? That you’re loyal to the Queen’s Rider?”
“Ezaara’s in danger.” Roberto’s hand gave an involuntary twitch above his sword. “We must protect her.”
§
Ezaara gripped her knife and raised her arm. Again.
“Not like that.” Simeon stepped closer, his warmth playing along her back as he adjusted her grip. “There, that’s better. Remember how to hold your thumb?” His breath tickled her earlobe.
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Thank you, Simeon.” It was bad enough being back here after what she’d done to Sofia, without blushing like a strawberry whenever he touched her. This was instruction, not a romantic interlude. She had to stop behaving like a besotted turkey.
“I know this is hard after yesterday, but take it easy. Throw when you’re ready.” His voice was gentle.
She’d known all the boys in Lush Valley since she was small. Here, the men her age seemed older, more confident. More experienced. She had to focus, throw the knife, not think about him. Ezaara flicked her arm forward, and the blade sailed through the air, hitting the bottom of the target.
“You’re improving,” Simeon said over-enthusiastically. “Well done. If you throw with more force, and aim a little higher, we’ll have you hitting the bullseye in no time.” He dashed toward the target to retrieve her knife.
It sounded so easy, but sweat coated her hands whenever she lifted the knife. She’d hurt Sofia. Another tremor ran through her. Remembering her skin bubbling and blistering made her feel like vomiting all over again.
“Have another try.” Simeon was back, urging her on. “You can only get better.” His cinnamon eyes were warm and encouraging. At least she had one true friend here.
She could do this, for him. Ignoring the flash of fire in her head, the twisting of her gut, her damp fingers, she threw the knife.
“That’s better. I’ll retrieve it for you.”
If only she had her cane. Her ankle was aching, but she didn’t want to admit it to Simeon when he was trying so hard to help.
Simeon grinned as he handed her the knife again. “Go on, one more.”
As Ezaara raised her arm, a shadow fell over her.
“Here comes trouble,” Simeon muttered.
He was right. Erob was here—and Roberto’s expression was as dark as a storm cloud.
Ezaara sighed.
“Hard to please, isn’t he?” Simeon murmured, squeezing her hand. He got it. He understood her so well, and he obviously knew Roberto. “Come on, Ezaara,” Simeon urged. “Let’s show him what you’ve learned.”
She raised her arm. Simeon reached around her body, adjusting her grip again. “A little higher,” he whispered. He stepped back as her knife sailed straight into the target.
Erob thudded to the ground, and Roberto swung out of the saddle, face thunderous. Striding toward them, he nodded at the target. “Much better,” he said. His gaze flicked over Simeon. “What are you doing here?”
Simeon’s lip curled. “Training the Queen’s Rider.”
“Training Ezaara is my job,” Roberto snapped. “Not yours.”
“Well, it’s a shame you were too busy, isn’t it? Anyone would think you want her to fail.”
Roberto flinched. “Get back to the infirmary and your assigned duties.”
“Yes, Master Roberto,” Simeon spat. “Farewell, Ezaara. It was a pleasure being with you this morning.” He flashed a sparkling smile and strode off.
“Let’s get back to training,” Roberto said.
“Until you two start treating each other civilly, I have no inclination to train with either of you.” Ezaara stalked toward the target, masking her aching ankle.
Roberto caught up with her. “Ezaara.” His deep voice shimmied through her. “I need to talk to you.”
She was about to ignore him, when Erob mind-melded, “Ezaara, listen to him. He has your best interests at heart.”
“His rudeness is a strange way of showing it,” she melded back.
Erob chuckled as Ezaara pulled her knife out of the target and sheathed it in her belt.
Roberto put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. With a flap of wings, Erob leaped over to them. Roberto reached up and untied her cane from his saddle, holding it out toward her. His expression softened.
His mother’s beautiful cane. “Where did you find it?” Her irritation evaporated.
He waved an arm at the nearby trees. “Hidden near here.” His fingers traced a hairline break in the wood. “It was snapped in two. I used a dowel and some tree sap to fix it. It’s not as good as it was, but it should do the trick.”
“Broken in two?” That was hard to swallow. “That’s pretty low.”
Roberto’s eyes flitted toward Simeon’s departing back.
Of course, he suspected Simeon—her friend. Ridiculous. It was more likely to have been Alban.
“Thank you for mending it.” Ezaara put her weight on the cane. “It’s as good as new.”
Roberto leaned against Erob’s side, crossing his long legs. “Today, Ezaara, you and I are going to get
to know each other a little better. And then we’ll start training in earnest. You need to be ready for battle.”
What if she didn’t want to get to know him? And how could she train in earnest when her ankle was throbbing?
“Come on.” He extended his hand and helped her onto Erob. He climbed up in front of her and slid her cane into a saddlebag. “Hold on tight.”
Ezaara put her arms around his waist, inhaling his sandalwood scent. They took off, heading toward a lake that glinted silver among a dark carpet of trees.
“Is this where you go fishing?” Ezaara asked. It was a tranquil refuge from the gossip in the mess hall and tunnels.
Erob settled on the grassy shore.
He smiled. “Yes, and I swim here in summer.”
Erob shot Ezaara an image of Roberto, muscular and sun-bronzed, cutting through the water.
Her cheeks grew warm. “Honestly, Erob!”
“What is it?” asked Roberto, sliding down, then helping her off Erob. “Don’t you like swimming?”
“I love it.” He’d noticed her blush, which made her blush even more—a vicious circle. “Um, what did you want to talk about?”
Roberto sat by the lake and patted the grass. “Please, sit down.” He took a package wrapped in waxed cloth out of his pocket, then took his jerkin off and rolled it up. “Rest your ankle on this, it might help.”
Simeon hadn’t paid any attention to how her ankle was today. Maybe there was more to Roberto than she’d thought. “You seem to have practice in looking after invalids,” she joked.
His face grew grave. “My mother was badly injured. I nursed her for three moons.” He unwrapped the waxed cloth, revealing bread, a jar of relish and a wedge of cheese.
“What happened to her?”
His fingers were motionless for a moment. “She died.”
The hollow ache in his voice made Ezaara’s eyes prick. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a while ago.” He cut some bread off the loaf with his knife.
“How was she hurt?”
Roberto’s face darkened. “Another time, all right?” He passed her the slab of bread, and sat with his blade poised. “Cheese?”
When they’d finished their makeshift sandwiches, Roberto asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about the vision you saw when Sofia was hurt?”
“I, uh ...” Handel had told her not to tell anyone she could meld with other dragons. Handel’s prophecy of Roberto’s face twisted with hate flashed before her. He didn’t look hateful now. Concerned, maybe curious, but not hateful. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“Erob showed me. Is that what caused your accident with Sofia?” He looked at her as if he was really seeing her.
Something loosened in Ezaara’s chest. Words tumbled out of her in a torrent. “My skin was searing, blistering. It was agony. My whole body was on fire. Made my stomach turn. When my mind cleared, Sofia was ...” She shuddered. “Sofia was ...” Tears stung her eyes.
She. Would. Not. Cry.
“Her blood was everywhere .... Everyone thought I’d done it on purpose.”
“I didn’t think that.” Roberto’s gaze was gentle. “I’ve tested you. I know you.” Again, his gaze, seeing her. “And last night?”
“I meant to visit Sofia, but Simeon gave me a cup of tea and I fell asleep. The shock made me sick. Or maybe I ate something bad.”
“Maybe.”
Alban’s words popped into her head. Incompetent, that’s what he’d called her. Ezaara’s shoulders slumped. “Zaarusha should send me home.”
Roberto put an arm around her. Again, mint and sandalwood.
Her master was hugging her? She pulled away. “I, um ...”
He dropped his arm, scratching his neck awkwardly. “Ah, how’s your ankle now?”
“Still throbbing. It’ll be a few more days until it’s healed. I should stay off it.”
“Ezaara, we don’t have time. The council want you battle-ready. They’re not prepared to wait.” His eyes slid to the healer’s pouch at her waist. “Is there something you could take?”
Piaua, but no, it was too precious. “It only needs rest.”
He leaped to his feet, pacing. “Tell that to the council when they demand that you go to battle unprepared. I told them you need time. They wouldn’t listen. We have two weeks to give you a lifetime’s training.”
“Two weeks!”
“Only if tharuks don’t attack before then.” Roberto’s face was tight. “We have to heal you, Ezaara. Is there anything that could help?”
She couldn’t fail Zaarusha or the realm. “Piaua,” she whispered, gazing down at the grass. “But we can’t ...”
“Why not?” He crouched before her.
“I took a healer’s oath. We only use piaua for grievous injuries.”
“Ezaara,” he breathed, raven eyes pleading. “It’s urgent. You’re the Queen’s Rider. You have to be ready for anything.”
As Queen’s Rider, she needed to be fit—but she wouldn’t waste such a scarce resource on a stupid ankle. Ezaara thrust his jerkin to one side and scrambled up. “Look, I’m fine.”
In a flash, Roberto drew his sword and lunged.
She leaped back, pulling her sword from its scabbard and parried his blow. Her ankle twinged as she sidestepped his next move. Whirling, she ignored the throbbing, thrusting and counter-thrusting. Metal scraped on metal. Sweat stung her eyes. He swept his sword along the ground, making her jump and land on her ankle awkwardly.
“Aagh!” In a fit of anger, she lunged for his chest and struck home.
Flinging his sword aside, Roberto raised his arms. “You win.”
“No,” Ezaara moaned, “you do! Now I’ve ruined my ankle, so I have to use piaua.” She sheathed her sword and slumped onto the ground.
§
Roberto crouched beside Ezaara, untying her boot. He sucked in his breath. He’d thought she’d give up and concede. But no, she was a fighter.
She glared at him. “You’re a—”
He didn’t wait to find out what she thought. “Shards! I’m sorry, Ezaara, I never expected you to fight back.”
A glint of triumph shone in her eyes. She was breathing hard. “I should have stabbed you there and then.”
Wincing, she let him roll up the leg of her breeches to check her ankle. It was swollen and red, almost as angry as her. “Sorry, I—”
“Curse it. Stop apologizing. You win. I have to use piaua juice so I can get on with training.” Ezaara glared at him again with those startling green eyes. Wisps of blonde hair blew across her face. She jammed them behind her ears.
“I really didn’t think you’d fight me with a sore ankle.”
“So you said.” She reached into her healer’s pouch and passed him a slim vial of transparent green liquid. “Piaua juice is precious. The trees are rare, and draining their juice can kill them, so we only use it in dire circumstances.” She frowned, lips pursed. “Not for a swollen ankle.”
He’d forced her into this. “It’s for the best.”
Her eyes met his. “I know. Knifing Sofia and falling off the dais hasn’t helped. I have to be ready for tharuks, and I have to prove to these tough old riders that I’m Zaarusha’s rightful rider.”
She understood. Roberto’s breath whooshed out as he pulled the tiny cork stopper out of the vial.
“Wait. Don’t spill any. Only use a drop or two.” Her face showed her apprehension.
“Is it really as effective as they say?” he asked.
“Better. We play down its effects so people aren’t tempted to drain the trees.”
“I’d heard only tree speakers could collect the juice.”
“True, and I’m not one, so this is doubly precious.”
He held the vial over her ankle, tipped two droplets onto her swollen flesh, then passed it back to her. Ezaara capped the vial, and rubbed the oily residue over her bruised skin.
“Are you all right?”
“It burns a little. It’s nothing.
” She bit her lip, and her brow furrowed as she worked the oil into her skin.
The swelling was receding before his eyes. The blotchy purple bruise was fading, growing lighter. Within moments, her ankle was normal. Incredible.
“This stuff’s amazing.” She had pretty ankles and feet, not that he’d ever noticed a woman’s ankles before. Roberto coughed, glancing away.
Ezaara flexed her ankle and leaped up, dancing across the grass. She snatched up his sword and tossed it to him.
Dragon’s eggs! She was beautiful, full of life.
There was no way he could ever act on how he felt—as if he’d be that stupid. Masters weren’t allowed relationships with trainees. He’d never risk banishment after all he’d done to earn his position as master at Dragons’ Hold.
“Now we can duel,” she called.
“You’d better get your boots on,” Roberto growled. “I’m going to put you through your paces.”
Trickery and Stunts
Erob flapped his wings. Exhausted, Ezaara clung tighter to Roberto. Except for that first time, no matter how hard she’d tried, Roberto had beaten her every time they’d dueled today. He’d been remorseless, goading her with jibes as they’d clashed swords. Her beating him earlier had been a fluke, like when she’d beaten Tomaaz in the marketplace.
Erob descended to the edge of the forest and Roberto jumped off, making no move to help her. He strode toward a strongwood tree and hung a leaf on the rough bark of its trunk.
Ezaara slid off Erob. Although she was tired from dueling, it was great to walk and run properly again. She shrugged off her guilt about using piaua. It was too late now.
“Let’s test your archery skills,” called Roberto. “The leaf is your target.”
Stifling a smile, Ezaara called, “It looks awfully small.” This would be a cinch. She and Tomaaz had grown up shooting as soon as they were old enough to fetch arrows.
Roberto took two bows out of Erob’s saddlebag. “Which one do you want to use?” He held a longbow in one hand, and a recurve in the other.
The elegant longbow needed more strength, but was taller and more cumbersome. The recurve was her favorite, the type her family used. The ends of the bow curved forward, creating more tension on the string so arrows could travel faster and further.
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