“Her sisterly affection is blinding her. He’s been banished. And if you try to rescue him, you’ll forfeit your right to be Queen’s Rider and be banished, too.”
Lose Zaarusha? “But Zaarusha, I—”
“You’re as bad as Erob. We’ve had to put him under guard until he quiets down. My own son, imagine!” Zaarusha’s voice was steely. “I’ll do the same to you, if I have to. I won’t lose you, Ezaara. I won’t have you assassinated.”
Ezaara clamped her thoughts down tight, so Zaarusha couldn’t sense them.
Zaarusha was making her choose: Zaarusha, whom she’d imprinted with in a burning flash of color; or Roberto, whose love seared a fiery pathway through her soul.
A current of bitterness ran through her. She didn’t want to choose. She loved them both.
“Thank you, Zaarusha. It’s been a long day, and you’re giving me good advice,” Ezaara replied.
“You’ve been under a lot of stress. It must’ve been a big shock, being charged with murder, then released, only to have your master banished.”
“Yes, it has been. I’m exhausted.”
“Why don’t you have a meal before bed? That might restore your energy.”
Did dragons think food fixed everything? Ezaara didn’t feel like eating, but she was hungry for action. “Good idea. I’ll be back soon.”
She ducked into the mess cavern and grabbed a bowl of stew. By keeping her ears open, she soon learned where Erob was being kept.
§
Ezaara hefted the lump of meat. Convincing Benji, the head of the kitchens, to give it to her so she could console poor grieving Erob had been easy. The hard part was going to be persuading the guards to let her feed him.
Low snarls rippled down the tunnel. Erob had stopped roaring a while ago, but he hadn’t given up protesting.
“Erob,” she melded.
“You!” he snarled back.
Ezaara swallowed. One word—so much venom.
“Erob, we have to rescue Roberto.” She rounded a corner, the flickering torchlight making her shadow skitter along the wall.
“As if Zaarusha would condone that,” Erob spat. “I’ve been shackled by my own mother—for loyalty to my rider.”
“Zaarusha threatened to strip me of my role, but I’m going anyway.”
“So, you saw through his subterfuge to save you?” Erob sounded surprised.
Ezaara swallowed, keeping her thoughts masked. Thank the Egg for Adelina.
“How could everyone believe him? How could they not see his innocence?” Erob’s questions stabbed her.
Shards, she’d been so dumb. Guilt wormed its way through Ezaara. She had to phrase this right. “We could go together.” Her heart thumped twice before she dared continue. “But we’ll have to convince them we’re being obedient or we won’t stand a chance.”
Ezaara rushed along the tunnel, bloody meat dripping on stone. There, on the right, was a barred cavern, in the shadows. Behind the bars, Erob sat on his haunches, yellow eyes slitted, still snarling.
“Halt. No one has permission to be down here.” A blue guard stepped out, blocking her way. He was massive with a thick scar running down his neck. Two more were behind him.
“I’ve brought food for the dragon,” she said. “It might soothe him.”
The scarred guard grunted. “Orders are orders.”
A smaller guard spoke up, “He’s quite upset. Perhaps food would calm him.”
“What if she doesn’t touch him?” the third guard muttered.
The scarred guard grunted. “All right.” They stepped aside.
“They think we can only meld when you touch me,” Erob whispered in her mind, the perfect picture of a brooding dragon. “If only they knew.”
Ezaara held up the meat, advancing slowly, letting her arms shake as if she were nervous. “We have to be quick,” she melded.
Erob’s snarls ceased as he sniffed the meat. “What’s your plan?”
“You need to calm down. We have to convince them that you don’t need guards.”
“Got it. As soon as they let me free, I’ll meld and let you know.” She passed the meat through the bars. His lips curled back and he took it in his fangs, retreating to the back of the cave. “We can’t leave until after dark.” Erob chomped on his meat, tail curled around himself protectively, as if he wanted to hide in a corner and lick his wounds.
“I can’t believe the change in him,” said the scarred guard.
Ezaara nodded. “In times of crisis, dragons need a source of comfort.” She wasn’t lying—their plan to rescue Roberto would comfort Erob more than any chunk of meat.
“Maybe that’s why she’s Queen’s Rider,” the third guard whispered, nudging the small one.
“Mm,” murmured the small guard. “That and the way she can fly. Remember that?”
Ezaara retreated down the tunnels. Great, they’d believed her. Now for phase two of her plan.
§
After checking on Jaevin again, Ezaara returned to the mess cavern and pocketed some food. When she reached Roberto’s cavern, Adelina was nowhere to be seen. She glanced about for somewhere to hide her supplies.
“Ezaara,” Zaarusha’s voice nearly made Ezaara drop the food. Dashing to Roberto’s wardrobe, she stashed apples, smoked meat and bread among his clothes and slammed the door. The scent of his clothes conjured up his face, raven eyes tinged with sunlight, regarding her at the river. Loving her.
“Ezaara!” Zaarusha again.
Ezaara jolted the image away. “Yes, Zaarusha?”
“You’ve been gone a while. I wanted to check you’re all right.”
“I’ve been stretching my legs.” Well, that was true, she had traipsed back and forth between the mess, Jaevin’s, Erob’s holding pen and Roberto’s quarters.
“Come back soon. I’d like to see you settled before I go hunting.”
“On my way.”
When Ezaara returned to their quarters, Zaarusha was pacing in the den, hungry.
“You seem more energized,” the queen said.
“Eating helped.” It had helped Erob.
“Stay right here,” Zaarusha warned. “I know you were keen on going after Roberto earlier.”
Had the queen seen through her?
“But I’m glad you’ve seen sense,” Zaarusha continued. “Colluding with a traitor would strip you of your privileges. The last thing I want is to lose another Queen’s Rider.” A potent wave of sorrow enveloped Ezaara with that same memory of Anakisha falling into a seething mass of tharuks.
“What an awful way to die.” Ezaara squeezed her hands tight, her nails biting her palms. She didn’t want to lose Zaarusha.
“Not as bad as at the hands of a traitor.” Zaarusha glided off the ledge toward the hunting grounds.
Whichever path she chose, Ezaara would hurt someone she loved—the queen she’d pledged her life to, or the man she’d given her heart to. She sighed, walking with heavy feet through the archway to her cavern.
“Ezaara, the guards have let me go.” It was Erob. “I’ll meet you at midnight in my den.”
It was happening. In a few short hours, she was walking out on her life as Zaarusha’s rider. Walking out on everything she could ever dream of—except Roberto. She couldn’t stay here and let him die in the Wastelands. Life without Roberto would be like living in a dead and empty shell, walking on knife-sharp shards every day.
“I’ll be there.” Ezaara checked the supplies in her healer’s pouch and added more of the clean herb and bear’s bane she’d retrieved from the infirmary when she’d healed Roberto.
From what she’d gleaned in the mess caverns, the Wastelands were vast fierce deserts, inhabited by feuding tribes and rust vipers, four days’ flight from Dragons’ Hold. Roberto would be dropped off with a few mouthfuls of water, but no weapons or food. If she and Erob could leave tonight, they’d only be a few hours behind him—although it might take days to find him.
“Ezaara, I need your
help!” a dragon’s voice called faintly, as if it was far away.
“Who are you?” Ezaara mind-melded.
“Septimor, a dragon with the blue guards. I have a young girl, attacked by tharuks, who needs healing.”
She had to leave. She had no time. “Master Fleur is in the infirmary.” Guilt rippled through her. Sending patients to Fleur went against her grain. Fleur’s healing was clumsy at best, her salves seemed useless, and Adelina was worried that Fleur would destroy the antidote to dragon’s bane. She couldn’t trust her with a master or a rider, but surely Fleur would heal a girl with a few cuts or scrapes.
“I can’t send her to Fleur,” Septimor answered. “I want her to survive.”
Ezaara didn’t miss the cynical edge to the dragon’s reply. Or the urgency. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Her arm’s been mutilated and infected with limplock, a tharuk poison. She’s dying.”
Dragon’s fangs and bones! “Bring her to me. When will you be here?”
“Soon. Master Roberto knows the remedy.”
Septimor obviously didn’t know Master Roberto had been banished.
Ezaara ran down the tunnels toward Adelina’s quarters. Being Roberto’s sister, maybe she knew the antidote too. “Erob, something urgent has come up. Someone’s dying and needs my help.”
“Yes,” his answer came, “Roberto in the Wastelands.”
“Come on, Erob. It’s four days’ flight, he won’t even be there yet.”
“True, but most die within two days of arriving. We can’t delay forever.”
“I have to help this girl. I can’t let her die.”
Erob melded again. “If you can’t come soon, I’ll have to leave without you.”
“Erob, please, I’m a healer. This is my duty.”
“And what of your duty to my rider?” Erob snorted. “I’ll give you one day. If you’re not done by midnight tomorrow, I’m going without you.”
§
Gret sheathed her sword and left the practice cavern. Adelina was leaning against the tunnel wall, her eyes red. “Hi, Adelina.”
“Erob wants to talk to you,” Adelina said, pushing off the wall.
“I’ve never melded with any dragons in the royal bloodline,” Gret replied. “Why would Erob want to talk to me?”
Adelina shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out. He’s on the ledge outside the mess cavern.”
Gret put an arm around Adelina’s shoulders. “Anything I can do for you?”
“I’m all right.” Adelina’s voice was brittle. “It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me.” She strode off.
That was true, but having your brother banished and sentenced to die must be tough.
The mess cavern was deserted, and Erob was the only dragon on the ledge. His large yellow eyes gleamed at Gret as she touched his head.
“Gret, thank you for coming.” His voice rumbled through her mind. “With Roberto gone, someone must protect the Queen’s Rider. Are you up for this task?”
“Of course, but why me?”
“I can trust you. Ezaara trusts you. You’re fast with a sword and nimble on your feet, and you’re young—you can keep vigil overnight without dozing off.” He showed her a vision of a secret alcove near Ezaara’s cavern. “Hide here. Be vigilant. There are some at Dragons’ Hold who would do Ezaara harm.”
“I’ll be vigilant. I owe it to my queen and Ezaara.” Gret’s heart swelled with pride. A royal dragon, no less, respected her swordsmanship.
“Thank you.” Erob flapped his wings, sending the stray hair on Gret’s forehead wafting in the breeze, then he was airborne.
Gret flicked her braid over her shoulder. Should she trust Erob? If Roberto was really a traitor, couldn’t his dragon be traitorous too? She shook her head. No, Erob would never betray his mother, Zaarusha, and the realm. And despite what everyone was saying, neither would Roberto. Something strange was going on.
After careful inspection, she found the hidden alcove in the corridor opposite the door to Ezaara’s cavern. Deep in shadow, a lip of rock obscured the entrance. She hid inside, starting her vigil.
Hours later, after midnight but still a while before dawn—the worst part of night watch—Gret stretched wearily, easing a kink in her neck. It was cramped in here. She didn’t dare stamp, and there wasn’t room to walk. She blinked and shifted her weight from foot to foot. So much for Erob’s vigilance of the young.
A faint scrape on rock jerked Gret awake. There it was again. Moving her weight forward, she placed her eye against a spy hole. Someone was around the corner. Gret eased her knife from its sheath. Heart pounding, she waited.
A shadow flickered. Simeon crept down the tunnel, glancing furtively over his shoulder.
She should have known. That shrotty weasel had forced himself upon her best friend, Trixia, but no one had believed her—not with Simeon’s parents, the highly-esteemed council masters, accounting for his whereabouts. Everybody had assumed Trixia’s betrothed, Donal, had fathered the littling. Fleur and Bruno had insisted that Trixia be banished for tainting their son’s name, but Lars had sent Trixia and Donal both back to Montanara. Trixia had lost her lifelong dream of becoming a dragon rider.
That rat—no, that tick on the backside of a rat—was nearly at Ezaara’s door.
Simeon peered through Ezaara’s keyhole.
Now was her chance. Gret slipped out of the alcove. Approaching Simeon from behind, she grabbed his hair in her fist, and held her knife to his neck. “This stops right here, rat.”
Simeon froze.
“Stand up. Slowly.” She gripped his hair, keeping her knife at his throat, and marched him toward Lars’ chamber.
§
Lydia had been asleep for hours, but Lars hadn’t touched his pillow. Pacing in front of the fire, he rubbed his shoulder, trying to ease a stubborn knot. It was crazy, he’d trusted Roberto, but now he’d admitted he was a traitor. It felt wrong. Everything was off. But he was already gone to the Wastelands.
And Tonio was like a dog, yapping at his heels, determined to believe Roberto was evil. What if Tonio was wrong? There wasn’t anyone else with Roberto’s skills. Who would now test their imprinting bonds? Who would now ensure dragon riders were trained to withstand tharuk mind-benders?
There was scuffling outside his door. Lars strode over and flung it open.
Gret was outside, her knife at Simeon’s throat. Eyes shining in the torchlight, she announced, “I’ve brought you a traitor.”
Another one?
A trickle of blood rolled down Simeon’s neck.
“Gret, stop! What are you doing?”
“I caught Simeon sneaking up to the Queen’s Rider’s cavern.” Gret kept her knife at Simeon’s throat.
“Come in, both of you.” Lars waved his hand. “Down with the knife, Gret.” He turned to Simeon. “It’s the middle of the night. What were you doing near the Queen’s Rider’s cavern?”
Simeon’s voice was smooth. “Master Lars, I was concerned for the Queen’s Rider’s health. There’s talk that a rogue dragon wanted to burn her. I had a nightmare that she’d died, so I wanted to reassure myself that she was all right.”
Gret snorted.
Lars had heard too many rumors to believe everything Simeon said. He turned to Gret. “Your opinion?”
“Like I said, he was sneaking around. It’s not the first time he’s wanted to harm—”
“I was only looking through the keyhole,” Simeon interrupted, “to make sure she wasn’t harmed.”
“Liar. You were figuring out how to sneak in,” Gret snapped, eyes fiery.
Simeon rubbed the scratch on his neck.
“Gret,” asked Lars, “what did you actually see?”
“Ah, I—” She scuffed her boot on the stone floor. “He was acting sneaky, skulking along the corridors and peering through the keyhole—”
“And you?” barked Simeon. “Hiding in the shadows of the Queen’s Rider’s corridor, late at nig
ht? What were you doing?”
“Waiting for you,” Gret snapped. “You’re more trouble than a rat’s nest.”
Lars’ instincts aligned with Gret’s, but he had to have proof. “Simeon,” Lars said, thinking fast, “turn out your pockets.” Hopefully they could pin something on him this time.
Only healing salve. Not a weapon on him. That made sense, he was a healer’s son. But something about this was wrong. If his parents weren’t dragon masters, he wouldn’t have believed him—about Trixia, or tonight.
Lars ran a hand through his hair. “Simeon, this is a warning. If you’re caught near the Queen’s Rider’s cavern alone again at night, you will face trial and possible banishment. This is not your first warning.”
That business with Trixia had never been resolved to Lars’ satisfaction, but with two council members vouching for Simeon, there hadn’t been much he could do. “Simeon, go straight to your quarters. Gret, please stay a moment.”
Lars waited until Simeon left, and shut the door. He turned to Gret, whose fists were balled tightly against her sides. “Gret, I know your intentions are good, but you can’t hold people at knife point. You can be aware and alert. You can keep an eye out. But you cannot draw weapons because someone is looking through a keyhole. No matter how much you dislike him. No matter how angry you are at him. Understood?” He sighed. “Tomorrow, report to the kitchens for duty. I can’t have you injuring Simeon and going unpunished—no matter how slight his injury was.”
Gret’s shoulders slumped. The skin under her eyes was dark with weariness. “Yes, Master Lars.”
“Now,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, “go back to bed. You look like you need some sleep.”
Healing Calls
It was late and Septimor still hadn’t arrived. Ezaara paced between her cavern and the queen’s den—waiting, doing nothing, while the blue guards were taking Roberto closer to the Wastelands. She couldn’t even prepare for the trip with Adelina sitting on her bed. “Are you sure that’s the right remedy?” Ezaara asked.
“Absolutely sure. I’m glad you remembered seeing these in Fleur’s alcove.” Adelina placed a vial of yellow granules back into the fleece-lined box. “Will you relax?” she said. “All that pacing is wearing me out.”
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