She was in his mind, against his body, her floral scent and her presence filling his senses. “You can’t deny what we feel.”
And he couldn’t. He brushed his lips against her hair.
§
“No,” Ithsar whispered, but it was too late. The Naobian’s lips touched Ezaara’s hair, lighting up the sathir connection between them like a million stars. Any assassin tuned into sathir would know where they were. So much for stealth.
On the other side of the lake, a sand-shifting roar split the air. A belch of dracha flame lit up the palm grove, and the mighty blue-scaled beast took to the sky.
He was coming. Both dracha ryter would be saved.
“Traitor.” Izoldia stepped from behind a date palm, saber out.
Ithsar snatched her own saber and pointed it at the Naobian. “Now, you’re coming with us!” she cried.
The Naobian spun, flinging Ezaara aside. He was fast. When had he unsheathed his sword?
“You,” he spat at Ithsar, lunging at her. “You’ve outlived your usefulness.”
He was absolving her of blame. Ithsar parried with her saber, letting it fly out of her hand as he struck, as if her fingers couldn’t hold it. Izoldia wouldn’t know any different.
The Naobian held his sword to Ithsar’s throat. “Drop your weapon,” he said to Izoldia. “Or the girl dies.”
Izoldia threw her head back and laughed. “She’s worthless. Kill her. It’ll save me the trouble.”
The slow burning anger that Ithsar had harbored all these years blossomed like a bruise, staining the sathir purple-black. The stain spread across Ithsar’s vision, blotting out the stars, blotting out the date trees, blotting out Izoldia.
Ithsar had never deserved such scorn. Despite her deformed fingers, she had tried her best. Izoldia had seen to it that everyone despised her, including her own mother.
A breeze stirred at her feet, whirling the sand into a flurry. It rose, faster and higher around her, whipping her clothes in the wind. It shook the date palms, rustling their fronds and swaying their trunks. Thrusting out her anger, Ithsar’s whirlwind made the date palm over Izoldia tremble.
A huge bunch of dates fell, hitting Izoldia’s head, knocking her to the ground.
Instantly, the purple stain was gone.
The Naobian released Ithsar and spun, checking for more assassins. Ithsar could sense them across the lake, running toward them.
Ezaara rushed over to Izoldia. “She’s unconscious.” She hesitated for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Ithsar. “I’ve never done that before.”
“A good job you did,” the Naobian said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Ezaara opened her pouch and took out a tiny sack of powder. “Ithsar, quick,” she hissed, “fetch a little water.”
Ithsar snatched the empty waterskin at her belt and collected water from the lake.
Ezaara threw a pinch of powder into the skin, and they held up Izoldia’s head, letting the water trickle down her throat. Izoldia swallowed reflexively.
“This is woozy weed,” Ezaara said. “It will make her sleep and leave her confused about what happened over the last few hours. She probably won’t remember any of this.”
Ithsar had been prepared to die to free these strangers. She let relief wash through her, not trying to control it. If anyone had seen the dark bruise in sathir, they’d believe the dracha ryter had caused it. She fished the ropes she’d cut off the Naobian’s limbs from her pockets and thrust them deep into Izoldia’s tunic. “Hopefully, they’ll think she’s a traitor who led you here.”
The dracha bellowed.
“Fast,” said the Naobian, “go back to your quarters through the tunnel.”
Ithsar flung herself down the chimney, and he pulled foliage back over the entrance. Only when she reached the bottom and turned on her lamp did she realize she’d forgotten to farewell the dracha ryter and tell them about her vision.
§
With a flurry of wings, Erob landed. Roberto was liquid motion, snatching the dates that had hit Izoldia and flinging them into a saddlebag, then throwing Ezaara on Erob’s back. He jumped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his touch kindling flames in her heart. Roaring, Erob took to the sky as the first rays of the sun turned the sand to honeyed amber.
Below, in the oasis, silent assassins waved their sabers, and a cry went up as Izoldia was discovered.
Ezaara squeezed Roberto’s hand. She had to know. “You said you weren’t returning to Dragons’ Hold, but it’s not true, is it?”
Roberto’s arms tightened around her as if he was afraid to lose her. A wave of sadness hit her, and her throat tightened with grief.
The rumble of his voice carried through her back. “Let’s enjoy the journey and talk about it in Naobia.”
They didn’t really speak much in their long flight across the dry and arid desert. Maybe she’d feel better when she saw the ocean again.
But when they reached the Naobian Sea, it was overcast. Instead of a sparkling jewel box of lapis, sapphire and jade, the sea was flat slate, its dark secrets roiling below the surface.
The day turned to dusk and darkness settled. Ezaara drifted to sleep, head against Roberto’s shoulder, his warm arms around her.
She woke to that same slate sea rushing in to the Naobian shore. Today, Roberto would tell her why he wasn’t returning. Ezaara felt emptier than ever before.
Naobia
The salty tang of the Naobian Sea woke old memories inside Roberto as Erob’s wingbeats made currents, stirring wisps of Ezaara’s hair against his cheek. She was breathing softly in her sleep, peaceful. He steeled himself against a wave of tenderness. Love led to heartbreak. He’d seen enough lives cut short by traitors like Amato. And he’d destroyed enough himself. It would be better to lose Ezaara now, before he destroyed her too.
There, it was time to face it. Amato, his father, had scarred him. Flying back to his homeland was like facing his past—the nightmares: his father, and himself.
It had started that night when he was ten.
Thirsty, he got up for a drink of water. His parents were yelling. They’d argued more since Pa had been lucky enough to escape from Zens. Adults didn’t make sense—surely they’d be happier now Pa was home. Roberto crouched behind the bedroom door, listening. Adelina, only six years old, joined him, tucking her small hand in his.
“They’re incompetent,” Pa shouted. “The whole bunch of them. With wizards gone, they can’t even protect our lands anymore. We’ll all be destroyed unless we join Zens.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ma said. “Dragons have protected the realm for thousands of years.”
“You ignorant fool, it’s obvious.” Wood splintered.
And splintered again.
Roberto’s heart pounded. He put his arms around Adelina. She clung to him, trembling.
“Amato.” Ma’s voice was shaky. “What’s happening to you? This is treason.”
“Lucia, Zens makes sense. He has new blood and muscle at his command. He will win.”
“How can you say that?”
“Lucia, my darling,” Pa reasoned, sounding tender, “I’m only worried about the family, the littlings. I love you all so …”
His father wanted to follow Zens, the enemy of Dragons’ Realm. Roberto pulled Adelina away from the door, taking her back to her bed. He was no longer thirsty.
Everything had gone downhill from there. Family life became tense and discordant, and his father, violent.
One day, after Roberto had fed the hens, Razo limped up to him, whimpering, trailing bloody footprints. Roberto knelt, patting his fur. “Hey, boy, what’s wrong?” His dog’s hind leg was gashed from haunch to paw, his tan fur laid open in a viscous slice of red.
Razo whined and sank to the ground, licking Roberto’s hand. His leg was a mess. “Hang on, boy, I’ll get Ma.” Roberto spun.
“No, you won’t.” Pa’s voice was dangerously soft. “L
azy dog, lazy boy. Both, good for nothing.” Amato flicked a whip.
In a surge of anger, Roberto knew who’d hurt Razo. His fists balled. “What did he do?”
“Absolutely nothing. Should’ve been working, keeping the stock. Instead he was lying in the sun.”
“That’s not fair! You made him run those goats too far last night. He came home worn out.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re nothing but a coward, Pa. No one whips a good work dog.”
“And no one whips a hard-working son,” thundered Amato. He flicked his whip. The tip lashed out, striking Roberto just below the eye.
Razo leaped up, barking, to defend him. “No, Razo, no!”
Pa drew his knife and sunk it into Razo’s throat.
Blood sprayed.
Over Razo’s chest. Over Roberto’s face and clothes and hands.
He knelt in the sun, blood dripping from his fingers, his chin. His dead friend. Roberto was numb with shock.
“Clean up this mess and bury him deep. Then you’ve got the hens to tend.” Amato kicked the twitching dog with his boot and stalked off to the river to cleanse himself.
Roberto’s tears mingled with the blood on his face, dribbling into his mouth. Chest heaving, he pulled Razo against him, crying until he couldn’t cry anymore.
His mother arrived. Her warm arms folded around him, and she held him wordlessly until Razo’s body was cold.
Ma’s face was also streaked with red and tears. Adelina was clutching Ma’s tunic, eyes red.
“Let’s give him a proper funeral,” Ma had said. “I’m sorry, Roberto, so sorry.”
He and Ma were covered in blood and dirt by the time they’d buried Razo.
Along with his dog, he buried the playful innocence of his littling days and his love for his father.
It hadn’t always been like that.
Pa had been loving and fun until his green guard troop had been captured by tharuks. All six riders were taken and enslaved, although their dragons escaped.
His ma, Lucia, had never given up hope that Amato would return, even though he was missing for nearly a year. Matotoi, Pa’s dragon, had never stopped hunting for him, and one day, he brought Pa back, chasing the sorrow from Ma’s face.
Roberto and Adelina were overjoyed. No one except Amato had survived. Naobia celebrated his return and mourned the loss of the other riders.
A few weeks later, Amato’s angry outbursts began. Naobian leaders thought his rage would subside. It didn’t.
Tharuks kidnapped settlers—one by one—from their fields, the woods or down by the coast. Over a year and a half, fifty or more disappeared, taken to rot and die as tharuk slaves.
No one suspected Amato. The best rider in the whole southern region, he’d been reinstated as the leader of the green guards, stationed in Naobia. Although his family life was tempestuous, Naobian leaders didn’t want to interfere when Amato had been through so much and was valiantly trying to serve.
But Amato was addicted to swayweed and working with Zens and his tharuks.
“Roberto, would you like a ride on Matotoi?” Pa’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
Ma was out with Adelina. Pa was in a great mood this morning.
“Can I? Really?” Pa’s fiery green dragon, Matotoi, was the envy of all Roberto’s friends.
Pa gave a belly laugh. “Why not?”
They made their way to the sacred clearing, where Matotoi was waiting.
A band of tharuks were waiting too. Pa held Roberto, while the beasts tied his hands and feet. He screamed and struggled, but Pa only laughed. “Come on, boy, do you want that ride or not?”
The tharuks gagged him and stuffed him into Matotoi’s saddlebag, and Pa flew him straight to Zens, who trained Roberto as his protégé.
Sorrow ached deep inside Roberto. The things he’d done. The person he’d been. Hardly a suitable companion for a Queen’s Rider who’d lived a sheltered life in Lush Valley. What had he been thinking when he’d admitted how he’d felt?
He hadn’t—he hadn’t been thinking at all. They’d simply melded, stripping away every pretense, revealing their love.
The cold gleam of the distant stars did nothing to light their way across the ocean. It would be a few hours until the sun rose, but Roberto didn’t expect any warmth. Ezaara’s hair stirred against his cheek again. He brushed his lips against the top of her head, one last time. Her love could never be his.
Dark Secrets
After visiting Naobia’s early morning market, Ezaara sat with Roberto on a cliff, the churning tide smashing into jagged rocks below. Leaning against Erob, Roberto broke some bread and sliced a round of goat’s cheese with his knife, passing some to her. After days of desert fare, the scent of crusty fresh bread made her mouth water. Although the cheese was creamy and mild, it was hard to eat with the unspoken question hanging between them.
After a few bites, Roberto said, “I have to show you something, and it’s not very pleasant.”
“What is it?”
“Me.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll always—”
“I can’t come back with you, Ezaara.” His face was etched with sorrow. “You won’t understand my decision until you understand who I was. May I?” His hands hovered near her temples, his upper lip beaded with perspiration. He was nervous.
“Of course.” Ezaara smiled, trying to make it easier for him. “It’s all right. I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
“Maybe.” His expression grim, he placed her hands on his temples.
Ezaara wanted to slide her fingers down his face and stroke his cheeks, reassuring him he was fine. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused.
Instantly, her stomach blossomed with pain.
“Pain is exquisite,” a male voice said in her mind.
Sharp stabs pierced her legs. She screamed, but made no sound. A slow burn licked along her arms, and a vice tightened on her head, an excruciating ache throbbing through her skull. Her head was going to burst. Ezaara blacked out.
She came to in a dingy cavern, a man with bulbous yellow eyes looming over her. Zens. A huge tharuk thrust water at her and she drank, but the water coated her mouth with an odd tang.
Roberto’s voice was gentle in her mind. “Swayweed. Amato, my father, gave me to Zens, who tortured me, fed me swayweed and corrupted me.”
It felt real, as if it was happening to her, but she was reliving Roberto’s memories.
Slammed against a wall, Roberto slid into a pile of filth, battered and bleeding. A nasty stench filled his nostrils, turning Ezaara’s gut. A kick thumped his ribs. His head smacked a rock wall, and he blacked out again.
When he woke, Roberto struggled to his feet. “I won’t. I won’t do it.” His breath rasped, chest aching. “I won’t hurt people just because you want me to.”
Zens gestured at a man in riders’ garb, chained to the wall. “Are you sure, Roberto? I’d hate to force you. Just lay your hands on this dragon rider’s head and use your new skills. A little pain will make him talk.”
“No!”
“Very well.” Zens’ silken voice caressed his mind. Roberto shuddered as Zens’ eyes took on a feral gleam. “You leave me no choice.” Zens turned to a massive tharuk with a broken tusk. “Tharuk 000, bring in the others.”
“Yes, beloved master.” 000’s red eyes gleamed and dark saliva dribbled off his tusks, splattering on the floor.
Moments later, he was back with four littlings. Pitifully thin and hollow-eyed, they were about four to six years old. Littlings—slaving for Zens. The eldest had a festering lash mark on her cheek. Faces slack and expressionless, they were victims of numlock, wasted and broken.
What were they doing here? Did Zens want him to test them too? Well, he wouldn’t.
“Place your hands upon that man’s temples, Roberto. Extract the information.”
“No.”
“If you don’t, I’ll kill this girl.” Zens gestured to the blank-faced littling with the lash mark.
<
br /> It was an empty threat to bully him into submission. Roberto lunged for Zens’ knife. “I’d rather kill myself than help you.”
Tharuk 000 leaped between them and grabbed Roberto, tossing him against the stone wall, smacking his shoulder. That hurt.
“First, the girl. We’ll see if he cooperates afterward.” Although Zens was mind-melding with 000, his voice slithered into Roberto’s skull, battering him from the inside. “Remember, Roberto, this was your choice. Now, she’ll die, and it’s your fault.”
That’s why the littlings were here. As hostages, to get him to cooperate. “No! Don’t! I’ll do anything you—”
000 raked its claws across the girl’s throat. For a moment, her eyes flew wide. Blood welled along the gash, then spurted down her neck. Her mouth went slack and her head lolled to the side, eyes dead.
“No!” Roberto screamed. Through his memories, Ezaara felt the scream rip through him, again and again.
000 held his dripping claws to another littling’s throat.
“Ready?” Zens asked.
Numb with horror, Roberto stumbled to the rider. He placed his hands on the man’s temples and followed Zens’ instructions.
Moons of Roberto’s life passed in servitude. Amato visited, flashing gleeful smiles at his son’s progress. Slaves died at Zens’ hand, Roberto herding them, broken and bleeding, into Zens’ cavern for mental torture—littlings, women and men.
Ezaara’s gut churned with nausea. So young, only twelve. Roberto’s hope died. His resistance was gone, and he did everything Zens commanded. He was a shell, obeying his masters’ orders—almost eager for Zens’ approval.
His subversion was sickening. Panicking, Ezaara dropped her hands from his temples and opened her eyes. Was this his horrible secret? Was Tonio right? Had he been a spy for Zens all along, only acting a role as master of mental faculties? Was Zaarusha right too? Had he been plotting to destroy her?
Roberto looked at her with strange intensity. “Are you all right?”
She shrugged.
“Let’s continue. It’s not over yet.” His tone was flat, devoid of emotion.
He was as strong as the waves pounding the shore, as beautiful as the sparkling ocean she’d first traversed, and as dangerous as the gargantuan dark creatures that lurked in its depths.
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 25
