“Imprinting?” someone behind them asked. “Hey, Kierion said we’re imprinting.” Murmurs rippled through the trainees behind them in the corridor.
“Great, we might imprint a dragon, just for scrubbing a few pots.”
An arrow flinger piped up. “Pot scrubbing for a dragon? Beats trading blows with you blade thrusters.”
Kierion groaned. It wasn’t exactly like that. You couldn’t force imprinting. Now he’d done it again. His big mouth was always getting him in trouble.
Lofty slugged him on the shoulder, grinning again. “What color will your dragon be?”
Kierion rolled his eyes and entered the main cavern. Lars swooped through an entrance on Singlar’s back. The purple dragon landed on the rock stage. Two more dragons shot into the cavern, their wingbeats stirring the trainees’ hair—Reko, a blood-red dragon carrying Derek, the master of instruction; and the maroon Lysika, carrying Alyssa, master of flight. More people flooded in behind Kierion—kitchen workers, smiths from the forges, littlings, mothers, and dragon riders in their riders’ garb.
The hubbub was incredible. Murmurs of Kierion and imprinting rebounded around the cavern, spreading like wildfire. Kierion tried to shrink in on himself, hoping Master Lars wouldn’t notice him, but he was swept forward with the crowd, who were clamoring to get a good spot by the stage.
Lofty clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, great spot. We’ll hear everything here.”
They were so close, Kierion saw a smattering of snow on Master Lars’ blonde beard as he dismounted. The council leader cocked his head, listening to the crowd’s murmurs. His piercing blue eyes lanced through Kierion.
Kierion’s face burned. Right now, he must be about as red as Reko’s scales.
Lars held up his arm and the crowd quietened. “Thank you for attending,” Lars said, his voice carrying across the crowd. “As you know, tharuks are growing more brazen, attacking villages and murdering our people. Hans, our master of prophecy, believes that things will soon come to a head. Within weeks, we may be in an all-out war with Commander Zens and his unnatural creatures.
“We must marshal our forces. Many of you will be aware that we have young dragons who are now mature enough to imprint. We often let this happen spontaneously, as dragons meet suitable people, however, time is not on our side. Tomorrow, Alyssa will accompany selected trainees to the imprinting grounds.”
A cheer rang out. Lofty pounded Kierion on the back. The trainees closest—both blade thrusters and arrow flingers—joined in, whooping. Kierion risked a quick glance at Lars. Shards, the council leader was looking right at him.
Lars raised his hand for silence again.
Even when everyone was quiet, their excitement still bubbled like an underground spring.
Master Derek stepped forward, unrolling a scroll. “Master Lars and I have made a list of prospective riders—those we feel are ready for this opportunity. As I read your names, please join Master Alyssa on the stage so she can brief you. If your name isn’t read out, don’t be overly concerned. There will be more chances to find the dragon meant for you.”
The crowd whistled and cheered.
Kierion didn’t join in. He’d always wanted to be a dragon rider. What if his name wasn’t on the scroll? A dragon rider had to be trustworthy, not a jokester. Had his pranks killed the chance of achieving his lifelong dream?
§
Adelina’s mind reeled as she slumped on her bed. When she was a littling, she’d secretly believed that one day she’d become Queen’s Rider. Zaarusha hadn’t imprinted after Anakisha’s death, waiting years for that one special person. Adelina had known it was her—all it would take was one look into Queen Zaarusha’s eyes.
After their father killed their mother, Roberto had brought her to Dragons’ Hold. She’d met Queen Zaarusha—and nothing had happened. No whoosh of emotion. No instant mind-meld, no rush of energy the way Roberto had experienced when imprinting with Erob. She’d been inconsolable, crying for days. Roberto had comforted her, telling her one day she’d find another dragon. But she didn’t want another dragon. She wanted the queen.
Years later, Adelina had been prepared to hate Ezaara—but the ignorant tear-streaked girl she’d met in the Queen’s Rider’s chambers, trying to put a brave face on for the world, had touched Adelina’s heart. Instead of her scorning Ezaara, they’d become good friends.
Earlier today, Master Derek had read Adelina’s name from his scroll. Master Alyssa had briefed them about imprinting protocol. They’d meet the dragons tomorrow.
She didn’t want to be Queen’s Rider anymore, but maybe she didn’t want to be a rider at all. Adelina had gotten used to Roberto and Erob being her only family. What if she imprinted and it changed things? What if she didn’t imprint at all? And, if she did become a dragon rider, would Zens target her too? He’d turned her father and her brother against Dragons’ Realm before. What if he caught her?
Adelina shuddered. She punched her pillow, then threw it against the wall. The truth was: she missed Roberto; she was worried about him; and every day that the council delayed made her anxiety grow.
Mind you, if she imprinted, she could go after Roberto herself …
Now there was a thought.
Someone rapped on her door. Adelina started guiltily. Silly, really, no one could hear her thoughts—although that would change if a dragon chose her as its rider.
Gret came in. “Oh? You’re going to bed? But it’s so early.”
“Uh, yeah, I’m tired.” She faked a yawn, hoping Gret would get the hint.
But Gret wasn’t that stupid. She sat on the bed next to Adelina and squeezed her hand. “I know you’re missing Roberto,” she said, as if all Adelina’s cheery smiles and reassurances over the past few days had been transparent.
“Miss him? Why, I’m as happy as a lark. Now there’s no big brother to boss me around.” She smiled brightly, but her voice trembled, giving her away.
Within a heartbeat, Gret was hugging her as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
“That’s better,” Gret said, pulling back when Adelina stopped sobbing. “You can’t bottle everything inside you.”
“Why not? I did for years.” Adelina gave a weak smile. “I wish there was something I could do. It seems wrong, getting on with normal life while Roberto’s captive.” She sighed. “Why did you come to see me? Are you nervous about imprinting tomorrow?”
“No.” Gret’s brows were pulled into a frown and her mouth was grim. “I have bad news. Snake-tongue’s spreading rumors about your brother.”
Adelina rolled her eyes. “I heard her at breakfast this morning. She hasn’t been the same since Ezaara injured her. Not that I blame her. I’d be angry if the Queen’s Rider knifed me.”
“We both know it wasn’t Ezaara’s fault. Anyway, I think we should talk to Lars. It’s getting serious. There are rumors that Alban’s threatening girls who won’t side with Sofia against Ezaara.”
“We’ll need evidence.”
“I know. I’ll keep an eye out.” Gret stood. “Are you sure you don’t want company?”
“Thanks for the offer.” Adelina preferred being alone. It was easier to carry her grief without someone watching. She had too many hurts in her past to lump them all on a friend. Too many secrets. That’s why Roberto had given her a cavern of her own next to his when he’d become master of mental faculties and imprinting. She gasped. “Usually it would be Roberto’s job to test each imprinting bond ….”
“But he’s not here,” Gret said. “Don’t worry, Lars and the council will rescue him soon. And just think, tomorrow you may be a dragon rider.” Gret smiled.
“Thanks.” As Gret left, Adelina faked one last smile for her friend. That was why she needed Roberto. Her brother got her, because he was hiding the same dark family secrets.
§
Gret was nearly at the girls’ cavern when Sofia and Alban stepped out of the shadows.
“Visiting Adelina, were you?” Sofia sneered, h
er teeth glinting in the torchlight. Behind Sofia, Alban was a wall of muscle, oozing menace.
“None of your business.” Gret’s hand hovered near her sword hilt. She was an ace with a sword and everyone here at Dragons’ Hold knew it. That’s what came of being the Montanarian swordmaster’s daughter.
“I’m surprised you’d hang out with the sister of a traitor,” Alban said, his hand sliding to his knife hilt.
“Really, Alban? A knife against a sword? You’ve got to be joking,” Gret said scornfully. “And I didn’t pick you to be so stupid. Master Roberto was declared innocent. Fleur, Bruno and Simeon were banished as traitors, remember?”
“Everyone knows Roberto mind-tricked the council into letting him back.”
Gret laughed and pushed her way past them. Her back crawled. She had the urge to spin and parry, just in case. But she didn’t. Pa had taught her never to show a weakness.
“Gret,” Sofia called.
Gret turned.
“We were just kidding.” Sofia licked her lips, eyes darting. “Joking around. You know, like one of Kierion’s pranks.”
“No,” said Gret, “not like Kierion’s pranks at all—they’re funny.”
§
Tomaaz woke late. A candle burned in the sconce and the slave boy was fast asleep in the bed across from him—peacefully. Shards, he’d slept all day. How was Maazini? What about Lovina? He’d barely spoken a few sentences with her since he’d returned from Death Valley.
He threw back the covers, pulled his riders’ garb on and went into the infirmary. Pa was sitting, reading by torchlight. A couple of men were sleeping in the beds lining the walls.
“Good morning, Son,” Pa quipped. “Nothing like greeting the dawn.”
Tomaaz snorted. “Or the sunset, in my case. How’s Maazini?”
“Still sleeping. He and Erob have dozed most of the day.”
“Like dragon, like rider,” Tomaaz replied, striding past the beds to the door. He took a torch from a sconce by the door and went over to Maazini and Erob, curled together for warmth under the protective overhang. Huffing out clouds of breath, Tomaaz held the torch high and walked around the dragons, looking them over. Their scales were resuming their healthy vibrancy. Another day or two and they’d be well enough to fly. He didn’t meld with Maazini. After everything they’d been through, sleep was the best thing for both dragons.
Stomach rumbling, Tomaaz wandered to the edge of the ledge. There were dragon prints in the snow and small boot prints—Lovina’s. She must’ve come out here for peace. Ma had mentioned that the infirmary ledge was one of Lovina’s favorite spots. By the Egg, he was hungry. Not surprising after his time in Death Valley. Perhaps Lovina was in the mess cavern.
An hour later, Tomaaz was back on the ledge with a surprise for Lovina in his pocket. No one had seen her all day. He lifted the torch and examined her boot prints. It was possible she’d been taken somewhere by dragon. Shrugging, Tomaaz grabbed a spare blanket from the infirmary and settled on it, leaning against Maazini’s hide.
Tomaaz awoke to a thump and a spray of snow on his face.
Lovina was clinging to the back of a green dragon, eyes bright in the torchlight with a grin as wide as Dragons’ Realm. He raced over. The tips of her long hair were tinged white with frost. Her lips were wind-chapped, and her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold, but it wasn’t her coloring that looked so different.
Lovina was beaming. Radiant with joy. He’d seen her first shy smiles, heard her hesitant laugh, but it was nothing like the musical burst of laughter that burst forth from her now.
“Tomaaz, meet Ajeurina.”
Ajeurina? Didn’t she mean Ajeuria?
Maazini lifted his head. “No, Tomaaz, my sister imprinted with Lovina, so she’s modified her name.” He burrowed back down against Erob and promptly fell back to sleep.
Tomaaz caught Lovina as she slid off Ajeuria’s—no, Ajeurina’s—side.
She flung her arms around him, burrowing her freezing cheek against his neck. “Tomaaz, I never thought I’d become a dragon rider.” She looked up at him, eyes bright.
He pulled the heart-shaped pastry wrapped in waxed cloth from his pocket.
“Thank you.” Lovina traced the pastry heart with her finger. “And I never thought I’d love such a thoughtful man.”
Love? Tomaaz’s heart soared.
Return
“Zaarusha is missing?” Lars asked Tonio. “Why didn’t someone tell me earlier?” They were on the ledge outside Lars’ cavern, grabbing some fresh air.
The spymaster shrugged. “I’m just reporting what I know.”
Lars snorted. “Come on, Tonio, what do you think’s going on?”
“Well, no one’s seen Ezaara either …” Tonio pursed his lips, leaving his words hanging in the chill evening air. The spymaster paced, his boots crunching in the snow. Icicles hung down the sides of the overhang, reflecting the flickering torchlight. Beyond, snug in the shadows, Singlar was sleeping, his tail wrapped around his huge body. “They could be running an errand. Or …” Tonio splayed his hands.
Lars knew where this was leading. Tonio’s dragon, Antonika, had seen Roberto kissing Ezaara in the orchard. He shook his head. “No, even Ezaara is not fool enough to dash off to Death Valley on her own. Besides, Queen Zaarusha is more seasoned than that.”
“She was fool enough to go to the Wastelands and rescue Roberto,” Tonio said. “Why not Death Valley? I’m telling you, Lars, that man has been having an affair with his student—our new Queen’s Rider. His punishment should be banishment. Death Valley’s as good a place as any.” He snapped an icicle. The glittering shard in his hand, Tonio stalked off.
Lars gazed over the basin. Surely Roberto wasn’t stupid enough to be romantically involved with his trainee? But then again, Tonio had insisted that Antonika share her memory with Lars. When she’d shown him Roberto kissing Ezaara, it definitely hadn’t been a perfunctory kiss. But could he blame them? Roberto had been to hell and back, even had his gut slit in the desert to protect Ezaara from wrongful banishment. Then they’d returned just in time to save Zaarusha from being murdered. No wonder the queen’s loyalty overrode her duty to the council.
He wanted to give Roberto a chance. His rotten father had corrupted the boy, but he’d pulled through and become an irreplaceable asset. No one had his mental talents. It was scary, how he could manipulate people’s minds to find out what he needed.
What terrible price had he paid for his formidable skills learned at Zens’ hands? He never discussed his time in Death Valley, except to say that Erob had freed him. But, when he’d first arrived and been rejected by the council, Lars had heard him screaming in the night, tortured by his demons—demons that could destroy Dragons’ Realm if that talent was used by Zens.
An affair with the Queen’s Rider …?
Hmm. Maybe Tonio was right: the law was the law. No master was allowed to have an affair with his student. Look where that had gotten Dragon Mage Giddi. His student, Mazyka, had nearly destroyed Dragons’ Realm.
He shook his head again, this time sadly. Despite his sympathies, as the council leader, he had to be firm.
There was a loud crack. A dark shape appeared in the sky, blotting out the stars.
§
Ezaara and Zaarusha appeared above Dragons’ Hold. “Shards, Zaarusha, I never meant to be gone an entire day.”
“Me neither. Not much we can do about that now.”
“Agreed. We need to see Lars.”
“He’s seen us already,” Zaarusha rumbled in Ezaara’s mind. “That’s his cavern.”
A figure stood on a ledge below, limned in torchlight. Ezaara rubbed her cold hands. “Let’s pay him a visit.”
“After that, you should eat,” Zaarusha replied.
Ezaara’s belly rumbled, but food was the last thing she felt like with her fresh memory of Roberto, battered and bloody. She mind-melded with Singlar, who was curled up on the ledge. “Please let Lars know that Queen
Zaarusha and I would like to visit.”
“He’s already expecting you,” was Singlar’s reply.
Zaarusha swooped through the cold night air to land neatly on Lars’ ledge.
“Greetings, Ezaara,” Lars said. “We’ve missed you today.”
Ezaara dismounted and shook Lars’ hand. The council leader’s eyes were as cold as the icicles behind him.
“You’re freezing,” said Lars. “Let’s discuss your recent whereabouts inside. With war looming, the last thing we need is our Queen’s Rider getting ill.”
Was that concern or a reprimand? Either way, Ezaara didn’t like Lars’ tone. She wasn’t only our Queen’s Rider—the council’s property, to do with as they saw fit. She was Ezaara of Lush Valley, Zaarusha’s rider. She had a say in her life. If they hadn’t learned that after wrongly trying to banish her and getting Roberto nearly killed in the Robandi desert, then they had a thing or two to learn. “Thank you, Master Lars,” she said demurely. “That would be nice.”
Zaarusha chuckled. “I see you can manage him on your own. I’m going hunting. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
A fire blazed in Lars’ hearth, the smoke funneling up a natural chimney in the rock ceiling. Ezaara took off her gloves and held her numb hands out, sitting in an overstuffed chair near the fire.
Lars sat in the chair opposite her.
“Come, Ezaara, you’re positively blue,” Lydia said, bustling over with a warm cup of herb tea and a plate laden with cookies. The scent of cinnamon wafted over them. Ezaara’s mouth watered. She loved the winter delicacies, made with ground almonds and egg whites.
“Would you like one, Ezaara?” asked Lars.
He was playing the congenial host. Would he be that congenial when he found out where she’d just been? Ezaara was about to pick up a cookie but changed her mind. She wasn’t a littling, to be plied with treats then told what to do. “Maybe later. Business first.” She leaned back, crossing her long legs. “Do you know where I’ve been?”
Lars replied, “Please, tell me.”
Riders of Fire Complete Series Box Set books 1-6: YA Epic Fantasy Dragon Rider Adventures Page 70
