Taliesin was cowering against the side of the barrel on a scrap of planking, hands on the pegs, the hole in the trapdoor gaping at his feet. Her own heels were on wood, her toes hanging over the edge.
She had to go first or the boy would be paralyzed by fear.
Growls broke out at the other end of the wagon.
“My apologies,” Giant John prattled in an overly-loud voice. “One of my horses got away on me. She’s been having a lot of problems lately with her front shoe, so it’s been hard to control her. I wouldn’t want her to go lame, would I? I’ll just check on her.” His voice grew more distant as he clambered off the wagon. Tharuk footfalls followed him.
Beneath them, dirt and patches of snow beckoned.
A rush of cold air enveloped Leah as she dropped to the ground. Glancing under the wagon, she confirmed what she’d suspected: Giant John had driven the wagon into a tree. The side was up hard against some bushes, so she and Taliesin could escape. John’s boots paced in front of the horses, tharuks gathered around him. He chatted away and gave a loud belly laugh—disguising their noise.
That distraction wouldn’t last long. She beckoned urgently to Taliesin. He slid to the ground.
With cold fingers, Leah pushed the trapdoor shut and twisted a nail to hold it closed. She and Taliesin crawled under the bushes. Gods, what luck so far! Keeping to the underbrush, they made as much headway as they could. When roars shattered the air, they took to their feet and ran, avoiding the snow and racing along winding dirt paths between the trees so their tracks weren’t as visible.
Not that it would help them if there was a tharuk tracker around.
Dragons’ Hold
Kierion burst through the council doors, skidding to a stop as his boots hit broken glass. Who in the First Egg’s name had smashed a drinking glass in here—and why? All the dragon masters stared at him. Many were missing—most notably, the Queen’s Rider. His feet crunching on shards, he approached. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Master Giddi has disappeared.”
Master Lars, the council leader, leaped to his feet, his blond beard bristling as he snapped, “What do you mean, Master Giddi’s disappeared?”
Kierion cringed. Shards, he hated being the bearer of bad tidings. “Battle Master Aidan asked me to bring the news.”
The council doors thudded open again behind Kierion.
Lars thumped the granite table with his fist. “The Queen’s Rider’s unconscious, Maazini’s been turned, and now the Dragon Mage is gone?”
Shivers skittered down Kierion’s spine. What in flame’s name had happened to Ezaara? Kierion didn’t dare ask with the council masters looking so dire. “We vanquished the dark dragons from Montanara, but then Commander Zens arrived in a flash of golden clouds and took Master Giddi away.”
“Realm gates,” announced spymaster Tonio, closing the double doors to the council chamber behind him and striding into the room. “When I spoke to Roberto yesterday, he said one of Anakisha’s travel rings had been stolen.”
Kierion scratched his neck, not eager to share more terrible news. “The strange thing is that Master Aidan reported Master Giddi willingly getting onto Zens’ dark dragon.”
“Obviously Master Giddi has chosen to side with dark dragons,” Master Mage Starrus snapped. “I told you he was no good. I’d like to—”
Master Mage Reina rounded on Master Starrus. “You’re only here in Master Giddi’s stead,” she said. “You no longer have authority on this or any council. You were demoted when Master Giddi was appointed leader of the Wizard Council.”
Kierion wished he was a mage himself, so he could blast Starrus with a bolt of mage flame. Couldn’t he see that Giddi might have been turned?
Master Lars barked at the new leader of the blue guards, “Dominique, please have one of your guards escort Master Starrus to the main cavern so he may proceed with training the mages. And then have someone clean up these flaming glass shards that Tomaaz made.”
Dominique thumped his fist over his heart and escorted Master Starrus out of the council chamber.
“Don’t blame Tomaaz,” Flight Master Alyssa muttered, flicking a dark brown braid over her shoulder. “You threatened to execute his dragon when it turned.”
By the dragon gods, a lot had gone on while Kierion had been gone. He battled to keep the shock from his face.
Lars’ steely blue eyes cut through the room.
No one else dared speak.
Kierion pounded his fist on his heart and nodded to Lars, then left the council chambers, the doors thudding shut behind him. Gods, Dragons’ Hold was a mess if Ezaara was unconscious, Giddi was gone, and Maazini, Tomaaz’s dragon, had been turned to follow their enemy Commander Zens. But he couldn’t stay and help. His stomach churned. He had to find Adelina.
Tonio, the spymaster was concerned because she’d been missing for a few days. And Kierion’s dragon, Riona, had just told him Adelina had been seen flying to Montanara on Linaia, her dragon. Just the thought of bubbly Adelina with her dark eyes in war-torn Montanara where shadow dragons had burned anyone who moved made Kierion nauseous.
He clenched his fists and ran. “Riona, meet me on the ledge outside my cavern.”
“I’m already waiting, Kierion, but you’re about to drop. You’re no use to anyone hungry and exhausted. I’ll be outside the mess cavern once you’ve slept and eaten.”
“But Adelina’s been missing for days.”
“Then a bit longer won’t change things.” Riona’s tone was final.
Groaning, Kierion slowed down and trudged to his cavern.
§
Ezaara woke in her bed, groggy. Her fingers ran over the white quilt edged with golden dragons, reveling in its billowing softness. From her first day at Dragons’ Hold, this quilt had been a safe cocoon for her to retreat to.
A chair creaked beside her bed.
“You’re awake.” Roberto’s voice was husky. He smiled, but the smile didn’t chase the dark shadows from under his eyes or the worry lines from his mouth. He exhaled and reached out to hold her hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. His dark hair was tangled and messy, and he gave a brittle laugh. “You’ve been out cold for two days. You really had me worried this time.”
“Huh?” was all Ezaara could manage. The last thing she remembered, she’d tried to meld with all of Zens’ shadow dragons to stop the battle above Montanara. He slipped pillows under her shoulders and brought a glass of sweet, cool tea to her lips. “Slowly, now.”
She sipped, soothing her parched throat. Her head was still fuzzy. Bones, weary. Gods, even her bones were tired. “Roberto?”
He sprang up from his chair and knelt beside the bed, holding her hands. “Yes? What is it?”
“How many were wounded? Dragons and riders? How many dead?” Before Roberto could answer, Ezaara’s eyes shut and darkness closed in.
§
Roberto steeled his nerves, banishing the ghosts of his past, and strode down the spiral stairs to the dungeons, pounding out a steady beat on the black stone. He had to confront his father. Get this over with. His mind was numb, body icy with dread, but he refused to allow that to slow him. Instead, he propelled himself forward, barreling past the blue guards with a terse nod, and arrived at the dungeon where Amato was held. Because Amato was how he thought of him now. The cursed murderer from Naobia. Roberto felt no pull of father-and-son relationship.
Jacinda unlocked the cell and let him enter.
He was alone with his dreaded enemy.
Amato, slouched on his mattress, looked up. With surprising agility, he sprang to his feet, posture defensive, hand flying to his hip. Then he realized he had no weapon.
Roberto stood, observing him. Long moments passed. Wary eyes regarded wary eyes.
“Son?” Amato croaked.
Son? After all he’d done. Roberto opened his mouth.
Then snapped his jaw shut. With all his resolve to face Amato, he now had nothing to say. He turned and stalked from the cell.
§
Ezaara woke slumped on her bed, her mind still ragged at the edges. She’d tried her best but hadn’t been able to save her people from Zens’ dark dragons. The bodies in Lush Valley haunted her. Dead and broken, scattered over the square, the wounded and injured moaning. She’d barely had time to patch up the worst of them and give instructions before leaving. And these were people she’d grown up with. The people she’d known and loved. Across the realm, others were dying. And she was responsible for them all. “Oh gods, Zaarusha, when I leaped upon your back that day in Lush Valley, I had no idea…”
Queen Zaarusha answered from her den next door, her comforting rumble echoing through Ezaara’s mind, soothing the ragged edges the shadow dragons had shredded. “I know. You’ve come far. You’ve learned so much.”
“Our people are dying.”
“It saddens me too, but they were dying long before you ever met me. Their blood has been spilled for many decades now.” Zaarusha’s voice took on dark vengeance. “Commander Zens has a lot to answer for.”
“And so do I. As Queen’s Rider I should be able to head off these beasts, to conquer them. Not watch my people die, their life blood spilling on the snow, in the forests, and in town squares.” She’d failed. In the core of her bones, she knew she’d failed.
And the worst moment was her shooting at her mother. She’d failed her people. Her family. Failed Ma. A dark chasm opened inside Ezaara, ready to swallow her.
§
When Roberto returned to Ezaara’s cavern, she was stirring. Worn out from sitting up watching her for two days, he kicked off his boots and lay on the bed beside her, his hands clasped under his head, elbows out, staring at the cavern’s stone ceiling.
“What is it?” she murmured. “You’re mulling something over.”
He sighed, turning to her. “I’ve just been to see Amato. I thought I could talk to him.”
Her green eyes regarded him steadily.
Shards, she looked exhausted. He stroked her hair. He didn’t know how he felt, how to tell Ezaara. All of his father’s actions had been driven by Zens’ methimium. As had the actions of others: Sofia when she’d tried to kill Ezaara; Roberto when he’d tried to kill her too; Ezaara, her mother; and now, Maazini had been turned. All of them had been victims of Zens’ methimium crystals. But none of them wore the blood of hundreds on their hands like Amato did. Roberto closed his eyes, but tears still sneaked out the corners.
All of Zens’ other victims had been saved early enough, before they’d done too much harm. If they hadn’t… The thought made him shudder. The things Amato had done. The things Zens had forced Roberto to do in Death Valley. He also had blood on his hands. Maybe he was similar to his father after all.
“Some scars run too deep for forgiveness,” she whispered.
His words. He swallowed, turning to her. “I still don’t know how you forgave me. I turned on you. When I close my eyes, I see my knife against your beautiful neck. Your blood welling…” He stroked the satin skin below her ear. “I’m sorry. I think I’ll be apologizing for a lifetime.”
Her eyes glimmered silver in the torchlight.
“What is it?” he murmured, brushing her stray tear away with his thumb. “You and your ma in Lush Valley?”
She closed her eyes, more tears escaping, and melded with him.
Whispers wound through her mind. That dark-haired woman had to go. Ezaara raised her bow. Just a few more moments, and that evil woman’s screaming would be gone.
“It’s the silver dragon too,” the voice goaded. “Kill it, and you’ll be free.”
Ezaara pulled her bowstring taut. And waited.
Roberto felt the hatred surging through Ezaara, the narrow focus of her darkened vision. He heard the insidious whispers urging her to kill her mother—whispers she had to obey. He felt the implant burning in her arm, burrowing deeper into her skin. Her muscles flexing as she pulled her bow taut and aimed at the woman on the silver dragon.
Now, free at Dragons’ Hold, she was drowning in a new sea of darkness. A canker that would eat away at her, consuming her from the inside out.
“Roberto,” she whispered. “If I can’t even forgive myself, how can I expect you to forgive your father?”
He stroked her hair. “Do you remember what you told me?”
She shook her head.
“That Zens wanted to destroy me.” He kissed her furrowed brow. “Knowing that made me fight to make sure he didn’t. If you hate yourself, he wins.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And we won’t let him win. Do you remember what you told Sofia at her trial?”
She shook her head again.
“We’ll never succeed if we let Zens’ tools of war drive us apart.”
“Did I say that?” Her smile was like the first fingers of dawn peeking over a mountaintop.
“You did. You’re very wise. The wisest woman I know.” Roberto kissed her.
§
Ezaara threaded her fingers through Roberto’s hair, pulling him closer as his mouth explored hers. So much had happened since their hand-fasting holiday. People had fought and died. Zens had battled and been vanquished. It’d only been ten days ago that Amato had surfaced and turned Roberto’s life upside down.
But right now, it was them—just the two of them. Lying on her bed—their bed—together in the Queen’s Rider’s cavern for the first time. She leaned her forehead against his.
“Naobia feels like a million years ago,” Roberto murmured, their breath mingling. “Remember dancing on the sand with the surf washing around our ankles?”
“I do. And the lazy mornings in that enormous bed.” Her cheeks warmed.
He grinned at her. “The sun-warmed boulder in the middle of Crystal Lake. Gods, you were beautiful.”
How could she forget his lean, tanned body cutting through the clear water? Back in Naobia, he’d been right when he’d said they’d make new memories. And right now, they could make more. “Close your eyes.”
When his dark lashes were flush against his tanned skin, Ezaara slipped out of bed and stole over to Zaarusha’s saddlebags against the cavern wall. She dug past her weapons and cloak, searching for Roberto’s gift. It wasn’t there. She spun, scanning the cavern. The beautiful Naobian riders’ garb Roberto had ordered for her was draped over her chest of drawers. Quickly slipping off her clothes, she changed into it. The colorful dragons winked in the torchlight as she strode back to the bedside.
“When can I open my eyes?” Roberto asked, his deep voice husky.
Ezaara traced her fingers over his lips, then kissed him. “What do you think?”
Roberto opened his eyes, swung out of bed, and stood, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. “You’re beautiful, no matter what you wear.” He took a long slow breath. “But right now, you’re breathtaking.”
He kissed her. His river of sathir danced around her, entwining with hers, silver flecks glimmering like a thousand glowworms lighting her way through the dark.
§
Jael followed Tonio into the dungeon with a brace of blue guards. He held the torch up so they could see. A wrinkled old crone in a mage cloak squinted in the torchlight. Behind her, lurking in the shadows, was a decrepit dark dragon. Its skin hung in saggy folds from its bony frame, as if it hadn’t eaten in moons.
Tonio spun. “I don’t know who this is, Jacinda,” he said to the lead guard. “I wanted to see Velrama, the young mage Kierion brought here.”
The blue guard stepped forward. “This is the mage Kierion delivered. She’s aged decades in three days.” Jacinda grimaced. “And so has her dragon.”
Tonio approached the dragon.
“Leave my beast alone,” the mage snarled. “Let him have his dying days in peace.”
Jael had told the council that the dragon they’d seen in the forest had aged, but it was another thing for the spymaster to see the evidence with his own eyes. “Why have you aged so fast? Are you dying?” Jael asked Velrama. If it was really Velr
ama. It was more likely to be one of the fakes Zens had made.
“I can’t die,” she snapped. “There are hundreds of me. And I don’t have to tell you anything.” She flung an age-spotted hand at the blue guards and laughed when they flinched. A lone spark dropped from her finger to the stone.
Jael put the torch in a sconce. When he’d seen Velrama a short while ago at the mage trials, she’d cast more than a lone spark. “What’s happened to you?”
She snarled at him, “Nothing.”
“At the mage trials you had so much power at your fingertips. You could create walls of flame or ice.”
Velrama’s wrinkles creased in a deep frown. “What mage trials?” She looked truly perplexed.
Tonio leaned in and whispered, “Test her. Fling flame at her and see what happens.”
Gods, he couldn’t flame one of his own mages.
“Now,” hissed Tonio. “It’s the only way to know whether she’s faking.”
Jael raised his hands then dropped them again. He shook his head.
Tonio’s hand drifted toward his blade. “Are you defying a dragon master?”
Jael held his hands up, ice in his voice. “Are you ordering a master mage to attack one of his own?”
The crone cackled with glee. “Go on, fight, fight!”
Jael spun and flung his hands at the wretched soul. Flame burst from his fingertips roiling toward her. She held up her palms and pushed. A green spark flitted from each hand and fell to the stone. She dived to the side. Jael’s flames hissed into the wall above her. He pulled the flames back into his palms and clenched his fists, quenching them.
“Happy now?” he snapped at both of them.
The crone crawled onto her mattress, shaking. “I don’t know of any mage trials,” she whimpered.
Because she wasn’t the real Velrama. Zens had replicated her body, but not her memories.
Tonio strode over to inspect the shadow beast. Its scales were patchy, falling out as it stretched then paced stiffly to a water trough. Feeble yellow flashes flickered from its eyes. It was no longer the fierce, young specimen Kierion had brought into the hold just a few days ago.
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