Jael shot a grim glance at Tonio. “Let’s go.” They’d seen enough. The council would have to believe him now.
They left the blue guards to lock up behind them and strode along the stone corridors, their boot thuds echoing off the walls. Halfway up the dungeon’s spiral staircase, Tonio turned back to Jael. “You know I was just goading you, so we could test her, don’t you?”
Jael grunted. Whether he was telling the truth or not, the spymaster was sure slick.
“I’d never pull a knife on a fellow Naobian,” Tonio continued.
You could’ve fooled him. Jael had seen the way Tonio glared at Amato and sometimes at Roberto. He changed the subject. “Do you know what the good news is?”
“What?” the spymaster asked as they reached the top of the stairs.
Jael came up the last step and looked Tonio in the eye. “They can’t live long, so to win this war we only have to kill those mages and dark dragons faster than Zens can create them.”
“Only?” Tonio raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. Only.” Jael strode off, his boots clipping the stone in a rapid staccato.
§
Marlies held up Caldeff’s head and helped him sip some feverweed tea. It’d been a day since the older rider had succumbed to a fever after a gash in his thigh had become infected. She wasn’t surprised—tharuk claws were filthy. Although she’d used clean herb, she’d had no piaua juice to seal the wound and heal it, so it’d been bound to get infected.
Once he’d finished the feverweed infusion, she peeled back the covers and removed his bandage to inspect the wound. A red line tracked up his thigh. She had no way to fight it. Nothing she could do except make him comfortable and hope his body could fight the infection. At least the tea would help him rest. She cleansed the wound again and changed his bandage. She’d have to watch him tonight.
After washing her hands, she slumped in her chair and propped her elbows on the edge of his bed, her head in her hands. If only she wasn’t so tired. It wasn’t as if sleep helped. Her bones ached and her muscles were fatigued. And with the constant flood of injured riders and not enough help in the infirmary, it was easy to feel overwhelmed.
The infirmary door clicked shut. A soft tread made its way toward her. “It’s late,” Hans murmured, rubbing her shoulders. “How’s your wound?”
“I’m recovering.” At least the gash under her ribs wasn’t infected. “We’re lucky Bruno’s aim is so lousy.” A hand’s breadth farther and Bruno would’ve hit her vital organs and killed her.
“Indeed. Come to bed.”
“I wouldn’t sleep anyway.”
“Because you’re worried about Taliesin and Leah again?” Hans asked.
Marlies stood, rubbing the small of her back. Gods, her legs ached. At least they were still functioning. She sighed. “Yes, I’m worried about them, Hans. Aren’t you?”
Hans tilted his head. “I haven’t had a bad vision about their quest. Mind you, I don’t see everything. They’re probably fine, safely on their way to the red guards with Giant John.”
“I’ll be glad when they return with the piaua juice. We sorely need it.” If they returned.
“And we sorely need you to be rested.” He ran a hand through his dark curls, keen green eyes regarding her. “Staying up and watching Caldeff isn’t going to help you recover from your stint in Death Valley, Marlies. We need you fighting fit here in the infirmary. You’re the only healer we have now—apart from Ezaara, but she’s busy running the realm.” He hugged her. “Gods, Marlies, I don’t want to lose you. Come to bed. I’ll get up and check Caldeff in a few hours.”
Marlies shook her head. “I can’t, Hans. I just can’t.”
§
Roberto was gone when Ezaara woke to a soft knock. The door opened and Sofia stuck her head inside. Ezaara started.
No, it was all right. Sofia had changed. She shook her head. Zens’ methimium implants were wreaking havoc upon Dragons’ Realm. For the Egg’s sake, the least she could do was forgive Sofia’s attempt on her life. “Come in, Sofia.”
Sofia’s face fell. “Did you want me to leave?”
Ezaara frowned. “No, I just invited you in.”
“You shook your head when you saw me.”
“I was thinking about Zens,” Ezaara half lied. No point in getting Sofia’s feathers ruffled.
Sofia flinched. “He’s never far from my mind either. I saw Roberto heading off, so I thought you may want some help.”
“Dragons’ Realm needs whatever help we can get,” Ezaara replied. “I don’t know how we’re going to beat Zens.” She tapped her fingers on the quilt. She was still dizzy, but she got out of bed and pulled on a warm robe. “Could you bring me some ink, parchment, and tubes for messenger birds if you can find some?”
“Messenger birds?” Sofia nodded. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
When Sofia returned with supplies, Ezaara wrote a message to the Naobian green guards in the South, requesting troops. Another to the people of Lush Valley. More to Last Stop, Montanara, Horseshoe Bend and the villages scattered through Spanglewood Forest. By the time she’d done those, her hands were cramping, but she penned a message to the red guards who patrolled northwest of Spanglewood, near Death Valley, and lastly, to the brown guards over the Northern Alps beyond Dragons’ Hold.
Ezaara chewed her lip. There was one more person she could ask for help. She wrote her last message, knowing it was a cry in the wilderness and that the bird would probably die and be scorched in the hot desert sands before it ever reached Ithsar, the young Robandi assassin whose deformed fingers Ezaara had healed. Ithsar had helped her and Roberto escape from the clutches of her mother, Ashewar, the chief prophetess of the Robandi assassins. Perhaps she’d be willing to help her again... if Ashewar hadn’t executed Ithsar for treason.
Ezaara sealed the last message in its tube, eyes burning. Was Ithsar still alive? How many fine people was she asking to sacrifice their lives? She clenched her jaw, squeezing back tears. Fewer than Zens would slaughter if they did nothing. “The messages are ready, Sofia.”
Sofia swept out with the tubes.
Moments later, Tomaaz entered Ezaara’s cavern. His blond hair was ratty, his riders’ garb still stained from battle, and his face was gaunt again. After two stints in Death Valley, it didn’t take much for him to look haggard. “Thank the gods, you’re all right,” he said.
She rose from her table.
He rushed over to hug her and held her tight. “They said you were unconscious.”
Ezaara clung to him, stifling a sob. “Tomaaz, sometimes it’s all too much.”
They sat on the edge of her bed.
“It’s pretty grim.” Her twin shook his head. “A far cry from Lush Valley. I just—” He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling.
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “What is it?”
His green eyes were bright with tears. “It’s Maazini. He has an implant, one of Zens’ burrowing ones. And if I don’t extract it, they’ll kill him at dawn tomorrow.”
“What? Kill a royal dragon? Queen Zaarusha’s own son? Who decided that?”
“The council, in your absence. Lars decided, but it was a consensus.”
“Zaarusha, this is preposterous.”
“The council are worried that if they spare Maazini, it will set a precedent for hundreds of our own dragons going rogue and fighting us.”
“I was a victim to methimium, Tomaaz.” Ezaara met his eyes. “I had an implant too.”
“You did?” Tomaaz gripped her hand. “When?”
She didn’t want to hold his gaze, but she had to. She had to give him hope. “I was shot in Lush Valley. An arrowhead burrowed into my skin. The evil whispers were so compelling they even goaded me into firing an arrow at Ma.”
With a sharp intake of breath he tightened his grip, squeezing her fingers. “What happened? Was Ma hurt?”
Ezaara shrugged. “Roberto pushed me off Zaarusha, so my arrow missed.”
&
nbsp; “And then…” His eyes were wide with hope, brimming with tears.
“He and Ma held me down and dug out the methimium crystal. Any longer and it might have burrowed too deep.”
Tomaaz swallowed, his throat bobbing. He hugged her again, tighter than before. “Gods, I don’t want to lose Maazini.” This time, tears spilled from his eyes, wetting her hair.
A Stroke of Luck
Leah and Taliesin headed north through Spanglewood Forest, keeping to less-traveled tracks, making for the northern hills that ran through the trees.
As they reached the foot of the hills, Taliesin turned, gazing into the branches of an evergreen pine. “Can you see them?” he whispered, pointing at the foliage.
Tharuks? No, it must be something else. “What?” Leah craned her neck but there was nothing unusual there.
“Spangles.” Taliesin smiled. “They’re watching over us.”
“Where?”
“In the trees among the needles. See those tiny glimmers? Those are spangles.”
Try as hard as she could, Leah couldn’t see anything but pine. The whispers of the trees were muted, soft.
Taliesin shrugged. “Master Giddi told me only some people can see them. I guess I’m lucky.”
“Come on.” Leah glanced at the switchbacks leading up the range of hills to a pass. “I don’t think tharuks are tracking us or they would’ve caught us by now, but we’d better keep walking.”
It took them over an hour of panting and puffing to get to the top. They didn’t dare linger in the pass to admire the broad sweep of southern forest behind them or the swathe of trees with the Northern Alps rising beyond. This high up, they could be spotted. Although the boy was tiring, Leah took his hand and led him down the stony trail.
“Come on, we have to get back into the trees, then we can eat and rest.”
Taliesin nodded, following her down the hillside.
Deep in the forest on the other side of the hills, there were high drifts of snow where the sun hadn’t peeked for days. Leah’s feet were numb, despite her warm boots. Taliesin’s nose was bright red from the cold. Leah tucked his cloak closer around him, then pulled his cold hand, leading him on. At least it wasn’t snowing now, although from the dark clouds above, it might be soon. They trudged on through the forest, past burnt tharuk bodies, the stink of charred dragon flesh and, occasionally, a dead rider. The trees’ whispers here were off, discordant, the way they’d been when tharuks had attacked her village.
Taliesin squeezed Leah’s hand tighter as they skirted signs of slaughter.
Maybe she hadn’t been courageous when she’d volunteered to seek piaua juice. Maybe she’d just been foolish. If these dragons and riders couldn’t survive, she and Taliesin had no chance. She’d thought they might have an advantage by using their small size and stealth to slip about unnoticed, but shadow dragons could burn anyone. And anyone, no matter their size, could succumb to the cold.
Wings flapped overhead. “It might be a shadow dragon,” Leah hissed.
They ducked under a tree, peering up through the foliage. Through the canopy, blue wings blocked the sky.
Taliesin let go of her hand and shot out into the snow. He jumped up and down, waving his arms. “Down here. Help us, down here.”
The dragon’s long sinuous neck snaked down to peer between the trees. It gave a roar and tilted its head to the left.
Taliesin turned to Leah, eyes shining. “She wants us to follow her.”
He had the gift of prophecy and said he could see spangles. “Can you meld with dragons too?” Leah asked.
“No,” Taliesin replied, “but she jerked her head for us to follow.”
“And you know she’s female?”
He laughed. “Come on, we’re going to be all right.”
Leah didn’t have the heart to deny him. Gripping his hand, she followed him through the trees, the way the dragon had indicated.
The blue dragon landed, sending a flurry of snow skyward as it folded its wings. The dragon’s saddle was empty. Leah approached and placed a hand upon the dragon’s hide. “Are you injured?” she asked.
The dragon’s slitted green eyes were sorrowful. “No, I’m not injured, but my rider died in battle.”
“I’m sad for your loss.” Leah hesitated.
“What are you doing so far from the nearest settlement?” the blue asked.
“We’re looking for the red guards,” Leah said. “We’re trying to find more piaua juice.”
“Aha,” the blue dragon murmured. “So you’re Marlies’ apprentice healer. Other dragons have spoken of you. We’ve all agreed we should help you with your quest for the restorative juice.” The dragon turned its gaze to Taliesin. “And who is this?”
“My friend, Taliesin,” she answered.
To Leah’s surprise, the dragon bowed its head, and murmured in her mind, “Tell the grandson of Anakisha to place his hand upon my forehead so he understands me. I would like to speak with him.”
Leah relayed the message and dropped her hand from the dragon’s scales.
Taliesin tentatively laid his palm on the dragon’s head. After a moment, he broke into a smile. “Come on, Leah. Amara is going to take us to the red guards.” The dragon extended a foreleg so Taliesin could clamber up its side.
Once he was in the saddle, Taliesin reached down and stretched out a hand to Leah. She, too, had to use the dragon’s foreleg to climb up. They tugged their cloaks around them, and the mighty dragon took off, leaving nothing but footprints in the snow.
Dungeons
Tonio’s footfalls rang off the narrow winding walls of the stairway to the dungeons. At the fork, he nodded to the blue guards, two of them falling in behind him as he descended the dank corridor that led to the dragon holding cells. Although Amato had been here three days, his dragon had arrived only a few hours ago and had been put in with his rider. Whoever had decided that Amato should no longer be separated from Matotoi had been mad. Or struck with soft pity for the man who’d become a wretched monster and destroyed so many lives.
Jacinda, the blue guard on duty, rose as he approached. Her keys clanked in the lock and she opened the cell. Tonio stalked inside. Jacinda and another young guard followed him in, staying by the barred door. Tonio placed his torch in a sconce and turned to behold his nemesis.
Amato was mewling in his sleep. His bony body, only partially covered with blankets, was wracked with shivers. Bandages peeped above the back of his shirt. Lars said he’d been burned fighting to protect people in Lush Valley, but that didn’t impress Tonio. It was too little and far too late.
Amato’s dragon lifted his head, yellow eyes regarding him. Matotoi was only a shadow of his former glory. His scales had faded from glorious emerald to an insipid green nearly leached of color. His bony ribs poked through his sagging skin. Matotoi angled his sinuous neck between Tonio and Amato.
Tonio shrugged. No doubt, Matotoi felt the venom radiating off him. The dragon snorted and Amato awoke, frantically casting around, grasping his blankets and pulling them to his chest.
This skeletal wretch was a far cry from the kind-hearted green guard who’d tried to protect Tonio from his abusive step-brother—before Amato had turned into a power-hungry traitor and given his own son, Roberto, to the enemy.
Amato’s eyes widened in fear.
So he’d recognized him. He still had his wits. With a little pressure, Tonio could get some information out of him.
Tonio cracked his knuckles, jerking his head toward Amato. “Stand him up, and let’s get started.”
The young blue guard pulled Amato to his feet.
“Now, leave us.”
“Sorry, sir, but Lars has instructed us to stay,” Jacinda answered, her hands hovering near the sword at her hip.
Of course Lars had. Tonio would have to play nice or risk being tried. Lars had threatened as much. He had to be quick off the mark, keep Amato on his toes, so the moment Amato met his eye, Tonio snapped, “You blame your crimes
on Zens. How did he control you?”
“Methimium.”
“What?” Tonio barked.
“The yellow crystals he implants in people are called methimium. They control sathir and harness the life energy, and Zens converts it into hate and rage.”
Tonio raised a cynical eyebrow. Amato hadn’t lost his gift of the gab, even though Tonio’s dragon, Antonika, had told him he’d been in a cave for years. “Tell me more.”
Matotoi butted Tonio’s hand. Tonio obliged, laying his hand on the dragon’s forehead. “I confirm that Amato was captured by Zens and implanted with a yellow crystal, which forced him to obey Zens.”
“If you don’t believe me,” Amato croaked, “lift my bandage and look for yourself.” He turned and lifted his shirt, exposing his bony lower ribs. “Under my right shoulder blade.”
“Shirt off. On the mattress,” Tonio barked.
Amato obeyed surprisingly quickly.
Burning with morbid curiosity, Tonio peeled back the bandage. The middle of Amato’s back was covered with broken blisters and smeared with healing salve. A mean ridge of scar, thicker than his thumb and half as long as his forearm, scored the skin under Amato’s shoulder blade. “On your feet again. Other scars I’ve seen from these methimium implants haven’t been that thick. It could be from anything.”
“Most people don’t have a dragon performing the surgery with his talon.” Amato scrambled to his feet, tucked his shirt in, and wrapped his blanket around him. “When I realized I’d killed my wife, we plunged into the lake to hide in the cave,” he said, scratching his matted beard. “I begged Matotoi to rip the vile thing out. It got infected, so we used lake weed to treat it. That scar is my memento.” Amato sat on the mattress and slumped, placing his head in his hands. “Once the methimium was gone, I remembered every Naobian I’d given to Zens as slaves for his mines. I was ashamed. Too terrified to go back to Naobia. And when Roberto took me there, all the victims—” He broke into a sob.
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