Riders of Fire Box Set

by Eileen Mueller

  “Relax. If you impressed me, you can impress Jaevin.”

  Impressed? From his attitude, she’d never have guessed. “You never let on. I thought I was hopeless.” Her breathing eased. Despite the crowd—despite making a fool of herself so many times since she’d arrived—she could do this. After all, she’d beaten Tomaaz in the market. And she’d scored quite a few hits on Roberto over the last week. She only had to get two strikes. If she got in fast, she might catch Jaevin off guard.

  “You’re right. I never let on how good you were … or how beautiful you are …” Roberto’s words shimmied through her mind, lighting every corner within her, taking her breath away. He was still on bended knee before her, in front of the crowd.

  “Please stand, Master Roberto,” she said, voice strong enough to carry.

  Roberto’s onyx eyes scanned her face as he rose.

  “I thank you for training me so well.” Her success would be his.

  He bowed his head again. “Good luck, My Honored Queen’s Rider.” Her face was reflected in his midnight eyes—as if her likeness was seared into his soul. Roberto walked back to the crowd.

  Master Tonio presented Master Jaevin with the silver-hilted ceremonial sword, then stepped back.

  Jaevin towered above her. Broad and well-muscled, he twirled the sword absent-mindedly. He was good. To strike him, she’d have to use every strategy and trick she knew.

  Upon the outcrop, a purple dragon flexed its wings—Singlar. Astride him, Lars lifted a horn to his lips and blew it.

  The crowd cheered.

  Master Jaevin lunged. Ezaara parried a flurry of thrusts. As quick as an asp, he struck her arm. Vino roared. Strike one.

  If this were a real fight, she had no doubt Jaevin could kill her in an instant. Thank the Egg, it was only an evaluation. She parried a downward strike, the force reverberating through her arm. Jaevin feinted and she deflected it, blocking his next blow.

  “Good,” Jaevin called. “Nice block.”

  “Graceful move,” Roberto melded, and an image flashed through her mind—her braid swinging and arm muscles flexing.

  She looked like that? “What? Oh, thanks.” Ezaara missed blocking Jaevin’s next blow and had to duck sideways to avoid being hit.

  “Timing is everything,” Master Jaevin called.

  “Yes sir,” Ezaara replied.

  “Your braid looks like spun gold in the sunlight.” Warmth flowed through her at Roberto’s words.

  “At a time like this, you’re admiring my hair?” Ezaara sidestepped as Jaevin swung again.

  “Everything.”

  Her arm shuddered, blocking another strike.

  “You’re a powerful melody thrumming through me, setting my bones on fire.”

  Bones on fire. She got that. Hers melted every time they melded.

  Faster and faster, Jaevin whipped his sword at her, keeping her on the defensive. His style was similar to Tomaaz, driving her backward, giving her no chance to attack.

  “Lift your guard a little,” Master Jaevin called.

  Ezaara did and their swords clanged.

  “Nice move.” This time Roberto sent her legs, bronzed from the sun, thighs flexing to parry Jaevin’s last blow.

  Jaevin’s sword shot past her guard, the tip tapping her shoulder. Vino roared.

  “Your left side was open,” Jaevin called. Strike two.

  “Noted.” She parried his next thrust. “You cost me a strike, Roberto. How can I concentrate when you keep leaking emotions?”

  A rush of sweetness engulfed her.

  “It’s wonderful, but not now.” Ezaara danced out of Jaevin’s reach.

  “Sorry.” Just like that, Roberto was gone and her head was her own again.

  §

  A dam had broken. For years, Roberto had kept his feelings on a leash. He’d escaped a crucible of pain and never wanted to revisit it, so he’d barricaded his emotions behind a thick wall.

  Ezaara had destroyed all that. From the first glimpse of her imprinting, she’d created a chink in his defense. He’d plugged the hole with cold indifference, austere instruction and dogged determination.

  But her loyalty to the queen had created another rift in his wall. Her courage, another. By stealth, the chinks had widened. And during the race yesterday, at the river, the fire of dragon power had swept away his last flimsy pretense of indifference.

  It had sneaked up on him like a wildcat and sunk its claws deep into him, and no matter how he tried to shake it loose, it clung to him, worming its way deep inside him.

  He loved her.

  And she knew it.

  And if he acted on it, he’d be banished.

  §

  Jaevin’s sword thudded against Ezaara’s leather breastplate. Vino roared. No! Strike three, and she hadn’t landed a blow yet.

  She had to bide her time. She was used to holding out against larger opponents. Tomaaz was a head and shoulders taller than her. Lofty, even bigger. Dragging their bulk around, they often tired before her. But Jaevin wasn’t showing any sign of tiring. It was a joke—she hadn’t come near to landing a blow. At this rate, she’d only be proving her incompetence.

  Ezaara dodged another strike and swung around so Jaevin couldn’t back her up against the rock face. Sweat pricked her eyes. She darted back, out of range. Jaevin lunged again, intense thrusts driving her across the arena. Get in fast and attack him? How naive she’d been.

  The clash of steel on steel rang among the rock faces as Jaevin launched another flurry of attacks. Her arms were tiring. Her breath rasped in her throat. Everyone’s eyes were on her. She couldn’t back down. She had to prove herself. Had to strike him, if only once.

  She stumbled over a rock, and Jaevin tapped her leg. Vino roared, his scales shining blood red in the sun. Four strikes. None to her. One more from him and they’d be done.

  “A short break,” Master Jaevin called. “Water, please.”

  Ezaara slumped onto a rock.

  “Well done, Ezaara,” Adelina called out. “He’s already beaten all of us, so you’re in excellent company.” A ripple of laughter floated across the arena.

  Even though they weren’t laughing at her, Ezaara wanted more. They had to take her seriously. Everyone had to see that she could fight, lead them, think strategically. If she were to lead them, they needed to feel confident in her abilities. She had to land a blow on Jaevin—and soon.

  Roberto brought Ezaara a waterskin. She drank deeply, wiping her mouth while he held her sword. “Thank you,” she gasped. “I needed that.”

  “Think strategically,” Roberto mind-melded.

  She nodded, too tired to reply.

  “Come on, Ezaara. What’s his biggest weakness?”

  “Jaevin’s fast, but he sometimes keeps his left side open. I’ll try to use that move you used on me the other day.” Roberto had repeatedly slipped his blade past her guard, tapping her forearm. She took another swig of water.

  “It’ll impress him if you can carry it off.” Roberto’s eyes rested on her face a moment longer than necessary before he passed her sword to her, took the waterskin, and went back to the sidelines.

  Impressing Jaevin was no small order. She was up against the most practiced swordsman in the realm.

  “Go, Ezaara!” Adelina and Gret pumped their fists in the air. Cheers broke out. Lofty was the only one who’d ever cheered for her at home. These riders wanted her to do well. She had to try. Mustering her determination, Ezaara stood to face Jaevin.

  A deep note rang out from Lars’ horn.

  Ezaara leaped forward, but Jaevin was already there, aiming a blow at her chest. She parried, sword ringing, and lunged. He deflected her blade. She ducked low, feinting to Jaevin’s left and leaped to his right. His side was open. She thrust up, hard. He twisted, sword flashing, but he was too late. Her blade hit his forearm.

  Caught by the sun, red droplets sprayed through the air as he drove his sword across her blade, flicking the sword out of Ezaara’s ha
nd. Her blade clattered to the stone.

  Dragon’s fangs! She’d swung so hard, the blunted blade had cut him.

  Vino roared, counting her first strike. But the crowd was silent—she’d injured a master.

  Belly hollow, Ezaara gasped. “Sorry, Master Jaevin.”

  He grimaced. “Good hit. A little too much force for training, but it’s only a scratch. I’ll survive.”

  It was more than a scratch—although not a deep gash—but was bleeding impressively. Perhaps he was a bleeder, whose blood didn’t clot properly.

  “When unevenly matched, use more leverage,” Master Jaevin said. “Strike with the strong part of your sword against my tip. Now, pick up your sword, Ezaara, and keep fighting. A tharuk wouldn’t show you any mercy.”

  She snatched up her blade.

  Blood running down his arm, Jaevin fought with a ferocity that made her knees tremble. Again and again, he struck and she blocked.

  Blood ran down his hilt, drops flying—so much blood for such a small cut.

  Her arms ached. Her legs were tired. If she faltered now, he’d strike her again—the last strike.

  “Steady,” Roberto murmured.

  She rallied, blocking the master’s blows.

  Gradually, Jaevin slowed. A sheen of sweat coated his face. His strikes weren’t as strong as before. Face pale, Jaevin leaped onto a rock, deftly flinging his sword from his right hand to his left, then jumped back down to engage her.

  Even using his left hand, he was good, but definitely weaker than before and tiring too fast. Ezaara parried him easily. She drove him back. He stumbled.

  Lips tinged blue, Jaevin’s breathing rasped as he lifted his blade to strike her—and dropped it, clutching at his chest.

  “Master Jaevin, are you all right?” Ezaara sheathed her sword and leaped forward to support him.

  Pale. Blue-tinged lips. Rasping breath. The edges of his gash were puckered and he was bleeding way too much. Dread filled her. Dragon’s bane—it had to be.

  But who had poisoned him? Amid murmurs from the crowd, Ezaara lowered Jaevin to the ground, positioning him against a rock.

  She picked up her ceremonial blade, examining the tip. Despite the bloody end, the blade glistened with a clear substance. She sniffed it. Yes, it was Dragon’s bane. Deadly if not treated. She had the remedy in her healer’s pouch, back in her cavern.

  “Unhand him!” A shrill voice yelled. Fleur.

  “It’s dragon’s bane. He needs—”

  Sofia yelled, “Another victim. She wants us all dead!”

  “She’s Zens’ spy!” Alban joined in.

  “Get away from him.” Rushing over, Fleur knelt beside Jaevin. “Poison!” She pointed at Ezaara. “Seize her. She’s poisoned the master of the sword.”

  If they didn’t listen to her, Jaevin would die. “No, you don’t underst—”

  The blue guards grabbed Ezaara’s arms.

  In a flash, Roberto’s sword tip was at a guard’s throat. “Unhand the Queen’s Rider,” he demanded.

  Within a heartbeat, Tonio leveled his dagger at Roberto. “You’re threatening the blue guards?” he asked in a deadly-soft voice.

  “They’re threatening the Queen’s Rider,” Roberto snapped.

  “Who has poisoned the swordmaster,” Fleur barked, bent over Jaevin.

  This was crazy. They were all at each other’s throats. “Stop,” Ezaara called. “There’s been a misunderstanding. Jaevin needs—”

  Zaarusha roared and swept down from the outcrop, thudding to the arena. “Don’t worry, Ezaara, this is preposterous. I’ll sort it out.”

  Lars blew the horn as Singlar landed. “Order,” Lars yelled. “Order, now!”

  Everyone froze.

  Shards, these riders had discipline.

  “Stand down, Tonio and Roberto,” Lars barked. They sheathed their weapons, glowering at each other. “Fleur, take Jaevin to the infirmary at once and purge this poison from him.”

  “Yes, Master Lars. I won’t rest until I identify it.”

  “Master Lars,” Ezaara said, “it’s dragon’s bane.” The antidote was in her healer’s pouch, tucked under her mattress for safekeeping, but it was common enough. Fleur probably had it by the jarful—or maybe not. “I have the remedy.”

  Fleur’s gaze was glacial. “It’s probably a ruse to feed him further poison and finish him off.” She and Bruno bundled Jaevin onto Ajeuria, between them.

  Ezaara watched, helpless. No one trusted her.

  “Don’t let anyone get their hands on the remedy,” Roberto melded. “Except you. Keep its whereabouts secret.”

  “Why?” No answer.

  Lars addressed the crowd. “No one will be apprehended without proof. However, there are suspicious circumstances, so we’ll need the standard precautions. Everyone except the council members and blue guards are to go straight back to their assigned duties, now. If you know anything about Master Jaevin’s poisoning, report to the council this afternoon.”

  The air was a flurry of murmurs and flapping wings as riders left for the caverns.

  Lars addressed the masters and guards. “We’ll meet as a council to discuss who may have poisoned Master Jaevin. Tonio, you will be disciplined for raising a weapon against another master.”

  Tonio’s face flashed annoyance, but he nodded.

  “Ezaara, as prime suspect, and I mean suspect only, you and Zaarusha will be kept under guard until we’ve sorted this out.” Lars nodded at a hefty blue guard nearby. “Jacinda, your troop are assigned to guard the Queen’s Rider and the queen in their quarters until the trial.”

  “We’ll go quietly,” Zaarusha said.

  “Of course.” Ezaara kept her head high.

  Jacinda and her blue guards surrounded Ezaara and the queen at swordpoint, removing Ezaara’s weapons.

  “Roberto, for raising your sword against a blue guard, and as Ezaara’s training master, you and Erob will also be confined to your quarters. Seppi, your troop will look after Erob and the master of mental faculties and imprinting.” At Lars’ words, guards manhandled Roberto onto a blue dragon.

  Ezaara mind-melded one last time. “Roberto, it wasn’t me.”

  There was nothing from Roberto, not even a backward glance or a mind-melded thought. It was as if she wasn’t there.

  Lars’ gaze was fierce. “Jacinda, Seppi, you’re tasked with everyone’s safety as much as their containment. Check their food and water aren’t poisoned. Make sure no one reaches their quarters to harm them. I intend to get to the bottom of this with everyone intact.”

  Suspicions

  Guards hustled Roberto through the onlookers, the air a soup of murmured rumors and fetid body odor. He swiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead. It wasn’t the first trial he’d attended—although at every one, memories of his father’s banishment loomed. That old bitterness flooded his mouth. He swallowed it down.

  The council chamber was packed with people, crammed into a makeshift gallery of chairs. More were standing, six-deep, around the walls. The other masters were seated, the granite horseshoe a giant shield around them. Ezaara should be sitting behind that table, not facing it on trial. The realm’s ruling dragons were lined up along the rear wall like warriors ready for battle. Zaarusha’s eyes were golden slits, focusing on a point in front of the crowd—Ezaara.

  There she was. White-faced, on a chair facing the council, stiff-backed guards on either side of her. Even under duress, she was beautiful. Her smattering of freckles stood out like scattered stardust. Her head was high, gaze directly on the council. Facing them head on—like she’d faced every other challenge since arriving here.

  Beyond her, Fleur, Bruno and Simeon were seated in the accusers’ chairs. Fleur should be healing Jaevin, not here on a witch hunt. Roberto shrugged off the guards and strode forward, stopping before the council table.

  “Nice of you to finally show up,” Erob said from his spot among the other dragons.

  Roberto sent him a mental snort.


  Lars rapped a gavel on the table. The crowd hushed.

  “We’re here to establish who poisoned Master Jaevin.” Lars scanned the room. “As spymaster, Master Tonio has been appointed as spokesperson for the accusers. Master Roberto, as Ezaara’s official trainer, you are responsible for defending her.”

  Keeping his face a mask of disinterest, Roberto replied. “You’re right, Master Lars, it is my duty—unless someone else volunteers.”

  He melded with Ezaara, “Do you trust me?”

  “I do.”

  “Then, please, no matter what I say, don’t protest.” Tonio was Fleur’s spokesperson. Tonio, who mistrusted Roberto and hated his father. Tonio, who was brilliant at slanting evidence to suit his case.

  “I promise … but—”

  “Ezaara, they’ll banish you if they believe you’re guilty. Do you want to lose Zaarusha? Life here at the hold?”

  “Are you going to lie?”

  “I may have to. We can’t afford to have you banished.”

  “You mean innocents can be banished?”

  Roberto shifted his weight. “I’ve seen it happen.”

  The air was sticky with anticipation.

  Lars shuffled some parchment and dipped a quill in his inkwell. “Master Tonio, I turn the time to you. Please outline the accusation and question the accused.”

  It was dehumanizing, hearing Ezaara referred to as the accused, but Roberto held his tongue, and steeled himself for Tonio’s questions.

  Tonio stalked around the table to stand near Fleur. Eyes fixed on Ezaara, Tonio addressed him. “Master Roberto, permission to question the accused directly.”

  A demand, not a request. And one he didn’t want to submit to, but he couldn’t refuse without making Ezaara look guilty, and Tonio knew it. “If you must.” Roberto stepped back.

  “The accused—Honored Queen’s Rider.” Tonio’s tone was derisive. “Do you recognize these ceremonial swords?” He gestured at the swords Ezaara and Jaevin had dueled with that morning, now lying on the council table.

  “Yes.”

  “Where have you seen them?”

  “They’ve been hanging on the wall in my cavern since I came to Dragons’ Hold,” she replied.