Marlies nodded at Leah. “That’s your second assignment.”
While Leah went inside to fetch another cup, Marlies said quietly to Hans, “I thought Ezaara would have come to see Erob by now.”
Hans arched his eyebrows over his emerald eyes. “Hasn’t she been in yet?”
“No,” Marlies replied. “She must be sleeping.”
Someone else knocked on the door. Adelina appeared on the ledge with Leah. “Do you know where Ezaara is?” she asked, frowning. “I thought she’d be here.”
“She’s not in her cavern?” Marlies asked.
“No, and no one’s seen her for hours.”
§
“Do you want to sit with us at lunch?” Gret asked after their combat session in the training cavern.
Lovina shook her head. “I’ll be along a little later.” Gret and Adelina always respected her need for space, never questioning her when she escaped the busy tumult of Dragons’ Hold for a little peace.
Lovina wandered through the tunnels aimlessly. She longed to see Tomaaz again, but he’d been so pale and tired when he’d returned from rescuing Erob, she’d insisted he get some sleep. Hours later, he was still sleeping. When he’d gone back to Death Valley, she’d been sure he’d become another of Zens’ victims, thrown on the flesh heap to rot. She hadn’t dared hope he’d survive. Hope hadn’t helped her family. Hadn’t helped her hold onto anyone she’d loved.
There. She’d admitted it. She did care for him—loved him. He nurtured something precious inside her.
Lovina suddenly realized that her feet had automatically brought her to the infirmary and Tomaaz’s family quarters. Oh well, since she was here, she may as well visit Maazini. Opening the door, she entered the infirmary. She’d stayed here for her first two weeks after arriving at Dragons’ Hold—she’d been so ill and broken. Two patients lay in beds sleeping, so Lovina gave Marlies a small wave.
“Tomaaz is still sleeping,” Marlies said quietly.
Lovina nodded and made her way through the rows of beds, and opened the door to the ledge outside. She tugged her jerkin shut, put on her gloves and pulled up her collar against the cold.
Erob’s sleeping form greeted her. Beyond him, Maazini was also asleep. Lovina sighed. She couldn’t wake them; they, too, needed sleep. This particular ledge was large enough for several dragons, providing necessary space to bring the wounded in from battle. A deep overhang provided shelter for the sleeping dragons and many more, if need be. She walked out from the protection of the overhang, her boots crunching on snow, and stood near the lip of the ledge.
When she’d first come here, two moons ago, she’d seen a verdant basin below, nestled among a ring of icy peaks. Dragons of every imaginable color had wheeled in the sky, looking like a scene off one of Bill’s bolts of cloth. An orchard of laden fruit trees had edged a patchwork of fields, hemmed in by a vast forest to the north. It had taken her breath away.
Now, shrouded in snow, with the lake glinting silver in the wan winter sun, the evergreens dusted with fine powder and the fierce peaks of Dragon’s Teeth standing like guardians, protecting her from her old life outside, Dragons’ Hold had a special type of pristine magic to it. A beauty that still made her breath catch.
Was that because she’d spent so many years in the arid waste of Death Valley—and then more in the grip of numlock, with a gray fog over her eyes and mind, preventing her from seeing the world’s beauty? She’d traveled the length of Dragons’ Realm, a slave to Bill—a merchant and tharuk spy—and yet she’d barely noticed any of it.
Out of the thousands of inhabitants she’d encountered, Tomaaz had been the only one to see her, to wake her from her living nightmare and fight for her to be free. She automatically flexed the arm Bill had broken. It was healthy again, not quite as strong as her other, but it would recover. Although she’d never be rid of the whip scars on her back, they would fade. She would not let Bill damage her for life.
Nearby, Singlar, Lars’ purple dragon, sprang from a ledge. Her fingers itched to paint the dragon’s majestic wings, limned in light as it flew over a waterfall that tumbled down an icy slope.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Lovina spun back to the arch. Erob and Maazini were both still asleep. The voice had sounded odd, like she’d heard it in her head, not with her ears. Had one of the dragons mind-melded with her? She shrugged it off. She’d probably imagined it.
“I’m over here. The other way.”
She spun again. On the other side of the ledge, beyond Erob and Maazini’s sleeping forms, under the overhang where the mountainside blocked the snow and sunlight, deep in shadows, was a green dragon. The dragon stretched its limbs and paced past the others toward her. As it stepped into the sunlight, its scales glinted like emeralds. Lovina had seen dragons before, but not like this, full of majesty, glory—and deep sadness.
The creature bowed its head gracefully before her. “Lovina …”
The voice was in her head. She hadn’t been mistaken. The dragon’s tones were like sweet music that welled inside her. Sunlight played across its hide, turning the green into wondrous shades: moss, fresh mint, new spring grass, evergreens, emeralds and baby ferns in woodlands. If only she had her paintbrush and a palette of colors.
The dragon gazed at her with deep blue eyes.
A rush of wonder engulfed Lovina. Warmth spread through her. A sense of belonging.
“Will you be my rider?”
“Me?” Even as she asked, Lovina was drawn forward. She placed her hand on the dragon’s head. Its skin was warm and supple. “I’m not up to this. I’m untrained. Only a slave.”
“Then we are well suited. I, too, have been enslaved by Zens.”
She barely dared breathe. “You, too?”
“But now I am free. And so are you. Come, fly with me.”
The music inside her grew until she was swept up, leaping onto the dragon. Its haunches tensed and with a flip of its wings, they were airborne, high above the basin, spiraling up toward the peaks. Something loosened inside Lovina. It had started with Tomaaz, and, now, it loosened further. Carefree and unfettered, she laughed.
The dragon chuckled in her mind. “Lovina, for years I was miserable serving a master who had chained me with swayweed, making me hate the ones I loved. I was powerless, but now we can make a new life.”
“So that was the source of the sorrow I sensed in you,” Lovina replied. “For eight years, I was numlocked, beaten and abused. My home was burned and my family killed.”
“I am now your family. Dragons’ Hold will be your home.”
The music swelled inside Lovina, bursting into brilliant harmony. She’d never felt like this before. Never had such a sense of belonging.
“I was called Ajeuria, but now I will be known as Ajeurina, in your honor.”
It was an honor. “Ajeurina,” she liked the way it sounded. Like a new start. So, this was Erob and Maazini’s sister—all three were Zaarusha’s offspring. Fleur, the former master healer and traitor, had been her last rider. “Why don’t you show me my new home?” Lovina asked.
“That would be my pleasure.” A deep wave of Ajeurina’s satisfaction flowed through Lovina, driving away the cold and making her tingle with warmth. Ajeurina dipped her wings and they shot over the basin toward the distant peak of Fire Crag.
Stuck
By the time Ezaara made her way to the mouth of the crevasse to sneak back out of Death Valley, it was broad daylight. Shards, how long had she been holed up watching Roberto? It was one thing to slip into Death Valley wearing an invisibility cloak at night. It was another to walk out among troops of tharuks in broad daylight. Should she chance it?
No, she’d be handing Zens her head on a platter. Roberto’s hand signals had said to flee, not to find Zens and join him in the dungeons.
The stomp of tharuk troops echoed from the main tunnel down the crevasse Ezaara was hiding in. She huffed her breath out, crept further into the crevasse and wrapped her clo
ak around her. She couldn’t go too far in. Roberto was obviously afraid Zens would sense her. Hastily, she chewed some freshweed. She’d have to wait this out like a brooding dragon, but at least she could disguise her scent. Then she submerged her mind, the way Roberto had taught her, and waited.
§
“Roberto, I know you can hear me.”
Roberto groaned, but not too loudly. He couldn’t show any weakness or Zens would exploit it. But he was weak. Weak from 000’s latest torture and from Zens’ relentless mental battering. Even when Zens wasn’t in the cavern, he bombarded Roberto with insidious thoughts.
“I will beat you. I’ll break your mind and body. You have no hope. Soon, I’ll be your master.”
Even though it was cold, sweat rolled off Roberto’s face as he gritted his teeth and held an image in his mind that Zens couldn’t use against him: the wall of this cavern. He blinked with his good eye. The other eye was swollen shut and his face was stiff with crusted blood. He tried to stretch his cramped shoulder, but the metal shackles only bit harder.
So, he did what he’d been doing for days, he stared at the wall, noticing every bump, pit and crevice in the flickering torchlight. Deep underground, it was hard to figure out how long he’d been here, but something different had happened recently …
As his good eye roamed over the wall, he spotted a tiny chink, and suddenly, he knew what it was. Someone had been here.
He clamped down on that thought. Quashed his feelings. He mustn’t give Ezaara away. If Zens slipped into his mind unwittingly, he’d know she’d been here. He submerged his thoughts, going deep inside himself, so Zens couldn’t detect him.
What had Zens said about the new creatures? Nothing more than he already knew: a threat to Dragons’ Realm and dragons. But what Zens didn’t know was that Roberto had discovered the location of his new lovelies.
If he could get out of these chains, he’d come back with reinforcements to destroy them.
Surprises
“What is it? Do you know?” Lofty asked Kierion as they walked toward the main cavern.
Kierion shrugged. Lars had said there was an important announcement this afternoon. He had a fair idea what it might be. He leaned toward Tomaaz’s best friend, who’d arrived a few weeks ago while Tomaaz was still in Death Valley. With his love of adventure, Lofty had become one of Kierion’s stalwart supporters, and had helped him drag the sledge full of arrows up the mountainside. Not that that particular prank was anything to brag about anymore. “Well, I may be wrong, but—”
“But what?” Lofty’s keen eyes flitted down to Kierion.
Shards, the man was tall—no wonder his nickname was Lofty. “Battle’s coming. There are many young dragons of imprintable age …” He let the words hang, so Lofty could draw his own conclusion.
“Imprinting with dragons?” Lofty grinned. “Do you think we stand a chance?”
Kierion shrugged. He’d been telling everyone that if they did kitchen duty, extra training and cross-drilled, sharing their fighting skills, they’d have more chance of becoming dragon riders. It made sense—but he hadn’t exactly asked Lars’ intentions. He huffed his cheeks out. “Dunno,” he said truthfully. “Could be anything. It might not be imprinting.”
“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.”
Dragon Rift: Riders of Fire, Book Three - A Dragons’ Realm Novel Page 9