Tomaaz’s eyes widened. “So, they could’ve gone to rescue Roberto together?”
Kierion had offered Ezaara food, but she’d brushed him off. Then he’d danced with Adelina and didn’t remember seeing Ezaara again. “Maybe …”
“Dragon’s claws, we’d best head after them. It’s a four-or-five-day flight.”
“Not so quick,” Lars barked. “This is a matter for the council, not for two young hot-headed new riders. There are circumstances you’re both unaware of. Wait here. I’ll summon the war council.” Lars left for Singlar’s den, slamming the door behind him.
“We’ll go now, with Fenni and Jael,” said Kierion to Tomaaz, his jaw clenched. “What Lars doesn’t know won’t harm him.” At Tomaaz’s look of surprise, he added, “Lars hasn’t expressly forbidden us to go, so we should go before he does. I’m not leaving Adelina or Roberto there a moment longer.”
Tomaaz shrugged. “What are we waiting for?”
§
Lovina frowned. “Where were you? I looked for you today.”
Tomaaz shrugged, shoving a few things in his bags—healing supplies and food mainly, and another warm set of clothes, and some clothes for Roberto. “On an assignment with Kierion.”
“In Great Spanglewood Forest fighting tharuks with wizards. Taliesin told me all about it. He was happy to see spangles, and liked the way wizards killed tharuks.” Lovina pursed her lips. “Now, you’re leaving again, aren’t you? But this time it’s not to Spanglewood.”
“Ah, no, it’s not.” Gods, the last thing he wanted was to keep secrets from Lovina, but he didn’t want her getting into trouble for knowing.
“If you don’t go, Roberto will die.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Get them out, Tomaaz. Bring them all home. I never want anyone to go through what I did in Death Valley. If these mages are as good as Taliesin says, they may be our only chance.”
He hugged her, burying his lips in her hair, kissing its soft silkiness, then her fine cheeks and finally, her lips—the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Her arms tightened around his back, pulling him closer. Gods, how could he leave her? His breath caught. What if he never saw her again?
“I, I—” She broke down, sobbing.
He smoothed the hair back from her face. “Lovina, what is it?”
“I’m just not brave enough.” Tears trailed down her cheeks. He wiped them away. “Not brave enough to come with you. I can’t. I just can’t go back.”
“Shards, no, Lovina.” Horror engulfed him. “I’d never send you back there. No, not after what you’ve been through.” He’d witnessed Old Bill, her slave master, deliberately break her arm. Her back was still a mess of scars, like a tangle of vines writhing across her flesh. He pulled her close again, resting his chin on her hair. She buried her face in his chest, her breath shuddering out of her. “You stay right here, safe. Please take care of Taliesin.”
Lovina looked up at him with her soft cornflower blues. “You always understand. I’m so lucky I met you, Tomaaz.”
His heart swelled until he thought he’d burst.
“There’s something else, Tomaaz. Something terrible is going to happen to the mages in Spanglewood Forest.” Lovina shook her head. “I can’t shake the feeling.”
Lovina’s bad feelings often turned out to be prophetic. A shiver crept down Tomaaz’s spine.
§
The craving in Alban’s belly was driving him mad. His mouth flooded with the familiar taste of the fine herb tea that Sofia had made whenever he’d visited her in the girl’s dorm—on the quiet, of course. Males weren’t allowed there at night. He stumbled into the corner of the dungeon, his legs trembling. Yesterday he’d hankered after that tea, but today he had the shivers and shakes and would claw someone’s eyes out for another cup. He leaned over a pail, vomiting in the corner, then huddled under the scratchy blanket on his pallet, trying to get warm.
His mouth watered, driving him mad. He moaned. Just another cup. Gods, he’d kill for one. He shook his head. This was crazy. He’d never been a great tea drinker. Why was he so raving mad over a stupid beverage?
A flickering light shone through the barred door. “Hey, you all right?” It was a guard, holding up a torch.
Alban rolled over and opened his mouth to answer, but dry retched instead.
“Fetch the healer,” hollered the guard. “Prisoner’s got a belly gripe.”
It felt like forever until the quick steps of the healer entered the room.
“Watch him. He’s dangerous,” the guard warned.
“I’m armed,” the healer said. “You can leave us.” She was tall, with dark hair—Marlies, the master healer. She took the torch from the guard’s hand, setting it in a sconce. “And don’t lock the door.” Marlies’ voice had authority. “I can’t get him to the infirmary through a locked door. Go on, be off with you.”
She strode to the pail and examined the contents. “Yes, Alban, it’s me. I didn’t appreciate you attacking my daughter, but as a healer, I must treat you if you’re ill. Now, tell me, how long have you been taking swayweed tea?”
Swayweed? That sharding Sofia had been drugging him. No wonder he’d been so angry lately. How long? “Sofia’s been giving me tea since the Queen’s Rider knifed her.”
The Cage
Lars descended the uneven stone steps down the winding corridor. Torches burnt along the walls at intervals, but not regularly enough to light the entire tunnel, so he’d brought his own. He gripped the torch shaft hard, harder than necessary for a council leader about to question a girl.
Sofia had come from a good family, a long line of dragon folk. It was understandable that she wanted Anakisha’s prophecy to be fulfilled. They all did. But what was driving her to this hatred? He greeted the two guards and dragons on duty at the junction as he swept past. When he reached the guardian of the cage, he stopped, holding his hand out.
“Master Lars, I should accompany you,” said the guardian.
Lars huffed. “The key will do. If I can’t question a girl on my own, I’m not fit to be council leader.” He waved his hand impatiently as the guard unfastened the key from his belt and reluctantly handed it over.
“I’ll come and wait by the—”
“Stay here. I’ll be back soon enough.”
“Yes, sir.” Pressing his mouth into a grim line, the guard nodded.
Lars didn’t want an audience. Not for this conversation. He proceeded down the passage and came to a metal grill covering the end of the tunnel. Setting his torch into a sconce, he jangled the key in the lock and opened the door.
Sofia was hunched in a corner with her arms around her knees. Her head shot up as Lars entered. “Ooh, aren’t I lucky to have a visit from the leader of the council?”
Lars’ jaw tightened at the venom in her voice. “Sofia,” he barked sharply, “cut the antagonism.”
The caustic sting in her voice increased along with her volume. “Antagonism? What about my cousin’s chance to be Queen’s Rider?”
So that was it. Lars was glad he hadn’t brought the guard—he didn’t want anyone hearing this. “Sofia, your cousin may be dead. Tharuks took him so long ago. There’s no certainty …”
“There’s no certainty that the Queen’s Rider has imprinted correctly.”
“Master Roberto tested her and said she was the true rider. You were there when he declared it in front of all the folk at Dragons’ Hold.”
“Anyone could have pressured him to say that.” Even you, her scathing gaze said. “Roberto has now conveniently disappeared. I know he’s at Death Valley, sent there so he could be silenced. He’s good at ousting traitors. Maybe he was looking to oust the head of the council next.”
“You vicious snipe,” thundered Lars. “What has gotten into you?”
Sofia sneered, “You’re not perfect, Lars. I know your biggest secret.”
Marlies. It had to be. How could she possibly know? He’d never told anyone how he’d felt about Marlies. Lars had been deeply
in love with her, but too shy to say so. Then she’d met Hans. Actually, he’d admitted his feelings to one person, his cousin—Sofia’s mother. Inside, Lars blanched, but he kept his face impassive. “What are you talking about?”
“How do you think Lydia would feel if she knew?”
Lydia didn’t know that he’d still had strong feelings for Marlies, as he’d fallen for her. But Sofia’s mother did. Thank gods, those feelings had vanished when Marlies had fled Dragons’ Hold. “We’re here to discuss you attacking the Queen’s Rider.”
“And your reasons for pretending she’s the rightful rider, even in the face of Anakisha’s prophecy. A prophecy which states one of the former Queen’s Rider’s male heirs will rule at Dragons’ Hold.
“One of our progeny will reign in our stead
Filling our enemies’ foul hearts with dread
Purging all evil will be his desire
Vengeance he’ll wage with arrows of fire.”
Sofia’s harsh voice echoed off the cage’s stone walls.
“Him doesn’t necessarily mean a male, just as master applies to both females and males,” countered Lars.
“Oh? So, we shouldn’t take prophecies literally anymore?” Sofia arched an eyebrow, her forehead beaded with sweat. “Have you fallen for the daughter as you once fell for the mother? Really, Lars, I expected more.”
“You gutter snake,” Lars snapped. “You’re worthy of the title they bestow on you, Snake-tongue. Enough. I’m finished here.”
“But I’m not finished with you. If you were a half-decent leader, you’d summon all of Anakisha’s progeny to be tested.” She slumped back against the wall, her face a sickly shade of gray.
Grabbing his torch, Lars strode out the door, her barbs sticking in his gut as he swept past the guard who must’ve heard him bellowing at his cousin’s daughter.
§
Lars slammed the door to his cavern and stamped inside.
Lydia gave him a sharp look. “What’s the matter?”
“Sofia,” muttered Lars. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s as bad as Bruno and Fleur were. Attacking the Queen’s Rider, dividing the hold. Argh.” He yanked a boot off, hurling it against the granite wall.
“And Master Roberto’s not here to test her,” Lydia said. “Aren’t you worried about him?”
“Of course, I’m worried sick about him.” Lars sat on the couch, removing his other boot. Lydia sat next to him and rubbed his neck and shoulders. “Oh, that feels good.”
“Why haven’t you sent a team to rescue Roberto?” Lydia asked.
“It’s Tonio.”
“He has evidence against him?” Lydia raised her eyebrows, shaking her head as Lars nodded. “That poor lad, what does he have to go through next? Hasn’t he suffered enough at Zens’ hands? Can’t you do something? Say something to convince Tonio?”
Lars’ mouth took a grim set. “Tonio has evidence, Lydia. Evidence that would land Roberto in dire straits if he returned.” He sighed. “Sofia accused me of not being fair to Anakisha’s descendants. It’s been eating at me. I guess I have to call a meeting.”
Lydia kissed him and stood up. “The sooner, the better.”
Not if he could help it.
Torture
Roberto let his jaw hang slack and kept his fingers curled against his palms. He focused on the gray walls flecked with silica, watching the way the torchlight flickered on the stone.
A wave of violence ripped through his thoughts, scattering them like driftwood on a tide. “Still blocking me, are you?” Zens’ silky-smooth voice slipped into his head. “Amato was right. You’re useless.”
The granite walls wavered. Roberto forced them to the forefront of his mind again.
Zens flicked a finger.
Shackles rattling, Roberto’s body flew through the air. His head smacked stone and he slid down the wall. Stumbling to his feet, he gritted his teeth against the pain.
Zens’ yellow orbs loomed before Roberto. Roberto’s granite wall faded, replaced with childhood memories: his father murdering his beloved dog, Razo, spraying Roberto with blood as he wept; Pa arguing with Ma, splintering wooden walls in his fury; Pa beating Adelina; and Roberto jumping in, to be beaten in her stead. Agony ripped through him, as if Amato was inflicting every punch anew: his father punched his head and pain sparked across his skull; he kicked Roberto’s gut and his belly stabbed. Then Pa’s dragon, Matotoi, dropped his mother onto the rocks. She lay broken. Grief tightened Roberto’s throat, making it hard to breathe.
Zens’ voice slithered between the violent images. “Tell me everything about the new Queen’s Rider, and your memories will stop. You’ve tested her. You know her weaknesses, her strengths. Just tell me.”
Ma was dying. Chest twisting with grief, Roberto rushed across the rocks to help her.
No, it was Zens, making him relive his worst moments. The wall. Granite. Gray. Flecks. Straining, Roberto forced the image back into his head. Gray, gray stone. Hard, impenetrable.
His childhood faded to dust. There, he’d blocked Zens out. Skull aching, Roberto breathed heavily, sweat running down his forehead. Gray stone. Gray stone.
“Triple,” Zens called.
000 entered, stinking of the fetid carcasses it fed on.
“You thought you could leave me, did you? After everything I taught you? You’d only be half the man you are if it wasn’t for me.” Zens spat on Roberto’s face.
The masters had accepted Roberto to the council because of the talents he’d learned from Zens. The commander was right.
No, he was wrong, oh, so wrong.
“So close, but you slipped away.” Zens velvet voice turned to a snarl as he barked at 000. “If he wants to talk, or agrees to be my spy at Dragons’ Hold, we’ll give him the remedy to limplock. If not, he’ll die soon, so you may as well beat him to a pulp.”
§
After 000’s first slash across Roberto’s back and a vicious boot in his gut, Ezaara submerged, terrified. She couldn’t give her presence away. She was his only hope.
Roberto’s screams ricocheted off the stone walls. Curling into a ball, she held her hands over her ears and kept her mind submerged as tears tracked her cheeks.
The thud of boots against his body went on forever.
The thump of him hitting the floor.
Her mind fried with fear, but she had to keep her emotions hidden. Undetectable.
Abruptly, Roberto’s screams cut off.
000’s heavy boots kept thwacking Roberto’s soft flesh, making Ezaara’s skin crawl. Then 000 slammed the door, and the bar slid into place.
Ezaara sneaked to the crack. Roberto was sprawled on stone, covered in blood, all pretense of numlock and limplock gone. Silent, except for his rasping breaths.
She didn’t dare move. Gradually, Ezaara eased her mind open, tentatively searching for a sign of Zens. Nothing. He’d abandoned watching Roberto’s mental state while he was unconscious. It was too dangerous to approach Roberto while Zens was awake, but if Ezaara didn’t help him, he’d soon be dead.
A Crow’s News
Someone rapped on the door. “Come in,” Lars called, putting down his spoon.
The door opened to admit Seppi, leader of the blue guards, carrying a dead crow. “Lars, we’ve found something you may want to see.”
Lars frowned. After a late, taxing night, Seppi had interrupted his breakfast to show him a dead bird? “Go ahead.” Seppi brought the crow closer. Lars shoved his breakfast to one side and gestured that Seppi should sit. “What is it?”
“Sorry to disturb your breakfast, Lars, but this is one of the birds Zens has been communicating with.”
Lars raised his eyebrows. What was he on about?
“Look at this.” Seppi lay the bird on the table and flipped it on its back, extending the wing. Underneath, flush against its body, was a bald spot where its plumage had been plucked and an incision made in its flesh. Seppi pulled the sides of the incision apart to show a f
at yellow crystal slicked with blood.
Lars shrugged. “And …?”
Seppi’s eyes drilled into Lars. “These crystals are how Zens and his tharuks mind-meld with animals. How he controls them.”
That’s right; during Bruno’s trial, a guard had found a bag of similar crystals from Zens. Lars scratched his beard. “Roberto said Bruno’s crystals were dangerous and should be destroyed.”
“I’d believe that,” said Seppi. “But were they? Or are some of Bruno’s crystals being used at Dragons’ Hold?”
§
The torches in the infirmary were burning low. Marlies held a bowl out. Sofia groaned, doubling over with her arms clutching her gut. A sheen of sweat beaded her face. A gush of gray vomit hit the bowl, splattering up the sides. Marlies frowned. Gray vomit? The acrid stench of stomach acid hit her nostrils, making her own stomach turn. Rumble weed—it must be. It colored the victim’s vomit gray.
“What did you eat?” asked Marlies.
Sofia moaned, shaking her head.
“Or drink?”
“Water,” Sofia replied weakly.
“Who gave it to you?”
“Why? Have I been poisoned?” Sofia groaned.
Yes, but she wasn’t going to tell Sofia that. “Of course not. I’m checking if our water sources at the hold are tainted.” Marlies passed Leah the bowl of vomit. “Could you dispose of that, please?” She gave Sofia a glass. “Here, drink this to settle your stomach.”
She felt guilty giving Sofia double-strength woozy weed tea, but this was the snipe who’d attacked Ezaara. Lars had been in earlier, mentioning crystals that could control animals. Could a crystal have driven Sofia’s behavior?
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