The beast lowered its head. A master with a fair beard—and eyes the same shade as the purple dragon’s—stepped forward and picked up Ezaara’s hand, placing it on the dragon’s brow, covering it with his own.
A jolt of energy flew along Ezaara’s arm. Her memory exploded in her mind. She was in Lush Valley’s sacred clearing, watching Zaarusha approach, her heart on fire as she mind-melded with the Queen of the Dragons for the first time.
The master spoke. “I’m Lars, Leader of the Council of the Twelve Dragon Masters. This is Singlar. Welcome to Dragons’ Hold, Ezaara, Rider of Zaarusha, Queen of the Dragons.”
Ezaara staggered. How had Lars known her name?
“From your imprinting memories.” Singlar winked his purple eyelid. “Besides, Zaarusha told us earlier.”
Lars motioned to his right. A female master took her hand and laid it upon a green dragon’s head, covering it with hers. Ezaara relived her imprinting experience, emotions coursing through her again.
She repeated the experience with each of the dragons in the circle, until only two remained: a blue one and the lone bronze dragon, who regarded her with intense green eyes that reminded her of Pa’s.
Roberto led her to the blue dragon. “This is Erob. I’m his rider.”
“And the bronze?”
“He’s not a member of the council.” Roberto placed, not one, but both of Ezaara’s hands on Erob’s blue brow. “I need to test you more rigorously. Do you consent?”
She had no option. There was no way she was going to give up Zaarusha.
At her nod, Roberto put his hands on her temples.
Surprised, she flinched. Both Erob and Roberto gazed deep into Ezaara’s eyes, Roberto’s face a mask of concentration. Without a sneer—with his ebony eyes, high cheekbones and olive skin—his face was striking.
§
The girl had imprinted. Roberto was sure of it. Zaarusha had snorted at something, which showed they’d been mind-melding without touching—a sure sign of imprinting. But how solid was their bond? Ezaara had trembled at the sight of dragons, but she’d also stood her ground—so she had courage.
Courage or not, the Queen of Dragons’ Realm deserved the best. If Zaarusha had made a mistake, he had to find out. The other masters and their dragons had confirmed the imprinting bond existed. Now he had to test the quality of that bond. And the Queen’s Rider. If she wasn’t good enough, it was his task to fail this backward girl from Lush Valley, and she’d be dispatched to the Wastelands before dawn.
Roberto took a deep breath, steeling himself. He hated using his talent, paid for with people’s blood. He placed both of his hands on the girl’s temples. It always came back to using his cursed gift.
He was in her mind.
Zaarusha spiraled down to meet Ezaara. Fear curled in the girl’s stomach. Her limbs were paralyzed. She was petrified she’d be raked by talons, or die in the dragon’s maw. But even as Roberto wanted to scoff at her naive fear, he was awed at the intensity of her emotions; the sharpness of her memories.
He’d tested many folk. Their experiences had been vivid, but compared to this, they were nothing: an overcast day compared to summer sun.
No, a few halting notes compared to an intricate harmony.
Ezaara’s fear of the dragon queen melted into admiration, and her admiration to love. Zaarusha’s scales were bright, her voice thrilling. The breeze of the dragon’s wingbeats stirred Ezaara’s hair. Her emotions soared. This girl’s bond was the strongest he’d witnessed. Her jump onto the queen’s back was incredible. She’d harnessed Zaarusha’s power as if she’d trained for years at Dragons’ Hold, not like an ignorant, terrified ….
He’d been wrong. Ezaara’s love for the dragon queen was complete. Her imprinting bond was proven. The queen had a new rider.
He should break meld, and announce his conclusion to the council, but doubt nagged at him like a stone in his boot. Lars and Zaarusha were expecting him to be thorough. He didn’t like using his gifts—having them was bad enough—but he knew how easily folk could be turned by Zens and his tharuks. So, he delved deeper, searching for treachery.
On their journey to Dragons’ Hold, Zaarusha and Ezaara had fought tharuks, and buried warriors. That explained the soot and smears of black and red blood on her cheeks and tunic. He sifted through the experience. Anger pulsed through Ezaara—and grief. Only the queen’s wisdom had stopped her from jumping into battle.
She was true to the realm and had bravery in pailfuls. All she needed was training.
Just as he’d been trained. A memory shot into Roberto’s mind. Ten years old, he was crouched behind the kitchen door, clutching Adelina’s hand, listening to his parents.
No! That’s where the pain and betrayal had started. Roberto slammed the memory shut and yanked his hands away.
§
With Roberto’s hands on her temples and his black eyes gazing at her, Ezaara re-lived her imprinting with Zaarusha: the warmth of Zaarusha’s voice slid through her; the scent of the flowers in the clearing; the bright sun glinting off the dragon queen’s smooth scales; the bubble of color that had swept her up onto the queen; the rumble of Zaarusha’s roar; and the wind tugging at her hair.
Tears of joy slipped down Ezaara’s cheeks.
She re-lived her journey to Dragons’ Hold: the horror of tharuks killing those warriors; her sadness; the thermal pool and snuggling with Zaarusha; meadows and forests flying past beneath them; and then, the severe peaks of Dragon’s Teeth.
A scene entered her head: crouched behind a heavy door, holding the hand of a little dark-haired girl. Voices yelling. Despair. What was this? Where had it come from?
Him. It was from him. A memory.
Roberto flinched, then pulled his hands away, and her mind was her own again. His gaze never left her, although its intensity softened. His voice was soft, too. “It’s over.” He breathed deeply. “You’ve been proven.”
Proven? How? She didn’t feel any different. And what had she seen? The door … the raging hurt was his. Who was the little girl he’d been protecting?
Exhausted and dizzy, she stumbled, her hands falling from Erob’s head.
Roberto caught her. He smelled of sandalwood soap. She slumped against him, too tired to care what anyone thought.
His voice rang out, “Hail Ezaara, rider of Zaarusha, Queen of Dragons’ Realm!”
The Council of the Twelve Dragon Masters cheered. Their dragons roared. The bronze rider-less dragon leaped into the air, circling the cavern before disappearing through a gap high in the cavern wall, its bellows echoing behind it.
Misgivings
Roberto shook his head, banishing the terrible memory that had struck out of nowhere. Burying the pain. Had she seen it? Hopefully not. Surely he’d broken mind-meld fast enough. Now the girl had passed out in his arms. So weak. No stamina at all. And this was the Queen’s Rider.
“She’s exhausted,” Erob melded. “Zaarusha traveled days to get here. You of all people should have compassion.”
“True,” Roberto replied. He’d arrived here an outcast. “You’re right, I should know not to judge newcomers. She does look worn out.”
“Carry the Queen’s Rider to her cavern,” Lars called. “Shari, accompany him and see to her welfare.”
That was odd. Why the master of livestock? Lars should have assigned Fleur, the master healer, to help Ezaara. Did Lars intend an insult to Fleur? Not that he’d blame him.
“She looks like a dragonet that’s flown itself out,” Shari murmured, her dark eyes on the girl’s face. “She’s pretty.”
Pretty? Roberto took another look. Ezaara’s eyes were striking green when open, but she was hardly pretty. He huffed. “Come on, Shari. Not even you can tell what she looks like under all that grime.”
Shari laughed and slugged him.
They made their way along the tunnels to the cavern of the Queen’s Rider. Shari opened the wooden door and Roberto carried Ezaara in. Asleep, she looked peaceful, vu
lnerable, and way too young to be training as the Queen’s Rider. Ezaara had no idea what she was in for.
Roberto laid her on the bed. “Do you need any help?”
“Certainly not.” Shari laughed again, making her braids swing. “Why don’t you get back to bed? You look like you could use some sleep yourself.”
“You know me, I never need much sleep.”
“Still having nightmares?” She frowned, serious now. “Are you all right?”
Shari had been his champion when he’d arrived at Dragons’ Hold and been treated like an outcast. She’d befriended him, encouraging him to leave his legacy behind and make a better man of himself. It hadn’t been easy. There were days when he would’ve gone mad without her friendship.
“I’m fine.” He shrugged, leaving as Shari tugged Ezaara’s boots off.
His feet automatically took him along the tunnel. Ezaara was a conundrum. Young and terrified, but brave. Backward and ignorant, with a strong bond to her dragon—a deep bond. Untrained, inexperienced …. He sighed. This was going to be a challenge. War was so close and politics here at the hold could easily implode. He had his work cut out. He’d have to be relentless, tough, to ensure she was up to standard for their queen.
At the passage to his sister’s cavern, he took the turn off into the shadows. There was no torchlight shining through the crack below Adelina’s door, so she was probably fast asleep. He hesitated. Adelina often helped him order his thoughts. He valued her counsel. He had to tell her they’d underestimated this new Queen’s Rider.
Footfalls came along the tunnel accompanied by hushed voices—a man and a woman.
“What are we going to do?” That was Fleur, master healer.
“She’s getting old,” Bruno, her husband and master of prophecy, whispered. “Hardly fit to rule.”
“And now the queen’s besotted with that girl,” hissed Fleur. “That pathetic scrap of a rider.”
Roberto moved deeper into shadow.
“Perhaps Zaarusha is going senile,” Bruno said. “We’ll have to see Lars.”
Fleur’s quiet reply was lost around a corner.
Roberto padded along the tunnel in the opposite direction and out of the caverns into the night. He ran along the mountainside on a goat track that led to Lars’ cavern and his own. As surefooted as an ibex, he’d often taken bitter refuge on these wild tracks when he’d first arrived at Dragons’ Hold.
He slipped past dragons’ dens, their occupants opening a sleepy eye to see him pass. As long as Singlar, Lars’ dragon, didn’t see him, he’d be fine. Before he reached Lars’ cavern, he climbed higher, above Singlar’s den, and sat near the vent hole to Lars’ main chamber.
Urgent voices drifted up. Bruno and Fleur had made good time. Guilt for eavesdropping twanged through Roberto, but, for Zaarusha’s sake, he had to know what they were up to.
“She might have made a mistake,” Fleur was saying. “It’s been eighteen years since she had a rider.”
“Are you insinuating that our dragon queen doesn’t know what she’s doing?” Lars’ tone was disapproving.
“No, of course not,” Fleur backtracked. “Our poor queen has suffered so much, being without a rider or a mate for so many years. Perhaps loneliness has impaired her judgment.”
“We trust our queen,” Bruno said, “but, you have to admit, it is odd that she chose a girl from Lush Valley. And one so young.”
“Perhaps the girl has manipulated our queen. Or maybe Zaarusha’s become a little unbalanced. Reckless.” Fleur’s voice was smooth, placating. “We don’t want Zaarusha hurt.”
Roberto clenched his fists. Surely Lars could see through their attempts to discredit the queen.
“You have a point there.” Lars sounded weary. “But I won’t act on suspicions. Bring me proof. And remember, Roberto has tested her and declared their bond fit.”
“Exactly,” Fleur purred. “He was a traitor. Maybe he’s turned again.”
“Enough.” Lars’ voice was icy. “Out, now! Don’t come back unless you have evidence. I need at least an hour’s sleep before dawn.”
Roberto gazed down at the valley—still shrouded in shadow. It always came back to his past. His actions. Curse his rotten father’s watery grave.
§
Ezaara awoke with a pounding head. She was tangled in a snowy quilt embroidered with gold dragons. Sunlight streamed through a hole in a stone ceiling, illuminating a hanging tapestry of more dragons flying across a battlefield beneath distant alps. Across the cavern, near an enormous archway, was a large bathtub with wood under it. The scent of relaxing herbs—bergamot, jasmine and lavender—hung in the air.
“Good morning,” Zaarusha hummed. “Well done on your imprinting test.”
Ezaara gazed around. Zaarusha was nowhere to be seen. “I hope there won’t be any more tests.”
“Not like that one. Only tests of skill.”
“Skill? I’m sure to fail, then. I’m not good at much, except herbs.” Zaarusha should have taken Tomaaz as her rider instead.
“No, Tomaaz isn’t the right rider for me. You are.”
“Why me?”
Zaarusha appeared in the archway. “When my dragonet gave his life to bless your mother, some of his essence was passed to Marlies, for her progeny. I sense that you—and probably Tomaaz—have special talents, gifts from my baby.”
“It’s sad you lost your baby.”
“Yes, I was devastated, but it was a long time ago.”
Ezaara sat up. “So, what talents are you talking about?”
“These things take time to unfold. Be patient.” Snaking her long neck into the room, Zaarusha winked and opened her jaws, shooting a jet of flame along the edges of the metal tub. Soon steam rose from the water. With one last burst of controlled flame, she ignited the timber under the tub. “Now, relax and enjoy your bath. I’ll be next door in my den.”
Ezaara smiled. That was much easier than fetching boiling water from a hearth.
The cavern floor was cool beneath Ezaara’s feet. Clad only in her underthings, she shivered. Opening a drawer, she found clean underclothing. In another, dark jerkins and breeches like the masters had worn—dragon riders’ garb. A majestic closet held beautiful robes, embroidered tunics and breeches—all made of luxurious fabrics in gorgeous hues. Were these all hers? She stroked a blue satin tunic, then ran her fingers down a soft green dress. She’d never had anything this fine in Lush Valley.
Her family’s faces flashed to mind. She missed them: Tomaaz’s pranks, Ma’s understanding and Pa’s teasing. She’d left Lush Valley on an impulse, without a thought for them or a goodbye. She’d broken her vow to Tomaaz. No! Now her eyes were stinging. She squeezed them shut. The Queen’s Rider, crying? Surely Zaarusha deserved more.
Shoving her feelings aside, Ezaara strode to the steaming tub. On the wall above the bath were two crossed swords, ancient-looking things with ornately-carved hilts. One hilt was silver, the other, gold. Snarling metal-worked dragons—with tiny engraved scales—curled around the hilts. They were beautiful. She longed to hold one and test its weight, but she didn’t dare. They were obviously ceremonial—much too pretty to fight with.
Ezaara dipped her hand in the tub, warm water trailing from her fingers. A bowl of herbs was perched on a ledge. She sprinkled some into the water, a summery scent filling the air. Stepping out of her underclothing, Ezaara sank into the bath. She had to become a good Queen’s Rider. Develop her talents. She could do this. She had to. There was no place among these tough riders at Dragons’ Hold for petty worries or loneliness. She had to be strong. But the bath’s soothing warmth and herbal scent reminded her of home, washing away her resolve, and soon, her tears blended with the water.
§
Adelina hurried along the tunnel toward the Queen’s Rider’s cavern. Of all the favors Roberto could’ve asked! She had a million better things to do than babysitting an ignorant waif from Lush Valley. Why should she look after the girl who’d broken her hea
rt and stolen Zaarusha?
Because Roberto had asked, that’s why. She’d do it, but she didn’t have to be gracious. Sighing, she knocked on the door.
No answer, but faint sounds came from within.
Adelina pushed the door open, turning on her charm, bowing low. “Good morning, Ezaara, Honored Rider of Queen Zaarusha.”
A blonde girl was hunched on the bed, head bowed, half wearing a gorgeous blue satin robe. Seeing the simple ties on the dress, Adelina rolled her eyes. The new Queen’s Rider hadn’t even greeted her. Couldn’t even dress herself. This girl was worse than she’d thought. If she’d been Queen’s …. She wasn’t. And Roberto had begged her help, insisting the girl was the true Queen’s Rider. She had to try. If not for this girl, then for Zaarusha, for Dragons’ Realm.
The girl sniffed.
Adelina had expected incompetence or ignorance, not someone melting in self-pity. “Excuse me, are you all right?”
Ezaara’s head shot up, cheeks flaming. “Um, yes. I’m fine.” She smiled too brightly, her lower lip wobbling.
Familiarity knifed through Adelina—she had a whole arsenal of smiles that masked pain. What was this girl’s hurt? At what cost had she come here? She smiled back. “I’m here to help you prepare for your first public flight.”
“Thank you, that’s kind of you.”
She had green eyes, this girl. Brave eyes, despite her sadness. “Here.” Reaching into the leather bag slung over her shoulder, Adelina passed Ezaara a bread roll and an orange. “You missed breakfast, but you’ll feel better after eating.”
“I’m fine, really.”
Adelina arched an eyebrow. “Right, of course you are. Especially after a tough imprinting test with a bunch of strangers in the middle of the night, far from home. Absolutely fine.”
Wiping her tears, Ezaara laughed.
Adelina had to grin. “I’m Adelina.”
“Someone else should be Queen’s Rider,” Ezaara said. “I don’t know how anything works around here. Not even this dress. I mean, I’d never seen a dragon before Zaarusha appeared. What if I fail?”
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