Tears slid down her cheeks.
And so it had been. Her brothers died too, then her mother, then all the settlers she’d known from Monte Vista. She’d become a nameless slave in a sea of lost people.
§
After two nights in the cave with Lovina, Tomaaz had forgotten about his flight sickness. But the flight sickness hadn’t forgotten him. The moment Liesar had left the ground, his head had spun and his stomach had lurched. Thinking food might help, he’d eaten until he was stuffed, but that had made things so much worse.
The alps seemed just as far away as they had this morning. His nausea and dizziness made trees seethe, as if they were rising and falling beneath him. He clutched the saddle’s pommel, battling a wave of nausea.
The sky was tinged with pink. A least it would be dark soon, and then he wouldn’t be able to see as much. Hopefully they’d stop for a few hours of decent sleep.
“Not a fan of flying?” Lovina was awake again.
Tomaaz clenched his teeth, swallowing. “I’d rather walk.”
“Then you’d never get to Dragons’ Hold.”
“I’m not sure I want to go.” He gestured at Liesar. “I mean—”
“Feeling sick every time I rode a dragon wouldn’t really inspire me to be a rider either. Although, you must want to see your sister.”
Her last few words were wistful. All of her family had been killed in Zens’ slave camps in Death Valley. “Yes,” he said gently. “I’d love to see my sister.” He took her good hand, rubbing his fingers across the back of it. “What about you?” It suddenly mattered what she wanted. His stomach lurched, and this time it wasn’t from dragon flight, but from the fear of losing her.
She pulled her hand away, wincing. “My hands. They’ve been sore, cramping today, and now my calves are spasming. I think I need to stretch.”
Tomaaz laid his hand on Liesar’s hide. “Liesar, we need to stop for Lovina.”
“Tell her I’ll land when the trees thin out.”
When Tomaaz relayed the message, relief washed over Lovina’s face.
He’d have to watch her—she was obviously in more pain than she was letting on.
§
Tomaaz awoke, snuggled next to Lovina, with Liesar’s wing draped over them. The night had started out differently. Pa had been next to Handel, Lovina next to Liesar, and he’d been on a bedroll in the open space between the two dragons. However, the moment Pa was snoring, he’d ducked under Liesar’s wing to curl up against Lovina’s back. There was no point in her having nightmares if he could alleviate them.
They’d both slept soundly all night.
Nearby, Pa was up.
Oh well, no point putting off the awkward moment. Tomaaz rested his hand on Liesar’s belly. “Thank you for sheltering us.”
“Any offspring of Marlies’ is welcome to sleep under my wing.” A tinkle sounded in his mind, like a clear high bell—she was laughing. “And their friends, of course.”
Somehow, the word friend had a whole different meaning when Liesar pronounced it like that. Tomaaz’s cheeks flushed hot. Liesar lifted her wing.
Pa’s eyes swept over him, taking in his glowing cheeks, his arm draped over Lovina’s hip, their proximity.
Well, Pa could think what he wanted.
“Are you two hungry?” Pa asked, holding out bread and sliced apples.
Tomaaz shook Lovina gently. “Wake up. Breakfast time.”
She rolled over, grimacing. Her fingers were curled against her palms and, when she got up to walk, she hobbled.
“You feeling all right?” Pa asked.
Lovina smiled, but, to Tomaaz, it looked forced. “Just pins and needles. I’ll be all right,” she said.
But after a few hours in the saddle, with Lovina’s arms and legs spasming, Tomaaz wasn’t so sure.
§
The wind ruffled Hans’ hair. After nearly eighteen years, he’d been surprised to slip so easily into riding Handel again, sensing his dragon’s moods, easing back into the way they worked together as seamlessly as—well, as fabric without seams.
Nearby, Liesar was riding a thermal. On her back, Tomaaz was clinging to her saddle. He seemed to care about this pale slip of a girl, but Hans wasn’t concerned. Tomaaz had liked the baker’s girl just last week. At Dragons’ Hold, there’d be plenty of attractive dragon riders.
“What do you think, Handel? Any pretty riders at the hold for my son?” Hans asked. “Handel?”
Something was off. Handel was avoiding mind-melding, a sure sign that he was having visions. “What is it, Handel? You’ve seen a vision, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but there’s no point in stopping. These forests are too thickly wooded to land.”
It was a dire vision, if they had to land. “Is everything all right at Dragons’ Hold?”
“Things haven’t been all right at the hold since you left, but no, that’s not it,” Handel replied. “I don’t want to burden you before we can take action.”
Burden him? It was something personal. And taking action meant doing something other than flying to Dragons’ Hold, so it couldn’t be Ezaara. With a sinking hollow in his gut, Hans asked, “It’s Marlies, isn’t it?”
Liesar chimed in. “You have to tell us. We have a right to know.”
“The visions were vague, but they’ve been getting stronger.”
Not a good sign.
“Is this the one of Marlies injured?” Liesar asked.
“Marlies is injured and you didn’t tell me?” Hans blurted out loud.
“It was always blurry, swimmy.”
Uncertain, then. “And now?” Hans’ heart pounded.
“Now, I see her dying. And it’s not vague at all.”
§
Liesar was descending. Tomaaz held on to the saddle, his stomach doing somersaults and his head spinning like a littling playing swing-about. Lovina gave him an encouraging smile—which made him feel like a total greenhorn. She touched his hand as Liesar spiraled down between the trees to a clearing, thick with thistles. He shut his eyes. Thistles or not, the sooner his feet were on solid land, the better.
Pa slid from Handel’s back and raced over. His face was lined with tension. “Tomaaz, I need a word.” He strode off so they could speak privately.
Tomaaz slid down the saddle, clutching at the straps. He bent, hands on his knees and sucked in a few deep breaths, then hurried after Pa.
Pa was pacing, ignoring the thistle thorns catching on his breeches.
Tomaaz narrowed his eyes. What was going on?
“I won’t beat cream into butter, Tomaaz. Your ma’s in danger.”
Tomaaz inhaled sharply. “What’s happened?”
“Handel’s had a vision. Your mother is dying.”
Panic surged through Tomaaz. “Where is she?”
“She’s in Death Valley.”
Death Valley! “Has she been captured? Is she a slave?”
“I don’t know, Son.” Pa tugged a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know. Handel has seen her dying if we don’t intervene.”
“Then let’s go. Now.”
“Death Valley’s four days’ flight away.” Pa laid a restraining hand on Tomaaz’s arm. “Son, we need a solid plan. We can’t take Lovina. She’s in no condition to enter such dangerous territory.”
It was like a punch to the gut. “But I want to save Ma.”
“You can. You’re fit to travel.”
It took Tomaaz a moment. “No!” His mind reeled. “No, we can’t leave Lovina here. That’s crazy!”
“It is,” Pa agreed. “That’s not what I’m proposing. It’s only a day’s flight from Dragons’ Hold. Liesar can take Lovina to safety while we rescue your mother.” Pa held his palm up. “Neither you or Liesar like it, but there’s no other way.”
“I’m sticking with Lovina.” Tomaaz broadened his stance. Pa could say what he liked, he wasn’t changing his mind. “I’m not letting her travel alone.”
“She won’t be alo
ne, Son.” Pa said, sounding totally reasonable, as if he wasn’t discarding someone Tomaaz cared about. “Liesar will protect her.”
Lovina needed him. She had no one else. Tomaaz folded his arms across his chest.
“Tomaaz,” Pa said, “Handel has told me that you’re crucial to your mother’s survival. I won’t trade her life for a girl you hardly know. Your mother will die without you.”
A girl he hardly knew? Her art. Her smiles. Her trembling body when her night terrors hit. He knew her, and he wanted to know more. He wanted to protect her. She’d been hurt before because of his mistakes.
But he couldn’t let his mother die.
§
“I’ll be back. Take care and speed well,” Tomaaz whispered, his breath caressing Lovina’s neck.
Lovina clung to him. Her broken arm, sandwiched between them, throbbed. This pain in her arm kept things real. Life was full of hurt, separation. Death.
Zens would kill Tomaaz too.
She squeezed her eyes shut, holding back hot tears. No one got out of Death Valley alive, unless Zens willed it.
“Lovina, you must have hope.” Tomaaz pulled back to look at her.
Chill air snaked between them.
“You have to believe I can do this,” he insisted.
“Do I?” Her voice came out flat. She willed herself to believe him, but his warmth was sucked into a dark cold whirlpool inside her.
“I have to try and save Ma.”
She nodded. Family was family.
“Lovina,” he whispered, “I want to stay with you.”
Her heart leaped. Did he mean it?
He slid his arms from her shoulders, gazing at her.
No, he was memorizing her face—girding himself up to say goodbye.
On Fire
Marlies was burning. Everything was fire. The cave, her arm, her head. Groggily, she sipped some water, then fell back to sleep. Her instincts screamed at her to cleanse and dress her arm, but she was tired, so tired.
The walls spinning, she drifted off again.
§
Hans enfolded Marlies in his arms. It was so warm and comforting. She melted against him. But he was burning, licked by dragon flame.
No, her whole world was burning, filled with flame and fire.
Her skin was about to burst apart.
§
Marlies was damp with sweat. Her arm was on fire, hot and puffy.
She still hadn’t cleaned her wound. How long had she slept?
It was still daytime … no, she’d woken a couple of times in pitch black, so it had been night at some stage. Perhaps it was the next day? Or the day after? Shards, she must be sick if she couldn’t tell what day it was. She sat on her bedding and pulled a vial of dragon’s breath out of her rucksack to light the cave.
The makeshift bandage on her arm was covered in yellow crusted pus. Gods, she could’ve been out for days. She peeled the filthy bandage off her arm, gasping as it stuck to her flesh. The wound was red and swollen, festering. It didn’t matter how tired and dizzy she was, if she didn’t treat it, she would never get to Death Valley—or back to her family.
Marlies grimaced. She’d come so far. She was on Zens’ doorstep, only a few hours away, and here she was, useless.
Her forehead was burning and her hands cold—sure signs that her fever was building again. She needed to make a feverweed tisane and brew some clean herb, but with only one candle and mug, she couldn’t brew two things at once. Marlies settled for chewing feverweed leaves, not as effective as tea, and warming crushed clean-herb in a cup over the candle. It was best hot, but Marlies didn’t have the luxury of time; she had to act before the next wave of fever hit her. It was a shame piaua wouldn’t work on infections. A shame she hadn’t cleaned and treated her wound when it had happened.
When the clean-herb was lukewarm, Marlies dipped a cloth in it and wiped out her wound, gritting her teeth to stop herself from crying out as she removed crusted pus and scabs. Her wound had swollen so much the hot red skin around it was tight and shiny. It hurt like molten metal. She let it bleed, hoping to purge the wound, then cleaned it some more.
Marlies threw the dirty bandage into a corner and washed her hands with the rest of the clean-herb. Shivering again, she bandaged her arm and got dressed again. She bit some hard flatbread, but it tasted like wood.
She wasn’t hungry anyway, so she burrowed back into her bedding and dozed off.
Slipping Away
Wind rushed into Lovina’s eyes, making them sting. The vast forest below turned into a blurry wasteland. The wind was causing her tears—only the wind. Tomaaz’s face swam before her and she batted it away. Memories hurt. She’d learned that much in Death Valley.
Waves of agony spread up her arms and legs and across her torso.
Something was wrong: these sensations were more than pins and needles; more than spasms. Lovina’s thighs and shoulders rippled with agony. Feverish, she drifted in and out of sleep, vivid nightmares clawing at her head.
She tried to pick up the waterskin, but her fingers were locked, bent like tharuk claws—and that was her good arm. The pain in her broken arm, spasming and hitting the side of the saddlebag, made her breath short and gaspy.
Tomaaz had put feverweed in her pocket—if only she could reach it. Her fingers scrabbled at the blankets, but couldn’t grip—useless. Like a littling giving up in an avalanche, she slumped, drifting into another round of torture. Images washed through her mind. Zens beating children. Hurting her brothers. And always, that awful tank of his, waiting for her.
A Wing Down
“Tharuk!” Handel banked, tipping to the side, but a volley of arrows was flying right at him. He ducked and swooped.
Pain ripped through Hans’ mind. “Where have you been hit?” he asked his dragon.
“My wingtip.”
“Can you fly?”
“Not far. I can make it to that hill. There’s a cave there where we can hole up.”
“Good.” But not good at all. While Handel was healing, anything could be happening to Marlies. Hans rubbed the back of his neck. There was nothing he could do.
When they reached the cave, Hans sent Tomaaz off to catch some game, while he rubbed salve on Handel’s wing and applied a healing poultice. “Well, Handel, it’s not too bad. Lucky the arrows weren’t poisoned and you let me know quickly.”
“I’m sorry, Hans, it will delay us a few days.” Handel butted him in the stomach with his head.
Hans scratched his eye ridge. “Not much we can do about that. Except rest and heal.”
Even as he comforted his dragon, Hans chafed to get moving. Every moment they delayed could cost Marlies her life.
§
Behind Tomaaz, Handel was resting on the grass, after a meal, gathering his strength for the last leg of the journey. Although his wing injury had delayed them three days, it had healed well, but they didn’t want to take any chances when they were closer to Death Valley.
Pa placed his hand on Tomaaz’s shoulder. “You’re not enjoying this at all, are you, Son?”
Breaking a piece of flatbread in half, Tomaaz avoided Pa’s intense gaze. “Racing to Death Valley to save my mother? No.” He took a bite.
“Not that. Flying.”
Pa had noticed? He chewed deliberately, giving him time to think. In the distance, the peaks of the Terramites lorded their grandeur above the forest. In Zens’ shadow, the birds were quieter, the forest subdued. He decided not to answer. “How much further?”
“Far enough, if you don’t like flying.” Pa shrugged. “You know, one of our dragon masters used to get terribly flight sick. As a trainee, the Master Archer, Jerrick, had no stomach for heights. He even barfed from dragonback once.” Pa swigged from the waterskin.
“Thanks, Pa. Good to know.” Just the thought made Tomaaz queasy.
Closing the waterskin, Pa cocked his head. “Jerrick overcame it.”
Tomaaz paused. “How?”
“His fri
end Alfonso teased him, saying he’d jumped off his dragon to conquer his fear, but we could never get Jerrick to confirm or deny.” Hans chuckled. “I can introduce you to him when we get to Dragons’ Hold. Maybe he’ll tell you his secret.”
When we get to Dragons’ Hold, not if. Interesting. So, Pa was certain they’d get out of Death Valley. Tomaaz had no idea how. From what Lovina had told him, Death Valley was like a fortress—difficult to penetrate and even harder to escape from.
“Any more news about Ma? Have you or Handel had any more visions?”
Face grim, Pa studied him at length, then said, “Yes, I saw her last night.”
§
Hans hesitated. There was no point in alarming his son, but there was no point in lying either. In his vision, he’d seen Zens beating Marlies. She’d been in bad shape. Then he’d seen Tomaaz carrying Marlies’ limp body. His throat constricted. He couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead.
Death Valley was going to be harrowing. Tomaaz would see things that would haunt him for years. But it was worth it to save Marlies. He sighed and passed his son the waterskin. “Drink well; this may be the last untainted water you get for a while. Zens puts numlock in the water supply and in slaves’ food.”
Shards, what was he doing, taking his own son to Death Valley? Was he mad? The visions he’d had last night—and Handel’s—confirmed this was the right course. He hated sending his son into the jaws of the wolf. The thing was, he hadn’t seen himself in any visions. “Handel, if we’re wrong, I’ll lose my family.”
“I know it’s been years, but you used to trust our visions. You will lose Marlies, if Tomaaz doesn’t go.”
“And me?” Hans replied. “What role do I play?”
“I see nothing. No vision.” Handel sent him a mental shrug.
His chest pinched. What if he lost Tomaaz and Marlies? Hans pulled out Ana’s velvet pouch. Maybe Marlies wasn’t in danger yet. Maybe it was yet to happen.
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