Ezaara snorted. Piaua juice didn’t have various grades. “No, thank you. Now, be on your way.”
But the boy didn’t let go. She couldn’t really pull her sword on the littling, could she? Not as the Queen’s Rider, here in the middle of a marketplace.
“I got piaua, I do.” He gave her a practiced winsome grin, the little scam artist. “Come with me.”
“Excuse me,” said a cloaked man wearing an orange Robandi headdress that covered most of his face. His accent was Northern, similar to hers. He addressed the littling, “There are only two suppliers of piaua in Naobia, young rascal, and you’re not one of them. Unless you want to feel the point of my sword, I suggest you leave this visitor to our fair town alone.”
Eyes wide, the boy dropped her sleeve and fled.
“Thank you,” Ezaara said.
“My pleasure.” The man smiled, the skin around his eyes creasing. Although his skin was tan, it wasn’t as dark as a true Robandi’s—not Robandi or Naobian, then, but someone who’d lived here for a while and adjusted to the local customs.
A littling ran past, sparks shooting from her magic stick as she darted for the alley.
The man strode off.
Ezaara followed him. “Um, excuse me, but you said there were two sources of piaua here in Naobia.”
He turned. “Yes, the healer has some, and I have a limited supply in my store.”
“Can I buy some?” Ma was so terribly short.
He tilted his head. “I’m afraid it’s not for sale.” He stalked through the crowd.
This might be her only chance. Ezaara ran after him. “I have coin. We need piaua at Dragons’ Hold.”
“Dragons’ Hold?” He turned and scanned her face with narrowed eyes. “Maybe I’d better fetch you some, then.”
Ezaara hesitated, poised on a knife’s edge. She probably shouldn’t stray too far from the marketplace, but she and Ma had saved enough lives with piaua juice to know it was essential. She might not have this chance again. “I’ll come with you,” she said.
With a brief nod, the man spun, cloak swirling, and strode through the alley. It was an odd combination, the Northern cloak to keep out the cold and the Robandi headdress against the heat. She shrugged. She’d lived most of her life in Lush Valley and had a lot to learn about customs and traditions, so who was she to question his garb?
Fire-sticks fizzed and popped as bursts of gold and green stars shot above the man’s head through the dim alley. He waved a hand, clearing a path through the littlings. Ezaara tagged along behind him, staring at the pretty display of mage fire, the gleeful littlings shrieking and oohing.
They turned a corner into a shady alley, leaving the littlings behind. A beggar called out. Ezaara threw him a coin and he shoved it into a tattered pocket. A brawny man was towering over a scrawny lad in a doorway, ice in his eyes. They stilled, not finishing their conversation until Ezaara had passed. Sounds of a scuffle came from the mouth of a narrow adjoining alley. Ezaara hurried to walk level with the man, her hand hovering near her sword.
Although the man’s mouth was covered with the desert headdress, his eyes crinkled in a smile. “Just in here.” He gestured to an alley barely wide enough for two horses to walk astride. Beyond the shadows, a shaft of sunlight lit up a stone wall, a dead end. Good, there wasn’t far to go now. She’d be back to the market in no time. She stepped into the alley.
A figure leaped from the shadows, slamming her back into a wall. A flash of blond hair. The slash of a white toothy smile. Simeon—his skin was darker, cheeks gaunt and hair bleached by the sun, but it was him. He clenched her throat.
Ezaara gurgled.
He rammed her head against the stone with a crack.
Skull throbbing, Ezaara cried out, but her yell was cut off as the man in the headdress shoved bitter-tasting berries into her mouth.
A blade pricked her throat. “Chew,” Simeon barked.
Ezaara spat the berries in his face.
Purple juice and berry skin splattered Simeon’s nose and cheek. A memory flashed to mind of Ma setting farmer Orsin’s leg, back in Lush Valley. He’d thrashed so much she’d given him purple swakberries to make his muscles go slack. Her tongue tingled. Her lower lip was going numb. Gods, no, they were swakberries.
Ezaara spat again and drove her knee toward Simeon’s groin. But Simeon twisted away, letting go of her.
“Rough her up, Son,” the man goaded. “Have a little fun.”
Bruno—Simeon’s father. He’d lured her here, disguised in his headdress and cloak. Probably bribed the boy, too, that gut-swiving scum. She kicked out, her foot striking Bruno’s thigh.
Bruno punched her in the belly, winding her. Ezaara gasped and drew her sword.
Simeon slammed his body into hers.
She fell, Simeon’s body pinning her to the ground. Her sword clattered across the cobbles.
“Quick, father, more berries,” he hissed.
The two men were bigger and stronger than her, so she had to use her head. She wouldn’t open her mouth. Couldn’t let herself be rendered useless by swakberries.
“So, you snooty little cow, I’ve finally got you where I want you.” Simeon leered, yanking her hair.
Her eyes smarted. Still, she clenched her teeth.
Simeon snarled. His knife pricked her throat. “Open your shrotty little mouth.”
Blood trickled down her neck and around the back of her riders’ garb. He pinched her nose. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs burned. She thrashed her legs and head, trying to buck Simeon off. She grew dizzy. Tried to twist her head away. Still, he squeezed her nostrils shut.
Laughing, Bruno knelt on the cobbles beside her. “Thought you’d get the better of us, did you?” He wrenched her mouth open with his dirty hands. Ezaara gasped a quick breath and tried to clench her teeth again, but Bruno shoved a foul-tasting finger in her mouth. She bit him. Hard.
Bruno yelped and backhanded her face. “I’ll fix you!” He rose, narrowing his eyes. “Actually, Son, I’ll show you how to quieten the feisty ones without laying a finger on ’em.” He stalked off.
Cheek stinging, Ezaara thrust her knee up and tried to roll over, but she couldn’t dislodge Simeon.
“Stupid girl. You could’ve had me instead of that son of a traitor. But no, even though both my parents are masters, I wasn’t good enough for you.”
Ezaara spat in his face. “Dragon-swiving s-scum.” That idiot Simeon had tried to poison her at Dragons’ Hold. He was the traitor, not Roberto.
Bruno dragged a pale, shaking littling girl into the alley. The fire-stick in her white-knuckled grip sputtered a lone gold star, then died. Bruno palmed a blade from his sleeve like a street fighter, and held it to the girl’s throat. “Eat the berries, Ezaara, or the littling dies.”
He wouldn’t, would he?
She wouldn’t put it past him. He and his wife, Fleur, had murdered dragon masters, drugged their own dragons, and teamed with tharuks to enslave the people of Dragons’ Realm.
“Need some convincing?” Bruno pressed the knife, making the girl cry as it pierced her delicate skin. Droplets of blood ran down his blade.
Ezaara opened her mouth.
Simeon shoved berries between her lips and clamped her jaw shut, holding it with his hands.
Bruno threatened the girl. “I’m letting you go, but if you say a word, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
“Y-yes.” Without a backward glance, she ran off.
Ezaara didn’t blame her.
“Chew, stupid cow. Chew,” Simeon snarled.
She didn’t. But the berry skins dissolved anyway, tingling on her tongue. The pulp slid down her throat, making it burn. Heat spread through her like wildfire, setting her limbs ablaze.
“That’s how you get the spirited ones to cooperate.” Bruno smirked. “Now hurry, Son. Test her.”
Simeon raised a dagger above his head, the blade angled toward her heart. He smiled, teeth glinting. And thrust down.
&n
bsp; The dagger plunged toward her. Ezaara raised her arm but it flopped clumsily against his. She pushed with her legs, but her thighs spasmed and twitched, her legs sprawling at strange angles.
Simeon held the dagger over her, laughing. “Yes, you’re woozier than a drunken pirate.” He pulled her to her feet. “Let’s see you walk.”
She swayed and staggered, careening into the wall. Grateful for the stone, she leaned against it.
“Ha, look at you now, fancy Queen’s Rider,” Simeon jeered.
Ezaara snatched at her hip but her sword still lay on the cobbles, too far to reach. Her fingers were clumsy, awkward. The two men laughed at her as she fumbled with both hands to pull her dagger from its sheath and held it in front of her. Her arms convulsed. The dagger swayed and bucked, as if it had a mind of its own.
Knife out, Simeon lunged. Ezaara swung to deflect it, but missed his blade completely, the motion pulling her off balance.
Bruno grinned. “Be quick, those berries won’t last long.”
He was right. Farmer Orsin had barely held still long enough for Ma to straighten the bone and Ezaara to hastily splint it. If she could hold Simeon off for long enough, she’d soon have control of her limbs again. And what did Bruno mean by be quick?
“W-what do y-you want?” Her tongue was thick and fuzzy, wouldn’t form words. Flame it, her blade was so heavy, her arms so weak. Her jaw grew slack and her knees faltered. She slid down the wall and slumped on the cobbles.
“Father, drag her over here where I can see her pretty face.” Simeon laughed, stalking into a patch of sun at the alley’s end. “I want to see everything Roberto’s seen.”
“That’s my boy. You take after your father.”
Ice slithered into Ezaara’s veins. Simeon had tried to force himself on her once, but she and Gret had fought him off. But now, no one knew where she was. She tried to lift her arm, but it flopped around like a dying fish. Bruno dragged her by the legs, her head thudding a tattoo over every cobble. She could barely move her arms. The only thing she could use was her mind.
Maybe she could distract them. “S-so S-Simeon, clever y-you survived the Wastelands. H-how?”
Oh gods, she was a fool. She still had her mind! Desperately, she flung out her consciousness, trying to mind-meld, “Roberto!”
No answer. Were their dragons close enough to hear her? “Zaarusha, Erob, help!”
Bruno dumped her in a pile at Simeon’s feet.
The sun glared high above the buildings, casting Simeon’s face in shadow. “Revenge made me survive—the thought of doing this to you.” Simeon toed her thigh with his boot.
Gods, no. “Zaarusha. Roberto.” Nothing. Roberto must also be too far away to hear. And she’d left Anakisha’s crystal necklace—the dream-catcher that helped them meld over distance—on her bedside table in the cottage.
Simeon crouched, his face coming into view in the sun. “So pretty.” He flicked his tongue over his lips like a viper.
“Roberto?” By the flaming dragon gods, where was he?
“I’ll guard the mouth of the alley while you enjoy yourself,” Bruno said. “Be quick. And rough.”
“Shuddup, Pa, I’ll do this my way,” Simeon snapped.
Bruno shoved a finger in Simeon’s face. “Remember, your ma died because of that shrotty cow. The sooner you’re done and we cast her in the sea, the better.” He strode to the alley’s mouth, boots echoing on stone.
Running a finger down her cheek, Simeon crooned. “This won’t take long Ezaara. You’ll be ready for me now that Roberto’s already had you.”
A shiver of revulsion rippled down Ezaara’s spine.
§
Roberto put down his teacup and rose to go. “Thank you.”
Warlin’s grin was a flash of white in his bushy beard. “It was the least we could do for you after all these years,” he said, the tan wrinkles around his warm eyes half hidden by his wild black hair.
Anastia, the best seamstress in the whole of Naobia, reached out to squeeze Roberto’s hand, her embroidered sleeve brushing his wrist. “It’s good to see you, Roberto. Bring Ezaara by if her outfit needs adjusting.”
“Everything will probably fit fine, but I’d like to pop by with her.” Warlin and Anastia were the closest thing he had to family—apart from his sister, Adelina. “I’m sure Ezaara would love to meet you.”
So much excellent food stowed in his rucksack, not to mention the fine new ceremonial riders’ garb he’d ordered for Ezaara. He’d wanted nothing but the finest for Ezaara and had ordered the garments when he’d flown down to organize their hand-fasting holiday. She’d refused payment—for the food and the clothing. He hadn’t expected that.
“You know you’re welcome any time. Our hearth is yours and Adelina’s. Give our love to your sister.” Anastia’s dark eyes glimmered. “We miss her.”
Anastia and Warlin’s daughter had been kidnapped by his father and given to tharuks as a slave. When Roberto’s parents died, Adelina had lived with them for a few moons, and they’d loved her as their own.
“I’d better go, or Ezaara will be wondering where I am.” He embraced them and walked out the door, through their garden, their farewells hanging on the air. Closing their garden gate, he entered the piazza and sat on the wide lip of the sea dragon fountain, trailing his fingers in the water while he waited for Ezaara. Carved from opaline crystal, the sea dragons glimmered in the sunlight, rainbows rippling through their scaled bodies, and sparkling water cascading from their maws.
After his long catch-up with Anastia and Warlin, he’d expected Ezaara to arrive before him. Where was she? Was she all right? He huffed his breath out, trying to shake off the uneasiness creeping over him. It was nothing, only the memory of Amato’s treachery that was making him uncomfortable.
The feeling didn’t ease. “Ezaara.”
No answer. She was easily within melding distance. Was she distracted?
“Erob, any idea what’s up?”
No answer. Erob must still be out of range.
Roberto inhaled, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. For the Egg’s sake, they were on their hand-fasting holiday. He’d wanted to show Ezaara Naobia, share his homeland with her. Wanted to relax in the sun and leave the stressful politics of Dragons’ Hold behind them. So far it had been beautiful. There was no need for his past to get him down.
He rolled his shoulders and waited, watching the sunlight cast pretty colors over the shimmering dragons.
§
Simeon ran his shrotty finger over Ezaara’s cheek.
“Help! Green guards, help,” Ezaara melded. “Your Queen’s Rider needs you!”
“What is it, my Queen’s Rider?” a dragon replied.
“An evil man has me. I’m paralyzed.” Ezaara showed him her location, Simeon’s ugly sneer as his finger traced down her throat, sliding across the bloody skin at her collar bone. “Please, help. Tell Zaarusha and Master Roberto.”
“Right away,” the dragon replied.
“So pretty, and all mine.” Simeon’s eyes glinted. “A shame we had to rough you up a little, but at least Pa didn’t mar your face.” He wiped her blood on his breeches as his eyes slid down her chest.
Her mouth grew dry. She had to keep him talking until help arrived, stop him from—
“I-it was brave of y-you to cross the ocean. H-how did y-you do it?” Gods, if only she could speak coherently. Her tongue was thick and clumsy.
“Help’s coming,” the dragon called. “We’re having difficulty determining which alley you’re in.”
Ezaara showed the green her walk from the square. Simeon stalked around her prone body, gloating.
“We built a raft from palm trunks,” Simeon said. “Luckily there wasn’t a storm. We’re the only survivors from the Wastelands. We outwitted the likes of you, while you danced around on the sand with your pretty-boy lover, not a care in the world.” His gloat twisted into a snarl. “You and that rotten Roberto sent my mother to her death. But no
w, it’s my turn to exact revenge.”
He knelt again, tracing his dagger along her ribs. The blade pricked through her clothing.
Ezaara attempted to hit him, but her arm only twitched. The berries had taken full hold now. She could only lie here. “How soon will you be here?”
“Not long now,” the dragon answered. “Hold on.”
Hold on to what? She couldn’t even grip anything. Her sword still lay abandoned on the cobbles. She was useless.
No, she was the Queen’s Rider. She rode Zaarusha, the most powerful dragon in the realm. She would not submit to Simeon. Help was on its way. She had to keep him talking. Distract him.
“You know S-simeon, I always appreciated your k-kindness when I f-first arrived at D-dragons’ Hold.” Kindness that had been an ulterior motive to poisoning her. “You w-won m-my heart. I really l-liked you.” She’d been gullible and impressionable and had no idea of the depth of his treachery.
“Good,” he sneered. “That’ll make this easier for you.” He twirled his blade in his hands, then sheathed it.
Although the conversation had taken a bad turn, at least he’d sheathed his knife.
“Simeon, you fool, take the wench.” Bruno called from the mouth of the alley. “Those berries won’t last forever.”
“Sure, Father,” Simeon called. He muttered under his breath, “Mind your own shrotty business, old man. She’s mine and I’ll take her how I want.” He fumbled with the fastenings on her jerkin. “Let’s see what Roberto finds so attractive about you.” He laughed. “Let’s see if you scream.”
Zens’ Weapon
Maazini perched high on Heaven’s Peak, his talons scrabbling through snow to grip a giant boulder, as dawn broke over the horizon, setting his orange scales ablaze, and bathing the snow in liquid gold. Tomaaz hunkered down over the saddle. Since they’d been flying patrol with the blue guard, dawn had become his favorite time.
Behind him in the saddle, Jael huffed on his hands. “Breathtaking, isn’t it? If I’d known it was going to be this cold, I would’ve worn two pairs of gloves.”
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