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, vulnerable, 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
