It was good to hear her voice in his head. They’d lived too long without dragons. If only Marlies were here, with the four of them melding, he’d feel complete. But he had to stop second-guessing her decision to help Zaarusha. They owed the queen. “Handel, I haven’t been able to see anything about Marlies yet. Have you had any luck?” Hans pulled his hood up against the cold.
“I’ve seen some vague images, but nothing definite yet.”
“What were they?”
“I’d rather wait until I have something concrete, Hans.”
Well, some things hadn’t changed. Handel still hid portents of bad news.
§
Oh gods, Tomaaz was beautiful. His face lit with concern as he leaned over to tuck her in. The wind ruffled his blond hair and made his eyes shine.
But if Lovina wasn’t mistaken, he was slightly off-color. Despite the wind blasting his cheeks, his face was pale; and every now and then, a shudder passed through him. He sometimes glanced at the horizon, but never down at the landscape, instead keeping his eyes glued to the dragon’s neck—when he wasn’t looking at her.
There it was again. He gripped the saddle harder, his knuckles turning white, panic flashing across his features. Poor guy.
Still, he was lucky to have parents and a sister. People who loved him.
“Are you all right, Lovina?” He held her forearm securely, easing the blanket out from under it, so it wouldn’t hurt. Then he placed her arm against her body and pulled the blankets up over her. “Your fingers are so cold,” he said.
As if she mattered.
“Thank you.” She hadn’t even realized her arm was half frozen until it was nestled against her—or that her bandaged broken fingers had stopped aching because they were so numb.
His soft smile made her feel cherished.
Stupid, stupid. He was just making sure she was comfortable. It was nothing special. Nothing personal. Just the healer’s son looking after his charge. Lovina sighed. Life was one endless round of pain. And Tomaaz was no exception. As soon as she was healed, he’d ignore her, like everyone else did.
§
Tomaaz squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to Liesar’s neck, trying to shake the dizziness. Liesar swooped. Not again. His stomach lurched, threatening to turf his lunch into the air—or worse, over Lovina. He swallowed back bile, stifling a groan. Thank the Egg, Lovina wasn’t awake to see his discomfort. Actually, this was torture.
Lovina’s lash marks flitted to mind. No, this was nothing. He had to face his flight sickness with courage. Sitting up straight, Tomaaz opened his eyes. Trees loomed and receded as Liesar executed a tight spiral.
He snapped his eyes shut again. Lovina was awake, watching him. He stifled another groan, not from nausea but from embarrassment. He’d fought tharuks, slain them, but couldn’t stomach riding a dragon.
Her hand closed over his and she squeezed his fingers.
Tomaaz couldn’t respond, his fingers grasping the saddle in a death grip.
With a whump, Liesar was on the ground.
After a few deep breaths, Tomaaz opened his eyes.
Pa approached and patted Liesar’s hide. “Well done, girl, a lovely landing.”
Right, absolutely lovely. Tomaaz swallowed, clearing the acid from his throat.
“How did you like flying?” Pa asked, eyes shining. “It’s great, isn’t it?”
“Sure,” Tomaaz replied with fake enthusiasm. “Really great.”
Lovina would know he was a hypocrite, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Pa that flying wasn’t for him. He’d go to Dragons’ Hold to see Ezaara, but he’d never be a dragon rider.
Snowed In
The wolf had left a few hours before dawn. Any longer and Marlies would’ve frozen on that ledge. Dark clouds scudded toward her, their swiftness taking her breath away. Snow was coming—soon. The wind picked up. She tightened her jerkin and cloak and tugged on her gloves, then leaned into the wind, making her way through the snowy drifts across the trail.
Higher up, the wind howled and the snow drifts grew. She’d never make it to Devil’s Gate today. Still, if she couldn’t travel, neither could tharuks. Now, she desperately needed a place to hunker down.
Around a corner, the trail widened. A snowdrift as high as her shoulder was piled along the mountain’s leeward side. This was as good a place as any. Taking off her rucksack, she retrieved a littling-sized spade. The Lush Valley blacksmith had made two of them for the twins when they were in their fourth summer. Shaking off a pang of longing for her family, Marlies dug a tunnel at the base of the snowdrift.
When it was the length of her torso, she lay on her back and wriggled into the narrow passage. She dug, angling upward to create a level sleeping chamber that could be warmed with her body heat. Her arms ached after the ordeal with the wolf, but she kept digging.
Thoughts of her family chipped away at her. Years ago, Dragons’ Hold had been a political thorn bush. Ezaara was so impulsive. Was she stabbing herself on those thorns? Would she fail as Queen’s Rider and be cast out?
And Tomaaz? As a littling, he’d brought her lame rabbits, butterflies with torn wings and friends with scraped knees, begging her, with tears in his eyes, to heal them. Now he was older, more resilient, but if tharuks attacked Lush Valley, would they shred him with their claws? Or would their brutality shred his heart?
She attacked the snow with her shovel. Her own desperation to have children had put her in this fix. If she hadn’t reached out to Zaarusha’s baby, hadn’t touched what was forbidden, they wouldn’t have been living in a sheltered backwater. Their children would have grown up at Dragons’ Hold, strong and prepared.
Then again, if the dragonet hadn’t blessed her
