And she had.
Marlies had never known Ezaara was going to become Queen’s Rider. In a moment of hope, she’d given Ezaara a name that had a syllable common with Zaarusha’s name, but she’d never dared dream it would happen. She pushed the loose snow over her belly and out of the tunnel.
When Marlies scrambled out, the temperature had plummeted. Black cloud raced overhead. An icy blast hit her. She snatched up her rucksack and crawled back inside, dragging it by a strap. Marlies broke a fire bean and lit a candle, warming her numb hands over the meager flame.
Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since before dawn, and was exhausted, but she couldn’t rest yet. She hollowed a shelf at the end of the chamber for her rucksack and sculpted the ceiling to prevent water dripping on her as the chamber warmed up.
Unrolling a tightly-bound oilskin, she laid it on the floor and put her traveling quilt on top. Marlies chewed a piece of stale flatbread. She had more bread, some dried meat and a few of Giant John’s vegetables, but she didn’t dare eat those now. She needed to save them for Death Valley in case Zaarusha’s son was too weak to fly.
With her sword, Marlies created a small ventilation hole in the roof. The weather still raged outside, but the thick layer of snow insulated her against the storm, so it was only a distant hum.
Now, she’d talk to Hans. She took out her calling stone, rubbing it. The surface stayed cold and flat. Sighing, she burrowed into her quilt.
Hours later, Marlies was still listening to the drip drip drip of water from the ceiling.
She rolled over, trying to get comfortable, but it was fruitless. She was stuck again, helpless, not knowing what danger her family was in. Sitting here, she was unable to help Zaarusha or her captive son.
Unable to repay the blood debt she owed her queen.
Star Clearing
A blizzard raged outside, drifts piling up against the cabin. They’d barely made it here yesterday with enough time to unload the supplies and bring in firewood before the storm had hit. The upside was not being flight sick any more. Well, that and Lovina not being cramped in a saddlebag.
Pa had passed the time teaching Tomaaz and Lovina about Dragons’ Hold and dragon rider history. He’d even mentioned the many safe caves scattered throughout the realm, supplied with food and gear for emergencies. But Tomaaz was itching for action. Being cooped up inside wasn’t his idea of fun.
Neither was fighting tharuks, although Pa was keen to teach him about that, too.
“You’re right, Son. The best place to wound them are the vulnerable spots where their fur isn’t so matted, like their armpits, under their chins and behind their knees.”
“Oh, and their eyes,” Tomaaz replied, whittling a stick before the fire.
Lovina was in a chair, bundled up in a quilt, still pale and obviously in pain.
Tomaaz lifted a pot off the fireplace and tipped some water into a mug, adding herbs. “This pain draft might help,” he said, setting it on a stump before her. “Just let it cool for a while.”
She nodded, staring at the fire.
Had he done something to upset her? Was it her injuries, or was something else bothering her? Over the last few hours, she’d withdrawn.
Pa threw some onions into a pot with dried meat and herbs. “At Dragons’ Hold, we’ll eat better than this. You’ll be trained up and tested as a rider. If you’re lucky, you might imprint with a blue dragon and be called to the blue guards.”
Him? Dragon rider material? Tomaaz doubted it. “Blue guards—like the ones now in Lush Valley?”
Pa nodded. “They’re stationed in Montanara. A friend of mine was captain of the green guards in Naobia. Further to the west, there are red guards; and browns in the far north. It’s essential that we patrol our borders to prevent enemies from taking the realm.”
“If we have all these guards, how did Zens get so much power?”
“Zens is from a world with deep knowledge about how nature works, how bodies and minds can be controlled. He came through a world gate and began creating tharuks, sexless beasts, that he grows somehow, like we grow a plant from a cutting.” Deep furrows ridged Pa’s brow. “When I was on the dragon council, we had no idea how, but I’m hoping they’ve made some progress.” He shook his head. “It’s been twenty-five years since Zens arrived, and if we don’t defeat him soon, we never will.”
§
Lovina was sobbing. Pulling back his blankets, Tomaaz padded across the floor. He was halfway when the sobbing stopped. An unnatural stillness followed.
Should he comfort her or go back to bed? She obviously didn’t want him to know she was upset, saving her tears for the middle of the night. The whisper of a tight inhalation—as if she was afraid to breathe—made up his mind. No one should live with that much fear.
Approaching the bed, Tomaaz sat on his heels, his face at the same height as Lovina’s pillow. “I’m here. Lovina. You’re safe.”
Another tight sharp gasp in the darkness.
This might take time, and the fire had died completely. Tomaaz went back to his bedside and grabbed his shirt and jerkin, pulling them on. When he reached her bedside again, he whispered, “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes.” Lovina’s voice was so thin he had to strain to hear it.
Tomaaz sat by her bedside, waiting for her breathing to relax into a normal cadence. “How long did you live with Bill?” he asked. Not that you could call it living.
“Eight years.”
So long—and they must’ve been nightmare years. But it made sense; they’d been bringing cloth to Lush Valley since he was about nine. “I’m glad you’re
