The stone got hot. 316 bounced it from hand to hand, but its fur got singed. A roar pounded inside its head. Flame shot from the dragon’s mouth into 316’s face and the stone disintegrated, leaving its hands burned and charred.
The fur on its chin was smoldering. 316 batted at it, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable. Someone was coming, so 316 ducked into the latrine.
When 316 came out, 555 was waiting. “There you are,” its boss-tracker said. “I’ve been searching. You found oaf’s cart. Zens is pleased. He reward you. Come.”
316 nodded, his chin in his hand to conceal his burnt fur.
“Zens wants the prisoner’s rucksack.” 555 glared at 316.
Zens probably hadn’t even asked for the rucksack. It was just 555 trying to get the treasure. 316 replied, “I don’t know where the prisoner’s bag is. Did you take it to Zens?”
555 smiled, tusks gleaming. “Come and get your reward.”
Something in 555’s smile made 316 shudder.
Dragons’ Hold
Liesar flipped her wings, craning her neck backward to get a glimpse of the girl in the saddlebag. Pale face, eyes closed, breathing ragged. She couldn’t see much else. The girl was probably unconscious. She’d tried rousing her by roaring, but Lovina hadn’t responded. If Handel was flying with her, she could have asked him to fly close and monitor her health. But he wasn’t. He was on his way to Death Valley with Tomaaz and Hans.
A cold ache filled Liesar’s belly at the thought of Marlies dying. No, she couldn’t die, not after all the years she’d waited to see her rider again. Not after her ferrying Marlies and Hans away to Lush Valley after the royal dragonet had died, so they could hide until Zaarusha’s wrath grew cold and reason set in. Zaarusha had finally come around, thank the dragon gods, after a few miserable years.
Liesar battled a fierce headwind from Dragons’ Hold, then flew higher, seeking a gentler current. Tomaaz liked Lovina. His affection ran deep. Lovina was precious cargo. Frail. Hopefully, not dying.
Liesar craned her neck again. She wasn’t so sure.
Hours later, she alighted on a ledge at Dragons’ Hold.
§
Standing in a corner of an empty training cavern, Adelina stared at Kierion. “Are you sure this’ll work?”
“How many pranks have I pulled off since you’ve known me?” he asked.
True, he was good; that’s why she’d sought him out. “We can’t risk this going wrong. A girl’s life is at stake.”
Kierion’s usually-merry eyes were somber. “That’s why it has to look real. If I take my rumble weed, I’ll be barfing so much that Fleur won’t notice what you’re up to.”
“You mean you’d willingly vomit to help?” Not what she’d had in mind when she’d asked him.
Kierion’s mouth set in a grim line. “I’m not letting Zens kill our people, and your brother’s right: we can’t trust Fleur.”
Adelina swallowed. Fleur’s evil lies had led to the council banishing her brother Roberto to the Wastelands.
Kierion squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, Ezaara and Erob will find Roberto.” His cheeks pinked and he dropped her fingers. “Let’s go. Gret will be wondering what’s taking you so long.”
Adelina retrieved some bread from the kitchens, then waited outside the boy’s quarters while Kierion nipped in to retrieve his rumble weed.
“I’ve taken it,” he said. “As soon as I eat, I’ll be hurling.”
She handed him the bread. “We’d better get to the infirmary quickly then.”
He chewed it as they walked. By the time they got to the infirmary door, Kierion was clutching his stomach. Shards, his rumble weed was good. Adelina pushed the door open and brought him in. He doubled over, right in the doorway, groaning.
“Master Fleur,” she called, “Kierion’s sick.”
“Basin,” grunted Kierion.
“Here,” called Fleur, snatching up a basin and running toward him. Once he had the basin in hand, Fleur led Kierion over to a chair. “Come and sit over here.”
The moment he sat, Kierion deposited the contents of his stomach into the basin.
There were only two other patients in the infirmary, neither paying attention to Adelina, so she drifted to the back of the room, ducking behind a curtain into Fleur’s secret alcove. She bent, searching through shelves full of pots of Fleur’s stinking salve. Somewhere here, she and Ezaara had seen some vials nestled in sheep wool, in a little box. Ah, there was the box, at the back. She lifted Fleur’s pots, careful not to let them clink against one another, and hid the slim box under her jerkin. She had to hurry. Lovina could be getting worse by the heartbeat.
“Hold on, I’ll get you some soothing tea.”
That was Fleur’s voice, coming toward her!
“Master Fleur,” Kierion called. “You should really look at this rash, in case it’s not a simple belly gripe.”
“Good idea,” Fleur replied, her voice moving away. “How long have you had the rash?”
“Oh, let me think …”
Adelina peeked out from the curtain. Fleur’s back was to her again, watching Kierion undo his jerkin so she could look at his torso. When Kierion started vomiting again, Adelina sneaked out of the infirmary. Now, to get the remedy to Lovina.
§
Lovina cracked her eyes open.
A young girl’s face appeared above her, a girl with dark hair and black eyes—Naobian, from the look of her. Her forehead was lined with worry, but she had an overly-bright smile. “You’re awake. Welcome to Dragons’ Hold. I’m Adelina.”
This was better than the boot in the ribs she usually got from Bill.
“How are you feeling?”
“Uh …” How was she feeling? She’d been drowsy for days. In the darkest moments, when her hands were cramped into painful claws, she’d despaired of ever drawing again. But now?
Lovina flexed the fingers on her good hand,
