The babble of conversation ground to a stop.
Her cheeks burned. Great. That would impress everyone—the new Queen’s Rider, smeared in sweet potato with a busted ankle. People were staring, some concerned, others smothering smiles.
“What do you expect?” a woman murmured. “She’s from Lush Valley.”
Someone snickered. A few more joined in.
Right, enough was enough. She may be from Lush Valley, but she wasn’t deaf. “It’s all right, everyone, I’m fine,” Ezaara called. “Go back to your dinner and I’ll collect mine.” She plucked sweet potato and fish off her tunic, putting it back onto her plate.
Scattered laughter broke out. People resumed eating. At least they weren’t staring anymore.
Zaarusha melded. “You’re injured. Do you need me to fly you home?”
“No, my ankle’s not that sore. I’ll stay until the feast’s over.”
“Very well, but take it easy.”
A blond man, about her age, rushed over. “Honored Queen’s Rider, I’m the master healer’s son, Simeon. My mother, Fleur, sent me to assist you.”
No, not in front of everyone. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll be on my feet in a moment.” Ezaara brushed the rest of the food off her tunic. The silver fabric was ruined, stained with dull spots of fish oil. As she clambered to her feet, another spike of pain lanced through her ankle. Oh gods, she couldn’t put any weight on it.
Simeon gave her a lopsided smile, offering her his arm. “You need to sit down.” Helping her to the nearest table, he asked people to move so she could have a seat. He put her plate of grass-speckled food on the table. “I’ll be back in a moment with some salve.”
He disappeared before Ezaara could tell him not to bother.
A girl passed a cup of apple juice to her. “Hi, I’m Gret. It’s a shame you slipped. Reminds me of the time I fell in a puddle during my sword assessment.” She flicked her long brown braids over her shoulders.
Ezaara pushed the food around on her plate with her fork, a plain one without dragons on it—so the special cutlery was only for those at the head table. “Did you fail your sword assessment, Gret?”
“My backside was soggy, but I passed, so it worked out in the end. How are you with a sword?”
Ezaara sighed. “Better than I am with stairs, fortunately, but nowhere near as good as my brother.”
Another girl laughed, making her blonde curls bounce. “I’m Sofia. If you need the latest news, come see me.”
“Gossip, more like,” a blond boy said, taking a bite of bread.
Sofia elbowed him. “Just because I keep up with what’s going on, doesn’t mean it’s gossip, Mathias.”
Mathias raised an eyebrow at Sofia, then turned to Ezaara. “Welcome to Dragons’ Hold.”
Sofia leaned in. “Tell us, what’s Lush Valley like?”
Ezaara shrugged. “I’ve never lived anywhere else.”
“Is it true dragons are outlawed there?” Sofia practically held her breath.
How could she admit she’d never been sure if dragons existed?
“Come on, Sofia, you can’t believe everything you hear. You also thought Naobia had never had rain. I’m never going to let you live that down.” He laughed, dark eyes twinkling against his olive skin, black curls gleaming. From what Roberto had said, he was Naobian too. “I’m Rocco,” he said. “You’ll get used to Sofia’s questions.”
“We all had to,” said another boy, spearing a piece of fish on his fork. “I’m Henry.”
The last of the group moved like a lethal predator around the table toward her. Huge, he extended his well-muscled arm. “I’m Alban.” His eyes were gray, flinty. “Welcome,” he said, although his stance was anything but welcoming. “You’ll be training with us.”
Thankfully he’d be on her side in a battle, not fighting against her. Swallowing, Ezaara shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Alban.”
Simeon appeared at her shoulder. “Let’s look at your ankle.” His amber eyes were soft in the torchlight.
“I’m fine, thank you. Really. It’s only a sprain.”
“Fine is why you’re limping, right?” He unlaced her boot and eased it off.
Ezaara had to grit her teeth to stop herself from groaning out loud. What a fantastic impression she must be making.
“I hope you don’t mind me helping you.” Flashing his lopsided smile again, Simeon gently propped her foot on an upturned pail. He uncorked a small pot of salve. An arid scent wafted from it.
No way was she having that stinking stuff on her ankle. Ma’s salve smelled much better and worked wonders. She’d use that.
Before Ezaara could say anything, Roberto appeared behind Simeon, his voice slicing through the conversation. “I’ll take care of the Queen’s Rider. Go and enjoy your meal.”
“It’s no problem, Master Roberto.” Simeon leveled a challenging gaze at him. “I’m happy to assist.”
From the top table, Lars beckoned Roberto.
“Oh dear, duty calls,” muttered Simeon.
“Watch your step, Simeon,” Roberto threatened. He returned to the top table, boots thunking on the dais.
Irritable was an understatement. That man was downright hostile. “What was that about?” Ezaara asked Simeon.
“I don’t know—he’s always had a grudge against me.” Simeon shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”
Sofia leaned over the table. “He can be very rude. They say Master Roberto was once—”
“Sofia.” Gret gave an exasperated frown. “Ezaara can form her own opinions.”
A ripple ran through the crowd as Roberto held his glass high and proposed a toast to Queen Zaarusha. Simeon passed Ezaara her glass, and she nodded as the crowd toasted her dragon’s longevity and wisdom.
Glancing down, Gret said, “Wow, your ankle’s the size of an apple.”
“It looks tender,” remarked Sofia.
“It’s nothing.” Ezaara managed a smile. “I’ll be fine.”
