It took forever.
Ezaara kept checking Tomaaz’s pulse and breathing. His vibrant orange sathir was steady.
At last, while wiping away the excess mixture, Ma said, “That’s all the largest pieces taken care off. The challenge will be getting the splinters back in.”
“Do you think you got them all?” Ezaara asked, holding up a candle so Ma could see.
Ma picked up a splinter. “There may be shards that have been washed away. Maybe tiny particles have caught in his muscle or connective tissue. That’d give him trouble later. We’ll just have to do our best.”
Fitting the splinters back in took longer than the initial pieces of bone.
When she was done, Ma called Liesar.
The silver dragon snaked her neck through the archway of Ezaara’s cavern. “It’s all right, Ezaara, we’ve done this before, years ago. It’s unnerving, but might help.”
Might help?
Liesar stretched her neck down to Tomaaz’s wound, blowing over it. Her hot dragon’s breath solidified the ball joint and smoothened Ma’s work, hardening it into a slick replica of Tomaaz’s bone.
An odd scent filled the cavern. “Zaarusha, have you seen that before?”
The dragon queen peered through the doorway. “Anakisha, my former rider, had me use similar techniques,” Zaarusha melded.” But now, I leave healing to the healers.”
“Anakisha taught me this after a battle,” Ma said. “We saved the leg of a young boy whose kneecap had been shattered. It’s not always perfect, but it’s better than amputation.” She shook her head at the mangled flesh of her son’s hip. “Mind you, it’s not always successful. Pass me my surgical knife.”
Ezaara passed the knife.
“We can’t have jagged edges catching in his flesh.” Ma scraped Tomaaz’s new ball joint with her knife, clearing the debris away from his wound.
The blade rasped, setting Ezaara’s teeth on edge. Tomaaz’s eyes fluttered and he moaned and his head thrashed. They’d been working on him so long, the woozy weed had worn off. Ezaara clenched her teeth and held his hand. Even with his arms bound, he gripped her fingers so hard her eyes smarted.
“Could you bring me some piaua, clean herb and cloths?” Slumping into a seat, Ma wiped her forehead. “The bone’s fixed now, but his muscles and connective tissue have taken a hammering. We must staunch the bleeding.”
Ezaara gestured at his mangled flesh. “At least the blood has washed the pus away.” She passed Ma clean herb and placed her fingers on Tomaaz’s throat. “His heartbeat’s weakening. His sathir is fading.” Ezaara’s own heart lurched. Even though Ma had fixed his hip, he could still die from shock and blood loss.
“Quick,” Ma said. “The piaua, before he loses more blood.”
They treated the wound with piaua juice, layer by layer, the flesh healing before their eyes. Tomaaz’s breaths were shallow and rapid.
“I thought I knew a lot of healing remedies, but I’ve never seen anything like that new bone,” Ezaara said.
“The piaua will help his nerves to regenerate,” Ma explained.
Ezaara bit her lip.
“What is it?” Ma asked, setting the piaua vial aside.
“Will he be able to walk again?”
Ma shrugged. “We’ll have to see.” Ma stitched the hip wound shut, sealing it with piaua.
Ezaara parted Tomaaz’s hair and applied a few drops of piaua to his head wound.
Ma snipped the stitches on his hip, tugging them free, then checked his pulse. “His heartbeat is stronger, but still rapid. We’ll need to keep him warm. Hopefully the shock isn’t too much for him.” Ezaara covered Tomaaz with some blankets.
“He’s not out of the woods yet, is he?”
Ma shook her head. “No, he’s not, but there’s nothing more we can do.” She sank into a chair and patted the seat next to her. Ma’s arms and hands were splattered in blood. Ezaara fetched her a bowl of water, asking Zaarusha to warm it. They cleaned up their hands, the area and the wound site.
“What now?” Ezaara asked.
“We wait until he revives and see whether it’s worked. In the best case, he’ll walk with discomfort. In the worst …” Ma sighed, patting Ezaara’s hand. “I’ll sit with him. Why don’t you take a breather?”
Ezaara walked outside through Zaarusha’s den, where the dragons were sleeping.
Zaarusha opened an eye as she passed. “Maazini’s not injured, just exhausted.”
“Any word of Erob?”
“Not yet. Maazini was too tired to make much sense.” The queen’s eye drifted shut.
The cool air out on the ledge dried the sweat on Ezaara’s brow, making it stiff with salt. She leaned against the stone wall, her hands clenching the fabric of her jerkin. Where were Erob and Roberto?
She shuddered as her nightmares replayed in her mind: Commander Zens torturing Roberto. Screaming, his handsome features were twisted into a mask of pain, his olive skin crusted with blood.
No. It was just a nightmare. She’d find out the truth when Tomaaz or Maazini woke.
Roberto would be fine. He was resourceful, clever. He’d survived being captured by Zens before. Him and Erob might be flying home now, just hours behind Maazini.
Ezaara sank to the snowy ledge, not caring about the chill.
Soon, the first rays of dawn hit the peaks of Dragon’s Teeth—the ring of mountains surrounding the basin of Dragons’ Hold—setting them on fire. Ezaara scanned the skies. No dragons.
Roberto’s face flashed to mind, his ebony eyes tender as he’d kissed her, vowing to return. No one knew they were promised to each other. No one must know. As master of mental faculties and imprinting, he was forbidden to love his trainee. Not that she’d be his trainee for much longer—she was nearly qualified.
She touched the crystal teardrop at her neck. A memory cascaded through her mind: Roberto nearly plunging
