So, he did what he’d been doing for days, he stared at the wall, noticing every bump, pit and crevice in the flickering torchlight. Deep underground, it was hard to figure out how long he’d been here, but something different had happened recently …
As his good eye roamed over the wall, he spotted a tiny chink, and suddenly, he knew what it was. Someone had been here.
He clamped down on that thought. Quashed his feelings. He mustn’t give Ezaara away. If Zens slipped into his mind unwittingly, he’d know she’d been here. He submerged his thoughts, going deep inside himself, so Zens couldn’t detect him.
What had Zens said about the new creatures? Nothing more than he already knew: a threat to Dragons’ Realm and dragons. But what Zens didn’t know was that Roberto had discovered the location of his new lovelies.
If he could get out of these chains, he’d come back with reinforcements to destroy them.
Surprises
“What is it? Do you know?” Lofty asked Kierion as they walked toward the main cavern.
Kierion shrugged. Lars had said there was an important announcement this afternoon. He had a fair idea what it might be. He leaned toward Tomaaz’s best friend, who’d arrived a few weeks ago while Tomaaz was still in Death Valley. With his love of adventure, Lofty had become one of Kierion’s stalwart supporters, and had helped him drag the sledge full of arrows up the mountainside. Not that that particular prank was anything to brag about anymore. “Well, I may be wrong, but—”
“But what?” Lofty’s keen eyes flitted down to Kierion.
Shards, the man was tall—no wonder his nickname was Lofty. “Battle’s coming. There are many young dragons of imprintable age …” He let the words hang, so Lofty could draw his own conclusion.
“Imprinting with dragons?” Lofty grinned. “Do you think we stand a chance?”
Kierion shrugged. He’d been telling everyone that if they did kitchen duty, extra training and cross-drilled, sharing their fighting skills, they’d have more chance of becoming dragon riders. It made sense—but he hadn’t exactly asked Lars’ intentions. He huffed his cheeks out. “Dunno,” he said truthfully. “Could be anything. It might not be imprinting.”
“Imprinting?” someone behind them asked. “Hey, Kierion said we’re imprinting.” Murmurs rippled through the trainees behind them in the corridor.
“Great, we might imprint a dragon, just for scrubbing a few pots.”
An arrow flinger piped up. “Pot scrubbing for a dragon? Beats trading blows with you blade thrusters.”
Kierion groaned. It wasn’t exactly like that. You couldn’t force imprinting. Now he’d done it again. His big mouth was always getting him in trouble.
Lofty slugged him on the shoulder, grinning again. “What color will your dragon be?”
Kierion rolled his eyes and entered the main cavern. Lars swooped through an entrance on Singlar’s back. The purple dragon landed on the rock stage. Two more dragons shot into the cavern, their wingbeats stirring the trainees’ hair—Reko, a blood-red dragon carrying Derek, the master of instruction; and the maroon Lysika, carrying Alyssa, master of flight. More people flooded in behind Kierion—kitchen workers, smiths from the forges, littlings, mothers, and dragon riders in their riders’ garb.
The hubbub was incredible. Murmurs of Kierion and imprinting rebounded around the cavern, spreading like wildfire. Kierion tried to shrink in on himself, hoping Master Lars wouldn’t notice him, but he was swept forward with the crowd, who were clamoring to get a good spot by the stage.
Lofty clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, great spot. We’ll hear everything here.”
They were so close, Kierion saw a smattering of snow on Master Lars’ blonde beard as he dismounted. The council leader cocked his head, listening to the crowd’s murmurs. His piercing blue eyes lanced through Kierion.
Kierion’s face burned. Right now, he must be about as red as Reko’s scales.
Lars held up his arm and the crowd quietened. “Thank you for attending,” Lars said, his voice carrying across the crowd. “As you know, tharuks are growing more brazen, attacking villages and murdering our people. Hans, our master of prophecy, believes that things will soon come to a head. Within weeks, we may be in an all-out war with Commander Zens and his unnatural creatures.
“We must marshal our forces. Many of you will be aware that we have young dragons who are now mature enough to imprint. We often let this happen spontaneously, as dragons meet suitable people, however, time is not on our side. Tomorrow, Alyssa will accompany selected trainees to the imprinting grounds.”
A cheer rang out. Lofty pounded Kierion on the back. The trainees closest—both blade thrusters and arrow flingers—joined in, whooping. Kierion risked a quick glance at Lars. Shards, the council leader was looking right at him.
Lars raised his hand for silence again.
Even when everyone was quiet, their excitement still bubbled like an underground spring.
Master Derek stepped forward, unrolling a scroll. “Master Lars and I have made a list of prospective riders—those we feel are ready for this opportunity. As I read your names, please join Master Alyssa on the stage so she can brief you. If your name isn’t read out, don’t be overly concerned. There will be more chances to find the dragon meant for you.”
The crowd whistled and cheered.
Kierion didn’t join in. He’d always wanted to be a dragon rider. What if his name wasn’t on the scroll? A dragon rider had to be trustworthy, not a jokester. Had his pranks killed the chance of achieving his lifelong dream?
§
Adelina’s mind reeled as she slumped on her bed. When she was a littling, she’d secretly believed that one day she’d become Queen’s Rider. Zaarusha hadn’t imprinted after Anakisha’s death, waiting years for that one special person. Adelina had known it was her—all it would take was one look into Queen Zaarusha’s eyes.
After their father killed their mother, Roberto
