Roberto frowned. Had Ezaara’s parents deliberately named her so she had a syllable in common with Zaarusha? “It’s not only names we share with our dragons, but some of their characteristics,” he said. “Can you give me some examples, please?”
Kierion raised his hand. “You asked about characteristics, sir. Over years, the rider’s eye color changes to match the eyes of their dragon.”
“So, Kierion would lose his pretty eyes if he became a rider?” Sofia called.
Kierion rolled his ocean-gray eyes, flecked with blue, and mock-groaned. “Not much chance of me being a rider.”
Always playing pranks and getting into trouble, Kierion hadn’t been selected by the council as a trainee rider.
“Enough,” said Roberto. “Any other characteristics that you know of?”
Leah raised her hand. Unusual. She was usually too shy to answer. “Sir, they say the spymaster has excellent hearing from his dragon.”
“Too true.” Roberto winked. “Be careful; he’s listening right now. They say even these plum trees work for him.”
Laughter rippled through the class.
“Anything else?”
“Prophecy?”
It was more a question than answer. Not surprising, given the lack of accurate prophecy at Dragons’ Hold nowadays. Roberto had a theory on that, but he needed evidence. Keeping an eye on Ezaara, he continued. “Our dragons’ mental or emotional talents are passed to us. This can happen at imprinting or over time as we bond more deeply. Strengths of the rider can also pass to the dragon.”
A student stretched his hand high.
“Yes?”
“What strengths have you passed to Erob?” asked the tousled-haired lad.
There was no way he’d be telling them about his particular strengths. “Fishing.”
“Perhaps you could teach us to fish, too, instead of this stuff,” Kierion called.
The class laughed.
“Now, tell us what a rider of fire is.”
“That’s easy,” Kierion blurted. “Riders of fire can harness dragon energy to use their talents.”
“Exactly. We’ll talk more about that next lesson.” Roberto glanced at Ezaara. Her face was pale.
Erob, in the grass under some nearby trees, broke through his thoughts, “Zaarusha is requesting the Queen’s Rider.”
“We’ll be there right away,” Roberto melded back. Good—the perfect excuse to get Ezaara out of class.
§
“Ezaara, wake up.”
“Zaarusha, is that you?”
No answer. The torch was low. It must be late. Leaning on her stick, Ezaara made her way out to Zaarusha’s den, but the queen wasn’t there.
“Ezaara.” There it was again—deep, melodious and unfamiliar. “Come outside.”
She hobbled to the mouth of the den. The valley was peaceful, shrouded in darkness, moonlight catching on the tips of the Alps.
“Look up.”
A bronze dragon was circling down toward Zaarusha’s den.
“I saw you at my imprinting test,” she melded. “Who are you?”
“Handel is my name.” His talons clattered on the rock, and he crouched, holding out his leg. “Climb up.”
Ezaara hesitated.
“Your father, Hans, was my rider.”
Pa’s dragon. Wow. “Hans, Handel! I should’ve guessed you were my father’s dragon.”
“I am. Hans is still my rider—or will be when he returns. Climb on, there’s someone you need to meet.”
“Pa is returning?”
“Some day.” Handel supported Ezaara with his tail as she clambered up his leg and settled herself between his spinal ridges. Tensing his enormous haunches, he leaped into the air. The cool night nipped at Ezaara’s bare legs as they climbed up the mountainside to a plateau.
Moonlight shimmered on the snowy mountain face. No, wait, what was that? The shimmer was coming closer. Ezaara sucked in her breath as a silvery shape materialized from the gloom. Moonlight played on silver scales, making them wink like stars.
“Did you know your father was the master of prophecy?” Handel asked.
“No.”
“And your mother was master healer.” The silver dragon’s voice tinkled like a bell in a breeze. The beast stretched her neck out and nudged Ezaara’s shoulder with her snout. “I am Liesar.”
The dragon closed her turquoise eyes—the same shade as her mother’s—as Ezaara scratched her eye ridges. Liesar, Marlies. “You’re Ma’s dragon.”
“No, she’s my rider. Dragons are never owned by humans.”
“Of course.” No one could ever own such wondrous creatures. The wind picked up, making Ezaara shiver.
“Tell her why she’s here,” Handel said.
“I must share a memory of your mother’s.”
A vision rushed through Ezaara’s mind. She was astride Liesar in the middle of the night, Pa’s arms around her middle. The vicious peaks of Dragon’s Teeth rushed past beneath them, then they were swallowed by the night sky.
“Years ago, your mother accidentally killed one of Zaarusha’s dragonets, so your parents fled from Dragons’ Hold.”
A transparent golden egg loomed before her, with a purple dragonet floating in it, limbs slack and wings drooping—so perfect, she could see its tiny scales and talons. A wave of sorrow washed through Ezaara, leaving her wrung out and hollow. Bitter wind sliced through her clothing. She trembled, tears stinging her cheeks.
“You feel your mother’s sorrow at killing the dragonet, and at losing us.”
The vision changed. Ma and Pa, years younger, were hugging Liesar’s neck, faces pinched with anxiety as they parted. Ezaara’s chest grew tight.
“You’re feeling your mother’s emotions,” Liesar said. “That’s the last time I saw them. It took Zaarusha years to understand that the dragonet gave its life willingly to bless your mother with fertility.”
Handel melded. “Usually a rider can only meld with their dragon, but you can meld with other dragons. This was one of the dying royal dragonet’s gifts to you.”
“I never wanted a dragonet to die for me. Will Tomaaz, my twin brother, have this gift too?”
“You have a twin? Zaarusha hasn’t mentioned him.” Handel’s tail twitched.
Liesar answered, “We’ll have to seek him out. Perhaps he also has talents.”
Handel turned his head, his green eyes, the same shade as Pa’s, drilling through Ezaara. “You hold the key to the future of Dragons’ Realm.”
The key? She hadn’t met a dragon until
