“Enough flirting for today, Ezaara,” Zaarusha melded. “I’m waiting.”
“Unfair!” she melded back. “I’m not the one flirting. He is.”
“But you are enjoying it.”
Adelina snatched up Ezaara’s empty bowl. “You won’t be fighting until you imprint, Simeon. Your dreams of glory will have to wait. My Honored Queen’s Rider, I believe we need to get to knife throwing practice.”
§
Ezaara was sitting with Simeon again, laughing at his smarmy jokes. Although she wasn’t in immediate danger, Roberto had the irrational desire to wipe the smile off Simeon’s face with his fist.
While Adelina was clearing the bowls, Roberto stepped into the space beside Ezaara’s seat. “My Honored Queen’s Rider.” He felt stiff, stilted, as if he had a broomstick strapped to his back. “Please allow me to accompany you to knife throwing.”
He led her away without offering her his arm. He wouldn’t make her look weak in front of everyone, the way Simeon had. He swept out of the door, a little too fast, just to prove she could manage on her own. “Erob says Zaarusha is—”
“On the ledge,” Ezaara interrupted. “She already told me.”
“Of course.” Shards, that was silly of him.
Soon they were airborne, Ezaara seated in front of him. The scent of her hair reminded him of dandelions; of summer days outdoors, running in the paddocks with his dog, Razo—before his father had changed. He shook his head to jolt his bad memories away as they descended to the knife-throwing range.
Roberto jumped down and helped Ezaara out of the saddle.
“I could’ve dismounted on my own,” she snapped, eyes blazing.
“Of course,” he replied, keeping his voice cool. “Good luck for your assessment. I’ll wait here and fly you back to your quarters afterward.”
“No, thank you.” Her pretty green eyes were hostile. “I’ll call Zaarusha when I’m done.” She stalked away. With her sore ankle it wasn’t impressive, but she was determined, he’d give her that.
Trying not to smile, Roberto placed his hand on Zaarusha’s head.
“I have to see Singlar and Lars. Stay, please, Roberto,” the dragon queen said. “Watching her knife-throwing will help you assess her.”
“As you wish,” he replied. Good. He was curious to see how Ezaara would do.
§
How dare Roberto manhandle her? And keep maneuvering her out of conversations with Simeon. He might be in charge of training her, but he had no right to control her friendships. Ezaara stalked away—although it was difficult to look indignant while negotiating uneven terrain with a cane. Soon she was near the other trainee riders. Gret, Sofia, Alban, Rocco and Mathias greeted her.
“Are you sure your ankle’s up to this?” Derek, Master of Training, asked, shaking her free hand. Behind him, his dragon was shooting flame, blazing a line across the grass.
“I’m fine.” Ezaara lied, dropping her cane in the grass. “See, no problem.” Ankle throbbing, she tried not to grimace as she hobbled to the line of charred grass.
As the trainees lined up, knives in hand, Simeon rushed out of the trees, up to the line, out of breath. How had he gotten here so fast without a dragon? He winked at her and mouthed, “Good luck.”
It was nice of him to support her.
“Have you done much knife throwing before?” Master Derek asked. When Ezaara shook her head, he passed Ezaara a knife and said, “Sofia, please demonstrate.”
Sofia held up her blade.
Ezaara copied, but her fingers slipped, buttery with sweat. She wiped her hand on her breeches.
Sofia shot her a sidelong glance. “Hold your knife like you’d grip a hammer.”
Adjusting her grip, Ezaara bent her elbow and raised the blade.
“That’s better.” Sofia flicked her forearm and her knife sailed across the field into a wooden target—a bullseye.
Other knives thunked into targets too, but Ezaara’s knife glanced off at an angle, flying onto the grass. It wasn’t even embedded in the earth. She stifled a groan. Everyone’s eyes were on her.
“Keep your wrist in line with your arm or your knife will veer off. See, like this.” Sofia hurled a knife into the target, blonde curls bouncing. Flashing a smile, she passed Ezaara another blade. “Here, try this one. It’s my lucky blade.”
“All right, wrist in line.” Ezaara pulled her arm up and back, poised to throw Sofia’s lucky blade.
“Kill the Queen’s Rider,” a dragon roared. As black as coal, with burning red embers for eyes, it flew straight at her. A wall of flame blasted out of its enormous maw, engulfing her, searing her skin.
Ezaara flung the knife at the dragon. Her ears filled with crackling fire, flames roaring at her. The scent of charred flesh stung her nostrils.
Dry retching, Ezaara lurched and collided with something solid.
The dragon disappeared. So did the heat and pain.
Her skin wasn’t burned. She was sprawled on top of Sofia on the ground. The dragon had only been a vision, overpowering, but not real. But she’d smelled burning flesh ….
Sofia was screaming. A knife was sticking out of her thigh. Blood pulsed down her breeches.
She’d stabbed Sofia.
“No!” Ezaara yelled. Easing the blade from Sofia’s leg, she ripped Sofia’s breeches open and pressed her hands around the gash, applying pressure. “I—I’m sorry, Sofia.” She reached for her healer’s pouch, so she could stitch the wound. It wasn’t there. She’d left it by her bed.
Roberto raced over. “What happened?” Others flocked around them.
“I—I was distracted.” Ezaara’s hands were covered in Sofia’s blood.
Sofia grunted through gritted teeth. “It was an accident. I saw you stagger, like someone pushed you.”
“But nobody did.” Master Derek frowned. “And you retched. Are you sick?”
“I—uh ... don’t know.” Ezaara ripped a strip from Sofia’s breeches. How could she explain where that fiery vision had come from? It had felt like a dragon, but Handel had warned her not to tell anyone she could mind-meld with
