Roberto swayed, then crumpled to the floor. Ezaara scooted over, cradling his head in her lap. She didn’t care what Zens thought anymore—or anyone else. “I love you, Roberto.” She was sick of denying it. Strange that she could show her love for him here, in Death Valley, but not at Dragons’ Hold. When they returned, that would change.
If they returned.
The odds weren’t great, but she refused to give up. She was Queen’s Rider. Roberto was a master. They had to get back and lead their people. “Adelina, are you all right?” she whispered.
“No,” Adelina whimpered. Neck still covered in scratches, Adelina crawled over, and leaned against Ezaara’s side, shaking. “Reminds me of Pa … beating us.”
Ezaara put her arm around Adelina’s shoulders. With the other hand, she stroked Roberto’s hair. Eyelids fluttering, he looked up, then drifted to sleep. “Adelina,” she whispered, “I’ve always wanted a sister. I found one in you.”
“Me too,” said Adelina, tears tracking down her face as she gazed at her broken brother. “Is there anything we can do for him?”
“Yes, I still have a little piaua, but we’ll have to heal him discreetly, so Zens doesn’t notice.”
Ezaara peeked in her pouch. All of her vials were smashed. Useless. “We’ll let him sleep a little, first,” she lied. Ezaara felt awful, but the flash of hope on Adelina’s face was worth it—even if they never got out of here alive.
§
The door to the holding cell thudded open. Roberto roused himself, sitting up. 000 and a bunch of tharuk grunts entered. He squeezed Ezaara’s warm hand.
“You two,” 000 said, indicating the women. “Zens has changed his mind. You both go free. Tharuks will escort you.”
“No,” said Ezaara. “We’re not going without Roberto.”
“Please,” Roberto managed weakly. “Go.” Gods, they’d come to save him. And failed. Was Zens really setting them free? Or sending them to the slave camps? Either way, they had more chance of escaping if they weren’t with him. His life was forfeit anyway. Zens had marked him from a young age. He’d been lucky—with what he’d been through, he should’ve died already, many times over.
“Roberto, no.” Tharuks dragged Adelina away, her screams bouncing off the walls, hammering through Roberto’s skull.
“Better to go quietly,” Roberto called. Better for her to give in to tharuks? Gods, this place had driven him mad.
Ezaara squeezed his hands. “I love you, Roberto. We’ll be back,” she whispered, then tharuks ripped her from his weak grasp.
“No, don’t risk your life for me. It’s not worth it,” he replied. Zens was probing at the edge of his mind, evaluating him.
A grunt shoved Ezaara. She walked, head high, eyes on him.
He’d learned to love and he was losing it all. And he’d led the new Queen’s Rider, with all her unique talents, right into Zens’ lair. His sister too. He was worse than useless, he was dangerous. When people loved him, they got hurt.
What was Zens going to do with them? Would he break them too? Torture them? Make them senseless pawns, shells of themselves, hurting others on Zens’ behalf?
As they pushed Ezaara to the doorway, Roberto was desperate to mind-meld with her, one last time, to tell her he loved her. Tell her he was sorry. But he couldn’t. He’d risk Zens breaking through her mental defenses. He’d failed in everything he’d dreamed of, and once again become a pawn in Zen’s hands. Hot tears slid down his cheeks, washing salt, grime and blood over his lips.
Then the door slammed, locking out the only people he loved.
He curled on the floor, sobs wracking his body.
§
Oh, Gods, no. Ezaara’s chest ached. Zens had succeeded. Roberto’s body and spirit were broken. He’d wept unashamedly, despair etched in every bloody, battered pore, as tharuks had hustled her out the door. Zens had been pummeling her mind, so she hadn’t dared meld with Roberto, but, inside, she was screaming his name. Throat tight, she vowed she’d get revenge on that shrotty rat, Zens, for hurting those she loved.
For enslaving her people. For destroying all they loved. Anger seared through her. Zens must die and all his tharuks with him.
But right now, she was only one dragonless rider against a monster and his troops. Bitterness flooded her mouth. She’d been a fool to think she could’ve rescued Roberto. Just as much a fool for thinking she could have revenge.
A tharuk troop surrounded her and Adelina, rushing them out of the tunnels. Ezaara winced, bright sunlight hitting her eyes. Adelina clutched her hand as they trekked along the valley floor, dust stirring underfoot. The barren hills were riddled with caves, like gaping maws, with lines of slaves trooping into the hillside’s underbelly. More tharuks tromped past, cracking whips at herds of slaves. A young girl, as thin as a slip of parchment, stumbled. A tharuk whipped her, but she didn’t even flinch as her tattered rags and skin split under the bite of the lash.
Ezaara tensed, about to protest, but Adelina gripped her hand, and whispered, “No, Ezaara, they’ll kill us if we interfere. We must escape and get help.”
Ezaara bit back her retort. Escape? Help? Who was Adelina fooling? This was Death Valley.
The tharuk booted the fallen girl. “Dead,” it called. “To the flesh pile. You, there.”
A male slave shambled forward, eyes vacant and jaw hanging open. He hefted the girl onto his shoulder, then stumbled off down the valley.
Adelina’s grip bit into Ezaara’s hand. Thank the Egg. The pain was stopping her from screaming.
Their tharuk escorts crowded around them, herding them along the valley past groups of half-starved slaves—many with fingers, hands or ears missing. All staring at the ground, mindless. Gods, Tomaaz had been here—Roberto, Lovina, Ma and Taliesin, too. No wonder the boy hadn’t spoken for so long.
“Faster,”
