“Ajeuria is radiating discontent,” Erob melded, “like she has a tick under her scales.”
“If we de-lice her, Simeon would probably come crawling out,” Roberto replied.
Behind him, Erob snorted. Luckily, Erob was excellent at shielding his thoughts from other dragons.
Lars called the meeting to order, and the murmurs died down. “Before we discuss the situation in the Flatlands, I’d like Fleur to report on Sofia’s condition.”
Fleur stood, her face as tired as unlaundered linen. “I stitched Sofia’s gash, but it’ll leave a nasty scar. She’s stable now, sleeping off the pain draught.”
Sofia’s wound hadn’t looked that bad yesterday. Fleur had probably botched it.
“Thank you, Fleur.” Lars nodded. “You may sit.”
Fleur remained standing. “It’s terrible she was hurt here, at the hold, where she should be safe.”
Zaarusha shifted, her talons scratching the stone floor.
Lars frowned. “Thank you, Fleur.”
“Will there be steps taken to—”
A low rumble issued from Zaarusha’s throat.
Roberto gripped the table so hard his knuckles ached. This was a barely-veiled attack on the Queen’s Rider.
“I said, thank you.” The tension in Lars’ frame carried a threat.
Roberto relaxed his grip.
“Tharuks are harassing our people in the Flatlands,” Lars announced. “Our blue guards are currently holding them at bay, but it won’t be long until Zens starts all-out war.” His voice was gravelly. “We must prepare. Tonio, please report.”
The spymaster’s gaze flicked over each of the masters. Roberto could’ve sworn it rested a moment longer on him. Tonio had never trusted him. Sure, they’d grudgingly worked together, but Tonio knew the full extent of his father’s treachery, so he’d never given Roberto a chance.
“There’s not a lot to say,” Tonio barked. “These tharuks seem to be searching for something, but we’re not quite sure what, or who, it is. They’ve burned one village so far. Luckily, only three people lost their lives, but they’ve taken slaves and until they find what they’re looking for, there’ll be more deaths. We must prepare our people for war.” He sat, muttering under his breath, “How we’re going to fight a war with a Queen’s Rider who can’t carry a dinner plate without spraining her ankle is beyond me.”
Zaarusha thrust her head at Tonio, snarling.
Erob piped up, “Zaarusha’s saying Tonio should shut up if he wants to keep his insides on the inside.”
“A shame Tonio doesn’t understand dragon snarl.” Roberto kept his lips from twitching into a smile.
Tonio leaped to his feet. “With all due respect to the queen, the new Queen’s Rider is inexperienced. It was a metaphor, nothing more.”
Roberto shifted in his seat. Not a metaphor, and directly aimed at him. Despite flying a loop, Ezaara’s track record at the hold wasn’t good, and he was responsible for training her. It was his fault she’d left the dais. And he’d been present when she’d had that strange accident and injured Sofia.
Tonio addressed him. “How is the Queen’s Rider’s evaluation going, Roberto? When will she be fit to lead us into battle?”
Roberto hesitated. They hadn’t finished assessing Ezaara. They’d only tested her imprinting bond, flying and knife-throwing. What if her arrows all flew wide and she didn’t know how to hold a sword?
“Roberto?” Lars raised an eyebrow.
Derek, master of instruction, cut in, “It’s hardly fair, Tonio. We haven’t seen her combat skills yet.”
“She flies well,” Alyssa, master of flight, commented. “Their loop was incredible for such a young imprinting bond. Zaarusha has chosen well.”
A few nods rippled around the table. Not enough.
“A battle isn’t won by flying a loop,” Aidan, master of battle, bellowed.
Unease flickered through Roberto. “Thank you for your solicitous enquiry, Tonio.” He deliberately kept his voice cool. “Ezaara’s ankle is recovering, and her training is improving. I believe—”
“Improving enough to do what?” Tonio snapped. “Stab her fellow combatants?”
“I’m sure Ezaara—”
“Sure?” Tonio barked. “Be careful what you say, Master of Mental Faculties. I always base my claims on evidence.”
“It was an accident. I was there. I saw how upset she was—”
“Upset?” Fleur snarled. “She didn’t visit the infirmary last night to check on Sofia. That’s how upset she was.”
Roberto snapped his jaw shut.
A meaty palm slapped the granite table. Hendrik bellowed, “What sort of Queen’s Rider doesn’t visit the injured? Especially when it’s her fault!”
“Well, she visited earlier this morning,” Fleur said hurriedly, “but only briefly, and she fled as soon as Sofia awoke. Not at all what I’d expect of a Queen’s Rider.”
“I hate to be a harbinger of doom,” Bruno muttered.
Everyone turned to him.
“Please go on,” Lars asked the master of prophecy.
“Well, I …” Bruno glanced at Zaarusha with a wan smile. “With all due respect to our Honored Queen Zaarusha, I had a vision last night. Things don’t bode well.”
“Go on, Bruno.” Lars’ voice was clipped.
“I agree, it appears that tharuks are mounting a war, but my vision showed me that when they find what they’re searching for, they’ll retreat back over the Terramite ranges, leaving us in peace.”
“And how does that bode ill?” Lars asked.
“It doesn’t,” Bruno answered. “It’s good news. Our need to prepare for war isn’t as urgent as our spymaster suggests. However, another vision showed me troubling news regarding the Queen’s Rider.”
Zaarusha shifted her weight, making the torches sputter. Then the room was silent, except for the hiss of the queen exhaling.
“The gift of prophecy is an onerous one.” Bruno sighed, melodramatically. “I fear you may not like my news.”
He was milking this, as usual.
“Spit it out, man.” Hendrik slapped his enormous hand on the stone table again. On either
