Roberto stirred, his limbs heavy. Most of his pain was gone. He dragged his eyelids open.
He was no longer in the forest. There was still a blanket of white, but it wasn’t snow; it was Ezaara’s quilt—white, edged with golden dragons. He was home. The gods knew how, but he’d made it. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d be joyful. He sighed, his eyelids fluttering closed again.
He forced them open. There she was: looking every bit as lovely as his dream, bending over a table, sorting herbs into pouches. The torchlight played across her blonde hair like sun on liquid honey.
Writhing shadows flickered at the edge of his vision. His knife, resting on the bedside table, called to him, the shine of its blade alluring. His fingers fastened around the handle. Its grip felt good, so natural. He had to use it.
His gaze fastened on the beautiful girl at the table. Shadows writhed around her, beckoning him forward.
Roberto slid his feet noiselessly to the floor, holding the knife at his side where it wouldn’t be seen.
§
Ezaara put clean herb into a pouch and tied it, then poured some soppleberries into another. It was better than wearing a hole in the stone with her boots. Hopefully Roberto would wake without some gods-awful head injury or permanent damage. The dull ache in her chest hadn’t eased completely. It wouldn’t until she knew he was well.
“Liesar, when’s Ma coming to check on him?”
“She knows he’s here, Ezaara, please be patient. She has injured wizards in the infirmary.”
And a helper. Couldn’t Leah take care of them? This was Roberto, for the Egg’s sake. A master on the council.
How would it be, loving him, now that she was no longer his trainee? Glorious, no doubt. She hardly dared hope he’d recover.
A scrape sounded on the floor. She glanced up. Roberto was standing by the bed, wan and thin. Seeing him awake was like the sun breaking through storm clouds. Everything was going to be all right. “Roberto. You’re up. Welcome home.”
“Hello, Ezaara.”
His voice was strained, poor thing. “How do your legs feel?” She stood, her chair scraping stone.
He shuddered at the noise. The tiny moon-shaped scar below his eye twitched as he prowled across the cavern. “My legs are fine. Thank you for healing them.” His voice was stilted, not like Roberto.
Something was wrong. Even in Death Valley he hadn’t stared at her like that. As if she were prey. “Roberto, I’ve missed you.” She tried for bright and cheery, but her voice squeaked.
Roberto’s face twisted into an ugly grimace. He lunged, slamming her against the wall. A blade flashed. In a heartbeat, his knife was at her throat.
Oh gods, Handel’s prophecy had come true: Roberto was attacking her. She’d tried multiple times to deny it, but her father’s bronze dragon had shown her a vision of Roberto lunging at her. And then, they’d seen it again. They’d seen now.
“Now we can talk, Queen’s Rider,” Roberto sneered.
“Zaaru—” An iron wall slammed across her mind, blocking her attempt to meld with the queen.
“Your mental talents are puny compared to mine.” His thoughts were dark, evil, like a choking fog.
Ezaara snapped meld and blocked his probing mind. Her throat grew tight. This man was not Roberto. His eyes glinted with malice, the whites tinged yellow—Zens had gotten to him.
“You, an ignorant little farm girl from Lush Valley thought you could waltz in here and become Queen’s Rider? Thought you could take me for your lover—the man with the best mental skills in Dragons’ Realm? I, who have learned from the master of the mind.”
Dragon’s flaming claws and teeth. He was gone. The man she loved was gone. This was Roberto’s shell, controlled by Zens. Ezaara’s hope crumbled. Zens had broken Roberto physically and mentally. He’d found a way to steal her lover’s mind, chaining it to his will.
Her thoughts raced. She couldn’t let Zens win.
Roberto would be weak. She could probably fight him and break free. But she’d be pitting him against her, not winning him over.
She’d better play this cool, downplay his aggression.
“Oh, Roberto, you’re testing my skills.” She faked a laugh, but it came out strangled. The knife pricked her skin, stinging. Warm blood trickled down her neck, under her collar. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a training session. You’ve been through quite a rough time. You know, maybe it would be better to have a cup of tea and train later?” His eyes narrowed and he licked his lips as she mentioned tea. He was bound to be hungry and thirsty. “Look, I have fresh soppleberries, right here.”
He glanced down at the table, the pressure of his knife easing.
What else? If Zens had turned him, perhaps she needed to remind him of who he was and whom he loved. “Have you missed Erob?”
“Erob?” Wistfulness flashed across Roberto’s face. “Yes, I’ve missed him.” The tension on the blade loosened. Then his face contorted with hate. “Sharding dragons.” The blade bit into her flesh again.
“Yes, they’re so fickle, terrible creatures, aren’t they? Remember the time Erob met you in Death Valley and saved you from Zens? I’ll just pop the tea on, shall I?”
He frowned. “I like soppleberry tea, don’t I?”
Gods, Roberto’s mind was truly gone. Her eyes stung. “Yes, you love it,” Ezaara said. “I’ll make a cup now. Please, take a seat, Master Roberto.”
He shook his head, as if to clear it. The knife clattered to the floor, his arms hanging limp at his sides.
Ezaara pulled out a seat. “Please, sit down.” Whatever it was that was driving him, he was battling it. He wasn’t completely under its control—yet.
Roberto picked up the knife and jammed it into his belt, taking a seat. “Thank you, my Queen’s Rider.”
Shards, she’d hoped
