Ezaara crumbled a double dose of woozy weed into his cup and bustled back inside.
Roberto was cleaning his fingernails with his knife. “How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?” he asked, his voice as chill as the ice on Dragons’ Hold’s lake.
She forced a brittle laugh. “Here you go, tea for two. Drink up. Would you like some food? You must be hungry.” Ezaara took a huge sip and smiled, her heart splintering into thousands of tiny icy shards.
Who was this man? Roberto hadn’t come home at all.
§
Ezaara was so beautiful, so sweet, giving him tea. The tart berries soothed his raw throat, the warmth stealing through him.
Dark fog crept along the edge of Roberto’s vision. Murky blackness writhed across Ezaara’s face and curled its fingers around her throat. “Kill her,” it whispered. “No, she isn’t beautiful. She’s a usurper. Zens is the rightful leader of the realm. This girl is puny, breakable. Zens will reward you finely if you’re brave enough to spill her blood.”
Of course he was brave. He’d stood up to Amato hundreds of times, taking Adelina’s beatings. He’d killed tharuks and slaves for Zens before. He had courage enough to kill this wench.
He saw himself slitting Ezaara’s throat, her beautiful blood spraying high, dribbling red down the cavern walls.
Smiling, Roberto sipped his tea. He’d bide his time and strike when Ezaara trusted him.
§
Roberto’s head slumped to the tabletop. He snored softly.
Ezaara removed the knife from his grip and turned it over in her hands. He’d wanted to kill her. She’d seen it in his eyes. She turned the knife again. He might have, had she not knocked him out. The irony hit her. She’d been sitting here, desperate for him to wake, and now he was out cold again.
She spun the knife in her fingers, then spun it again.
There was a whump on the ledge outside, and Erob melded, “How’s Roberto?”
Ezaara blocked her thoughts, staring into space as her fingers flicked the knife again. And again.
“Ezaara.” Erob’s tone was frantic. “What aren’t you telling me? Is Roberto dead?”
He might as well be. The man she’d loved was gone.
§
Marlies hurried along the tunnel, a bag of healing supplies slung over her shoulder. Liesar said Ezaara had requested her hours ago, but there’d been one injured mage after another in the infirmary. Finally, she’d left Leah and Lovina in charge, so she could visit her daughter.
She cricked her neck. Tiredness dogged her steps every day since she’d returned from Death Valley. She’d been trying to hide it, but her bones knew—and Hans knew—just how exhausted she was.
Marlies opened Ezaara’s door. “By the dragon gods,” she murmured.
The torches had burned down, sputtering in their sconces, casting a pale glow over a tableau: Master Roberto was hunched over a table, sleeping, and Ezaara was sitting opposite him, twirling a knife in her hands. Light glanced off the blade as it slid across her skin. Then again.
It was Ezaara’s face that made Marlies suck her breath in. Blood at her throat, eyes vacant and dried streaks on her cheeks, she stared into nothing. Marlies had seen people in severe shock—usually after an accident or the death of a loved one. But Master Roberto’s breathing was even—he was alive.
She moved slowly into the cavern, keeping her voice low and even. “Ezaara.”
Ezaara jolted. The knife clattered on stone.
Roberto grunted in his sleep.
Ezaara’s hand flew to her mouth, panic on her face. “Don’t wake him,” she hissed.
Marlies placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and crouched to look in her eyes. “Why not?” She whispered.
“Roberto’s home, Ma, but he’s dead inside. Zens is controlling him.”
§
Ma picked up a cup and sniffed it. “How much woozy weed did you give him? How long has he been out?”
“A double dose.” Shards, how long had it been? It felt like forever. “I don’t know … um … four hundred and two knife turns?”
“We’ve no time to lose. Help me lift him.”
They carried Roberto over to her bed. He was so light, so thin. “Ma, this isn’t something a simple remedy or surgery can fix.”
“Actually, it might be. Let me see. Do you have any rope?”
“Yes, in Zaarusha’s saddlebags.” She melded, “Zaarusha?”
“On my way. How can I help?”
Ezaara rushed out to the den as Zaarusha landed.
A worried Erob butted her with his snout. “Is Roberto all right?”
Ezaara shared her memory of Roberto’s attack with both of them as she fished in Zaarusha’s saddlebags for rope. When she went back inside, Ma was examining Roberto’s chest and arms.
“You’ve done a good job of healing him, Ezaara. Did you see any unusual bumps or swelling? Anything that wouldn’t heal properly?”
“Yes, under his right shoulder blade.” She turned him over and lifted his shirt. “Here.” The angry red bump glared at them.
“Zens may have implanted a crystal inside Roberto that controls his thoughts and actions. Sofia had one, too. Let’s tie him down.”
Ezaara tied Roberto’s wrists to the bed, while Ma tied his legs. So cruel. He’d only just escaped shackles and now she was the one tying him. The irony made the icy shards of her heart twist deeper into her chest.
Ma lit a new torch so they could see, then sliced along the apex of the lump in his flesh. Ezaara staunched the blood seeping over his back. Inside the wound, something yellow glinted. Ma squeezed the edges of the wound. Red and yellow
