His fingers were motionless for a moment. “She died.”
The hollow ache in his voice made Ezaara’s eyes prick. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a while ago.” He cut some bread off the loaf with his knife.
“How was she hurt?”
Roberto’s face darkened. “Another time, all right?” He passed her the slab of bread, and sat with his blade poised. “Cheese?”
When they’d finished their makeshift sandwiches, Roberto asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about the vision you saw when Sofia was hurt?”
“I, uh ...” Handel had told her not to tell anyone she could meld with other dragons. Handel’s prophecy of Roberto’s face twisted with hate flashed before her. He didn’t look hateful now. Concerned, maybe curious, but not hateful. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“Erob showed me. Is that what caused your accident with Sofia?” He looked at her as if he was really seeing her.
Something loosened in Ezaara’s chest. Words tumbled out of her in a torrent. “My skin was searing, blistering. It was agony. My whole body was on fire. Made my stomach turn. When my mind cleared, Sofia was ...” She shuddered. “Sofia was ...” Tears stung her eyes.
She. Would. Not. Cry.
“Her blood was everywhere .... Everyone thought I’d done it on purpose.”
“I didn’t think that.” Roberto’s gaze was gentle. “I’ve tested you. I know you.” Again, his gaze, seeing her. “And last night?”
“I meant to visit Sofia, but Simeon gave me a cup of tea and I fell asleep. The shock made me sick. Or maybe I ate something bad.”
“Maybe.”
Alban’s words popped into her head. Incompetent, that’s what he’d called her. Ezaara’s shoulders slumped. “Zaarusha should send me home.”
Roberto put an arm around her. Again, mint and sandalwood.
Her master was hugging her? She pulled away. “I, um ...”
He dropped his arm, scratching his neck awkwardly. “Ah, how’s your ankle now?”
“Still throbbing. It’ll be a few more days until it’s healed. I should stay off it.”
“Ezaara, we don’t have time. The council want you battle-ready. They’re not prepared to wait.” His eyes slid to the healer’s pouch at her waist. “Is there something you could take?”
Piaua, but no, it was too precious. “It only needs rest.”
He leaped to his feet, pacing. “Tell that to the council when they demand that you go to battle unprepared. I told them you need time. They wouldn’t listen. We have two weeks to give you a lifetime’s training.”
“Two weeks!”
“Only if tharuks don’t attack before then.” Roberto’s face was tight. “We have to heal you, Ezaara. Is there anything that could help?”
She couldn’t fail Zaarusha or the realm. “Piaua,” she whispered, gazing down at the grass. “But we can’t ...”
“Why not?” He crouched before her.
“I took a healer’s oath. We only use piaua for grievous injuries.”
“Ezaara,” he breathed, raven eyes pleading. “It’s urgent. You’re the Queen’s Rider. You have to be ready for anything.”
As Queen’s Rider, she needed to be fit—but she wouldn’t waste such a scarce resource on a stupid ankle. Ezaara thrust his jerkin to one side and scrambled up. “Look, I’m fine.”
In a flash, Roberto drew his sword and lunged.
She leaped back, pulling her sword from its scabbard and parried his blow. Her ankle twinged as she sidestepped his next move. Whirling, she ignored the throbbing, thrusting and counter-thrusting. Metal scraped on metal. Sweat stung her eyes. He swept his sword along the ground, making her jump and land on her ankle awkwardly.
“Aagh!” In a fit of anger, she lunged for his chest and struck home.
Flinging his sword aside, Roberto raised his arms. “You win.”
“No,” Ezaara moaned, “you do! Now I’ve ruined my ankle, so I have to use piaua.” She sheathed her sword and slumped onto the ground.
§
Roberto crouched beside Ezaara, untying her boot. He sucked in his breath. He’d thought she’d give up and concede. But no, she was a fighter.
She glared at him. “You’re a—”
He didn’t wait to find out what she thought. “Shards! I’m sorry, Ezaara, I never expected you to fight back.”
A glint of triumph shone in her eyes. She was breathing hard. “I should have stabbed you there and then.”
Wincing, she let him roll up the leg of her breeches to check her ankle. It was swollen and red, almost as angry as her. “Sorry, I—”
“Curse it. Stop apologizing. You win. I have to use piaua juice so I can get on with training.” Ezaara glared at him again with those startling green eyes. Wisps of blonde hair blew across her face. She jammed them behind her ears.
“I really didn’t think you’d fight me with a sore ankle.”
“So you said.” She reached into her healer’s pouch and passed him a slim vial of transparent green liquid. “Piaua juice is precious. The trees are rare, and draining their juice can kill them, so we only use it in dire circumstances.” She frowned, lips pursed. “Not for a swollen ankle.”
He’d forced her into this. “It’s for the best.”
Her eyes met his. “I know. Knifing Sofia and falling off the dais hasn’t helped. I have to be ready for tharuks, and I have to prove to these tough old riders that I’m Zaarusha’s rightful rider.”
She understood. Roberto’s breath whooshed out as he pulled the tiny cork stopper out of the vial.
“Wait. Don’t spill any. Only use a drop or two.” Her face showed her apprehension.
“Is it really as effective as they say?” he asked.
“Better. We play down its effects so people aren’t tempted to drain the trees.”
“I’d heard only tree speakers could collect the juice.”
“True, and I’m not one, so this is doubly precious.”
He held the vial over her ankle, tipped two droplets onto her swollen flesh, then passed it back to her. Ezaara capped the vial, and rubbed the oily residue over her bruised skin.
“Are you
