He seemed pleased she’d brought them with her—as if she was a littling that would forget her weapons. Well, his weapons. He’d promised to take her to Master Archer Jerrick to get her own bow today. A shame she’d left hers in Lush Valley.
“I didn’t exactly give you time to pack,” Zaarusha rumbled.
Or say goodbye. Her eyes pricked. Tired, she was just tired.
Roberto’s charcoal gaze focused on her, then flicked across her face. He always seemed to know when she was melding with Zaarusha. Could he hear them?
“No, he can’t,” Zaarusha answered. “He can only access your mind when he touches your temples. That’s his gift. I haven’t seen another like him. Well, there is one, but …” A dark shiver flitted across Zaarusha’s mind.
Ezaara suddenly felt cold. “Who?”
“Later. He’s been patient enough.”
Roberto, patient? Yesterday he’d goaded, commanded and prodded her until she’d nearly dropped from exhaustion. She raised her eyebrows at him.
“Have you ever shot arrows from horseback?” he asked.
“A few times.” More than a few. Pa had drilled them until they could hit a target galloping. It had been a while, though.
“Good. It’s different from dragonback, but you’ll soon get the hang of it.”
That was it? No hints or tips? “How is it different?”
His smile was wry. “You’ll see. Hit the red targets. Erob and I will fly behind Zaarusha, so I can evaluate you.”
So helpful.
Erob took to the skies, and Zaarusha followed, skimming along the tree tops at the edge of the meadows. Her bow and arrow at the ready, Ezaara scanned the trees. There, a red scrap of cloth was tied to a high branch. Ezaara sighted, aimed, fired. And missed. This was harder than it looked. She nocked another arrow, and aimed at the next target, fluttering in the breeze among the foliage.
Another miss.
Ezaara snatched another arrow out of her quiver. Zaarusha was flying a steady slow course and these targets were all at a similar level. If she was in battle, she’d be dead from a tharuk arrow by now. She aimed at another scrap of red, missing. And another, missing again. And again.
And again.
Erob popped up beside Zaarusha. “Want a few hints?” Roberto called.
Now he asked? “Not yet,” Ezaara replied, then melded with Zaarusha. “Could you slow down a bit and fly closer to the targets?” There, that should be easier. Her arrow speared a branch. Closer, but not a hit. Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful. “Why is it so hard?” she asked Zaarusha.
“It’s the air currents from my wingbeats.”
“Well, that’s great. If you stop flying in battle, I’ll be too dead to shoot anything.” Ezaara sighed. “Unless you glide each time we pass a target.”
“That often works.”
“So, if you knew, why didn’t you tell me?” Ezaara sighted, aimed. Slightly closer.
“Sometimes, experience is the best teacher.”
She snorted, still feeling the bruises on her ribs from Roberto’s sword, and nocked yet another arrow. “Gentle,” she commanded Zaarusha.
A memory popped into her head: Pa teaching her to shoot from horseback. “It’s all about the balance and the rhythm,” he’d said, demonstrating how to rise up in the stirrups as he fired, to counteract the movement of the horse’s gait.
As the queen steadied her wings, gliding past a strongwood, Ezaara rose in the stirrups and aimed. Her arrow snagged the edge of the red cloth. A hit, her first hit. Only a ragged corner, but better than a miss. She reached into her quiver, but it was empty.
Behind her, Roberto laughed. “Retrieving them is part of your stamina training.” Zaarusha and Erob landed in the nearest clearing and Roberto dismounted. “Get down,” he said. “We haven’t got all day.”
Ezaara dropped to the ground.
“Now, run.” He gestured behind Zaarusha. “Back the way we came. Go and get your arrows.”
She’d fired her first arrow ages back, but there was no way she was going to groan in front of Master Roberto. Ezaara set off at a run. She’d loved running through the forest back in Lush Valley and had done far too little of it at Dragons’ Hold, thanks to her ankle and having Zaarusha to take her everywhere.
“I heard that,” quipped the queen.
Roberto drew level, running beside Ezaara. His feet fell into time with hers. The steady cadence of their breathing contrasted with the rustling foliage and twitter of birds in the trees above. Ezaara was scanning the trees, trying to figure out which one she’d fired at, when he motioned toward a tree with a rope hanging from one of its branches.
“This one.” He held the rope out toward her. “Start climbing, it’s good for fitness.”
Great—tree climbing, running and dragonback archery all in one.
It took Ezaara the rest of the morning to retrieve most of her arrows. When she was done, there were still four missing. Roberto motioned her to sit on a rock at the edge of the clearing. Moments later, Erob and Zaarusha dropped to the grass.
Striding to Erob’s saddlebags, Roberto took out a small cloth bundle. “How are you feeling?”
Hungry and tired, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “As perky as a dragonet.” If dragonets were even perky—she had no idea.
Opening the bundle, he passed her some bread, cheese, an apple, and a waterskin. He motioned at the skin. “Drink that first, it’ll revive you.”
It was sweet, delicious and vaguely familiar. “This is great. What is it?” Ezaara took another swig.
He grinned. “Watermelon juice, a Naobian treat.”
So that was it. “I tasted watermelon once, when I was young. A trader brought some over the Grande Alps. He sold them straight from the river, where he’d submerged them in a huge sack, cooling. It was delicious. Such a strange, foreign delicacy.” A pang of loss for
