“Great job, Ezaara,” Simeon called as he passed to fetch more bandages. He dropped some off at the boy’s bedside. “Those are nice even stitches.”
Ezaara’s chest swelled with pride. It was true, her stitches had always been neat and tidy. Despite her not wanting to be a healer, her mother had taught her well. Thinking of Ma made her throat constrict. She blinked, hard. She had to focus on this boy and other patients. There’d be time enough later to dwell on family.
Hours later, when they’d finished treating the wounded, Simeon thanked her profusely and kissed her hand. Grateful at least someone had appreciated her today, Ezaara stumbled from the infirmary to the empty mess cavern.
Adelina greeted her. “You look exhausted. Here, take a seat. I saved you dinner.”
“Infirmary,” Ezaara grunted, ripping a bread roll, too tired to talk. She bit into the crust, groaning in pleasure.
Adelina bustled off, returning with a bowl of dark meaty stew, and sat beside her. “It’s been a long day.”
Nodding, Ezaara spooned stew into her mouth, occasionally pausing to dip bread into her bowl. When she was finished, she sat back and sighed. “Now, that was good, the best part of today.”
“Thank you for healing Roberto.” Adelina kept her voice low. “He said you fought valiantly, saving a girl and a littling.”
Roberto? Ezaara bit back a bitter retort. During training, he was so tough, never giving a scrap of praise. “You know the strangest thing?”
Adelina shook her head.
“Simeon said they didn’t have anything to numb wounds, but there’s bear’s bane in the alcove. Maybe Simeon doesn’t know about the supplies in the alcove, but Fleur must know. I should have asked her. I …” Ezaara hung her head.
“What is it?”
“I did my patients a great disservice by not challenging Fleur.”
“I don’t trust Fleur,” Adelina replied. “Neither does Roberto.”
Despite her cynicism about her master, a prickle of mistrust ran down her spine. She’d have to watch Fleur.
§
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Roberto circled his arms again. He could still use his injured arm, but the gash was puffy and red. He rolled his eyes. That was probably due to Fleur’s rotten salve. What had Ezaara been thinking? Well, at least his chest was as good as new, thanks to her.
He’d heard two healers in Naobia whispering about piaua when he’d taken his mother to them for her back … no, he mustn’t think about that.
Now he’d seen piaua in action—and Ezaara using her healing arts. Queen’s Rider, compassionate healer, competent archer, with a fierce loyalty and a wild beauty that nearly made his heart stop each time he glimpsed it. As her master, he had to know everything about her—talents, strengths, weaknesses, so he could truly prepare her to lead their army against Zens.
It was no good, he couldn’t sleep. “How about a flight?”
Erob’s snores were his only answer. Fair enough. His dragon had only returned a few hours ago, after ensuring every tharuk was either dead or gone from River’s Edge. A walk would have to do instead.
Roberto pulled up the hood of his jerkin and strolled along the tunnels. Lost in thought, he realized he was near the Queen’s Rider’s cavern when Simeon appeared, sneaking along the tunnel. Roberto froze in the shadows. Simeon, furtively glancing back, stole down the short tunnel to Ezaara’s cavern.
Roberto slipped after him.
Hand on the Queen’s Rider’s door handle, Simeon paused, listening.
“What are you doing here?” Roberto hissed. Grabbing Simeon’s free arm, he twisted it behind his back. Simeon went limp, but Roberto knew that trick, keeping his grip tight as he marched him down the tunnels.
Simeon blathered. “I couldn’t sleep for worrying about Ezaara. I just had to check she was safe.”
“I’m not listening to your sniveling dragon dung,” Roberto snapped. He’d tried his best to keep Ezaara busy, away from Simeon, Alban and Sofia, but he couldn’t be everywhere.
When they reached the infirmary, and Simeon’s family’s living quarters, Roberto released him. “Stay there. All night. Every night. Or you’ll see the sharp end of my sword.” He gave a cutthroat grin.
Glowering, Simeon slipped into the infirmary.
Roberto exhaled. That had been lucky. He could’ve been asleep. If he hadn’t been there, who knew what could’ve happened to their new Queen’s Rider—to Ezaara. Dragons’ Hold would be a lot colder without her smile.
Rider of Fire
A few days later, as her bruises from their fight at River’s Edge were fading, Ezaara opened her door at Roberto’s knock.
In usual terse form, he nodded. “Good morning, Ezaara. I have news. Lars has scheduled the Grand Race for today. All trainees must participate, including you.” He passed her a pair of light shoes with flexible leather soles. “I thought you’d like these. They’ll be easier to run in than your boots.”
The shoes were made of supple leather, and hand-painted with a likeness of Zaarusha soaring over a lake, her shining scales reflecting all the colors of the rainbow in the water. These shoes were as beautiful as Ana’s scarves. More so, because someone had made them for her. She scarcely dared breathe. “Did you make these?”
His smile warmed his eyes. “No, but I did ask our master craftsman, Hendrik, if he could make you some pliable shoes, suitable for running.”
“When did you get time to do that?” Over the past week, they’d been together every waking moment, training.
“Right after the imprinting test.” He shrugged. “I saw that you’d arrived in only what you were wearing, with a sword at your side. Once I knew you were Zaarusha’s true rider, it was logical you’d need something
