Rocco spurted ahead, trying to catch Alban and Roberto. Shoulders tight, he was straining too hard. He’d never last the distance.
Ezaara forced herself to relax, her legs flowing across the ground. She moved along the outside of the group.
Sofia veered and stumbled, jabbing Ezaara in the ribs with her elbow.
“Ow!”
“Sorry.” Sofia smirked, dripping sarcasm.
“Hey,” Gret yelled at Sofia, “that’s not on.”
“A mistake, just like when that cow hurt me.”
A flash of anger spurred Ezaara on. Pumping her arms and legs, she dashed forward, leaving the group behind.
She deserved every hit and blow and slur. If someone had hurt Tomaaz like that, she would’ve been livid. She couldn’t blame Sofia for being angry, especially when Alban kept poisoning her with his nasty barbs. If she was ever to be a just Queen’s Rider, she couldn’t let peer politics get her down. But doubt and fear ate away at her as she ran on.
Rocco was closer, now. With steady paces, Ezaara chewed up the ground between them and overtook him as she crossed the last meadow. Glancing back with a sneer, Alban entered the forest. Roberto was long gone, somewhere among the trees.
Gradually, Ezaara increased her pace. She hit the tree line, welcoming the cool shade of the forest canopy. She blinked, helping her eyes adjust. This part of the forest was dense, branches woven together in a lattice of foliage. Vines with broad shiny leaves hung from boughs, occasionally twining their way across the path. As a tree-speaker, Ma would love this place. A pang of loss hit Ezaara. Alone. She was so alone here. Her family couldn’t celebrate any of her successes. Or support her through her failures.
§
Roberto pressed ahead, Erob’s power singing through his veins. Last time he’d glanced back, Ezaara had pulled away from the group and Alban was entering the forest. The muted thud of Alban’s feet was back along the trail.
Leaping over a mass of vines, Roberto headed around a corner. A master running against trainees seemed unfair, but it spurred the trainees to push their limits. Masters, with the advantage of accessing their dragons’ power, would always win. He, Lars and Tonio were the fastest at Dragons’ Hold, although rumor had it that Lars had once been beaten by a master who was no longer here.
Roberto grinned. He’d beaten Lars the last few times they’d raced. His success was as much due to the strong bond between him and Erob and his mental aptitude, as it was to his fitness. Although he enjoyed training hard, exorcising the demons of his past.
Behind him, Alban’s footfalls stopped. Roberto cocked his head as he ran. The winding path must be masking Alban’s tread. He slowed, pacing himself for the descent into the stream and the grueling climb once he left the trees.
§
Ezaara skirted a patch of sludge and raced over some gnarly roots. This part of the track was tricky. Up ahead a mass of vines lay across the path, with no way around them. A leap should do it. She sped up and took a huge stride, launching herself into the air. The vines whipped up, smashing into her legs. She crashed to the forest floor, smacking her ribs on a root and whacking her shoulder. Rolling, Ezaara came to her feet. A wall of muscle was before her. Alban.
She ducked. Too late. His fist connected with her stomach. She dropped and rolled, staggering up as he pounced after her. With her back to a tree trunk, she feinted to the left, then jumped, aiming a flying kick at him. He sidestepped, but not fast enough. The full weight of her body hit his groin. They crashed to the ground and she rolled away.
Alban sprawled on the ground, grasping his groin. Ezaara whipped a knife from her waistband and held it near Alban’s neck, breathing hard.
“So, you’re going to slash me too,” he spat, “the way you butchered Sofia? Do it. I’ll report you, and you’ll be banished.”
The panting and footfalls of other runners were audible further along the track. A few more corners, and they’d be here.
Despite the anger sparking through her, Ezaara spoke softly, “You’ll be banished too, Alban, for attacking the Queen’s Rider.”
“No one will know,” he said staunchly. “No one will believe you.” But his eyes were panicked. She had him.
“Nor you,” she said. “Vow to keep your mouth shut and not breathe a word to anyone, even Sofia, and I’ll do the same.”
Nodding, he tried to sit up.
“Don’t move yet.” She pressed her knife more firmly against his throat. “Swear it, upon your life.”
Alban made the vow, then, in the same breath, swore at her.
“What a shame you’ve fallen over these vines. I guess you’ll be too sore to move until someone can help you up.” Aiming a foot at his chest, Ezaara pushed Alban back to the ground and took off along the trail, tucking her knife into the back of her waistband.
She’d deliberately worn a vest that hung to her backside, disguising her weapon. Her hands shook as she ran. She’d never expected to use it.
She was the outsider. No one would believe her if she testified against Alban. Her gut ached, and her ribs and shoulder were sore. Heart pounding, she raced down the track, toward burbling coming through the trees. Good, a stream. Her mouth was dry. She could grab a drink.
§
Stooped in the calf-deep water, Roberto was taking a drink when he glimpsed Ezaara racing through the trees. So, she was faster than Alban—impressive. Mind you, she’d given him a run for his money when they were training, although he’d never let on, constantly pushing her to be
