“Hans was one of the best. It’s a great feeling, isn’t it?”
Ezaara rubbed Zaarusha’s neck. “It took me by surprise.”
Lars chuckled. “It always does, the first time. Different masters have different talents, not always running. It’s all part of being a rider of fire.”
“Master Roberto mentioned that.”
“We’ve decided your sword evaluation will be tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened. “Tomorrow?”
“Get a good night’s sleep and stay warm.” He pointed to the distant sky, voice grim. “There’ll be snow in the far ranges tonight.”
“I will.” Ezaara got on Zaarusha, and they flew back up to the mess cavern.
The last two runners were nearly here. Sofia’s leg seemed to have healed nicely. She was running with Alban, at a steady careful pace. Good, he didn’t want her injured leg playing up. The scar was ugly. Fleur’s half-botched attempts at healing didn’t come near Marlies’ skill, all those years ago, but she’d fled after that terrible incident with Zaarusha’s dragonet. He shook his head. What a waste of a dragonet and a healer.
His dragon, Singlar, had told him Ezaara was Marlies’ daughter. Poles apart, Ezaara had looked unpromising when she’d arrived. Knifing Sofia hadn’t made things any better, but hopefully that was all behind them.
“Well done,” he called from the finish line. “Your leg’s holding up well, Sofia.”
Flushed, Sofia gave a tired smile. “Thanks, Master Lars.”
“And thank you for supporting her, Alban.”
Alban stopped and bent, putting hands on his knees and taking a few deep breaths.
“Are you all right?” Lars asked.
“Fine,” he said.
Sofia grinned. “He tripped over some vines. I slowed down to keep pace with him.”
Alban glowered. “I said I’m fine.”
“Come on, it’s all in good fun.” Lars clapped him on the back.
“Just like knife training,” Alban shot as he stalked off.
Face clouding, Sofia rushed after him.
So, it wasn’t behind them. Grudges were brewing—and grudges were not healthy for morale.
Lars lingered to watch a pair of dragons shoot across the basin. Now, there was competition at its finest—no grudges, no malice, just pure fun. The dragons reached the western mountain faces, then spun back toward him. He frowned. Over the ranges, in the far west, ominous storm clouds were brewing.
Test of the Sword
Ezaara was cold. There was fresh snow dusting Dragon’s Teeth and a chill in the air. She pulled her cloak tight around her, blocking the draft from Zaarusha’s wingbeats.
“There’s an unseasonal blizzard raging in the west and to the south,” Zaarusha said. “We got off lightly, but it’ll be cold there for a few more days. Don’t worry, your sword evaluation will soon warm you up.” The dragon queen flew along the eastern side of the valley. “There’s the sword fighting arena.”
Below them, two stone outcrops jutted out of the mountainside, forming a natural arena between them, walled on three sides by granite. Dragons were perched on the higher outcrop and people were sitting on the other, on heavy blankets, legs dangling over the rocks. More onlookers were gathered on the ground around the arena, Roberto, Adelina and Simeon among them. Blue guards, in their striking uniforms, were stationed around the edge of the crowd.
“You told me I had a sword evaluation,” Ezaara shot at Zaarusha. “Not a ceremony with hundreds watching.”
“It’s traditional to have a crowd,” the dragon queen replied.
“Of course, I should have realized. In Lush Valley we’re well-versed in the traditions of Dragons’ Hold.”
Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on Zaarusha—the queen was still chuckling as she landed.
The arena was strewn with rocks and tussock, a challenging surface for dueling. Luckily, the sun had melted the frost. Ezaara dismounted. “Thanks, Zaarusha.”
The queen flipped her wings and shot up to the outcrops, perching between a blood-red dragon and Erob. “Good luck. Show Jaevin what you’re made of.” Head high, she surveyed the arena with a regal air.
Zaarusha was right. She had to prove herself. Winning the race had been a good start yesterday, but running would never win a war. She had to show these riders she was worthy of Zaarusha. She had to honor her queen.
Swordmaster Jaevin inclined his head. “Good morning, Ezaara, Honored Rider of Queen Zaarusha.” He gestured toward the red dragon. “May I re-introduce you to Vino, my loyal companion. You met him at your imprinting test.”
Thanks to her new feelings for Roberto, she could finally think of her imprinting test without cringing. “The pleasure is mine,” Ezaara melded, nodding at Vino.
He dipped his head in response.
Master Jaevin continued, “Today, I’ll put you through your paces, testing your skills to determine what further training you require.”
As if Roberto hadn’t been putting her through her paces already. She ached from their training sessions. “Thank you, I look forward to it.”
“Every time you strike me, you gain an advantage,” he said. “Your time is up once you strike me twice, or I strike you five times. Vino will keep count, roaring for each strike.”
On a wooden rack near the rock face were two ornate swords with engraved hilts—one gold and one silver. Both were sheathed in decorative scabbards. Familiar swords. They’d been on her wall above the bathtub until yesterday.
The swordmaster followed her gaze. “I see you recognize these. They’re the ceremonial swords for the Queen’s Rider’s evaluation, passed down through generations. You may have heard of them?”
Of course, she hadn’t, but she smiled and nodded anyway.
Master Jaevin turned to the assembled crowd, his voice booming. “The official swordsmanship evaluation for Ezaara, Rider of our Honored Queen Zaarusha, is about to commence.” He flourished a hand at the swords. “Through the ages, every Queen’s Rider has been evaluated with these ceremonial swords, blunted to ensure no one suffers grievous injury. Please present the Queen’s Rider with her gold-hilted sword.”
Roberto took the golden-hilted sword from the
