“Besides, your family is the reason you’re here.”
“What? No one in my family’s ever seen a dragon.”
“They know more than you imagine.” A chuckle rumbled through the dragon’s belly. “Your mother and father are dragon riders.”
“No, they—” An image popped into her mind: Ma, much younger, astride a silver dragon; Pa was behind her, arms wrapped around her waist. The way the sun glanced off the dragon’s silver scales looked real, but Ezaara wasn’t fooled. Then, her mother’s hair stirred in the breeze and she laughed. The truth hit her like a punch in the stomach. That was Ma’s laugh. Pa’s real smile.
“So …,” Ezaara said, racking her brain for another answer. There was none. “This is one of your memories, then.”
“Yes, and dragons can’t lie.”
“But—”
“I’m Queen of Dragons’ Realm. Our families have been intertwined for years.”
A dragon family intertwined with hers? And not just any dragon—the queen. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t my parents tell me?”
A wave of sorrow washed over Ezaara. “Before you were born, your mother, Marlies, accidentally killed one of my royal dragonets.”
How awful. “I’m sorry.”
“Marlies and Hans fled to Lush Valley to hide the truth, but perhaps that was fortunate, because now, I sense that dragonet’s power, latent, in you.”
So that’s why. Ma was ashamed. Ezaara was here because of a mistake Ma had made, years ago. “Me? Powerful?” It was ridiculous.
“Not yet, but you will be.” Zaarusha beat her wings, rising up the side of the mountain face.
Ezaara hunched over the queen’s back, gripping her spinal ridge with white knuckles. “But you’re a queen and I’m … just me.”
They landed in the snow at the apex of an Alp. Fields lay like lazily-tossed rugs below. Settlements dotted plains that led to a barren range of snow-tipped hills, far to the west. Meandering ribbons of blue fed into lakes nestled among verdant green. A vast forest stretched northward, hemmed in by chains upon chains of mountains that seemed to go on forever.
“This is Dragons’ Realm. We protect it. You, me and the dragons and riders that serve the realm.”
And to think she’d been cloistered in a valley, afraid of dragons.
Zaarusha chuckled. “Yes, you’ve outgrown Lush Valley, Ezaara. You’re ready for this.”
It was true. She’d outgrown gathering herbs, and Tomaaz and Lofty’s dumb tricks—and the superstitions of Lush Valley. With a surge of elation, Ezaara scanned the vista. It was her new duty to protect this. But how? She was so tiny compared to this vast rugged land of contrasts. The sweeping rivers, the jagged mountains, the homes scattered across the realm. The pristine snow, glinting in the sunlight, full of promise.
“This is what I want,” Ezaara whispered. Gods, she already missed her family.
Roars cut the air. Then screams.
Ezaara spun in the saddle. “That came from the south, Zaarusha.”
Zaarusha sprang. They were airborne, high above the Western Alps in moments.
“There.” In a pass, between two steep peaks, was a battle between men and beasts. “Go, Zaarusha, go.”
“Tharuks, from the scent.” Zaarusha’s tone was grim. “Probably a scouting party.”
Ezaara hunkered over Zaarusha’s spinal ridges. “I thought tharuks were monster stories to keep littlings near home.”
“Only in Lush Valley,” Zaarusha said, “but not for long.”
A chill snaked down Ezaara’s spine. These beasts were making their way over the Western Grande Alps into Lush Valley. To her people, her family. “Faster, Zaarusha, faster.”
The queen sped through the sky. Ezaara leaned out, trying to see the fight far below, her eyes watering in the wind. Without warning, Zaarusha dived.
Ezaara lost her balance, sliding down the queen’s side. She grasped at the saddle strap.
And missed. Her hands slipped over sleek scales. Then there was nothing—she was in midair. Wind tore at her. The ground charged upward. She was about to die.
A scream froze in her throat.
“Relax and trust me.”
The ground was rushing ever closer. What choice did she have? Ezaara let her body go loose.
Strong talons grasped her. Her breath whooshed out of her lungs. Ezaara gripped Zaarusha’s legs. They flew to the closest peak and Zaarusha deposited Ezaara on a ledge. She climbed back into the saddle, her legs like Ma’s egg pudding.
“Now fasten the harness straps. Tight.”
Ezaara gulped. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s my fault. It’s been a long time since I had a rider.” They took off, diving to meet the fight.
On an outpost, high on the ridge, blood from three dead men leached into the snow. A dozen tharuks were attacking two more men, who fought, back to back, trying to keep the beasts at bay. Other tharuks tossed wood down the mountainside.
Tharuks were awful, close up. With sharp tusks, the beasts were covered in thick matted fur and wore heavy boots and leather breastplates. They slashed long claws at the men. Zaarusha snatched up two tharuks, tossing them into the air. Their roars died as they thudded to the rocks, black blood splattering the snow. They stank of rotten meat.
Ezaara groped behind her for her bow. No, it was still at home. And her sword was blunted. She was useless, clinging to Zaarusha as the queen lunged again, flame shooting from her maw.
Tharuks shrieked, flailing on the ground, burning. More beasts ran at the men. Zaarusha flicked flame at them, forcing them back. “I can’t get too close or we’ll burn our people,” Zaarusha mind-melded.
One of the men screamed, clutching at his throat. Red pumped over his hands. He crumpled, dead.
A roar cut through the fighting. A huge beast thrust its fist into the air, bellowing, “Kill him!” More monsters surged over the ridge, joining their leader to surround the last man.
The warrior spun, jabbing with his sword, but he was outnumbered.
Zaarusha blasted a swathe
