“Sorry, I shouldn’t be morose.” She had to keep hoping. Roberto’s face flashed to mind. His sardonic smile. His ebony eyes flashing as he laughed with Adelina. The way his arms flexed as he wielded his sword. The warmth of his torso as he adjusted her grip on her knife. His love—his mind-searing, heart-bursting, fire-in-her-veins love. He couldn’t be gone. Mustn’t be gone.
She sighed. “All right, let’s go back.”
Erob ascended to fly back to Naobia, the desert dropping far below them.
Ezaara stared out over the endless gut-wrenching orange, one last time.
There, what was that? Hidden over some distant dunes was a smudge. “Look, Erob. Is that an oasis?”
“I can’t fly much longer without decent food.” Despite his protests, Erob flew toward the blur of color nestled between orange dunes.
Their flight seemed to take forever.
“Yes!” A turquoise jewel was nestled in the sand, fringed by palms. “Look, a lake, shade.” It was strange—all the other oases had been inhabited by Robandi tribes with their brightly-colored tents. “You’d think an oasis this big would have people here.”
Erob didn’t answer. His wingbeats were flagging and he was flying low. He banked and aimed for the lake edge.
“Unless we find food, we’ll have to fill our waterskins and fly back over the desert and the Naobian Sea.”
That vast ocean with its slate, lapis, cobalt and turquoise tones. She’d never expected the sea to be everchanging, writhing and seething far beneath them, whipping up white tips far out from the shore, sheltering enormous creatures that created dark blots, like ink stains, under the water. This life Zaarusha had given her was bursting with possibility. Except she didn’t have Zaarusha anymore. She’d forsaken her dragon, her role and title.
And she didn’t have Roberto. If she returned empty-handed, she’d have nothing.
“Let’s rest and drink,” melded Erob. “It helps stave off dark thoughts.”
Ezaara stretched her mind out, reaching for Roberto. “Roberto!” Hundreds of times she’d tried mind sweeping, and hundreds of times there’d been nothing except the bite of windswept sand on her cheeks. Infusing every last scrap of her love into her message, she thrust out her mind again, “Roberto.”
“E-zaa-ra ...” Faint and foggy, but it was him.
“Roberto!”
Nothing.
“Roberto!”
Again, nothing.
Had she imagined it? Was she sun-struck? Going crazy?
“No, I heard it too.” Erob thudded to the ground, and staggered, his snout hitting the sand and wings askew.
Ezaara slid to the sand. “Are you all right?”
“Need to drink.” Dragging his tail, Erob crawled to the water.
“Wait!” Ezaara called out loud. “It might be tainted. Maybe that’s why no one’s here.”
Erob sniffed it. “Seems fine.” He submerged his snout.
Ezaara followed, scooping crystal water into her mouth. It was pure, like fresh rain on spring grass. It beat the stagnant water from their skins. “Erob, Roberto must be near. We can’t leave.”
“We can eat and drink here. Look.” Erob waved his snout at heavy clusters of dates hanging from the palms.
Ezaara roamed over to the palms, accidentally disturbing a herd of goats dozing in the shade. “Strange. Goats, but no people.”
“Maybe they’re wild.” As quick as a wink, Erob killed one and settled to feast.
They collected dates, Erob shaking the trees until the fruit fell down, and Ezaara gathering them into his saddlebags. She found an orange grove, the juicy fruit stinging her chapped lips as she wolfed it down. Why was this place deserted?
“Look, footprints.” Ezaara pointed at the churned-up sand near one of the groves. “Lots of them.”
“I noticed camel prints from the air. Someone else must’ve been hungry.”
“Maybe Roberto was with them. Maybe they’ve just left with him …”
“Let’s check.”
They searched the perimeter of the lake, filling their waterskins. The whole time, Ezaara and Erob stretched their minds out to Roberto. There was no reply.
“We heard him,” Erob melded. “He must be here somewhere. Be patient.” He settled on the sand and she slid off.
Ezaara sank down, leaning against him. “What if he’s dead and that was his last cry? We’ve got to do something. To come this far …” Her chest grew tight and she broke down, sobbing, burying her face in Erob’s side.
§
A cool caress brushed Roberto’s brow. A trickle of water slid down his throat. He swallowed, his gullet thick and clogged. A dull ache throbbed across his middle, laced with a filigree of dancing fire. Exquisite pain. Zens had taught him pain was exquisite and that there was an art to enduring it—Roberto had learned that the hard way.
His mind was slipping again. Faces flitted before him. Eyes, watching: Erob’s golden ones, shining as they’d imprinted; Ezaara’s sad green eyes when he’d been banished; Zens’ giant yellow orbs, enticing him to cruelty, mocking him when he succeeded.
He was a mockery. He’d thought he could make a difference to Dragons’ Realm, right his father’s wrongs and help send Zens back through the world gate. But instead, here he was, banished and dying.
A gentle burble floated through his mind, like the babble of a stream, an accompaniment to the waves of fire rippling across his belly. If he lay perfectly still, would the water put the fire out? Only there was no water here in the desert, in the dark.
§
“Ezaara.”
Erob’s sharpness woke Ezaara. Eyes gritty with sand, she rubbed them.
Then rubbed them again. This wasn’t a nightmare. They were surrounded. Warriors were thrusting a nest of sabers at her throat and Erob’s belly.
A tall warrior paced around the dragon, her kohl-rimmed eyes sizing him up. Ezaara followed her with her gaze, helpless. No wonder this oasis had been deserted. These
