Ezaara spat. “Tastes great, thanks.”
He’d flicked dirt on her. “Sorry.”
“I’d rather be underfoot than without you.” Her response was glib, making him smile, despite his heaviness.
“Erob, we’re nearing the top. Where are the assassins?” Roberto asked.
“Amusing themselves by thinking they’re guarding me.” Erob sent Roberto an image of him toasting an assassin on a talon. “Only joking. They have me surrounded with their sabers.”
“Careful. I don’t want you wounded. We have a long flight ahead of us.”
“Yes,” Ezaara chimed in. “It’s four or five days to Dragons’ Hold from here.”
Roberto said nothing. Let her think she’d won. It would keep her happy for now.
Above him, Ithsar whispered, “We’re here.” She put out the lantern hanging on her belt.
There was a faint rustle. Foliage above them parted and the cool kiss of night air rushed in to meet them. Roberto climbed out to a sky scattered with stars, and date palms whispering in the breeze like hundreds of silent assassins. Moonlight cast a shaft of brightness across a lake. Beyond, a hillock was silhouetted among a fringe of trees. The sky was dark, but it wasn’t long until dawn. They had to get out of here.
“Are you that lump in the trees?”
“A lump?” Erob snorted. The hillock on the other side of the lake moved. “See that?”
“Yes. We’re straight across from you.” Roberto grasped Ezaara’s hand and pulled her out into the open. She stumbled on the edge of the chimney and he grabbed her to stop her falling backward. She landed with her cheek against his chest, and their eyes met. Dragon fire raced in his veins. His heart thrummed.
She was in his mind, against his body, her floral scent and her presence filling his senses. “You can’t deny what we feel.”
And he couldn’t. He brushed his lips against her hair.
§
“No,” Ithsar whispered, but it was too late. The Naobian’s lips touched Ezaara’s hair, lighting up the sathir connection between them like a million stars. Any assassin tuned into sathir would know where they were. So much for stealth.
On the other side of the lake, a sand-shifting roar split the air. A belch of dracha flame lit up the palm grove, and the mighty blue-scaled beast took to the sky.
He was coming. Both dracha ryter would be saved.
“Traitor.” Izoldia stepped from behind a date palm, saber out.
Ithsar snatched her own saber and pointed it at the Naobian. “Now, you’re coming with us!” she cried.
The Naobian spun, flinging Ezaara aside. He was fast. When had he unsheathed his sword?
“You,” he spat at Ithsar, lunging at her. “You’ve outlived your usefulness.”
He was absolving her of blame. Ithsar parried with her saber, letting it fly out of her hand as he struck, as if her fingers couldn’t hold it. Izoldia wouldn’t know any different.
The Naobian held his sword to Ithsar’s throat. “Drop your weapon,” he said to Izoldia. “Or the girl dies.”
Izoldia threw her head back and laughed. “She’s worthless. Kill her. It’ll save me the trouble.”
The slow burning anger that Ithsar had harbored all these years blossomed like a bruise, staining the sathir purple-black. The stain spread across Ithsar’s vision, blotting out the stars, blotting out the date trees, blotting out Izoldia.
Ithsar had never deserved such scorn. Despite her deformed fingers, she had tried her best. Izoldia had seen to it that everyone despised her, including her own mother.
A breeze stirred at her feet, whirling the sand into a flurry. It rose, faster and higher around her, whipping her clothes in the wind. It shook the date palms, rustling their fronds and swaying their trunks. Thrusting out her anger, Ithsar’s whirlwind made the date palm over Izoldia tremble.
A huge bunch of dates fell, hitting Izoldia’s head, knocking her to the ground.
Instantly, the purple stain was gone.
The Naobian released Ithsar and spun, checking for more assassins. Ithsar could sense them across the lake, running toward them.
Ezaara rushed over to Izoldia. “She’s unconscious.” She hesitated for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Ithsar. “I’ve never done that before.”
“A good job you did,” the Naobian said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Ezaara opened her pouch and took out a tiny sack of powder. “Ithsar, quick,” she hissed, “fetch a little water.”
Ithsar snatched the empty waterskin at her belt and collected water from the lake.
Ezaara threw a pinch of powder into the skin, and they held up Izoldia’s head, letting the water trickle down her throat. Izoldia swallowed reflexively.
“This is woozy weed,” Ezaara said. “It will make her sleep and leave her confused about what happened over the last few hours. She probably won’t remember any of this.”
Ithsar had been prepared to die to free these strangers. She let relief wash through her, not trying to control it. If anyone had seen the dark bruise in sathir, they’d believe the dracha ryter had caused it. She fished the ropes she’d cut off the Naobian’s limbs from her pockets and thrust them deep into Izoldia’s tunic. “Hopefully, they’ll think she’s a traitor who led you here.”
The dracha bellowed.
“Fast,” said the Naobian, “go back to your quarters through the tunnel.”
Ithsar flung herself down the chimney, and he pulled foliage back over the entrance. Only when she reached the bottom and turned on her lamp did she realize she’d forgotten to farewell the dracha ryter and tell them about her vision.
§
With a flurry of wings, Erob landed. Roberto was liquid motion, snatching the dates that had hit Izoldia and flinging them into a saddlebag, then throwing Ezaara on Erob’s back. He jumped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his touch kindling flames in her heart. Roaring, Erob took to the sky as the first rays of the sun turned the sand to honeyed amber.
Below,
