Tharuks kidnapped settlers—one by one—from their fields, the woods or down by the coast. Over a year and a half, fifty or more disappeared, taken to rot and die as tharuk slaves.
No one suspected Amato. The best rider in the whole southern region, he’d been reinstated as the leader of the green guards, stationed in Naobia. Although his family life was tempestuous, Naobian leaders didn’t want to interfere when Amato had been through so much and was valiantly trying to serve.
But Amato was addicted to swayweed and working with Zens and his tharuks.
“Roberto, would you like a ride on Matotoi?” Pa’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
Ma was out with Adelina. Pa was in a great mood this morning.
“Can I? Really?” Pa’s fiery green dragon, Matotoi, was the envy of all Roberto’s friends.
Pa gave a belly laugh. “Why not?”
They made their way to the sacred clearing, where Matotoi was waiting.
A band of tharuks were waiting too. Pa held Roberto, while the beasts tied his hands and feet. He screamed and struggled, but Pa only laughed. “Come on, boy, do you want that ride or not?”
The tharuks gagged him and stuffed him into Matotoi’s saddlebag, and Pa flew him straight to Zens, who trained Roberto as his protégé.
Sorrow ached deep inside Roberto. The things he’d done. The person he’d been. Hardly a suitable companion for a Queen’s Rider who’d lived a sheltered life in Lush Valley. What had he been thinking when he’d admitted how he’d felt?
He hadn’t—he hadn’t been thinking at all. They’d simply melded, stripping away every pretense, revealing their love.
The cold gleam of the distant stars did nothing to light their way across the ocean. It would be a few hours until the sun rose, but Roberto didn’t expect any warmth. Ezaara’s hair stirred against his cheek again. He brushed his lips against the top of her head, one last time. Her love could never be his.
Dark Secrets
After visiting Naobia’s early morning market, Ezaara sat with Roberto on a cliff, the churning tide smashing into jagged rocks below. Leaning against Erob, Roberto broke some bread and sliced a round of goat’s cheese with his knife, passing some to her. After days of desert fare, the scent of crusty fresh bread made her mouth water. Although the cheese was creamy and mild, it was hard to eat with the unspoken question hanging between them.
After a few bites, Roberto said, “I have to show you something, and it’s not very pleasant.”
“What is it?”
“Me.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll always—”
“I can’t come back with you, Ezaara.” His face was etched with sorrow. “You won’t understand my decision until you understand who I was. May I?” His hands hovered near her temples, his upper lip beaded with perspiration. He was nervous.
“Of course.” Ezaara smiled, trying to make it easier for him. “It’s all right. I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
“Maybe.” His expression grim, he placed her hands on his temples.
Ezaara wanted to slide her fingers down his face and stroke his cheeks, reassuring him he was fine. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused.
Instantly, her stomach blossomed with pain.
“Pain is exquisite,” a male voice said in her mind.
Sharp stabs pierced her legs. She screamed, but made no sound. A slow burn licked along her arms, and a vice tightened on her head, an excruciating ache throbbing through her skull. Her head was going to burst. Ezaara blacked out.
She came to in a dingy cavern, a man with bulbous yellow eyes looming over her. Zens. A huge tharuk thrust water at her and she drank, but the water coated her mouth with an odd tang.
Roberto’s voice was gentle in her mind. “Swayweed. Amato, my father, gave me to Zens, who tortured me, fed me swayweed and corrupted me.”
It felt real, as if it was happening to her, but she was reliving Roberto’s memories.
Slammed against a wall, Roberto slid into a pile of filth, battered and bleeding. A nasty stench filled his nostrils, turning Ezaara’s gut. A kick thumped his ribs. His head smacked a rock wall, and he blacked out again.
When he woke, Roberto struggled to his feet. “I won’t. I won’t do it.” His breath rasped, chest aching. “I won’t hurt people just because you want me to.”
Zens gestured at a man in riders’ garb, chained to the wall. “Are you sure, Roberto? I’d hate to force you. Just lay your hands on this dragon rider’s head and use your new skills. A little pain will make him talk.”
“No!”
“Very well.” Zens’ silken voice caressed his mind. Roberto shuddered as Zens’ eyes took on a feral gleam. “You leave me no choice.” Zens turned to a massive tharuk with a broken tusk. “Tharuk 000, bring in the others.”
“Yes, beloved master.” 000’s red eyes gleamed and dark saliva dribbled off his tusks, splattering on the floor.
Moments later, he was back with four littlings. Pitifully thin and hollow-eyed, they were about four to six years old. Littlings—slaving for Zens. The eldest had a festering lash mark on her cheek. Faces slack and expressionless, they were victims of numlock, wasted and broken.
What were they doing here? Did Zens want him to test them too? Well, he wouldn’t.
“Place your hands upon that man’s temples, Roberto. Extract the information.”
“No.”
“If you don’t, I’ll kill this girl.” Zens gestured to the blank-faced littling with the lash mark.
It was an empty threat to bully him into submission. Roberto lunged for Zens’ knife. “I’d rather kill myself than help you.”
Tharuk 000 leaped between them and grabbed Roberto, tossing him against the stone wall, smacking his shoulder. That hurt.
“First, the girl. We’ll see if he cooperates afterward.” Although Zens was mind-melding with 000, his voice slithered into Roberto’s skull, battering him
