That’s why the littlings were here. As hostages, to get him to cooperate. “No! Don’t! I’ll do anything you—”
000 raked its claws across the girl’s throat. For a moment, her eyes flew wide. Blood welled along the gash, then spurted down her neck. Her mouth went slack and her head lolled to the side, eyes dead.
“No!” Roberto screamed. Through his memories, Ezaara felt the scream rip through him, again and again.
000 held his dripping claws to another littling’s throat.
“Ready?” Zens asked.
Numb with horror, Roberto stumbled to the rider. He placed his hands on the man’s temples and followed Zens’ instructions.
Moons of Roberto’s life passed in servitude. Amato visited, flashing gleeful smiles at his son’s progress. Slaves died at Zens’ hand, Roberto herding them, broken and bleeding, into Zens’ cavern for mental torture—littlings, women and men.
Ezaara’s gut churned with nausea. So young, only twelve. Roberto’s hope died. His resistance was gone, and he did everything Zens commanded. He was a shell, obeying his masters’ orders—almost eager for Zens’ approval.
His subversion was sickening. Panicking, Ezaara dropped her hands from his temples and opened her eyes. Was this his horrible secret? Was Tonio right? Had he been a spy for Zens all along, only acting a role as master of mental faculties? Was Zaarusha right too? Had he been plotting to destroy her?
Roberto looked at her with strange intensity. “Are you all right?”
She shrugged.
“Let’s continue. It’s not over yet.” His tone was flat, devoid of emotion.
He was as strong as the waves pounding the shore, as beautiful as the sparkling ocean she’d first traversed, and as dangerous as the gargantuan dark creatures that lurked in its depths.
He could destroy her.
Her stomach churned. “So how …?” She couldn’t talk. Couldn’t unsee those awful memories. The desolation, the torture and pain.
“How did I escape? Zens trusted me. It was his downfall,” Roberto murmured. “Well, he trusted his ability to keep me under control. I had freedom to roam Death Valley because he knew the swayweed in my rations and numlock in my water would keep me subservient. After a year of slavery to him, things changed.”
He placed her hands on his temples and his memories cascaded through her mind.
Roberto strolled through a horde of slaves, gloating at his ability to control them.
Ezaara recoiled. This wasn’t the man she loved.
“Zens stole people and turned them into drudges, enslaving them physically and mentally, breaking their minds,” Roberto melded with her. “I had less numlock than the slaves, so I was capable of some independent thought and emotion, but not much.”
His memories continued.
Roberto headed over the hill, coming out of the fog. His forehead prickled with sweat. He should go back. Zens could call upon him at any time, but he had the strange urge to explore. He trudged down the hill to a nearby valley, then over another hill. Something tugged him forward, further than he’d ever been since arriving at Death Valley.
Soon he came to a grassy valley of wildflowers with a stream running through it. Salt beading his upper lip, Roberto stooped to drink. His taste buds zinged with life. Fresh and pure, this water stirred distant memories in his fog-shrouded brain. Water was supposed to taste like this, not like the foul stuff he drank every day.
Scooping up handfuls, he swallowed greedily, drips running down his chin. He splashed his face, dribbled it over his hair, then drank again until his belly was tight.
Sudden cramps wracked his gut. Stumbling away, Roberto vomited behind a bush and kept on vomiting until he was dry retching. He spat and wiped his face on some leaves.
His gaze had cleared. Everything was more focused. The Terramites, the chain of mountains standing between him and the rest of the world, were pristine, snow-tipped and formidable, but his memory of life beyond those mountains was hazy.
Shards, he wouldn’t drink Zens’ fetid stuff anymore—it made his head foggy. From now on, he’d have fresh water. Zens didn’t need to know. Taking the waterskin from his side, he tipped the tangy water out and rinsed it, then filled the skin from the stream. Ah, this felt good. He could slip out regularly and replenish his supplies. If he had to, he could alter the minds of those who noticed him leaving. As long as Zens or 000 didn’t spot him.
Something blue flashed near the Terramites. A thrill ran through Roberto.
It flashed again, closer.
A dragon. Bright blue.
Roberto stole a glance back toward Death Valley. He was safe. No one could see them here. A surge of energy ran through Roberto as he and the dragon imprinted, breaking the hold of the swayweed and numlock. He had to leap upon this dragon, leave Death Valley and never return.
But Zens and Amato had threatened to kill Adelina if he left.
A rumble coursed through Roberto’s mind, “Ah, Roberto, I’m Erob, named in your honor. You’re my new rider.”
Roberto stared into Erob’s yellow eyes.
A yawning pit opened inside him as he remembered his actions among the slaves. “What have I done? Who have I become?”
“You’ve been a pawn in Zens’ hands, twisted by him and your father, but you can be better. Become more, ride with me.”
A strange energy thrummed inside his chest. He could feel his heart again. And hope.
But he’d been crossed by his own father. Maybe the dragon was tricking him too. “You think I’d believe you? Zens has helped me to become strong and powerful.”
“Zens has shackled your true power, the power to lift mankind to a better place. Roberto, fly with me.”
What if this was a devious beast trying to enslave him? Body trembling, Roberto fought Erob and the imprinting bond. “What about my sister? Amato threatened
