“Find the queen!” Tension rippled through his thoughts.
A hollow pit yawned in Ezaara’s stomach as drumbeats thundered down the tunnel. Her heart lurched. “Is someone else dead?”
“No, these drums are ushering in Alyssa’s overnight vigil, the first phase of the death rites for Shari.” Adelina’s bag of supplies jangled as she ran.
Ezaara thrust her cavern door open. She and Adelina dashed through the archway to Zaarusha’s den.
Her nest was empty.
“Fangs! Where could she be?” Adelina smacked her palm against her thigh twitch.
“I don’t know!” Ezaara had to do something. “Erob, where’s Zaarusha?”
“Rumors say she’s pining for you, but I can’t meld with her, and that’s highly unusual. Years ago, when she was missing Anakisha, Yanir, and her dead dragonet, she isolated herself at the imprinting grounds.”
“How soon can you get there?”
“The tharuk attack was a false alarm. We’re coming, but we’re still far away.”
Ezaara whirled. “Adelina, take me to the imprinting grounds.”
Adelina swiped a torch off the wall. “We’re going to need this,” she said. “It’s dark where we’re going.”
They ran through the tunnels, past the main cavern where the rise and fall of voices and slow beats of the drums marked Shari’s death.
“We should be there for Shari,” Adelina slowed, her face torn.
“Shari’s already dead. We have to help Zaarusha, and stop more murders.”
As they rounded a bend in the tunnel, Gret stepped from the shadows. “Ezaara, you’re back? What’s wrong? Where are you two going?” Before they could answer, her eyes flicked to the torch. “The imprinting grounds? I just followed Fleur and Simeon to the grounds’ entrance tunnel ... but there are no hatchlings up there now. What’s going on?”
“Zaarusha is missing. We believe Fleur may want to harm her.”
“Oh, fangs! Let’s go.” Gret ran alongside them, yanking another torch from the wall.
“How long ago did you see them?” Ezaara asked.
“Not long.”
“They must have run the whole way,” Adelina panted as they passed the infirmary and sped along the tunnel to a cracked wooden door.
Hinges creaking, Adelina yanked it open, revealing a steeply ascending tunnel. They stumbled up half-hewn steps, the flickering torchlight shadowing pitfalls that were a nightmare to negotiate.
On and on they went. “Zaarusha.” There was no answer, not a glimmer from the queen.
“How long is this cursed tunnel?”
“We’re about halfway.” In front of her, Adelina’s torch moved steadily upward.
A sharp cry rang out from behind. Ezaara spun, nearly losing her footing. Gret was on the ground, clutching her knee. Blood dripped from a deep gash that cut through her breeches into her knee. Gret’s torch rolled down the slope, coming to rest in a hollow, then guttered and died.
Ezaara knelt beside her. “Did you trip? I’ll go and find your torch.”
“Go on. I’ll catch up.” Gret’s eyes reflected the light from Adelina’s torch above. “You have to go. Now.”
“She’s right, Ezaara. We can’t delay. Come on,” Adelina called.
Torn, Ezaara dashed upward, leaving Gret injured and alone in the dark. It was wrong, on so many levels, for a healer to ignore an injury and abandon a friend.
Soon, air grew fresher. They were nearing an exit.
Adelina doused the torch, and they crept up the tunnel using their hands against the walls to guide them through the dark. Ezaara barked her shin against a rock, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out.
The exit led to a huge plateau, stars glimmering above. Brightly burning torches on the rocky walls illuminated a blood-chilling scene. Simeon was stroking a gray dragon’s head, while Fleur tipped the contents of a large bottle into its maw.
Zaarusha!
Her stomach dropped. The queen’s scales were dull gray. There was no iridescence, not a flicker of color in the torchlight.
“The queen is dying,” Adelina whispered.
Ezaara leaped across the plateau, her feet seeming to grind against the stone forever, as if she was pushing her body through syrup. A sickly green glow emanated from the queen, although Ezaara knew no one else could see it. Sathir.
Washed-out-gray, Zaarusha swallowed the substance. The queen’s head slumped to the ground and her body seemed to deflate—as if the life breath was leaking out of her.
It was no use. She was too late. “Zaarusha!” Ezaara’s mind screamed.
Hundreds of dragons roared mentally in reply.
Except the dragon she loved.
“No!” With a bellow, Ezaara barreled into Fleur, knocking her onto the rock. Fleur kneed her in the stomach. Clawed her face. Ezaara punched her, but Fleur was stronger than she’d thought. As they rolled and thrashed, she caught glimpses of Zaarusha’s scales, turning an ever-darker gray. With a desperate thrust, she flipped Fleur under her and drove her knee into Fleur’s groin, pressing her weight on Fleur’s torso.
Cool metal kissed her neck. “Not so fast,” Simeon said, behind her.
The sword’s kiss bit, cutting her skin. Warmth trickled down her neck, wafting the metallic tang of blood. A dark drop hit Fleur’s cheek.
Fleur grinned. “Bleed, wench.”
“Unhand my mother or my sword will bite deeper.” Typical Simeon, lyrical, even when threatening her.
“Scum,” she spat, releasing her grip on Fleur. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”
He yanked her to her feet, his sword rasping against her skin. She’d be no use to Zaarusha dead. Behind Simeon, a shadow slipped along the rocky walls. Adelina. Then another slower shadow. Gret. Ezaara had to keep Fleur and Simeon talking, to distract them.
Simeon pulled her to his side, eyes roving over her body. “Well, I certainly know what I saw in you,” he sneered.
“What have you done to the queen?”
“Pretty face, but pretty stupid,” Simeon said.
“Simeon,” Fleur warned, scrambling to her feet and dusting herself off. “Finish her off. We need to go. Ajeuria will be here soon.”
So that was
