“I don’t know—maybe I’d like to play with her a little first, mother. Ajeuria can carry three.”
If they took her, she’d have no chance of saving Zaarusha. “Why? Why did you do this, Simeon?” she asked, stalling. “I trusted you. You could’ve wooed me and ruled beside me.”
“And lose the power Zens will give me?” Simeon scoffed. “His vision of the realm is far superior to anything dragons can offer.”
Violence and hatred and an army of monsters? Superior to dragons and bonded riders protecting a realm? Simeon was far gone.
Fleur strode to Zaarusha and placed her hand on the dragon’s forehead. “She’s waning. It shouldn’t take long now. Soon the realm will have no queen.” She grinned.
Guilt knifed through Ezaara. She’d chosen Roberto instead of Zaarusha, and now the queen was dying. “What are Zens’ superior plans? If they’re really that good, maybe I should join you. I don’t want to be on the losing side. I’ve always liked you, Simeon.”
“You really think I’m that dumb? I’m not going to fall for—”
Adelina appeared behind Simeon, driving her knife up into his armpit. He released his blade, crying out.
Pulling her sword from its scabbard, Ezaara leaped toward Fleur, but she was too late. Gret was already there.
Fleur and Gret’s blades clashed and scraped as they fought, the sounds grating on Ezaara’s bones. Gret’s blade work was as good as ever, but her blood-soaked leg slowed her.
With calculated moves, Fleur drove Gret past Zaarusha, pushing her ever closer to the cliff edge. Gret stumbled, but raised her sword to deflect Fleur’s blow to her head.
Ezaara raced toward them.
Zaarusha! No one was saving Zaarusha.
“Ezaara,” Adelina screamed.
Ezaara spun. Simeon was wrestling Adelina.
Flapping filled the air. She whirled again. Ajeuria dived at Gret, grasping talons outstretched.
With a desperate spurt, Ezaara shoved Fleur sideways, and dragged Gret back from the edge. Ajeuria roared, swooping down. Gripping her sword with both hands, Ezaara thrust it upward, aiming for the green dragon’s soft belly.
A roar split the air. In a flash of midnight blue, barely visible against the dark sky, Ajeuria was yanked backward, screaming and twisting. Erob—with a death grip on Ajeuria’s neck, Roberto flat against his back. The dragons writhed, plunging toward the valley below.
The air filled with the rumble of a rockslide. No, the flapping wings of a hundred dragons. Dragon cries ricocheted through her head.
“We’re coming.” Singlar.
“We heard your call.” Septimor.
“Save the queen.” Vino, Jaevin’s dragon.
They were coming. All of the dragons of Dragons’ Hold had heard her desperate cry that the queen was dying.
But only one person could save Zaarusha.
Ezaara raced over to Adelina’s bag near the tunnel and snatched it up. Gret was still fighting Fleur. Adelina was battling Simeon. Roberto and Erob could be killed. Ignoring it all, she raced to Zaarusha.
Weak puffs of air issued from Zaarusha’s nostrils. Ezaara laid her hands on the queen’s skin. Nearly cold. Her scales were dark and flat.
Gods, gods. Please.
“Zaarusha.”
Nothing, but she kept melding, talking to the queen. Focusing, Ezaara reached for sathir. A faint glimmering thread of life clung to Zaarusha—sickly green.
Hurry. Hurry. Her fingers fumbled as she opened the bag. No, she needed to see sathir. To be calm. Breathing deeply, Ezaara examined the bag’s contents, pulling corks off jars and vials, and sniffing.
Woozy weed. Dragon’s bane. Some foul-smelling green stuff. Clean herb. Rumble weed. More of that ghastly sleeping-draught poison. Clear-mind. The antidote to limplock. A little blue bottle of clear liquid. Bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. How in the Egg’s name could she know the correct cure?
Ithsar’s lizard, Thika, came to mind.
Focusing on sathir, Ezaara held the bottle of the sleeping draught poison by Zaarusha’s slumped head. A sickly green emanated from the bottle. The poison dimmed Zaarusha’s life force. Good, hopefully the cure would show too.
She held up a vial of limplock remedy. Nothing.
The dragon’s bane. Dimmer.
What about the woozy weed? Again, nothing.
Zaarusha’s breathing was slowing, barely audible.
Around her, the sounds of fighting dimmed as she focused on the queen, willing her to consciousness.
Her hands shook as she held up item after item. The pale green thread faded until she could hardly see it. No, she was losing Zaarusha.
Wait, it was her. She’d just lost focus and couldn’t sense sathir. She had to calm herself. There, the thread was back, but weak. There were now only three unidentified items left in Adelina’s bag.
Ezaara held up a jar of Fleur’s healing unguent. Dimmer and sickly green—so that was laced with weak poison too. She grabbed the next, a blue bottle, and held it near Zaarusha’s head. A faint golden glow surrounded the bottle, connecting with Zaarusha’s life thread, making it shimmer with gold light.
Just to be sure, Ezaara checked the last substance. Nothing.
Relief washed over her. She had the antidote. But how could this tiny bottle save such a massive queen?
Tooth and Talon
Roberto clung to Erob’s back, his arms through the hand grips and legs cinched tight in the stirrups. His stomach somersaulted as Ajeuria bucked to free Erob’s fangs from her neck.
Her tail lashed Erob’s side, the tip slamming into Roberto’s leg. He gritted his teeth, hanging on. Melded with Erob, Roberto felt Ajeuria’s talons rake Erob’s belly. The dragons snarled, twisting and thrashing.
Below, the pines were like an army brandishing lances at the sky.
“She can’t hold out forever,” Erob said.
“We don’t have forever,” Roberto melded. “Any moment now, we’ll be speared on those trees.”
Ajeuria blasted flame at Roberto as they plummeted earthward.
§
A hand grasped Ezaara’s shoulder. “How can I help?” asked Lars.
“We need to feed this antidote to Zaarusha.”
Nodding, Lars pushed Zaarusha’s upper lips onto the sharp tips of her fangs, making the dragon
