Without Shari and Adelina’s love, he would’ve been a broken shell, stranded on a beach of grief.
The drums stopped. The only sounds were the soft breathing of the crowd and the birds warbling.
“It’s time, Ezaara. Do you remember what to do?”
“Yes.” Short and simple, but accompanied by a wash of warmth and a blaze of color that took his breath away. He’d done nothing to deserve this amazing woman in his life, yet she was here.
“You’ve let down your barriers,” Erob said. “You can finally be yourself with someone other than me.”
“It’s her. She makes it easy.”
“Maybe being an ignorant settler from Lush Valley was an advantage. She had no prejudices.”
“But I did. And yet she won me over.” Roberto stretched, trying to ease the ache in his shoulder. The fight with Ajeuria had been brutal, but she was safely in a holding pen. Within days, they’d know whether the swayweed had permanently affected her loyalty to her queen and the realm.
Above them, Zaarusha spread her massive wings and took flight. The sun caught her scales. A pale gray sheen dulled their usual iridescence.
“My mother isn’t strong yet,” Erob commented. “She needs rest so she can recover.”
Roberto nodded. They all did.
Zaarusha landed on the far side of the clearing beneath her den, and Ezaara dismounted. Her emerald eyes met his, and his breath hitched. She was gorgeous. Her hair hung in a honey-blonde silken swathe, catching the dawn light as she moved with grace through the crowd, head high.
People watched her, some gazes curious, some welcoming, others openly hostile. A far cry from the warm welcome when she’d first arrived at Dragons’ Hold.
Ezaara melded. “Are you all right? Any injures from yesterday?”
“None that you can’t heal. Ezaara, you saved our queen.”
“Thank the Egg.”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, actually, I couldn’t have done it without what Ithsar taught me.”
“I’m glad there was some purpose in us going to the Wastelands.” His skin still prickled whenever he remembered his slit gut and the assassins’ bizarre breeding plans.
“Good morning, Honored Council Leader.” Ezaara stopped in front of Lars, bowing. “As rider of Zaarusha, Queen of Dragons’ Realm, I, Ezaara, request that you begin the death rites for Shari, Honored Master of Livestock, who has recently died at the hand of a traitor.”
Murmurs erupted as people realized Ezaara had been reinstated as Queen’s Rider—and Shari had been murdered.
“I would be honored,” Lars replied.
The crowd quieted as Lars plucked at his harp. Face careworn, he sang of Shari’s ancestors across the Naobian Sea. Weaving a spell around the listeners, Lars sang of Shari’s life, her journeys, her brief sojourn among mages, and then of her imprinting with Ariana and coming to Dragons’ Hold to prove herself.
Ariana threw her head skyward and howled.
Roberto’s throat ached. Would Erob howl for him when he died?
“Stop being so morose, or I’ll howl right now,” Erob said.
Roberto held back his tears as Lars sang of Shari’s legendary gift with animals. But as Lars, gazing right at Roberto, sang about Shari’s compassion for her fellow riders, tears ran freely down Roberto’s cheeks, the sharp bite of salt on his lips.
§
Ezaara had never lost anyone she loved before, but it was obvious from Roberto and Adelina’s reactions that they both had, and that Shari had been dear to them. Roberto’s face was wet with tears as he cried unashamedly. To think this man had hidden everything behind a stone facade.
Shari’s life-song danced among the crowd.
How would she die? Death had seemed so distant when she’d taken her vows as Queen’s Rider. Would she plunge to her death amid a horde of bloodthirsty tharuks like Anakisha? Live her life enslaved to Zens like Roberto had been? Be murdered like Shari? Or killed in battle? Perhaps she’d die old, in Roberto’s arms. Or would she, too, lose her life to a traitor?
For a moment, Handel’s prophecy shot through her thoughts: Roberto’s beautiful features twisted by hate, lunging at her. She shoved the image away. No, not Roberto. He would never harm her. He loved her.
Shari’s life-song finished and the last quivering note of Lars’ harp died.
“When you die, I will sing of your courage, fearlessness and willingness to give everything for the realm and for the man you love.” Roberto’s thoughts brought a faint smile to Ezaara’s lips, even as she shed a tear for this woman she hadn’t had the chance to know.
The dragons of Dragons’ Hold joined Ariana in mourning for Shari. Their eerie howls reverberated off the mountainsides, making Ezaara’s arms break out in goose bumps. Since she’d woken, she’d maintained her awareness of sathir, seeing the queen’s vibrant connection wherever she went. Now, she opened her mind.
A rush of color enveloped her. The deep blue of Erob, the shimmering purple of Singlar, Vino’s vibrant red, and the brown of Ariana. Hundreds of dragons’ life threads were there, dancing across her vision, weaving from dragon to rider. Their loss surged through her and, for a moment, Ezaara faltered.
“This is why you’re my rider. Feel them, understand them and honor them.” Zaarusha strengthened her. Ezaara stood tall, letting their sorrow wash through her. “You will lead the realm beside me with compassion, courage and strength.”
Ariana took
