The Dragon's Price by Bethany Wiggins
My opponent growls with fury and leaps at me, crushing my body to the ground with his. I stare into his dark eyes as cold steel presses against my throat. “Seems I caught myself a warrior woman,” the man growls, pressing his dagger harder against my skin. “If I take you home with me, do you think your family will pay to get you back?”
I feel sick at the thought of this man taking me and holding me for ransom. What’s worse, if this man discovered I was a Faodarian princess and held me for ransom, I do not know if my mother would pay anything to get me back. She might leave me to a life of slavery. But there is something about me that the brute overlooked. I quietly thank Melisande for buckling the belt around my waist earlier as I pull the hunting knife from it and quickly drive it into the man’s side. “You are not taking me anywhere,” I say, and yank it back out.
His eyes grow wide, and he lurches away from me. “You wench!” He swings his dagger at my face, but I block it with my knife and quickly roll to my feet. He stands and swings the blade at me again, but wobbles. Pressing a hand to his side, he holds his bloody fingers before his astonished eyes. “You cut me good, and you’re going to pay for that.”
“No, I am not,” I answer. I dealt him a death blow, and even if he doesn’t know it, I do. It is only a matter of seconds before he bleeds out. He lifts his knife and runs at me.
“Sorrowlynn!” Golmarr screams from behind. I don’t look at him because I know—thanks to the dragon’s treasure—to never take my eyes from my opponent. Before the man’s knife is close enough to cut me, I whip my staff against his hand, and his weapon goes flying through the air. He loses his footing and falls to the ground at my feet just as Golmarr reaches me.
With a gut-wrenching jolt, I feel the man die and grip my stomach as his knowledge and memories fill my brain. A horrifying realization hits me: not only did I absorb all of the knowledge that Zhun possessed, but I inherited his means of gathering what he considered treasure—when I kill, I steal my victim’s knowledge. I fall to my knees and groan. Golmarr puts his sword tip between the man’s shoulder blades and flexes his muscles to deal a death blow. “He’s already dead,” I blurt, loath at the thought of watching the man get stabbed again.
Golmarr looks from the thick set of shoulders beneath his sword to me. “You killed this renegade?” he asks.
I squeeze my eyes shut and nod. “I killed him, but he is no Trevonan renegade. He’s a mercenary, born and bred here in the forest, and more are coming. All of the vilest men who hide in the forest are coming.”
“Why?”
“The glass dragon. Somehow it is speaking to their minds and sending them to kill me.” I look around the camp. The fighting has ceased, but there are a handful of dead bodies lying strewn on the ground. “We need to leave right now, Golmarr.”
“Let’s quickly help them bury the dead first.”
I stand and grip the front of his light brown shirt in my fists. “If I stay, more people will die, and it will be because of me.” My eyes fill with tears. “I am leaving with or without you, if it means saving these people, even if I die!” The tears spill down my cheeks.
He studies me with solemn eyes, and then he presses his hand to his chest and crosses his index fingers.
I sniffle and blink more tears from my eyes. “Does that mean you won’t come with me? Does that mean goodbye?” I ask, and the thought hurts so much that I am tempted to knock him over the head and drag him away with me if he won’t come of his own free will.
He shakes his head and frames my face in his hands, wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “I will follow you to the end of the world, Sorrowlynn of Faodara.” He leans down and puts his lips against my forehead, so soft and sweet and tender that more tears wet my eyes. The contact fills me with warmth, and hope, and joy—feelings so opposite from those still lingering in my mind from the mercenary I killed.
I wrap my arms around Golmarr and lean against his chest. His strong arms close about me and hold me. Silent, I stand there and simply exist in the shelter of his arms. After a long moment, I say, “Let’s go.” I step away from him, but he grabs my hands.
“Give me two minutes to ask Edemond for horses and a bow and arrows.” He waits until I nod, and then strides off across the clearing. I kneel and wipe my hunting knife clean on the lush ground. Someone steps up to me. For a moment I stare at worn brown boots peeking out from beneath a red skirt. Peering up, my eyes meet Melisande’s. Slowly, I stand and sheathe the knife.
Her bottom lip quivers, and she squeezes my shoulder in her hand. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
I nod and think that if I weren’t here in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to save her, because the mercenaries wouldn’t have come to her camp. But I don’t say that. Instead I say, “You’re welcome.”
She looks me up and down and asks, “How did you learn to fight like that? The rumors we hear of your kingdom say your women are weaklings who don’t know how to swing a weapon. And you, with nothing more than a walking stick, saved my life!”
A hint of a smile softens my mouth. “The noblewomen of Faodara are not taught to fight. I am the exception.”
“Is that why you chose to face the dragon instead of marrying? Because you wanted to fight it?” She glances across the camp, at Golmarr. “Why did you choose the dragon over him? Look how handsome he is! You seem to like him well enough, and I saw him give the hand signal that he loves you just now.”
My heart starts thumping. “Wait. This?” I press one hand to my chest, and then cross my two pointer fingers. “This means I love you?”
She crosses her fingers and says, “Friend.” Pressing on her chest, she adds, “Of my heart. Or heart friend. That is how the horse clan says, I love you.”
My body overflows with warmth. I look at Golmarr and find him staring at us with his head tilted slightly to the side, and I am wrapped in such a feeling of peace I can’t help but smile despite the death surrounding me.
“Why did you choose the dragon?” Melisande asks again.
“Because being eaten alive seemed like a better choice than going home with my father or the horse clan,” I say, staring at Golmarr’s back and broad shoulders as he talks to Edemond. “I was a fool. If I could do it all over again, I would just outright ask to be betrothed to Golmarr.”
“So you love him, too?” Melisande asks.
“I don’t know what being in love feels like. The thought of not being with him hurts. And when I kissed him last night…” I swallow.
Melisande fans her face and clears her throat. “Yes, I think we all felt the attraction there.” She looks over my shoulder. “That was some kiss you shared with your wife last night, young horse lord.”
My skirts swish against my legs as I flip around and find Golmarr standing behind me holding the reins of a saddled horse in one hand and a saddlebag in the other. He has a bow and quiver strapped to his back, and a mischievous smile graces his face. “I can’t keep her hands off me,” he says, but then he frowns. “She’s not truly my wife—you know that.”
“I suppose not. But she should be!” she blurts.
Golmarr shrugs, and his clean-shaven cheeks turn bright pink beneath his tan skin. “Maybe one day she’ll agree with you,” he says, looking at me.
“Maybe she already does.” Melisande winks at me, and I stiffen. She laughs and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “Goodbye, Princess Sorrowlynn. I will never forget that you saved my life today.”
Edemond and Enzio, leading another horse, approach us. Edemond stands behind his wife and puts his arms around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I hear we owe you thanks for her life, Princess Sorrowlynn,” he says. “To repay the debt, my son would like to travel with you.”
Enzio, armed with a bow and a short sword strapped diagonally across his back, steps forward and goes down on one knee before me. “If you will have me, Princess Sorrowlynn, I will cross the forest with you and Prince Golmarr and see you safely to Anthar.
The people moving about camp stop what they are doing and gather around us. “Please, Enzio, there is no need to kneel to me,” I whisper. “No one has ever knelt at my feet before.” Enzio makes no move to stand.
Golmarr steps to my side. Leaning close, he whispers, “You call yourself a princess? He is offering you his protection. Refusing him will dishonor his family. Thank him and accept his service!”
I firm my shoulders and try to soften my face to regal gratitude. “Yes, Enzio. Thank you. I accept.” The glade erupts in quiet cheering as Enzio stands. He holds his head high and proud.
“Thank you, my son,” Melisande says, kissing Enzio’s cheek.
Golmarr claps Enzio on the shoulder. “Thank you. Your presence will be a great relief. I am happy to have you along.” Golmarr mounts his horse, and Enzio mounts his. Taking my staff from me, Golmarr slides it into a strap attached to the saddle. I stare at the two mounted men and wonder where my horse is. Golmarr lowers a hand down to me. “You’re riding behind me,” he says. A young man kneels at my feet and cups his hands for me to step into. I put my red leather shoe into his hands and grasp Golmarr’s wrist and they swing me up behind the saddle. My skirt crawls up to my knees, and as I move to yank it down, I pause. Every person in this camp has already seen my naked legs. Sighing with resignation, I lightly put my hands on Golmarr’s waist and wonder what my mother would say if she could see me now.
With Enzio in the lead, we ride out of the clearing, and the children run alongside us, throwing flowers before our horses’ hooves and blowing kisses at me. I smile at them and blow kisses in return. “She blew a kiss at me,” some of them squeal. As the forest thickens around us, the children stop running and instead call goodbye.
We haven’t been riding long when I realize my body is so heavy that I can barely sit straight. I reach my hand up to stifle a yawn, and it is trembling. Throwing propriety to the wind, I wrap my arms around Golmarr’s waist and clasp my hands in front of him. Turning my head sideways, I lean it between his shoulder blades and close my eyes. Within seconds, the steady beat of his heart combines with the gentle motion of the horse and lulls me to sleep. As darkness claims my exhausted body, my hands slide apart and I start to tip, so I jolt awake. I clasp them once more, and this time Golmarr wraps his hand around them, holding them securely together.
He turns and looks at me over his shoulder. “You’re battle weary. Sleep, Sorrowlynn. Sleep. I won’t let you fall off.”
A spear flies at me, and I roll out of the way. When I get to my feet, I am standing on a hillside, and below me the ground is crawling with armed men. I know the men with the red griffin emblazoned on their shields. They are my men. I am their commander. I am the one who planned this attack. We will destroy the Antharian barbarians, and when we do, we will claim their land and their women and children for my king. My king will rule from the northern cliffs all the way to the southern sea.
With a single glance, I can see the perfection of this battle, with my men on higher ground and another force of my Faodarian soldiers coming up from the rear to surround the barbarians. With this battle, we may win the entire war. I thrust my sword in the air and prepare to fight, when I see a shadow speed over my men. I look up to the sky, and all of my hope to win this battle is vanquished. “Fire dragon!” I shout, and as the great beast flies over me, a ball of fire leaves its mouth and…
I wake to warmth. It takes me a moment to realize it is the warmth of Golmarr’s back against the front of my chest and cheek—not dragon fire. His hand is still secured tightly around mine.
“Will we reach the border by nightfall?” Golmarr asks. His deep voice rumbles through his rib cage. “And are there any camps between us and Anthar that you know of?”
“Nightfall, if not earlier. The Black Blades have a claim to the southern region. Unless there are mercenaries squatting on our land, there should be no one between us and your border,” Enzio says. “But we are not taking the normal trail to Anthar. I will not risk crossing paths with mercenaries or renegades. Not when we have a princess to protect.” After a long pause, Enzio says, “I must have your word as an Antharian prince that you will not reveal the secrets of the forest. Not even to your father!”
“On my honor, I will keep your secrets,” Golmarr says.
I pull my hands away from him and sit tall. My back is so stiff that I wince. Golmarr rests his hand on my bare knee and peers over his shoulder. I stare into his close eyes and wonder why I used to think they looked so fierce. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
Like there are so many emotions coursing through my body that I can scarcely draw breath, I think, glancing at his hand on my knee. His mere touch almost has the same result as his lips on mine. “My body hurts,” I admit.
“That’s from the fighting, a side effect of not conditioning regularly. When we stop for the night, we can spar. It will hurt at first, but it will loosen your tight muscles.” He lifts his hand and turns back around. I close my eyes and smile. I like how Golmarr’s touch makes me feel.
The forest looks the same as ever. It is reminiscent of being in the cave and seeing nothing but darkness, only we see nothing but green. We could be walking in circles for all I know, except I can see the path before us, and there are no fresh prints on it. And yet it is beautiful beyond my wildest dreams. Endless birdsong fills the air. When the wind stirs, it ruffles the roof of leaves overhead, opening it in places so pieces of golden sunlight shine through like stars. I close my eyes to breathe in the smell of the forest, and instead smell Golmarr, so I inhale more deeply. If I could make a moment last forever, this would be it.
Enzio stops his horse, and we stop behind him. Pressing a finger to his lips, he motions to the right and then turns his horse into a dense thicket of vines that hides him completely. Golmarr guides our horse into the vines, and I peer over his shoulder to see where we are going. On the other side, the foliage is much denser than the trail we were traveling. At first glance, it is just wild overgrowth, but then I can see the faint markings of old travel on the ground. Enzio dismounts, hands Golmarr his reins, and goes back to the trail we just left, walking a little farther down it. When he comes back, he rustles the vines and closes them so there is no evidence that we have come through this way.
He presses a finger to his lips again, and our horse follows his. We enter a tight tunnel of green that is so dense I cannot see any traces of sky. If I lift my hand, my fingers will trail over the lush tunnel ceiling. The ground begins to gradually slope downward. Our horses weave their way through the thick, clinging underbrush. Branches and vines scrape at my bare calves, and would hit my face if Golmarr didn’t put his arm up to block them from the two of us. We go on this way for some time, while the ground slopes ever downward. The birds keep singing, and a breeze whispers through the forest, but the air grows darker.
Leaning against Golmarr’s back, I rest my chin on his shoulder and whisper, “Is it already sunset?”
When he turns to answer, his face is so close to mine I can feel the warmth radiating from it. “It is early afternoon. I think we are in the shadow of the mountain.” He turns back around, and I leave my chin on his shoulder.
We descend a steep patch of ground, and when the ground levels out again, the tunnel of green we have been traveling through opens up into forest once more. There is more birdsong, and a quiet rumble fills the air. The farther we go, the deeper and louder the rumble becomes. The air changes, too. I sit up tall and gasp. Reaching my upturned palm out, I watch as a snowflake drifts down and lands on it. I close my hand, expecting the flake to melt, but it is not cold. I look up. The dark green roof of the forest is speckled by floating white flakes. They fill the air, gently dancing on the wind. Some have settled in Golmarr’s dark hair. Without a thought, I run my fingers through it, sifting the fluff out.
“What is this?” I ask, holding my hand out to his s
“Cotton. From the trees.”
I stretch my arms out to my sides and tip my chin up, letting the cotton swirl around me. Ahead, between a gap in the trees, a white veil of water is falling down the side of dark gray stone. Enzio stops his horse beside the falls and gets down. “I’m going to backtrack and make sure our tracks are hidden,” he says, and ducks into the foliage. The moment he is behind the leaves, he seems to disappear.
Golmarr dismounts and holds his hands up to me, and I fall into them, throwing my arms around his neck. When my legs touch the ground, they are so stiff and awkward that I tighten my hold on Golmarr to keep from falling.
“Easy,” he says. “Your body isn’t used to riding. It’s going to be stiff every time you dismount, so you need to expect it and be prepared.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, and let go of him. In some tucked-away part of the fire dragon’s treasure, I remember the stiffness born of long riding. I can handle it. But my knees nearly buckle when I try to walk, and I stumble. A wave of frustration hits me. The memories I have, the human memories passed on to me, are from men and women who were much stronger than I am. I keep expecting my body to respond the way my memory says it should, but I am weak and soft.
When my muscles decide to react again, I look at the waterfall filling the air with its loud rumble, and all the frustration of a moment before is whisked away. The water spilling down the side of the cliff is white and no wider than my outstretched arms, but I have never seen something so simply beautiful. Mist is rising up from where the waterfall hits a wide, shallow pool. I step into the mist and close my eyes, slowly turning in a circle as the cool, damp air clings to my hands and neck.