The Dragon's Price

by Bethany Wiggins

  He calls out a word I have never heard before, and my horse stops galloping. I nearly fly over the animal’s head as my momentum carries me forward. The stallion peers at me and then wanders over to the side of the road, to a patch of emerald-green grass, and starts eating. Golmarr turns his horse around and guides it over to me, and my eyes travel down his long, leather-clad legs and stop at his feet. They are bare.

  “You are stealing my father’s prize stallion,” he growls. My face burns with shame, but I hold my chin high and scowl into his furious eyes. He studies me for a moment, taking in my wild hair, pink cloak, and skirt, which is bunched around the tops of my boots, and his eyes narrow. “For my entire life, I have been told that your noblewomen are soft, submissive, and meek. You are not, are you?”

  “I certainly am,” I insist, glaring and folding my arms across my chest.

  Golmarr’s eyes soften, and then his mouth curves up at the edges and he smiles. His teeth are straight and gleam against his tan skin, and for some reason, when he smiles, my lips want to return it. “Did you like riding him?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, sighing and running my hand over the horse’s neck. “If I die today, I will be glad this is the last thing I did.”

  His smile fades. “Do you mean if you are offered to the fire dragon?” I nod. “They only feed you to the dragon if you refuse to offer yourself in marriage to my clan. Just say you’ll marry into my family and your mother will sacrifice a lamb in your place.”

  I think of Ingvar and his wife and shudder. “I will not wed your brother. I would rather die!”

  “What if I told you you could wed any of us?”

  I recoil. “You are all violent barbarians.”

  “You would rather be sacrificed to a dragon than marry an Antharian prince? Is your opinion of us truly so low?” he asks, glowering at me.

  I study him. Aside from the scabbed cut on his cheek, his skin is flawless, his eyebrows and eyelashes are as dark as his hair, and his fierce eyes are like a swirl of pale brown and gold and green. Looking at him makes my heart beat a little faster, and I want to smile again for no reason. Something stirs deep inside of my chest, and I cannot think of any words to answer him.

  At my silence, his eyes darken with anger. “So the possibility of being a future queen, of having wealth and power, of riding our horses whenever you choose, in clothing more suited to the sport”—he gestures at my skirt—“doesn’t make it all worth it? You would rather die a horrible death than marry a horse lord?”

  “I just turned sixteen! Being forced to marry a forty-year-old man—”

  “Ingvar is forty-two,” Golmarr interjects.

  “He’s old enough to be your father!”

  “Ingvar’s mother died in battle. My father remarried a younger woman, and she gave him two more sons.” He throws his hands up in the air. “What does his age matter, anyhow? He is the heir to the most prosperous kingdom in the world.”

  I shudder. “Being forced to marry a forty-two-year-old man who already has a wife is not worth any price! And they haven’t actually fed any princesses to the fire dragon for more than one hundred years!” I yell, and grab the pommel of my saddle as the stallion shifts nervously beneath me.

  “That’s because for the last hundred years your women have all willingly submitted to be married to our future king!” he yells back, leaning so close to me that his horse bumps mine, and I can see little flecks of gold around his pupils. “Aren’t you familiar with the terms of the Mountain Binding?”

  “Of course I am!”

  “The Mountain Binding,” he says, disregarding me, “is the agreement our two kingdoms made three hundred and six years ago. The reason your family always has girls, and mine always has boys.” He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “Do you know any of this? Don’t they teach you this when you’re a child learning to read? You do know how to read, right?”

  “Of course I know how to read,” I snap. “I told you, I am well acquainted with the terms of the Binding. I am well taught in all areas!”

  His black eyebrows slowly rise. “But you’ve never been taught how to wield a dagger.”

  I put my hand over my hip and press on the concealed weapon. “I beg your pardon? Why would you say that?”

  “Because if you knew how to use it, you wouldn’t carry it beneath layers of clothing. You would carry it somewhere easily accessible. Like this.” Out of nowhere he produces a wicked-looking dagger and twirls it around in his fingers a few times before slowly and deliberately putting it back up his sleeve.

  I huff my breath out and put my nose in the air. “I know how to use it,” I say, my voice haughty. In a flash, he is off his horse and pulling me down from mine. One of his arms cinches around my neck, the other pulls my body firmly against his, and I flail and thrash at him. I scream and scratch his arms, and try to pry myself from his grasp.

  “See what I mean?” he says, releasing me. I stumble away, and he grabs my elbow to make sure I don’t fall.

  “Do not touch me, sir!” I yank my elbow out of his grasp. Stepping farther from him, I smooth the front of my dress.

  “If you had been trained to use that dagger, you would have had it out the moment I grabbed you. Self-defense is the first thing a woman of your rank should be taught.”

  “My people aren’t violent like yours. I don’t need the dagger. That’s what the guards are for,” I say, mimicking Diamanta. I gather my long hair and start twisting it back up into a bun.

  “And when you are alone?”

  “I’m never alone when I’m in the castle, and I’m not allowed to leave the castle grounds.” Once the words leave my mouth I wish I could take them back.

  “You’re running away. Alone. With no way to protect yourself. And you’ve never been out there.” He waves his hand toward the Glass Forest. “Do you know why my family always arrives at your castle armed?”

  “Because you are bloodthirsty barbarians,” I snap.

  His eyes narrow. “The Glass Forest is infested with Trevonan renegades, Satari migrants, and mercenaries. If that lawless place is where you were planning to run, I think your chances will be better with the fire dragon. At least that way, you will have a quick death.”

  I glance at the distant forest. I have always wanted to see it.

  “When we are taught to read, we are also taught of the spell binding our two countries together. Do you know about the spell?” Golmarr asks.

  “I know every single word of it, since it has been drilled into my head since I was old enough to speak! Three hundred years ago your ancestor tried to take over Faodara by waking the fire dragon that lives in the mountains that separate our countries. The dragon wreaked havoc, so our ancestors found a way to lock it in the mountain. My nurse used it as a bedtime story.”

  Golmarr laughs and shakes his head. He takes a step closer, and for the first time ever I am glad that I am not short, because even with my height, it feels as if he is looming over me. “No. My ancestor did not try to take your land. Your king attacked Anthar, so my king woke the fire dragon, and it is not a bedtime story. It is in all of our history books.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, I am familiar with the accounts of the fire dragon burning both of our countries, cooking our soldiers in their armor, destroying crops and herds, until your ancestor begged mine to stop the dragon’s slaughter in exchange for ending the war and signing a peace treaty. They tried but the fire dragon wouldn’t stop its rampage. It had taken a liking to cooked human flesh.”

  He nods his head, and as if we read the exact same history books, continues, “Both of our ancestors combined all the treasure they possessed and bought a powerful spell from a wizard. To bind the fire dragon back inside the mountain, our two countries had to swear peace. To give the spell enough power to work, the Antharian king agreed that he and his progeny would bear only sons from that day forward. Your queens would bear only daughters. And each virgin daughter would be offered to the Antharian heir to renew th
e strength of the spell, or be fed to the fire dragon if she refuses to offer herself.”

  I ball my hands into fists. “That is so unfair! Four of my great-grandmothers have been stolen away by your people in the past three hundred years. Two have chosen to be fed to the fire dragon. Why are the women—the virgins, no less—always the ones who have to be forced into a marriage?”

  He shrugs, and I notice a piece of golden hay in his dark hair. “Your ancestor started the war, so you got the worse end of the deal. But none of your women were stolen away by my people. They came willingly and lived good, prosperous, fulfilling lives. Princess Sorrowlynn, if you do not offer yourself to my family, you will be fed to the fire dragon to renew the spell’s strength. If you do offer yourself, but we refuse, a lamb is offered in your place and you get to return home to your normal life.”

  “And if I offer myself and am forced to marry your heir?”

  “If you offer yourself and we accept, the dragon gets a lamb for dinner, and you get to come to the grasslands and learn to ride our horses. We’re not as uncivilized and bloodthirsty as you seem to think we are.” He steps even closer, and I can smell soap and cedar and leather. “Please,” he whispers, “just offer yourself.” I swallow and reach up to take the piece of hay out of his hair, but he grabs my hand and holds it against his chest. “I know we just met, and I know you were trying to steal my father’s horse, but I like you.” A slow smile warms his face, and I find myself staring at his mouth. “You make me want to smile for no reason. In my grandfather’s day, if a woman was brave enough to ride a horse lord’s stallion, he would drag her off and marry her. You are different from the other noblewomen of Faodara—fearless. I think you would like living in Anthar, and I think I would like having you live there.”

  He stares down into my eyes, and my heart starts to pound. Aside from dancing in a packed ballroom the night before, and the rare arm of support offered by a guard or a coachman, I have never been touched by a man. Not the way he is touching me now, his warm fingers entwined in mine, our faces close. And then my heart starts pounding for a different reason. “Wait…since I stole your father’s horse, are you saying I’m more likely to be taken as the wife of your heir?”

  He nods, and his fingers tighten on mine. “I wouldn’t mind stealing you away.”

  The quiet morning comes alive with the sound of horses. “I told you not to touch me,” I snap, and step away from him as five mounted guards circle us, their hands on their sheathed swords.

  “Princess Sorrowlynn, we have orders from your father to return you home immediately,” Ornald growls, glaring at the horse lord. His dark brown hair is standing straight up in the back, like he just rolled out of bed. “If you refuse, we have been ordered to return you by force.”

  I swallow and study my shoes. Ornald was there three years ago, the day I was whipped for riding astride. When my father drew blood, Ornald took the willow switch and broke it. He was the captain of the guard. My father demoted him to the lowest-ranking position with no possibility of advancement.

  Golmarr steps up beside me, so close that our arms bump. “Is something wrong?” he asks. “Last night I invited the princess to go riding with me. I did not realize Lord Damar would be sending guards after us.” I take a deep breath and look up. Ornald glances from the horse lord to me, his green eyes guarded. “I’m not familiar with your rules. If I broke some sort of conduct, I ask that you blame me, not her.”

  “You’re out all alone with our virgin princess,” Ornald snaps. “It didn’t occur to you that that is unacceptable?”

  “On my honor as a prince of Anthar, I swear to you that I have behaved with integrity and honor, and have had only the princess’s best interest at heart. My family and her family have a long-standing relationship of mutual respect. I meant no harm by inviting her out for a ride.” I glance at Golmarr from the corner of my eye. For a barbarian, he is well spoken.

  Ornald’s gaze moves down the horse lord and stops on his bare feet. “Where are your shoes, boy?” he asks.

  Golmarr looks at me and grins, and his eyes fill with mischief. “Princess Sorrowlynn was in such a hurry to leave this morning that I didn’t have time to put them on.” The guards laugh, Golmarr laughs, and I look right into his eyes and smile. “It doesn’t help that I slept in the stables, either,” he adds, pulling the piece of hay from his hair. “I had a feeling that the princess might want to leave before sunrise.” He winks.

  My eyes grow round, and my cheeks start to burn. He knew. All along he knew I was going to run.

  “Well, mount up, and let’s get back to the castle,” Ornald says, dismounting to help me mount the stallion. “Nona is hysterical. You are supposed to be getting ready for the ceremony, Princess.”

  I am bathed and oiled and perfumed. My nails are filed down, and my hair is braided into a coil around my head again. I am dressed in white lace bloomers and a matching camisole, four white petticoats, a voluminous white skirt, and a baggy white shirt that is buttoned up to my neck. Nona wraps a white pearl-encrusted corset around the white shirt. I don’t have the heart to fill my lungs as she laces it up, so by the time she is done, I can barely breathe, and the late breakfast I ate is being squished. When she is not looking, I tie a silk handkerchief around my wrist. Taking the dagger from my dressing table, I slide it beneath the handkerchief and let the baggy fabric of my sleeve fall over it.

  Nona presses a pair of white velvet slippers into my hands. Her fingers are like ice. “Put these on, love.”

  I point to the corset. “There’s no way I will be able to reach my feet when I am wearing this thing.” Nona shakes her head and kneels at my feet, helping me with the slippers. “They’re going to get ruined the moment I step out of the carriage.”

  “A major drawback to having the ceremony in the mountains,” Nona replies, standing.

  “White is so expensive. I don’t see why I have to wear everything white when it will get dirty. And pearls?”

  “The offering has to be a virgin, and white represents virginity. The fire dragon will know the difference. You also need to remember that if the Antharian heir takes you for his bride, tonight will be your wedding night. This may be your wedding dress.” She runs her fingers over the pearls on my corset, and I imagine they are Ingvar’s old, thick hands. This morning, Golmarr said that in his grandfather’s day, if a woman rode a horse lord’s horse, she would be taken for his wife. I rode a horse lord’s horse. Golmarr seemed to think that because of my actions, Ingvar will be more likely to accept me.

  “If I refuse them, will they truly feed me to the dragon?” I ask, my voice shaking.

  Nona’s plump cheeks pale. “Don’t refuse them, and we won’t have to find out.” She starts chewing her thumbnail.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She removes her thumb from her mouth and says, “You’re looking at this all wrong, Sorrowlynn. By sacrificing your own desires and saying you will marry the Antharian heir, you are protecting your people and the Antharian people from the fire dragon. You are sparing hundreds of thousands of lives. Do you recall that a century ago, the kingdom of Satar was destroyed by the stone dragon and the Satari fled to the Glass Forest? And in Ilaad, the people are now confined to their cities. They can only travel by boat from port to port, because if they set foot in the desert, the sandworm eats them. Now bend down so I can put this in your hair.” She holds up a pearl tiara. I lean forward, and she pins it into place. Before I can stand, she slips something over my head. An icy chain falls around my neck. “There. All done.”

  I look down. She has put a long gold necklace on me. It hangs as low as my belly button. I lift it and look at what is dangling at the bottom of the chain. It is an oval flask the size of my palm and almost matches the color of the pearls on my corset. I hold it up to the sunlight streaming through the window, and it glows orange.

  “What is this?” I ask, my voice filled with wonder.

  “Strickbane poison,” Nona says as matter-o
f-factly as if she had said water.

  “Strickbane?” I drop the flask. It pulls the gold chain taut against my neck and clinks against the pearls on my corset. Strickbane, even absorbed through the skin, is lethal.

  “It’s a family tradition,” Nona says, her brow furrowed.

  “Tradition? None of my sisters wore this to their ceremonies.”

  “You’re right. It is a new family tradition saved just for you.” She puts her soft, familiar hands on my cheeks like she did when I was a small child, and looks right into my eyes as she speaks. “If you’re fed to the fire dragon, you drink the poison and die before you’re eaten, because it’s better to be eaten dead than eaten alive. Just be careful and don’t open it unless you must. When Melchior gave it to me, he said it was a very important piece of a bigger puzzle. He told me that the poison contained in this flask is over one hundred years old, and you know Strickbane gets stronger with time. You will need only a single drop.” She lowers her hands and blinks. “What am I saying? You won’t need the Strickbane. You’re not going to be dragon food.”

  “Melchior gave it to you?” I run my finger over the flask. It is slightly rough to the touch, like sandstone.

  “Aye, the day before he left. He made me promise to give it to you for the ceremony. That is a dragon’s scale carved to hold the Strickbane. It is supposedly from the very dragon that resides in our mountains, if he still lives. Do you remember your line for the ceremony?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me hear it.”

  I drop the dragon scale and roll my eyes, and in a monotone voice say, “I humbly submit to give my life to the kingdom of Anthar, to be the wife of their future king, and unite our two kingdoms through the bearing of his sons.” The words taste like Strickbane in my mouth.

  Nona nods. “That’s good. I almost believed you. Remember, you have to say it three times to bind yourself to the promise. Once you’ve said it three times, you are committed. Now give me a hug.” She opens her arms and I step into them. Tears sting my eyes as she squeezes me hard against her. “You’re like a daughter to me, Sorrow. I wish you the best of luck and look forward to your safe return. I love you.” She kisses my cheek and then turns away from me as she wipes tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands.