“If Jayah and I run, there is a good chance the glass dragon will follow us and your camp will be safe,” Golmarr says, ignoring Edemond’s last question. “But how do we survive its breath if we have no shelter?” He stands, and his head almost brushes the wagon’s ceiling.
Edemond looks up at him and swallows. “You can’t survive,” he says. “But the dragon never touches down in the forest. You will be safe here.”
“No, we won’t,” I say, standing and putting the hunting knife securely in my waistband. “The glass dragon is going to touch down because it is coming for me.”
“Hurry, man!” Golmarr shouts. “We need to get out before the glass dragon kills your people! How can we survive out there?” He turns to me. “Do you know?”
“If we were dragons, we would just have to breathe fire,” I blurt.
“That won’t work for us.”
“It is said that a thick cloak will protect your skin and lungs if you have no other choice,” Edemond says. He pushes past me and pulls open a drawer beneath the bed and starts pulling out clothing. At the bottom are several cloaks. He fingers through them and hands me two deep green cloaks, the same color as the forest roof. “Those are the thickest.”
I put the smaller cloak on and hand the other to Golmarr, but before he can put it on, a splitting crack reverberates through the morning, like lightning striking so close that no thunder follows. Women start screaming and dogs start barking. Something thumps down on top of the wagon, and outside, leaves are floating through the air like green snow. Golmarr throws the cloak on and pulls the hood over his head, and runs out of the wagon. Holding my staff like a weapon, I follow.
Pale blue mist as smooth as water glides along the forest floor. Every time Golmarr takes a step, the mist twists and swirls around his knees and follows him. People are running through the clearing, some carrying babies, some holding bedding, some wielding weapons. “Get inside now,” Golmarr bellows in a voice stern with authority. It carries with it a twinge of familiarity, and I realize I am hearing the voice of a future king.
Something cracks again, and the top half of an enormous tree splits and plummets to the ground. Branches thicker than my waist snap from the trunk, and splinters of wood sail through the air. I throw my arm up and shield myself with the cloak. When I lower the cloak, a foot with moss-colored talons steps into the clearing, followed by another as a green dragon settles onto the misty ground.
The sound of muffled screams resonates through the clearing, and faces are pressed against wagon windows, watching.
The glass dragon’s black wings fold against its dark green back, and it blinks red eyes as it studies me. Instead of the spiraled horns the fire dragon had, a stag’s horns, black as midnight, shoot out from this dragon’s head like twin branches that touch the forest canopy. I hear its laughter in my head and want to run. You defeated Zhun? You? it croons, its words quiet and tempered. I quiver and cling to my staff, and wonder what to do. From the corner of my eye, I see Golmarr draw his sword and dart out of the wagon circle, so it is just me facing the glass dragon.
My knees tremble, and my hands grow damp against the wood of my staff. “You will die by your own hand, Sorrowlynn,” I whisper to myself. I find enough courage to call, “Leave me alone, and I will never breathe a word.”
The dragon hisses and swings its tail, slamming it into a canary-yellow wagon. The side of the wagon is smashed to bits, and it tips over. A man and woman and three children climb out of the ruined wagon and run to another, but the dragon’s eye doesn’t even glance toward them.
The problem with humans is they never keep their promises. Pain and money are the great tools to make a fool talk. If I have learned one thing in my long life, it is to never trust a human, it says, and my mind is filled with so much hatred that I gag on the vile taste of it.
The glass dragon’s muscles flex beneath its thick green scales, and it lashes its tail at me. I dive to the side and roll out of the way, and then spring back to my feet, brandishing my flimsy pine staff like it actually might be a formidable weapon against a dragon.
The creature laughs again, a sound so loud and grating that I throw my hands over my ears and whimper, but the laughter is coming from inside of my head. I cannot stop it no matter how I try. The laughter quiets, and I peer at the dragon just in time to see it pull its head backward and then thrust it at me, mouth open so wide I can see past its rows of fangs, deep into the blackness of its throat.
My body acts without a thought. I lift my arm over my shoulder and throw my staff as hard as I can, right at the deepest part of the dragon’s throat. As the weapon leaves my hand, I fall to the ground, swinging the cloak over me and pulling it tight around my head and shoulders.
The smell of winter engulfs me. Icy air whips at the cloak, blowing it from my ankles. Searing cold bites at my bare skin, and I scream. The cloak grows tighter, pressing on me, squeezing against my body until my bones want to crack, and I cannot move. The ground beneath my forehead turns frigid as a fine dusting of ice crawls over it like hair-thin veins, and then my hair freezes. I struggle to breathe against the pressure of the cloak but can barely inhale.
Someone yells something, and I recognize Golmarr’s voice. “Help!” I gasp. The sound stays trapped in the cloak. I dig my fingers into the frosty ground and push against the cloak with all my strength, but I cannot move.
The cloak shudders around me, and then I feel it crack and split, allowing me to gasp a breath of air so cold I feel it stab into the deepest part of my lungs. The cloak cracks again and is tugged away from my head. Warm hands claw at my shoulders, and I stare into the frantic face of Edemond. “Hurry, lass!” he barks. He is holding a frost-tipped ax in his hand.
I try to move, but my feet are stuck. Edemond pulls harder against my shoulders, and I feel ice scrape my bare, numb ankles, feel the leather shoes torn from my feet, and then I can move. I crawl out of the frozen cloak and let Edemond drag me to the wagon I slept in. He shoves me inside and pulls the door shut behind us, slipping a wooden bar in place to lock it. “The young Antharian horse lord,” Edemond says, his voice filled with excitement. He presses his face to the window and motions me over. “Look! The creature fears him!”
Trembling with cold, I stand beside Edemond at the small window. The clearing looks like something from a fairy tale. The foliage and wildflowers have been perfectly preserved beneath a thick layer of crystal-clear ice, and the trees look made of colored glass. I see my green cloak, frozen to the ground like the cracked shell of a turtle, and shudder.
At the farthest edge of the clearing, Golmarr is standing before the glass dragon, his curved sword held in both of his hands. The blade gleams a pale blue in the light of dawn. The beast’s head is lowered so it is level with Golmarr, and it is circling him, its massive claws shattering the ice with every step. It pulls its head back to blast him with cold air, but Golmarr uses the motion to his advantage, leaping forward and slashing.
The dragon stumbles backward, crashing into two wagons and knocking them onto their sides. Golmarr dives toward the beast and rolls between its feet. When he tries to stand, he slips on the ice and slams down onto his back. Even through the window, I can hear the crunch of his head against the frozen ground.
“No!” I shriek, and turn from the window. With unsteady hands, I fumble with the lock, then throw the door wide and run back out into the clearing. The scene before me freezes my blood. Golmarr is flat on his back, his sword arm motionless on the ground, and the dragon is lifting its great, clawed foot over him.
“Golmarr!” I scream, and try to run, but the ice is too slick. My bare feet move, but they do not carry me forward. The dragon splays its claws, and as its foot comes down, Golmarr bursts into action, rolling to the side as the talons shatter the ice where he was a moment before. Golmarr holds his sword in both his hands and swings his blade at the back of the dragon’s ankle.
The creature shrieks and stumbles to the side, and Golmarr climbs ba
ck to his feet. He swings his sword over his head and stabs forward, aiming for the dragon’s chest. An intense hatred grips my head so strongly that I grab my hair in my hands and scream. Suddenly, I know what this dragon’s treasure is. “Don’t kill it!” I shriek. “Don’t kill it, Golmarr!” Just as the tip of his sword pierces one of the scales on the creature’s wide chest, the dragon opens its black wings and lifts its body into the air. Great drops of crimson blood rain down from its injured leg as it flies over the clearing and disappears behind a shield of leaves. Where the dragon’s blood has landed on the ground, the ice is bright red and steam is rising up into the air.
Golmarr wobbles and collapses to his knees. I slip my way toward him and slide to a stop at his side. Dragon blood streaks his sword blade, and on the tip is a gleaming emerald dragon scale with a small patch of bloody skin still attached. Taking his head in my hands, I gently probe the back of his skull. A bump as big as a chicken egg has already formed beneath his scalp. Careful not to cause him more pain, I part his thick black hair over the wound to make sure it isn’t bleeding, but yelp and lurch away, pulling my leg from his grasp. Pain is pulsing up my calf.
Golmarr reaches out and wraps his fingers around my ankle again, and the pain intensifies. His fingers are as hot as live coals. “Stop!” I hiss, and look down at his hand to see what is wrong with it. My skin is pale blue between his fingers.
“We need a fire as quickly as possible!” Golmarr yells. People are poking their heads out of their wagon doors, warily peering between us and the sky. “Please, someone help us! We need a fire as quickly as possible!” he calls again. No one leaves their wagons. “We just risked our lives to save you,” Golmarr growls. “If you help her, I promise that we will leave your camp as soon as we are well enough to.”
Edemond, still holding the ax he used to break me free from the ice, comes out of the pink wagon. “Alfenzo, Matteus, start breaking the ice so we can light a fire. Stefano, get kindling! I will get the wood.” Still barefoot, he hurries outside of the wagon circle, and a moment later, I hear the rhythmic thumping of an ax.
“I need blankets!” Golmarr shouts. “Jayah needs to warm up!” His voice is panicked.
“I’m fine,” I say. Golmarr lifts the skirt up to my knees. Blue veins are creeping up my legs beneath my skin. When I touch one, it is as cold as ice. And then I realize I cannot feel the ice beneath my bare feet. “My feet are numb,” I whisper. Golmarr pales and lifts me off the ice.
Wagon doors open and women laden with piles of blankets in their arms come out. Not giving a care about the ice, they all make their unsteady way toward me and, one by one, place the blankets at Golmarr’s feet. He grabs one and swings it around his shoulders and me, hugging me to him.
“I’m fine,” I protest, and try to push the blanket away, but my fingers are numb with cold and too stiff to bend. My heart begins pounding with fear, and when it does, I can feel the ice start speeding through my body. “Golmarr?” I whisper. “I can feel it in my blood.”
Frantically, Golmarr starts rubbing my arms with his hands, trying to force warmth into my skin as a group of Satari women circles us.
Mama puts her frail, wrinkled hand on Golmarr’s bare forearm. “We have bed-warming pans in several of the wagons. Melisande is getting them. Can you get the girl indoors, young horse lord? We can warm her better inside.”
He presses on the back of his head. “I’m too dizzy to walk with her.” The words come out in a sob. “Is she dying?”
I shake my head vehemently, but the old woman nods. “Her flesh was touched by dragon breath. Your wife is going to slowly freeze to death.”
Golmarr’s arms start trembling. “How can we save her? There has to be a way!”
“Fire,” I whisper, and yearn for the scorching heat of flames against my skin.
“We have to melt it out of her before it freezes her blood. It is going to hurt, but it has to be done,” the woman explains, her dark eyes filled with sympathy. She pats Golmarr on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, lad.” Turning from him she calls, “Enzio, come help this young man carry his wife to a wagon.”
A gangly boy about my age, with narrow shoulders and curly, dark hair, steps forward and carefully walks across the ice to us. He holds his arms out for me, but Golmarr doesn’t let me go. “Golmarr, I’ll be all right,” I whisper, running my stiff fingers through his hair. With a pained groan, he lets Enzio take me.
Despite his narrow frame, Enzio easily carries me to one of the biggest wagons. As the door shuts behind us, I can hear Mama giving orders to bring more blankets and hot broth to the wagon. Gently, Enzio lays me down on a bed and wraps the blanket securely around me, tucking it tightly beneath my feet. A woman enters the wagon with a brass bed-warming pan in her hands. She smiles at me and places the pan beside my feet. Another woman enters with a warming pan and puts it by my calves. More women come, each with a bed-warming pan, until I am surrounded on all sides. Next, they bring blankets and start layering them over me.
Enzio returns with Golmarr and helps him sit at a chair that has been moved beside the bed. Golmarr reaches beneath the covers and takes my hand in his.
“Your fingers are a little warmer,” he says. “How are your feet?”
I wiggle my toes and whimper as a gush of hot blood circulates through them. “They’re burning,” I say. Tears fill my eyes and trickle out of the corners. Each tear feels like fire on my skin. The scorching heat in my feet starts slowly flowing upward, making my legs feel as if the skin is melting from them. More tears fill my eyes, and then I start quietly crying. “It hurts,” I moan. “Get the covers off of me!” I start struggling against the blankets, but Golmarr stands and pins my shoulders down.
“You have to warm up,” he says, his eyes severe. I fight against him, but my body is still stiff with cold, and I can barely move. I wail and moan, and more tears burn their way down my temples and into my hair.
“It burns!” I shriek, thrashing against the covers. “Let me go!”
“I’m sorry,” Golmarr whispers, pressing more firmly against me. I arch my back and try to fling myself from the bed. “Enzio?” he yells. “Enzio! I need your help!”
Enzio steps inside and, without any instruction, pins my ankles to the bed. Kicking and shrieking, I try to break their hold until I am so drained I cannot find the energy to fight. Defeated, I close my eyes and sob while the heat pulses in time with my heart, and every pulse sends it higher up my body until it reaches my neck. When it gets to my face and scalp, the fire beneath my skin cools into comfortable warmth, and my eyes grow heavy. My body sags with relief, my eyes slip shut, and Golmarr cautiously lifts his hands from my shoulders.
“Here, have her drink this,” a woman says. Her voice sounds far away, but a moment later, someone lifts my head and presses a hot clay cup to my lips.
“Drink, Sorrowlynn,” Golmarr whispers. I part my lips and let a sip of hot, salty broth enter my mouth. When I swallow, I can feel the heat of it trickle all the way down to my stomach. I take another sip and turn my head from it. It is scorching my insides.
“We are warming water on the fire. When we have enough, we will put her into a hot bath.” I recognize that voice as Edemond’s. “Thank you for saving my people, Dragon Slayer. We are in your debt.” I crack my eyes open and peer through my lashes. Edemond is patting Golmarr on the back.
“I didn’t—” Golmarr says, but Edemond cuts him off.
“Of course you didn’t, Ornald. But whatever you and your love need, we will get it for you.” Edemond leaves the wagon, and it is just Golmarr and me inside. He leans forward and kisses my forehead, and I quietly sink into slumbering warmth.
“Bath time!” I jump awake and stare into piercing pale blue eyes. Melisande, Edemond’s wife, pulls my covers back, and I realize that for the first time in days, I am warm.
“I don’t want to get up yet,” I say, reaching for the covers. She yanks them away from me before I can pull them back on.
�
�We just spent an entire morning heating up enough water for you to soak in a hot tub. So get up.” She has her hands on her hips, and one of her toes is impatiently tapping the wagon floor.
She makes me think of Nona, and a smile pulls against my mouth. “All right.” I stand and stretch, and look for the tub. “Where am I to bathe?” I ask.
She grins. “Outside, of course. That way, when you are done, we don’t have to haul the water back outside to dump it.”
“Outside? But isn’t that…improper?” I think of Golmarr watching me bathe, and heat floods my cheeks. “What if…someone…sees?”
The woman laughs. “We might be forest dwellers, but we aren’t ill-mannered. I have already had the men tie up a barrier of blankets around the tub. Let’s go.”
I follow her out of the wagon, into the filtered green light of the forest. Only, not all of it is filtered. In the middle of the camp, where the dragon shattered the trees, golden sunlight is rippling through. Right in the middle of the sunlight is a circle of colorful blankets fluttering in a gentle breeze and hanging from ropes tied to tree trunks.
The ground is wet beneath my bare feet, and water seeps between the cracks of my toes every time I step. One spot I step on, the water gushes up pink, and I think of the dragon’s blood splattering the ground. Here, the flowers are sagging, their leaves a rotting black pulp.
At the circle of blankets, Melisande holds one up, and I step inside. A big brass tub is centered in the circle, and steam is rising up out of it. Without a word, Melisande lifts the pale yellow dress off over my head. She helps me out of my lace bloomers and holds them up with a quiet chuckle. My cheeks flame. “Wedding undergarments,” I explain.
Melisande steps in front of me, and one of her eyebrows is raised. She quickly lifts the camisole over my head. Holding her offered arm, I step over the side of the tub. As my leg sinks calf deep into the steaming water, I suck air through my teeth. “It hurts,” I say, leaping back out.
The Dragon's Price Page 15
