The Dragon's Price

by Bethany Wiggins

  Jessen and Yerengul trot up to us. “We’re going to ride ahead and tell Father we found you,” Jessen says. “He’s not been feeling well since we returned, and we don’t want to give him too much of a shock.”

  “You nearly killed him with worry, Golmarr,” Yerengul says. “He will be glad to see you…with your self-proclaimed betrothed at your side, no less,” he adds with a wink. My stomach swirls at Yerengul’s words. I am Golmarr’s self-proclaimed betrothed. At the binding ceremony, he asked me to marry him—and I accepted. “Enzio, come on, man. We’ll let these two take their time arriving, but you, my Satari friend, look like you could use a good, hearty meal and a bath.” Jessen and Yerengul lean forward, and their mounts dig their hooves into the ground and gallop toward the city.

  Instead of following, Enzio turns to me and says, “I am your sworn protector. Would you like me to stay with you?”

  “No. Please go and have a bath and some food.”

  He grins and kicks his horse into a gallop, following Golmarr’s brothers.

  “Do you think we’re still betrothed?” Golmarr asks. “I made a solemn promise to you at the binding ceremony.” Speechless, I stare after his brothers. “I guess what I should be asking is…Sorrowlynn, if we are still betrothed, would you like me to ask my father to have it annulled?” He puts his hand under my chin and gently turns my face to his so I am looking at him.

  “I have to ask you something first.” The pit of my stomach swirls, and the air feels too heavy. “You said when you kissed me by the waterfall that I bewitched you with my magic.”

  He nods. “That’s how it feels.”

  “What if that feeling is for the dragon part of me?”

  His brow furrows, and he runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  I start rolling the leather lace of my shirt between my fingers so I don’t have to look at him. “It feels like you didn’t start liking me until after I killed Zhun—after I changed. What if I somehow influenced you with the dragon’s magic? Or maybe, because I healed you and a part of me went into you, I have bewitched you.”

  “You haven’t bewitched me. I love you, Sorrowlynn. It started the moment I realized you were going to try to steal my father’s horse and run.” I look at him, and my eyes fill with tears. When I blink, they trickle down my cheeks. “And then, when you stood in front of your Faodarian nobles and screamed that you would rather be fed to the dragon than married against your will or sent home with your father, I loved you even more.” He takes my face in his hands and rubs his thumbs over my cheeks, over the tears. “That first night in the cave, when you saved my life and got me to the lake, I woke up and your head was on my shoulder. Your teeth were chattering in your sleep, so I put my arms around you to warm you up, and we fit together perfectly. Holding you in my arms felt so right. I knew then that I wanted to hold you in my arms every night for the rest of my life. But when we were with the Satari and you told me you were going to leave with or without me because you wanted to protect them even if it meant you dying…” He stares down at me for a long time, his gaze moving over every inch of my face. “That was the moment I knew you had taken possession of my heart so fully, it would never be my own again. Those things have nothing to do with the dragon’s treasure.”

  My heart seems to swell inside of me as familiar warmth fills my chest. I have faced death, learned unimaginable things, and seen part of the world, all at this man’s side. In a mere eight days, I have lived a lifetime’s worth of things with him. I have gained the knowledge of hundreds of men and a dragon. If there is one thing I know with certainty, with all of the dragon’s victims’ knowledge and experiences lending to my minute and inexperienced wisdom, it is that what I feel for this man is intense, profound love. But the most important piece of knowledge stored with the many thousands of things is that love is precious, priceless beyond all treasure, and not to be forsaken. Wars have been waged by men, laws broken, families torn apart, treasures squandered, all for love.

  I put my frigid hands on Golmarr’s warm cheeks and stare up into his uncertain eyes. “The dragons have it all wrong,” I whisper. “I have the greatest treasure in the world at my fingertips.”

  “What is it?” he asks. His hands tentatively circle my waist.

  “Love. Love is the greatest treasure of all, and I love you, Golmarr.”

  His eyes slip closed, and a gasp of air escapes his body, as if he were holding his breath. He falls to the ground, kneeling at my feet, and clasps my hands in his. For once, there is no mischief in his eyes; they are more serious than I have ever seen them. Looking up at me, he says, “Sorrowlynn of Faodara, I plight thee my troth.”

  I kneel in front of him so we are face to face, and blink tears from my eyes. “And I promise to be true to you, Golmarr of Anthar.”

  “We need to kiss three times to make it binding,” he says. We both lean toward each other and our lips touch. When Golmarr starts to lean away from me, I grab the back of his head and hold his mouth against mine a moment longer before releasing him.

  Golmarr smiles and kisses me a second time, his lips more demanding, his hand twining in my hair. I sway backward with the power of the kiss and nearly lose my balance. Pulling away, he wraps his arm around my waist and slowly lowers me down into the grass so I am lying on my back, looking up at him, framed by the blue sky.

  I trace my hand over his chin and slide it around the back of his neck. “I knew I never wanted to live without you when you walked away from me to fight the fire dragon, but I didn’t realize what I was feeling was love until now,” I whisper. He stares at me with intense, hungry eyes, and then he takes my mouth with his again, kissing me with such need that I pull his body down onto mine. I run my fingers over his back and feel the solid mass of his torso through his shirt, the strength there.

  “I love it when you touch me,” he breathes. He kisses the side of my jaw, my ear, and then trails kisses down my neck. The sun burns red against my closed eyes, and his lips find mine again. I am so lost in the physical sensation of Golmarr’s mouth on my skin, on my mouth, of my hands against his body, that for a long time I think of nothing but him. The sun slowly moves farther across the sky, yet time seems to stand still. I almost forget everything but this moment. But not quite.

  When his mouth leaves mine and trails kisses down my neck once more, I press my hand to his cheek and say, “Golmarr, we’re not married yet.” The words hurt because I know they will put an end to this.

  He presses a moist, lingering kiss to my throat and then rolls to the side, balancing on one elbow. He is breathing hard, and his cheeks are flushed. With a frown, he says, “I wasn’t going to cross that line with you…yet.”

  His shirt is up around his ribs, exposing his firm, suntanned stomach. I place my hand on it, feeling the strong muscles beneath his skin. I slide my hand up over his ribs and press it against his heart. It is beating hard and so fast that the beats are all jumbled together.

  “Sorrowlynn,” he growls. I look up at him. His eyes are fiercer than I have ever seen them before. “You need to remove your hand from me right now.”

  I smile, and slowly, feeling every rippling muscle in his torso, trail my hand back down to his stomach and remove it. He pulls his lips tight against his teeth and cringes as if my touch has caused him physical pain.

  “You northern princesses may play innocent, but you, Sorrowlynn, are going to drive me crazy. You have me asking to court you in the morning, begging you to marry me in the afternoon, and then you can’t keep your hands off me!” He kisses me quickly on the nose and stands. “Come on. We need to hurry up and get around other people.”

  “Why?”

  “I think we need a permanent chaperone if we don’t want your mother’s army coming after me for ruining your good name.”

  We walk the rest of the way to town so I don’t have to dismount on stiff, unbending legs in front of a group of people who prize horseback riding above every other sport. We
cross a wide stone bridge that spans the Glacier River—the very river that flows down to the outskirts of Faodara—and when we step from the bridge, I pause and stare, for people are lining the city streets as far as I can see. They see us and start cheering, and a wave of panic makes it hard to breathe.

  Golmarr puts his arm around my waist, with his hand resting on my hip, and looks at me. “It appears as if my brothers told more than my father that I was coming home. Are you nervous?”

  I stare at the eager faces and nod. “I’ve rarely been around crowds,” I whisper. Golmarr’s arm tightens, and he kisses my forehead.

  “I’ll keep you safe, and I won’t leave your side. My father’s home—my home—is at the far end of town, close to the sea, so we still have a little way to walk. Will you be all right?”

  I nod. Together, we walk forward, and the crowd starts calling Golmarr’s name. Their beloved young horse lord has returned. As we walk down the cobbled street, with Golmarr holding the horse’s reins in one hand, his other hand holding mine, people throw flowers at us. Children dart out of the crowd and hold chains of woven blossoms up to Golmarr. With a smile, he kneels so they can place them on his head or around his neck. When he has so many that there is room for no more, he takes them off and puts them around my neck, or on my head, or tucks them into my belt or the laces on the front of my shirt. By the time we reach the other end of town, he and I are both covered with flowers.

  His people call a goodbye to us as we turn down a narrow dirt road. At the end of the road is a huge, two-story house, and behind it an open field with stables and grazing horses, and beyond that the blue-gray ocean. As we approach the house, people start pouring out of it: men, women, children of all ages. The children run to meet us, and the littlest ones throw their arms around Golmarr’s legs. “Uncle Golmarr!” they cry, and pull him away from me.

  Not far behind the children, Golmarr’s tall, strapping brothers and their wives come striding toward him, clapping him on the back or hugging him, laughing at his short hair and Satari clothes. With each new person greeting him, I am shoved slightly farther away, until I am standing at the edge of the crowd, holding the reins of the horse, and no one seems to realize I am here.

  Golmarr’s father comes out, and even from where I am standing I can see the tears on his cheeks above his beard. “My son!” he bellows. He walks up to Golmarr, and they throw their arms around each other. The crowd circles them, so they are surrounded by family. “I thought I’d lost you, boy!”

  “Not yet, Father,” Golmarr says.

  Suddenly, the people gathered around Golmarr and King Marrkul become still and quiet. They have all turned toward the house, toward a young woman. She is wearing black pants that hug the curves of her legs, and a flowing red tunic that hangs below her hips. A black belt holding a sword on one side and a knife on the other is cinched over the red shirt. Her dark eyes are like a brewing storm. As she walks toward Golmarr, her straight black hair flows out behind her, and if she didn’t look so furious, she would be beautiful.

  The crowd parts for her, quickly stepping aside before she can knock someone over. “How dare you say you’ll marry some weak northern princess just to save her from the dragon!” she growls, stopping right in front of Golmarr. She puts her hands on his chest and shoves him back a step. “No man deserves to be tied to a woman for the rest of his life because he feels it is his duty to protect her!”

  Golmarr puts up his hands. “Evay, can we please speak in private?” She smacks his hands away, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him. He grabs her shoulders so hard that even from where I stand, I can see his knuckles have turned white. I grip the reins tighter and resist the urge to yell at her to stop kissing him. Golmarr turns his head to the side so Evay is kissing his cheek and pushes her back.

  “I am still betrothed to that northern princess,” he says, and I can hear the anger in his voice.

  “Then have your father break it.”

  “No. I don’t want him to,” Golmarr patiently explains. “By my own free will and choice, I have given her my heart.”

  “You have given her your heart…just like that? But you’ve only know her a handful of days!” Evay snaps. “You have known me for years, yet you never fully gave your heart to me.”

  “You are right, but I don’t think you truly love me, Evay, and what I feel for you dims in comparison to what I feel for the Faodarian princess. You should be cherished and loved, and cherish and love in return. You deserve far more than we had.” Golmarr looks at me, and everyone gathered around him turns to stare at the forgotten companion he returned with.

  Evay’s furious eyes lock on mine, and she shoves past Golmarr. The crowd parts for her, opening a pathway that leads directly to me, and she pulls the sword from her belt as she stomps forward.

  “Evay, no!” Golmarr cries, but the crowd closes the pathway, sealing him away. “Move out of my way,” he shouts, fighting against them, but they are so transfixed on me and Evay that they ignore him.

  Without hesitating, I slide my staff from the strap on the horse’s saddle and balance on my toes as my heart starts pounding so hard I feel like it is going to choke me. But then I look at her—really look. She is one person, closely matched to me in size and height. She is not a dragon. She is not a muscular mercenary. My heart steadies itself, and I step away from the horse as a quiet confidence settles over me.

  Evay stops in front of me, and her eyes roam slowly over my body and fill with disgust. Surely, she won’t swing her sword, I think. Surely she is just trying to intimidate me. And then her sword catches the afternoon light as she waves it in front of my face.

  I recognize instantly that she does not mean to touch me with her blade, only scare me, but her actions fill me with anger, and I swing my staff up anyway. It shimmers in the sunlight as it clangs against Evay’s sword. Pressing my weapon to hers, I step close to her and stare right into her dark eyes. “I am no fool, Evay. You did not intend to touch me with your sword—just frighten me,” I say. “But I’m not scared of you. Not after the things I have fought.”

  For a moment the fury in her eyes is replaced with shock. Then her nostrils flare with anger and she swings her sword again, a blow that will injure me if I do not block it. So I slam her weapon aside and drive forward, attacking hard and fast. She stumbles back as she desperately tries to deflect my blows, but she is not as fast as I am, and not as strong as others I have fought in the last day. When I fight her, because of the dragon’s treasure, I can almost see what she is going to do before she does it, and so I have the advantage. From the corner of my eye, I see Golmarr. He has broken through the crowd to come to my aid, but is standing aside and watching instead as Evay desperately tries to defend herself.

  Within half a minute my arms start trembling, my heart feels like it is fluttering too fast, and sweat has beaded on my brow. I can feel the consequence of a week of near starvation, coupled with the strain of the fighting I have done in the same amount of time, not to mention my sedate life prior to going into the dragon’s lair. My hunger, my fatigue, and my physical weakness are going to lose this battle for me. I am my own worst enemy.

  Desperate to put an end to the fight, I swing my weapon behind Evay’s knees and thrust my foot into her stomach, knocking her to the ground. She lands on her back with a noisy thud, and I pierce the shoulder of her voluminous red blouse to the dirt with the tip of my staff. “I do not want to fight anymore,” I say.

  The air explodes with clapping and whooping. Evay shoves my staff from her shirt and rolls to her feet, glaring at me over her shoulder as she storms away. Golmarr steps up to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think she would actually—”

  “She wasn’t trying to hurt me at first. I provoked her,” I admit.

  He frowns and smiles at the same time. “You provoked her?” I nod and wipe the sweat from my brow with a trembling hand. He tips his head back and laughs, and wraps his arms a
round my shoulders. “I love you,” he says, loud and clear, for everyone to hear. “Come and meet my family.” I nod, but wrap my arm around his waist and lean into him because my body is so heavy with fatigue that I am about to fall down. “Are you all right?” he quietly asks.

  I shake my head. “I am so tired I can hardly stand,” I admit. “I need to lie down.” A single tear trickles out of the corner of my eye.

  Golmarr scoops me up into his arms and cradles me against him. I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his chest. “It looks like I will be carrying you over another threshold,” he says. We slowly walk through the gathered crowd. They peer at me curiously. Some of the children ask why their uncle is carrying me, but they are shushed by their mothers. Golmarr pauses beside his father, and the great man smiles at me as if it is totally normal for his son to carry princesses.

  “It is a pleasure to see you alive, Princess Sorrowlynn,” King Marrkul says. He looks to his son, and his forehead creases with worry. He puts his hand on Golmarr’s shoulder and leans in close to him. “Is she all right? What does she need?” He speaks quietly, for only Golmarr and me to hear.

  “Can you send Nayadi to my room?” Golmarr asks.

  Marrkul looks at me and nods. “Of course, but son, you have got to be careful. If we do anything that so much as hints at impropriety concerning Princess Sorrowlynn, we risk starting a war between our two kingdoms. We need to treat this situation with as much formality as possible.”

  “I already know that, Father. I have been as careful as possible, under the circumstances.”

  “Now go get her settled. I will send Nayadi to you.”

  King Marrkul’s house is made all of golden wood—the floors, the walls, and even the ceiling. Bright, colorful rugs and wall tapestries add color to the wood, and it smells like beef, onions, and potatoes inside.

  Golmarr strides through the house and carries me up a wooden staircase. With his toe, he pushes a door open and walks me to a bed, carefully laying me down on top of it. Taking my feet in his lap, he removes my red shoes and sets them down beside the bed. Next, he unstraps my belt and places it on the bedside table. He takes my staff from me and leans it in a corner of the room, and then pulls the bedcovers back and helps me under them. I press my face against the goose-down pillow and inhale. It smells like Golmarr.