The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(10)

“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.

“I love you, too.” I take as deep a breath as the corset will allow and walk out of my chamber to meet my fate.



The carriage ride to the mountains takes more than an hour, and since I am the offering this year, I am given the honor of riding in the royal carriage, sitting across from the queen and my father. My mother won’t look at me, and I can’t decide if it is because she is upset by the ceremony we are traveling toward, or if she is mad about me being caught astride a horse this morning.

My father won’t stop looking at me. Every so often he glances down at my white skirt and his hand twitches. If I am not fed to the fire dragon or given to the horse clan, I will be going back home to a life where I am never allowed to go anywhere alone, to parents who have never shown me love and rarely kindness, and to a whipping that will leave my legs cut and bleeding. I will be shut away again, and forced to watch the world from my bedchamber window—watch as my father dotes on my sisters and spoils them with gowns and ponies and feasts and outings to the market. I clench my teeth together and pull the curtains open to stare out the window and realize that before me are three completely different destinies and I want none of them. None!

“Shut the curtain,” my mother orders without looking at me. “The breeze is ruining my hair.” She pats her tall, powdered hair.

“Yes, my queen.” I pull the curtain shut and close my eyes.

Within minutes the carriage slows and then stops altogether. I pull the curtain open again and peer out. We have traveled to the very end of the road and stopped at the edge of a cliff. I have been in the mountains three times before today, for my sisters’ binding ceremonies. Each of those times I was deemed too young to be out in society, so was made to watch from a carriage. Today will be the first time I am allowed to get out. Before the coachman can help me down like a proper princess, I hop out of the carriage and hear my mother’s outraged groan.

I squint against the early afternoon sun as I stretch my aching legs and fill my lungs with fresh mountain air. Everything looks strange here—the jagged rocks, the pine and aspen trees, the wildflowers growing alongside the road. Even the air is different, filled with the smell of dirt and trees and the unknown. Tied to an aspen tree is a small, perfect white lamb. It is struggling against the rope around its neck, and for a moment I feel sorry for it.

At the cliff’s edge, facing us, stand King Marrkul and his nine sons. They are clad in leather breeches and leather vests over low-cut white shirts that expose half of their chests. On their hips hang their swords, and bows are slung over their backs. They look dressed for battle, not a formal ceremony. Standing in the middle of them, with five men on each side, is an ancient woman with a hunched back, withered hands, long white hair, and milky-white eyes. Despite her eyes, she seems to be staring directly at me, and all I can think is crone. Something pinches the back of my neck, hard, and I turn to see my mother. “What, my queen?” I ask, glaring and rubbing my neck.

“Curtsy,” she hisses from the side of her mouth, all the while smiling her practiced smile at the horse lords. I grasp my skirt in my hands and do as she says. The Strickbane poison dangles in front of me, the dragon scale flask shimmering in the sunlight like a lit lamp. The horse lords nod their acknowledgment.

When all the carriages have arrived, my three older sisters and their husbands come to stand beside me. “You look beautiful,” Harmony whispers, touching my hair. Gloriana grasps my fingers and kisses my cheek. Diamanta merely eyes my corset and nods her approval. I lean over to her and ask, “Who is that old crone?”