The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(30)

Without lowering his sword, Golmarr leaps and hops down the rocks and stops in front of me, his eyes wary. I ask, “Do I look different?”

He examines my face for a moment and then stares intently into my eyes. “No, you look the same. But…” His gaze travels down my clothing and stops on my legs. Looking down, I almost choke.

I plop my butt onto the sand, with my legs stretched in front of me, and run my fingers over smooth, unscarred skin. Tears sting my eyes. I throw my head back and laugh. “Look at my legs, Golmarr!” I cry. “They’re perfect!”

Golmarr puts a hand on his right cheek, rubbing his skin. “My cut cheek is healed,” he says. I bite my bottom lip and nod. His cheek isn’t the only thing that has been healed. Holding his hands out, he examines his fingers. “Look, Sorrowlynn.” He steps up beside me so I can see his hands. They are wide, with long, narrow fingers that are the same golden tan as the rest of him, except for several small white scars on his knuckles. “Those are old scars from fighting,” he explains. “They didn’t go away like your scars.” He looks at his sword and then at the fire dragon, and back at me. “What happened?”

My vision glazes over as I remember. “He was hiding up there.” I point to the cave wall.

“He?” Golmarr asks, glancing around the dragon’s lair.

“The fire dragon was a he. His name was Zhun. When he came out of hiding, he blasted you with fire.” I look up to see if he remembers.

He runs a hand through his long hair, and it rains down around him like pieces of black straw. Next, he examines his stiff, blackened leather vest, the holes scorched into it, the missing metal armor plates, and below, the disintegrating once-white shirt. He lifts his shirt and inspects his suntanned chest. “Where are the burns?” he muses, looking at me. “Did you get burned?”

“Only a little. He ate my arm,” I whisper. Golmarr’s eyes take in my torn sleeve. “And the poison I was holding…and the knife from Melchior.” Pressing against my firm, hard ribs, I add, “He hurt me.” My body shudders with the remembered pain, and I pull my knees against my chest, glad that I am still sitting.

“And?” Golmarr prompts, kneeling in the sand in front of me.

“And the poison paralyzed him. He was helpless. You and I could have run, but you were unconscious, and I was too injured. I didn’t know what to do, so I took your sword and…” I swallow, remembering the glossy coating on the dragon’s eye. “I put it through his eye. He would have eaten you if I didn’t.” I lay my head down on my knees and shiver with cold.

Golmarr stands and walks to the lake, thrusting his sword into the water. He pulls it out and rubs it on his fire-stiffened leather pants. Holding it up to the light, he frowns, and a wave of regret makes my stomach hurt. Because of the dragon’s acid blood, by leaving his sword in Zhun’s eye, I have ruined it.

“Did his blood destroy it?” I ask. Golmarr is so intent on examining the weapon that he doesn’t hear me. I climb to my feet and sway back and forth, and then make my way to his side. “Did his blood destroy it?” I ask again.

He shakes his head and lays the blade across both his palms, holding it out for me to see. “Look at this!” The sword is so shiny it looks more like silver than steel. The emerald eyes of the dragon hilt catch the sunlight, making green orbs flicker on Golmarr’s bare chest where his vest and shirt are burned away.

“When a dragon dies,” I say, “its remaining energy and magic die with it in the form of fire. It is called death fire. Zhun’s death fire reforged your sword, changing the steel into something stronger than a human can make. This is a dragon death fire sword. A reforged sword.” I throw my fingers up over my mouth. “How do I know that?”

“Death fire, hey?” Golmarr asks. There is laughter in his voice, as if having me spew a history lesson on a subject I don’t even know is incredibly amusing. I look up and he leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. For a minute the cold shivering through me is chased away by warmth. “Thank you!” He looks around. “I wonder if there is any type of food in here.”

“The dark end of the lake has fish,” I blurt, and press my fingers to my forehead. “I don’t know how I know that, either. But a person can survive for weeks without food, as long as she has a source of water.”

Golmarr’s brow furrows, and he presses a hand to his stomach. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m not hungry. I feel…” He studies me a minute. “I feel like I just consumed a feast, only without the bellyache. I feel full. I feel like there is energy overflowing from me.” He shrugs his shoulders up and down a few times. “I feel better than I have ever felt in my life.” He looks right into my eyes and smiles. Dimples form in his cheeks, and I wonder how I never noticed them before. My gaze darts to his mouth, to his white teeth, to his lips, and I feel the overwhelming urge to grab his face in my hands and press my mouth to his. He might feed a hunger I never knew I had. The thought makes my head spin, and the ground seems to quiver beneath me, so I step away from him.

“So, Sorrowlynn,” Golmarr says, casually peering around the cave. “How did the fire dragon—Zhun—get in and out of here?”

Images of water flood my mind, of gliding through it, bubbles surging around me as the deep end of the lake presses upon my body. The water changes, growing brighter and brighter, and then I burst up out of it, and I am beneath blue sky, and my wings stretch wide as they catch the air in them. I soar up over snowcapped peaks. How I long for the open air!