The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(32)

Ahead, in the black depths of the tunnel, orange orbs are moving toward us: hundreds of them, a river of them flowing along the curve of the narrow passage. “Mayanchi,” I whisper. “If you thrust your weapon into their hide, their scales close around it, holding it in like barbs. That is why your sword got stuck in one,” I explain. “Strike the underbelly. It is soft, with no scales.”

Golmarr coughs. “All right,” he says, voice unbelieving. He assumes a fighter’s stance and waits for the Mayanchi to come to him, where there is just enough light by which to fight them. I do not wait. I charge the glowing eyes, blade grasped in my hand, my bare feet pounding the sandy ground, and for a split second I wonder what in the world I am doing. I don’t know how to fight! Yet I do not slow.

I reach the nearest creature and my weapon blurs through the air as I roll to the ground, slicing the Mayanchi’s underbelly. One slice with enough force will kill it instantly. I know this like I have killed a hundred of these creatures. But this one does not die. I lift my arm to swing again, confused, and my muscles shudder and fail to do what I want. What I need them to do. I am weak.

Golmarr slides to a stop at my side, his blade dancing through the near-black tunnel as he battles the little Mayanchi. His muscles and body, unlike mine, are doing just what they should: fighting with strength and precision. For a heartbeat I watch him, silhouetted against the distant entrance to the dragon’s lair, and reverence settles over me. He is well taught, his movements those of a disciplined warrior.

I roll to my knees and thrust my dagger into the Mayanchi’s underbelly. For a split second, I feel a blade pierce my belly, and a surge of desperate fear chokes me. My mind expands as the Mayanchi’s intelligence fills my brain, and all of a sudden, I know this small creature that I have just killed. Tears prick my eyes, and I drop my blade.

“Stop!” I wail, grabbing Golmarr’s arm midswing to prevent him from killing again. “They mean us no harm!” Golmarr shoves me behind him to protect me, but I shove back, thrusting myself between him and the mass of glowing-eyed Mayanchi. “Stop it, Golmarr! I know what I’m doing!” The Mayanchi gather at my feet and hiss at Golmarr. “They mean us no harm,” I say again, pressing my hands against Golmarr’s chest to hold him back. “They mean me no harm,” I add, turning my back to him—a human shield to keep him safe. “They served Zhun. Now I am…the one they serve,” I whisper, and shudder at the thought. I crouch down so my eyes are level with the little dragons’ eyes and hope they can understand me. “I know I can’t speak to your thoughts like the fire dragon did, but I forbid you to hurt him. Hurting him would be like hurting me. Go from here and be at peace.” The mass of Mayanchi back away from us and then turn and disappear into the dark tunnel.

Warm fingers trail over my arm, and Golmarr turns me to face him. He stares at me with wide eyes, and his hand comes up to my face, his palm warm against my cheek. “Look at you,” he whispers. He lifts my hair away from my neck and leans close, so his warm breath touches the skin below my ear. “You are glowing, Sorrowlynn. Your skin…” His thumb brushes my collarbone, and my blood tingles in my veins. As he looks into my eyes, his hands trail down my arms and find my hands, and our fingers intertwine. When he lifts them between us, my fingers glow a pale gold between his shadowed fingers.

The light from my skin illuminates his face. He squeezes my hands and moistens his lips with his tongue, and I want to grab him and press my mouth against his, hard. I tear one hand from his and wrap it around the back of his warm neck, and pull his face toward mine, so close that I can feel the heat of his skin on my lips. He stares right into my eyes, and I can feel his breath quicken. And then I think of what is proper and what is not, and shrink away, pulling my hand from his.

I gasp, utterly mortified. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Golmarr clears his throat and brings his hand up to the back of his neck, and then a smile stretches his mouth wide. He shakes his head in obvious disbelief and lets out a big breath of air. Picking up the hunting knife from the ground, he presses the hilt into my hand, and his fingers linger on mine. “You need to clean that,” he says. “Before the blood ruins it.”

I nod and cut two pieces of bloodstained fabric from my skirt, handing one to Golmarr. As I run the material over my blade, I say, “If we follow this tunnel, we will come out on the side of a mountain overlooking the Glass Forest.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Golmarr stand a little bit taller. “Really?” he asks, voice filled with wonder. “We are going to get out of here?”

I think of the blue sky and snowcapped peaks I saw through the dragon’s eyes. “Really,” I whisper, yearning for the freedom of open spaces, for the chance to see colors again.

His brow furrows. “How far is the exit? We don’t have a food or water source.”

The entire tunnel system takes shape in my head. It reaches as far north as the Wolf Cliffs, where my mother’s castle is, and as far south as the mountains that create the northwest border of the Anthar grasslands. “It takes the Mayanchi two days. I know where water is along the way.”

“What do the Mayanchi eat?” Golmarr asks, sheathing his sword.

“Little critters. Rodents, mostly, that live close to the cave’s exits. For three centuries they have been bringing the fire dragon deer and elk, and anything else they could kill in the mountains. Sometimes they would eat part of that, but if Zhun got mad or too hungry, he ate them, so they brought the best food to him.” I cover my eyes with my hand. “This is so weird to know so much.”