The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(39)
“Not this time.” I smile and he grins, flashing his white teeth. Carefully, he places my foot on an oval of leather. “Your pants?” I ask.
He nods. “I made holes around the edges and cut some long strips of leather into laces last night while you were sleeping.” He starts lacing the leather shut, so when he is done, my foot is completely protected. “I found a better use for them,” he says, moving to the other foot. When I am wearing makeshift shoes, I stand and try them out.
“They are perfect,” I say, and have the urge to kiss him. Shoving aside everything I have been taught, I grab his shoulder and push up onto my toes, pressing my lips to his scruffy cheek.
Golmarr touches the spot where my lips touched. “Better,” he says, “but my lips are a little bit farther to the left. You know, for the next time that urge overtakes you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I pick up my staff from the shelter floor and knock the branches out of the entrance.
A thin, fragile layer of frost has coated the foliage, and the morning is still. The western horizon is threaded with golden orange, the color of the fire dragon I slayed. With Golmarr in the lead, we start wending our way down the mountain, but after fifteen steps, I tug him to a gentle stop. “Not that way,” I say when he turns to take what looks like the easier path. “This way.” I point down a steep, rocky fissure littered with debris and dead wood, and can remember Melchior picking his way through it. “Trust me,” I say. “I’ve been this way before…sort of.”
Golmarr steps aside. “I trust you. You lead.”
Down and down we go, and though my makeshift shoes slip and slide against my feet, creating friction, my skin is protected from the worst of the rocks and sticks, and we make good time. If we pass plants I recognize as edible, we sit for a minute and eat. It is at one of these resting stops that I notice Golmarr studying my hands. I look down at them, centered on the staff and about shoulder-width apart.
“You are holding that pine branch like it is a weapon,” Golmarr says. “Were you given any type of defense training in Faodara?”
“None at all.”
He grabs a long stick from the ground and a wicked grin lights up his face. Slowly, he gets to his feet, not once taking his fierce eyes from me, and positions himself in what I now recognize as a fighter’s stance. Even dressed in rags, with dirt-smeared skin, he looks dangerous. His bare arms are corded with long, lean muscle, and without sleeves to mask it, I can see the width of his square shoulders.
“Try to hit my knuckles,” he taunts, slashing the stick through the air like it is a sword. I stare at him, speechless, and he adds, “I bet you can’t.”
A smile tugs at my lips, and I stand, quickly surveying the ground for any obstacles. I lift my staff and realize Golmarr is right: I am holding it like it is a weapon. We stare at each other for a drawn-out moment, and I can’t help but notice the green and brown of his eyes. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I swipe my staff at his knuckles. He grunts and leaps out of the way, bringing his stick in a wide arc toward my face. Without a thought, I lift my staff and block him. He uses his height and strength and bears down on my staff, and my weak arms start to tremble. Before they have a chance to give out, I twist toward Golmarr, making my short skirt twirl around my thighs, and press my back against the front of his body. With a sound thwack, I bring my weapon down onto his knuckles, just as his free arm circles my neck.
“You know how to fight with a staff,” Golmarr says, though he is winded. I sag against him, barely able to stand on legs that feel like mush, and feel his body trembling against mine. “If we weren’t both on the verge of starving, we’d be a lot better at that. We need to start building up your strength so your fighting skills will be more effective.” He lowers his arm from my neck so it is braced across the front of my shoulders, and buries his face in my hair while he catches his breath. Golmarr lifts his head. “I think we will be in the Glass Forest before nightfall. I can fashion a snare and catch a rabbit or squirrel. And there are Satari in the forest. They might trade food for my knife.” He holds his arm up, showing me the knife attached to it. His eyes wander to my bare legs. “Or maybe they’ll give us food for free, if you do a little dance for them. They do have a reputation for liking pretty ladies.”
I smack his arm with my staff and glare. “Absolutely not! That would be—”
“Scandalous, I know. That’s the point,” he says, slowly running his gaze over my legs. He bows low, a graceful bow that causes my heart to flutter, and holds his hand out in the direction of the Glass Forest. “After you, Princess Sorrowlynn.”
Taking the edges of my ragged skirt in hand, I curtsy to him as deeply as I would curtsy to my queen mother. “Thank you, my lord Golmarr.” When I stand, he is staring at me with wide eyes, and his cheeks are a shade pinker than normal. I laugh and he swallows, then shakes his head and blinks.
“Just don’t curtsy for the Satari in that skirt…unless you want them getting a glimpse of your bloomers. Those are lace, aren’t they?” He eyes the bit of material that hangs below my skirt with renewed interest.
It is my cheeks, now, that are glowing. “Yes, lace. They were for in case I married you. My wedding-night bloomers.”
Golmarr clears his throat and rolls his shoulders. “I missed out on some scandalous bloomers,” he says. I gasp and swing my staff at him again, but he jumps out of the way with a laugh. With me still in the lead, we continue down.