The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(42)

“We would be honored to feast with your Black Blades, but we have nothing with which to pay for our food,” Golmarr says cautiously.

Edemond shrugs and tests the balance of Golmarr’s dagger. “I will keep your blade as payment. Tonight you shall feast with us, for we have reason to celebrate.”

“Celebrate? What day is it that there is something to celebrate?” Golmarr asks, while at the same time I am struggling to figure out what holidays are close to my birthday. There are none.

“We celebrate the beautiful Princess Sorrowlynn and strapping Prince Golmarr.” Edemond waits for us to react. I force my face to remain placid, something I learned by watching my mother.

“What about them?” Golmarr asks, tightening his hold on my shoulders.

“So you haven’t heard? Not three days past, the horse clan rode through our forest, but they were short one son. The youngest, whose sword you purchased a replica of, was fed to the fire dragon along with the Faodarian princess. We heard that she chose death over being wed to a barbarian prince, and he chose to try and save her anyway.” He frowns and mutters, “Young fools. Brave, but fools nonetheless. And so we feast in their honor! Come, my young lovers. A meal waits.”

With three men in front of us, and three behind, we are escorted through the forest, along barely visible trails that wind between the trees. I use my staff as a walking stick even though my hands are itching to hold it like a weapon, and try to keep up with the Satari, but my body is so ravished with hunger that I can barely put one foot in front of the other. I take a step and stumble. Before I fall to the ground, Golmarr scoops me up into his arms. Gratitude warms my exhausted body, and I look into his eyes. They are so close that I can see the little flecks of gold around his pupils. “Are you all right?” he quietly asks.

“Just tired,” I say.

“Let me carry you for now.” I loop my arms around his neck, and he tightens his hold on me. I lay my head on his shoulder, and the Satari hoot and holler and make kissing noises as we walk.

“Carrying her over the threshold before you’re married?” Edemond says, wiggling his eyebrows as he studies my bare legs. “You know, as patriarch of the Black Blades, I have the authority to marry you. It could be part of our evening festivities. A night you would never forget.”

I choke on my own air and peer up at Golmarr’s face. His cheeks are flushed, but he is smiling down at me so intently that my heart starts thumping against my chest. “What do you think?” he asks me. “Should we give getting married a second try? I don’t think it could possibly end as badly this time around.” I study Golmarr for any hint of how I am supposed to answer that.

“We will give you your own wagon for the night, too. A honeymoon wagon,” Edemond says, stepping up to Golmarr and slapping him on the back.

“In that case, yes. Please marry us,” Golmarr answers. “The sooner the better.”

The Satari throw their heads back and laugh, and their joy rings through the misty woods. I stare at Golmarr, and he winks at me. Then he brushes a quick kiss on my forehead.

As the sun sets and the forest turns from green to an eerie, misty gray, I spot a caravan of brightly painted wagons positioned to form a giant ring around an area not quite so densely wooded as the rest of the forest. As we approach the wagon ring, Golmarr stumbles and nearly drops me, so I swing down from his arms. He leans forward, resting his hands on his knees. His whole body is shaking with exhaustion.

“We’re almost there,” I say, and lift his arm over my shoulders to take some of his weight. Edemond takes his other arm, and we pass between two wagons and enter the Black Blades’ camp.

The air is filled with the smell of onions, meat, and smoke, and nothing has ever smelled better. Children are running about the camp, waving long, colorful ribbons tied to sticks, or they are play-sword-fighting by the light of the cook fires. Men and women are gathered around the fires, turning spits with whole boar attached, and stirring pans filled with browning onions. I stare at the pigs’ crisping skin and want to gag. They look just like Golmarr did after he’d been cooked by the fire dragon.

“Are you well, lass?” Edemond asks.

“Well enough,” I lie. “I’m…just surprised that your men cook.” I peer across Golmarr to Edemond.

He raises one thick, arched eyebrow. “In Satar, the men cooked the food. It is a tradition we brought from our former stone city to the forest. Do the men in Carttown cook?” I shake my head, but I honestly have no idea. “Melisande,” he calls, and waves his hand. A tall, striking woman dressed in a bright orange skirt and a pale green shirt steps away from a cook fire and walks over to us. Two giant loop earrings hang from her earlobes, and her dark hair is twisted into a bun over each ear. Her pale blue eyes take in the sight of Golmarr and me, and her steps slow.

“Who did you bring home with you this time, husband?” she asks Edemond. She purses her lips when her gaze finds my skirt.

“Two lovers who were wandering the forest and in need of food,” Edemond says with a chuckle. “They want to be married tonight.”

“You trust them?” she asks, eyeing Golmarr’s sword.

“Enough to bring them to our camp.”

Melisande nods and cups her hands around her mouth. “Mama, we need you!” she calls. A hunched, smiling woman starts walking toward us. Her hair is like white gossamer that is braided over her ears.