The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(45)

“What did I convince you of?” I ask with my back to him.

He stands. “You convinced me that…” I lift my hands from the water and turn to him. He steps up to me and puts his hands on either side of my face and runs his thumbs down my cheeks. “Even though that ceremony wasn’t real, your crying was real when you spoke your vows,” he whispers, and then he kisses both of my cheeks. My eyes flutter shut at the feel of his soft lips on my skin, and I lay my hands flat against his chest. He kisses my forehead, letting his lips linger there for a moment, and then turns from me. “I will sit with my back to you while you get clean.”

Quickly, I soap and splash my face and neck, then wet one of the rags beside the basin and rub it in the soap. I scrub and rinse my body as much as I can without taking my clothes off.

When I am done, my damp skin is covered with goose bumps, and Golmarr is snoring in the chair, his long arms dangling limp at his sides. I gently shake him awake, and he stumbles to the basin as I slide the hunting knife from my waistband and put it on the table. Barely able to keep my eyes open, I crawl into the bed, curl up beneath the smoke-scented blankets, and listen to the music and laughter ringing through the forest.

As I am drifting to sleep, I feel Golmarr climb onto the bed beside me. I turn to face him and rest my head on his bare shoulder. He’s not wearing his shirt, and for a heartbeat I consider sleeping on the floor. But he is warm, and I am too weary to worry about following rules of etiquette….I want to sleep curled up against him—want to sleep nestled in his arms. I lift my cold hands to his chest and press them to his skin, and he shudders. “Your hands are like ice,” he whispers, and wraps his arms tightly around me. I sigh with contentment. Before I can tell him he smells nice, I am asleep.





I jolt awake and find myself in darkness, and for a heartbeat I think I am back in the caves until I realize I can see the first hint of dawn shining through two small windows. Holding my breath, I listen for what woke me. The wagon is still and quiet. Outside, the faint sounds of frogs and crickets fill the night, but nothing more. I settle back down against the warmth of Golmarr and stare into the darkness as I wait for my pounding heart to slow.

“What’s wrong?” Golmarr asks, voice deep with sleep.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

Golmarr runs his warm fingers across my bare arm, and my skin prickles with goose bumps. He pulls the covers up over my shoulder and tucks them under my chin. “I know you are from a much cooler climate than I, but are you always this cold?” he asks.

I burrow closer to him and put my freezing nose against his neck. “I didn’t used to be. It started in the cave. Wading in the water made me cold. And when I healed you, it was like all the warmth went out of me and never came back.”

Golmarr’s body stiffens and he lifts his head. “That doesn’t sound good. How, exactly, did you heal me? Maybe if we can figure that out, we can figure out how to warm you up again.”

“I don’t know how I did it, exactly. I think healing is part of the dragon’s treasure.”

“Tell me how it happened,” Golmarr says, clasping my hand in his and holding it over his heart.

“Every time you took a breath, I could hear fluid bubbling in your lungs. Your chest looked like the wild boar that the Satari were roasting.” I cringe at the memory. “You were moments from death, but when I touched your face, I knew how to heal you. I felt all the things inside of me that were good, and then they came out of my mouth and went into yours. When you breathed them in, your body healed.”

“I took part of your life,” Golmarr whispers. Beneath my hand, I feel his heart speed up. “Sorrowlynn, what if healing me kills you? What if you slowly get colder and colder until you die?” Golmarr curses under his breath and runs his hand through his hair. “How can you restore your life?” he asks.

An answer surfaces in my thoughts, and I frown, for it seems too simple. “I need to warm up with fire.”

“That’s it?” Golmarr asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. We stood by the bonfire last night, and it didn’t help.”

He puts his finger under my chin and turns my face up to his. “Do you realize you are now magical? You are a witch, like Nayadi. A seer. A healer. A sorcerer. The ability to do magic is so rare and so coveted, if anyone finds out, kings will wage wars to own you.”

“I don’t feel magical.” I close my eyes. “All I want is to be warm again, and to never worry about where I am going to live, or what I am going to eat. I don’t want to be a witch. I do not want wars waged over me.”

“Let’s keep it secret. I swear I will never tell anyone. If no one finds out, you will be safe. Was magic part of the fire dragon’s treasure?”

As he asks the question, I immediately know the answer. “No. When he ate my arm, my elbow was a bloody stump, and when I stabbed his eye, his blood mixed with mine. Zhun’s blood contained his magic, and the magic he stole from Melchior.” I still remember the burning of his blood on my wound, and the heat that spread from my arm to my heart, until it was pulsing through my entire body. “A dragon’s magic is in its blood. If it mixes with human blood, that person becomes a magical being,” I whisper as the realization takes hold of my thoughts.

Yes, a soft, lilting voice says in my head. And it is a truth that must be silenced.