The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(53)
My opponent growls with fury and leaps at me, crushing my body to the ground with his. I stare into his dark eyes as cold steel presses against my throat. “Seems I caught myself a warrior woman,” the man growls, pressing his dagger harder against my skin. “If I take you home with me, do you think your family will pay to get you back?”
I feel sick at the thought of this man taking me and holding me for ransom. What’s worse, if this man discovered I was a Faodarian princess and held me for ransom, I do not know if my mother would pay anything to get me back. She might leave me to a life of slavery. But there is something about me that the brute overlooked. I quietly thank Melisande for buckling the belt around my waist earlier as I pull the hunting knife from it and quickly drive it into the man’s side. “You are not taking me anywhere,” I say, and yank it back out.
His eyes grow wide, and he lurches away from me. “You wench!” He swings his dagger at my face, but I block it with my knife and quickly roll to my feet. He stands and swings the blade at me again, but wobbles. Pressing a hand to his side, he holds his bloody fingers before his astonished eyes. “You cut me good, and you’re going to pay for that.”
“No, I am not,” I answer. I dealt him a death blow, and even if he doesn’t know it, I do. It is only a matter of seconds before he bleeds out. He lifts his knife and runs at me.
“Sorrowlynn!” Golmarr screams from behind. I don’t look at him because I know—thanks to the dragon’s treasure—to never take my eyes from my opponent. Before the man’s knife is close enough to cut me, I whip my staff against his hand, and his weapon goes flying through the air. He loses his footing and falls to the ground at my feet just as Golmarr reaches me.
With a gut-wrenching jolt, I feel the man die and grip my stomach as his knowledge and memories fill my brain. A horrifying realization hits me: not only did I absorb all of the knowledge that Zhun possessed, but I inherited his means of gathering what he considered treasure—when I kill, I steal my victim’s knowledge. I fall to my knees and groan. Golmarr puts his sword tip between the man’s shoulder blades and flexes his muscles to deal a death blow. “He’s already dead,” I blurt, loath at the thought of watching the man get stabbed again.
Golmarr looks from the thick set of shoulders beneath his sword to me. “You killed this renegade?” he asks.
I squeeze my eyes shut and nod. “I killed him, but he is no Trevonan renegade. He’s a mercenary, born and bred here in the forest, and more are coming. All of the vilest men who hide in the forest are coming.”
“Why?”
“The glass dragon. Somehow it is speaking to their minds and sending them to kill me.” I look around the camp. The fighting has ceased, but there are a handful of dead bodies lying strewn on the ground. “We need to leave right now, Golmarr.”
“Let’s quickly help them bury the dead first.”
I stand and grip the front of his light brown shirt in my fists. “If I stay, more people will die, and it will be because of me.” My eyes fill with tears. “I am leaving with or without you, if it means saving these people, even if I die!” The tears spill down my cheeks.
He studies me with solemn eyes, and then he presses his hand to his chest and crosses his index fingers.
I sniffle and blink more tears from my eyes. “Does that mean you won’t come with me? Does that mean goodbye?” I ask, and the thought hurts so much that I am tempted to knock him over the head and drag him away with me if he won’t come of his own free will.
He shakes his head and frames my face in his hands, wiping the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “I will follow you to the end of the world, Sorrowlynn of Faodara.” He leans down and puts his lips against my forehead, so soft and sweet and tender that more tears wet my eyes. The contact fills me with warmth, and hope, and joy—feelings so opposite from those still lingering in my mind from the mercenary I killed.
I wrap my arms around Golmarr and lean against his chest. His strong arms close about me and hold me. Silent, I stand there and simply exist in the shelter of his arms. After a long moment, I say, “Let’s go.” I step away from him, but he grabs my hands.
“Give me two minutes to ask Edemond for horses and a bow and arrows.” He waits until I nod, and then strides off across the clearing. I kneel and wipe my hunting knife clean on the lush ground. Someone steps up to me. For a moment I stare at worn brown boots peeking out from beneath a red skirt. Peering up, my eyes meet Melisande’s. Slowly, I stand and sheathe the knife.
Her bottom lip quivers, and she squeezes my shoulder in her hand. “You saved my life. Thank you.”
I nod and think that if I weren’t here in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to save her, because the mercenaries wouldn’t have come to her camp. But I don’t say that. Instead I say, “You’re welcome.”
She looks me up and down and asks, “How did you learn to fight like that? The rumors we hear of your kingdom say your women are weaklings who don’t know how to swing a weapon. And you, with nothing more than a walking stick, saved my life!”
A hint of a smile softens my mouth. “The noblewomen of Faodara are not taught to fight. I am the exception.”
“Is that why you chose to face the dragon instead of marrying? Because you wanted to fight it?” She glances across the camp, at Golmarr. “Why did you choose the dragon over him? Look how handsome he is! You seem to like him well enough, and I saw him give the hand signal that he loves you just now.”