The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(71)

Golmarr must notice who has caught my attention, because he whispers, “Evay leads our archers when we go to battle.”

I look at him. “We are going to battle?”

He presses a finger to his lips. “We are about to find out.” He speaks no louder than an exhaled breath. “When Nayadi is seeing visions, we have to remain silent unless she addresses us. Otherwise we might interfere with what she is seeing.” He pulls a chair out for me.

The exact second I lower myself into the chair, Nayadi’s milky eyes pop open and stare right at me. I press my spine against the chair back in an effort to get as far away from her as possible.

She points at me, and the sleeve of her tattered brown tunic conforms around an arm as thin as bare bones. “You are bringing darkness to us,” Nayadi hisses. Every person in the room looks at me, and I can feel the weight of their eyes as if it were a physical burden.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I say.

“You lie. You know!” she says. “I can see his aura all over you! Because of you, they are all waking up again!”

The room suddenly feels too warm, and while my fingers continue to be plagued with cold, the rest of my body overheats. Sweat breaks out along my hairline and between my shoulder blades. I wait for Golmarr to say something, or for King Marrkul to explain why his witch is verbally attacking me, but everyone sits still and silent, watching, waiting. “Who is waking up again?” I finally ask.

Nayadi thumps her frail hands on the table, and I jump. “You already know.” She leans closer and swings her hand in front of my chest, pulling my air toward her.

“Enough,” Golmarr says, standing and glaring at the hag. There is a collective gasp.

“You are not to interrupt!” Nayadi growls. “You will stifle my sight if you do!”

Golmarr visibly bristles, but he balls his hands into fists and sits back down. “What vision have you seen?” he asks.

Nayadi grins, and her bald gums gleam with saliva. “They are coming for the northern princess.” She swipes at the air around me again and sucks it in through her nostrils. The room remains tensely silent as everyone stares at the old hag, waiting for her to elaborate. People begin shifting in their chairs and looking at King Marrkul, but no one utters a word.

“They are coming, and they’re going to get you,” Nayadi says, and grins. She is binging on the emotional suspense filling the room. It is filling her up. She takes a deep breath of air and starts laughing.

There is a loud thunk, and Nayadi’s laughter stops abruptly. A black stone knife is embedded in the headrest of her chair, pinning a lock of her greasy hair to the wood beside her ear. “Tell Princess Sorrowlynn who is coming, when, where, and why, you filthy old witch, or my next knife will find your heart,” Enzio says. He is holding another black stone blade in his hand, and his gaze is riveted on Nayadi’s chest.

Nayadi smacks her lips closed over her gums and slouches in her chair. “You Satari have always been prejudiced against the wielding of magic,” she grumbles. “So now you spoil my fun?” She yanks the knife from her chair, and a tuft of severed yellow hair falls to her shoulder. Quick as the blink of an eye, Nayadi throws the knife at Enzio. It thunks into the headrest of his chair, right beside his ear. “An army comes. From the Glass Forest. Mercenaries and Trevonan renegades. The largest army that has ever come from that forest.”

King Marrkul scratches his chin through his beard. “Why are they coming? How many men strong?”

Nayadi waves a dismissive hand at me. “Smaller than your army. They have been sent to kill her.”

“Sent by whom?” Golmarr asks.

Nayadi huffs. “How should I know? You interrupted me while I was receiving my vision. But they will reach Kreeose shortly before sunset tomorrow.” Nayadi stands, and Ingvar hops to his feet, pulling the crone’s chair out. “Hopefully I have seen enough to spare this people from slaughter.” She steps from the table and shuffles away, leaving the kitchen without a backward glance.

King Marrkul rests his elbows on the table and frowns. “So we are going to battle.” The wrinkles around his eyes seem deeper than I remember, and he looks exhausted. “We will postpone the feast until after the fighting. For now, we need to prepare to defend our land and our people.” He looks at me. “And my son’s betrothed.”

Battle. The single word opens so many memories inside of my brain that my head begins to hurt. It hurts all day, so by the time the sun sets, I take my leave and retire to Golmarr’s room, alone, in hopes that sleep will ease the pain.





I open my eyes to a battle on the side of a sun-drenched hill—men slaughtering men. With perfect clarity, I can see the strategy of the battle. I know who is winning, and why. Blinking, I open my eyes to another battle being fought in the courtyard of my mother’s castle and again know the inner workings of battle strategy. I blink and see another battle, with rain-sodden soldiers and the ground awash with blood. I blink again and open my eyes to more fighting. Again, fighting. Again, fighting. Again, fighting, until I have witnessed every single battle of every single person whose memories live in my head, and all I want to do is close my eyes forever!

And then I blink and see the great green dragon, the dragon of the Glass Forest, sitting in its cave made of tree boughs, vines, and dirt. Thoughts are flowing out of the beast, rippling through the misty forest air, and settling in the dreams of sleeping men. I reach my mind out to the thoughts, and when I touch one, I hear what the dragon is communicating: Attack the horse clan. Kill any who oppose you. Take their land for your own. Accompanying the thoughts is the fierce, yearning desire to obey them.