The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(74)
“I think that sounds like a well-thought-out plan,” Golmarr says, laying his hand flat against my back. “That way, if the glass dragon comes, we risk it freezing our warriors only if they are too slow to shelter beneath a cloak.”
“And you wield the sword that can kill the dragon,” Ingvar says to Golmarr. “For the first time in the history of our people, we stand a chance at beating a dragon.”
I peer back at Golmarr. His lips are pulled tight against his teeth, and his brow is furrowed. After a moment he nods. “I wield the sword,” he whispers.
King Marrkul stands. “Then we are finished here. Go to your wives, boys. Keep them warm for the rest of the night. Tomorrow we will travel to Crow Hill.” He turns to Golmarr and me. “After the battle, we shall have the feast. What say we marry you then, as part of the celebration?”
Golmarr’s hand, still pressed flat against my back, slowly closes on the fabric of my shirt. “What say you, Sorrowlynn?” he asks, and I can hear the mischief in his voice. “If we marry tomorrow, I won’t make you think improper thoughts anymore—at least, they won’t be improper because they will be about your husband.”
My heart starts pounding. “Yes,” I say.
“All right. If all goes well tomorrow, we will get married at the feast,” Golmarr says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
Marrkul looks between the two of us. “Very well. Now, I trust you will behave yourselves if I leave you alone out here and go to bed?”
“I don’t know,” Golmarr says, tugging on my shirt so I lean back against him. “Sorrowlynn can’t keep her hands off me, Father.”
I glare at him and smack his shoulder, and Marrkul laughs. “Soon enough you will be married and you can have your hands on him all you want, Princess, though I suspect it is the other way around—him not keeping his hands off you.” He gives his son a meaningful glance. “I will see you before first light.” Marrkul yawns and leaves.
“I can’t believe you said that to your father,” I say.
He shrugs. “I am his youngest son. I don’t think anything can shock him anymore.” He clears his throat. “I’ve come up with a plan to not kill the glass dragon tomorrow.”
“What is the plan? How can I help?”
“The dragon is coming for you, so no matter what I do, you will have to be there with me. Otherwise I would fight it alone.”
I lean in closer to him. “I will be there with you.”
He trails his hand up my arm. “First of all, you have to wear a cloak. You are going to try to distract it any way you can, without getting close enough for it to use its claws or teeth on you. If it breathes ice at you, fine. You shelter under the cloak. You’ll survive that. Meanwhile, I will use the reforged sword to immobilize and injure it to the point that it cannot come after you for a long time. And then, while it is healing from its wounds, we learn how to kill a dragon without being forced to inherit its treasure.” He looks at me. “What do you think?”
I nod. “I think that is our only option.”
“Then we are ready for tomorrow’s battle.” He lies down and pulls me so my head is on his chest and my back is against the back of the sofa. Turning his body to face me, he lifts the blanket up over us.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, smiling. He wraps both his arms around me and tangles his legs with mine, just like he did when we slept in the cave by the lake. He is right. I fit perfectly against him.
“I am savoring every moment we have together and keeping you warm until morning.” He slowly trails his hand up the length of my spine, and I shiver. “It is a family tradition,” he whispers. “On the night before a battle, we keep our women warm just in case…” His voice trails off.
I press my hands against his chest and feel the deep, steady beat of his heart. “In case it is our last night together,” I finish.
He kisses my forehead and leaves his lips there, and with the feel of his heart beating against my hands and the quiet noise of the fire, I sleep.
Wearing tan leather pants and a metal-lined leather vest over a simple cream shirt, I sit astride Dewdrop and breathe the cool dawn air. The wind blows, tugging on my braided hair, swishing Dewdrop’s mane, and whispering through the tall grass, creating ripples that spread as far as the eye can see. At my waist, I wear the belt from Melisande and king Marrkul’s hunting knife, and my staff is tucked into a leather loop on the side of my saddle. For all the rigid things I wear, purple and yellow flower garlands are draped over me and my horse, thanks to the tearful goodbye given us by those not fighting. Every single soldier is wearing flowers of some sort, such a sharp contrast to their armor and weapons.
Each soldier has one extra weapon today—or piece of armor, rather—that is not made of metal, wood, or leather: a heavy wool cloak. Protection of a sort against a dragon’s breath of glass. Axes are also tucked into saddlebags for cracking ice, should the need arise.
We ride hard, and every once in a while I glance behind me and meet the scowling dark eyes of Evay. I can feel her stare like fire against my back.
I look at Golmarr, sitting astride Tanyani and riding beside me. His eyes have a familiar fierceness burning in them, his mouth is pulled down in a frown, and the first hint of dark scruff shadows his chin. His body moves with his horse’s steps like they are one single, lethal entity. And yet I can’t help but smile. He is wearing a crown of pale pink baby’s breath flowers on his head.