The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(75)

We arrive at Crow Hill before midday. The archers, dressed in leather tanned to match the gold grass, take their places at the top of the hill and disappear into their surroundings when they crouch. The soldiers who fight on horseback, including Golmarr’s eight brothers and his father, stay on the far side of Crow Hill, waiting. The footmen take their places below the hill and hunker down in the grass. That is where I will be fighting.

I stand at the top of the hill, the tall golden grass swaying against my waist, and stare at the bright blue sky. I feel like I have done this before, hundreds of times—this waiting for the possibility of my death, the knowledge that I might be taking life, the surety that I will see men die today, and I feel so tiny in the grand existence of humanity.

Arms wrap around my shoulders and pull my back close against a warm body. “What are you thinking?” Golmarr asks, his mouth beside my ear.

“That one life is so small. My existence is so trivial.” I put my hand on his wrist, right below my chin.

“Not to me,” he says. He has been quiet all morning, his hand gripping and releasing the pommel of his sword over and over.

“What are you thinking, Golmarr?” I turn in his arms to look at him, and his hands loop behind the small of my back. His eyes sweep the sky behind my shoulder, study the collar of my cream shirt—look anywhere but at my eyes.

“When I am leading the foot soldiers, hold back. I don’t want you on the front line with me. Enzio says he will stay with you.” He still hasn’t looked at me.

“What else are you thinking?” I coax.

He sighs. “I’m thinking that life is unpredictable. When a person finally gets what he wants, even though he didn’t know he wanted it in the first place, the thought of willfully losing it, of making a choice to destroy it, is almost too hard to bear.” He looks at me now. The sorrow in his eyes makes my breath catch in my throat. I throw my arms around his neck and hold him as tight as I can. “Sometimes our lives turn out in ways we never imagined they would,” he whispers, and tightens his arms around me until I am nearly being crushed against him. He presses his face to my neck, and I feel moisture against my skin. I pull back to look at Golmarr just as a bird calls.

Golmarr ducks down to the ground, taking me with him. “That’s the signal. One of our scouts has seen movement on the horizon,” he whispers, quickly wiping the back of his hand over his eyes. Within seconds, every visible person is gone, hiding in the waving grass. I follow Golmarr to the warriors who will fight on foot and crouch beside them. The women nod at me. Some touch a single finger to their foreheads. “Our female warriors are honoring your presence among them,” Golmarr whispers. “Everyone knows you beat Evay with your staff. They know you can fight.”

Enzio crawls over to me. “I will not leave your side,” he says. His gaze flickers to Golmarr, and from the corner of my eye I see Golmarr nod.

“Thank you, Enzio.” I try to smile but can’t. Not in the moments before battle.

When the approaching army becomes visible—a gray stripe on the horizon dividing the golden grass and blue sky—the hiss of steel fills the air. Everyone has drawn a weapon. They crouch in the grass, silent and intent as the gray stripe approaches. I study these Antharian people, with their aggressive eyes and strong bodies—violent barbarians, my mother would say, and yet, what they are doing is necessary. No, not necessary. Fighting to protect the greater good is more than simply necessary. It is noble, honorable, and self-sacrificing. I am among good people.

Golmarr grabs my chin and turns my face to his. “Whatever happens out there, I will always love you,” he whispers, pulling my face to his and kissing me. He is wearing chain mail and holding a sword, and his eyes are fierce from thoughts of the approaching fight, but the gentleness of his lips makes my heart ache.

I cup his jaw with my hand and run my thumb over his bristly cheek. “I know. And I will always love you.” As the last word leaves my lips, the twang of a hundred bowstrings echoes through the air. I look up as a burst of arrows zoom overhead, darkening the bright sky for a fraction of a second. “So it begins,” I whisper.

“Hold until I give the word,” Golmarr quietly calls. Through the tall grass, we can just make out the approaching mercenaries. The archers shoot again, and men fall. We watch as those still standing run toward us. My blood curdles at the sight of them. They have smeared their faces with blood, and wear armor covered with spikes and human bones. My heart starts pounding in my chest.

Again, the archers let loose their arrows, and then Golmarr leaps to his feet and thrusts his sword into the air. “Forward!” he screams. From behind us, a horn blares, and then I am on my feet, running, my staff gripped in my hands. For a split second I wonder what I am doing here on this battlefield, on the front line. I am a princess. I am soft and regal. I am quiet, forgotten Sorrowlynn, who never leaves her rooms. And yet I am so much more. I have the capacity to be anything. To be everything! This girl running to fight for the greater good is me. For the first time ever, I feel like I am living the life I was meant to be living all along.

As the foot soldiers spread out on the field, the mounted soldiers come galloping out from behind the hill and surround the mercenary army. They have half the numbers that the Antharian army has. I can already see we have won this battle, and no one besides the archers has raised a weapon to fight.