The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)(82)

I open the stall housing Dewdrop and walk up to the magnificent animal. A brand-new saddle is hanging by a hook on the wall. I grip the edges of the saddle in my hands and lift. My arms tremble, and then sharp agony steals all the strength from my left shoulder. I groan and hug my left arm to my chest. Fresh blood seeps through my nightgown a hand span above my heart, and tears form in my eyes.

Slowly, I lift my hands before my face and turn them back and forth, palms, backs, palms. They look like the hands of a princess who never dresses herself, never brushes her own hair, never cooks her own food or even pulls her bedding back at night before she slips under her covers. They look like hands that never hold anything but the sides of a fancy skirt for a curtsy.

They are my hands. And I do not like them. They are my hands, and I need to make them into something formidable. I spin around and stomp out of the stable.

A light glows in the kitchen window of King Marrkul’s house, so I hurry across the yard to it. I crash into the house like a wave of fury, slamming the door open so hard it bangs against the wall. King Marrkul, Yerengul, and Enzio are sitting at the massive table, bowls of food in front of them. They all three stop chewing their breakfast and stare at me.

Marrkul wipes his mouth with a napkin and stands. “Princess Sorrowlynn. You’ve finally decided to get out of bed.” Walking over to me, he gently moves me farther inside the house and shuts the door. His gaze lowers to the blood on my nightgown, and worry tightens his eyes. “Yerengul.” He nods toward my injury.

Yerengul and Enzio get to their feet and stop in front of me. Yerengul gently loosens the laces that hold the neck of my nightgown closed. He slides the fabric aside so my wound is exposed and wipes away the blood with his napkin. “She tore one of the stitches, that’s all,” he tells his father. “How did you do that?” he asks me suspiciously. When I stay silent, he looks at my feet, covered with straw from the stable and wet with dew, and understanding lightens his eyes. “You were going to run, weren’t you? Take one of the horses? Ride off with nothing but your nightgown? You were going to find my brother.”

I close my eyes and nod. “But I’m not strong enough to lift a measly saddle.” I open my eyes and look between Enzio and Yerengul. “I want to be strong. Make me strong.” It is not a request.

A slow smile spreads across Enzio’s face, and Yerengul laughs.

“I will make you strong, but only if…” Yerengul trails off and leaves the end of his sentence hanging like a piece of bait. I grab it.

“If what? I will do anything.”

“You have been in bed for five days. That is not okay. You have to get out of bed every day, when I say. No more lying around feeling sorry for yourself. And you can’t go chasing after my brother in nothing but a nightgown. You wait to leave until you’re strong enough to defend yourself, and then you leave with money, food, shoes, and weapons.”

Strong enough to defend myself. How long will that take? I wonder. The thought of staying here when all I want to do is find Golmarr makes me feel like I am locked in my skin and cannot move. But I nod. Yerengul is right. I need to be strong enough to survive.

“I will do it,” I say.

“I have a request,” Enzio adds.

“Yes?”

“You do not leave without me. I have yet to repay my mother’s debt to you, and my own debt now.” He glances at the blood on my shoulder. “I should not have left your side, even when you were fighting the dragon.” He pulls a black stone blade from each of his sleeves and presses the flat of one blade to his forehead, and then holds it out to me. “Take it,” he urges.

I take the blade and look at him askance.

“That is yours until I have repaid my debts to you. Twin blades, yours and mine, to bind us until we have both achieved our goals.”

I press the flat of the blade to my forehead. “Thank you, Enzio.”

“All right,” Yerengul says. A wicked grin lights up his face, and he leads me to the table and pulls out a chair. “Just so you know, Sorrowlynn, you will be training with the fiercest, toughest, most disciplined people known in the history of the world. It isn’t going to be easy. It isn’t going to be fun. But I promise you, if you do everything I say, you and Enzio will be off looking for my brother before the first snow starts to fall.”

King Marrkul puts a bowl of steaming porridge in front of me. “Eat up,” he says with a grin, clapping me on the back. “First rule of being a warrior is you have to feed your weapon. Your body is your weapon. Everything else—sword, bow and arrows, staff, knife—is just an extension of your weapon. To be the strongest you can be, you have to eat.”

I dip the spoon into the porridge. When the bowl is empty, I say, “I am ready. Let’s get started.” foremost, I have to thank you. Yes, I am writing this to you—the person who is at this very moment absorbing these words into his/her brain. Thank you. You read my book. You are the reason I write. You are the reason I didn’t give up after a rocky start as a writer, when nearly three hundred people told me I wasn’t good enough to succeed. But you are proof that I have succeeded. I love you, dear reader, even though the only way we know each other is through the bond of my words between our minds.

And then there is my family. Thank you, Jaime, my husband, for working all these years so I could stay home with the kids and write in my spare time. (Is there such a thing as spare time if you have five kids? I will let you know if I ever have time to find out.) Speaking of those five kids, thanks for listening to this story and loving Sorrowlynn and Golmarr.