The Dragon's Curse (A Transference Novel)

by Bethany Wiggins

  I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and look up. “I did, too. I guess I still don’t know everything.”

  Golmarr smiles. “No, not everything.” He is still leaning over the parchment, and his face is mere inches from mine, his eyes sparkling. He takes in a deep, deliberate breath of air, as if he is inhaling me, and his smile trickles away. “I have missed you so very much,” he whispers. With a heavy sigh, he takes a step away, and it makes my heart feel like he has stomped on it.

  “How can you look at me like that when a few minutes ago you almost killed me?” I ask.

  “I still love you, Sorrowlynn. Never doubt that. But the struggle of trying to cope with the hatred passed on to me by the glass dragon is exhausting. I’m so sorry I threatened you when I found out you were married to Treyose. The hurt and anger overtook my ability to stay in control, and the hatred became too strong to bear. I didn’t mean to touch you with a weapon. I would rather die than hurt you.” His eyes are pleading, begging me to understand. “So if we can keep a little distance between us for now, that will make it easier for me to be around you—easier to trust myself with you. My greatest fear is that I will kill you, and because of that I am too scared to touch you for now.” His eyes are dark with sorrow, and I recognize the same emotion in myself.

  “I will die by my own hand,” I say.

  “I wish I had as much faith in your birth prediction as you, but I have been trained to fight and take lives since I was eight years old.” He holds his hands up and studies them. “I know what I am capable of, and it terrifies me.”

  An ache fills my chest, accompanied by the desire to take him into my arms and tell him everything will be all right. But I don’t know if it will be all right. Maybe we are destined to lead our lives side by side but never be together.

  “Does it say anything about dragons in there?” Golmarr asks.

  “Aside from the prince being named after the fire dragon, no.”

  “Then I will get more scrolls for you, and then find Enzio.” With a sad smile, he hurries off into the shadows and returns a moment later carrying several scrolls and two metal tablets. With utmost gentleness, he lays them on the table. “I should have known,” he says as he takes the end caps off a scroll and starts unrolling it.

  “Known what?” I ask.

  “That Suicide Sorrow was the answer to this problem.” He smiles, and it lights his eyes, chasing away some of the sadness. My heart starts pounding as emotions I haven’t felt for months swell within it—love, desire, acceptance. Golmarr’s gaze slowly moves from my eyes to my lips. Frowning, he presses against his chest, slowly moving his hand up to his shoulder, and then backs away. “Treyose, will you stay with her until I come back?”

  Treyose nods. “Of course.”

  “I will be back with Enzio.” He turns and strides into the darkness.

  “Wait,” I say, the single word freezing Golmarr where he stands. “I need to tell you something.” My chest tightens, and I find it hard to breathe. I cannot find the words I need, for I am terrified at how Golmarr may react.

  When I do not continue, he walks back to the table, staring at me across its width. “What is it?” he whispers so gently a tear slips out of my eye. Golmarr’s eyes follow the tear as it drips down my cheek and gets caught in the corner of my mouth.

  I wipe the tear away. “Your brother was killed. Ingvar. My father…I mean Lord Damar killed him.”

  Golmarr groans and leans forward so he is bent at his hips, elbows resting on the table, his face buried in his hands. I stare at the top of his head, at his glossy black hair.

  “How?” Golmarr asks, his words muffled.

  “The way spineless Faodarian nobility always kill their enemies,” Treyose says, voice filled with loathing. “With poison.”

  A low moan escapes Golmarr.

  “I am so sorry,” I whisper, wishing I could wrap my arms around him.

  “He died protecting you, didn’t he?” Golmarr asks.

  I cannot speak, so Treyose answers. “Damar was trying to stab Sorrowlynn in the head with a poisoned needle. Your brother blocked him and was stabbed in her stead. Your brother died to save her.”

  Golmarr slowly stands and wipes the heels of his hands across his eyes, and I study his face for signs of rekindled hatred but see only sorrow.

  “Who is the new heir to the throne?” asks Treyose quietly, respectfully. “Is it Jessen or Arendinn?”

  Golmarr shakes his head. His black lashes gleam with tears. “Neither. Me. I am the new heir,” Golmarr says.

  “What?” Treyose asks.

  “But you are the youngest!” I say.

  Golmarr nods. “I am also supposed to marry a Faodarian princess. That makes me the automatic heir to the throne of Anthar. But I declined the honor on the condition that if anything happened to Ingvar, I would rule in his stead, and Ingvar is no longer heir.”

  Treyose looks at Golmarr’s sword lying useless on the table. “I am housing the future Antharian king in my grandfather’s castle, and he is unarmed.” He gestures to me. “And I am married to his true love. Yet here we all are, having a civil conversation.” Treyose shakes his head and laughs under his breath.

  Golmarr’s eyes turn fierce. “It is a good thing you and I want the same things right now. Otherwise we might be tempted to kill each other. I will be back shortly with Enzio.” Without another word, he turns and walks into the dark library.

  “You don’t have a lamp,” I call after him.

  “I don’t need one.” As sudden as lightning but as subtle as a breath of air, pale blue light swells in the dark space between two narrow rows of books, and for a split second I see Golmarr’s silhouette before he has moved from sight, taking the light with him.

  I spend the entire day in the cold library, wrapped in Treyose’s purple cloak, painstakingly studying and deciphering parchments with Enzio at my side, while Golmarr practices hand-to-hand combat moves in the dark, open space in front of the table. His bare feet are silent on the dusty floor, and despite the cool air, sweat gleams on his brow and soaks the front of his tunic. Enzio is fully armed, but Golmarr remains weaponless, and I find my attention drawn to him far more than it should be. The way his body moves, with the fluid grace and strength of a warrior, is distracting to the point I almost ask him to stop moving. But I like watching him. I like it a lot.

  Golmarr’s eyes sweep over me every few minutes. They are hungry for the knowledge contained in the parchments and tablets strewn before me, and yet heavy with mourning.

  By late afternoon, dozens of records have passed beneath my aching eyes, and not one of the ancient histories mentions dragons. All the wars, skirmishes, famines, and disasters were created by either man or natural forces, like weather or the shaking of the earth.

  I finish reading a particularly difficult metal tablet, with letters and images scratched on its surface, and press on my throbbing temples. “I can read only about half of these symbols, but there is no mention of dragons. None of the histories I have read mention the beasts. It is as if they didn’t exist,” I snap. “I do not think your Infinite Vessel exists, either, Golmarr.”

  He walks to the opposite side of the table and lays his hands flat on the polished wood. The heat from his warm, sweaty body fills the small bit of air between us. “It has to exist,” he says. “If it doesn’t, there is no hope for us, Sorrowlynn.” He raises his gaze to mine and whispers, “We need to keep looking.”

  I place my fingertips on the back of his hand, but Golmarr pulls away. “I will read every tablet and scroll and parchment in this library if I have to,” I say. He nods and takes the histories I have read back to the shelves before bringing me more.

  When the library has grown colder with the onset of night, Prince Treyose returns dressed in a deep purple velvet tunic with gold thread sewn into the cuffs, and suede boots over pri
stine white leggings. He has replaced his plain leather scabbard for one made with gold and jewels, and a narrow silver crown sits low on his forehead. Despite his royal finery, he is carrying a tray of food like a lowly servant. He places it on the edge of the table and the smell of fresh-baked bread and meat makes my stomach rumble.

  Enzio grabs a small loaf of bread and starts eating. I lean back in my chair and frown. “You look nice, Treyose—much too nice to be bringing us food in this musty, old, frigid library,” I say, my voice disapproving.

  “Thank you,” he says, not meeting my eyes.

  I stand and put my hands on my hips. “Midwinter eve is long past, and the first day of spring is more than a week away, so what is the occasion for such finery?”

  Treyose clears his throat. “My grandfather is honoring my return and my success in Faodara,” he says, frowning.

  My toe starts tapping the wooden floor. “Success in Faodara? Does he celebrate the peace treaty you made with Lord Damar, or our wedding? Because I was under the impression you were hiding our matrimonial state from him. And, if it is the latter, shouldn’t I be present?” I look down at his purple cloak, still wrapped around my shoulders, and my borrowed green dress beneath. Though the dress is well made, it is plain and covered with dust and a few strands of cobweb, nowhere near as fine as Treyose’s formal attire. Golmarr, holding a small book titled The Power of Air, walks over to us.

  “My grandfather is celebrating neither of those things,” Treyose says, clasping one hand behind his neck and studying his feet.

  I look at him sidelong. “Then what is the success you are celebrating? If it is success with Faodara you celebrate, shouldn’t I be in attendance?”

  Treyose rolls his shoulders. “My grandfather does not know that we are wed. Word of my nearly killing Lord Damar has reached him, and that is what he is celebrating.”

  “What?” I step directly in front of Treyose, forcing him to look at me. His pale blue eyes meet mine. “You bring home a Faodarian princess as your bride—albeit an unwilling bride—and your grandfather wants to celebrate you putting a star in the neck of the man who is supposed to be your new father-in-law?” The urge to shove him is so strong, I have to ball my hands into fists and force them to remain at my sides. “What is wrong with you Trevonans?” Strong hands clasp my shoulders, and I turn and glare at Enzio.

  “Easy, Sorrowlynn,” Enzio says, yet he is glowering at Treyose.

  Golmarr steps between me and Treyose. “King Vaunn has no idea you’re married to Sorrowlynn of Faodara, does he?” Golmarr asks. “He still believes you went to Faodara to gather information on their army and castle so you can conquer their kingdom this spring.” It is not a question.

  “My grandfather does not know I am wed to her. No one does, except my closest, most trusted confidants. It is a secret, and I would prefer to keep it that way, seeing as I will not be wed to her much longer if all goes as planned.”

  “What would Vaunn do to Sorrowlynn if he discovered her in his castle?” Golmarr asks.

  “He would kill her,” Treyose admits. “Slowly and painfully.” Now I understand why Treyose insisted on sneaking me into his grandfather’s castle.

  Golmarr curses under his breath and glances at his discarded sword. “And you didn’t think to warn me?”

  “That is why I had her dress as a Trevonan noble,” Treyose explains. “She looks Trevonan enough, and it is not unusual for a nobleman to bring a common woman to the castle and dress her as nobility if he fancies her. If Sorrowlynn follows Trevonan tradition, no one will know she is Faodarian. Unless she talks. Her accent is thicker than her older sisters’.”

  Golmarr’s eyes fill with fire. “If we are risking your grandfather killing her by simply having her here, then I insist she shares a chamber with both Enzio and me.”

  Treyose scowls. “You are going to insist Sorrowlynn sleeps on a pallet in the library with you?”

  “No,” Golmarr says. “We need a room with a door that locks.”

  Treyose studies Golmarr. “In that case, you should probably cut your hair in the Trevonan style—short on top and even shorter on the sides. The clothes alone don’t hide your heritage, and the only doors with locks are bedchambers and the throne room, which means you will be walking through the castle.”

  “I will not cut my hair,” Golmarr snaps. “I trust you can find a bedchamber that will fit the three of us, while at the same time keeping our presence in the castle a secret. Remember the benefits you will be getting from our agreement.”

  “Fine. But if my giving you a bedchamber alerts the king to your presence and you end up dead, or Sorrowlynn does, you are the only one to blame.” Treyose motions impatiently to the scrolls piled high on the table. “Have you found what you are looking for? I am ready for you to fulfill your part of our bargain and be gone.”

  Golmarr shakes his head and picks up a thin slice of meat. “I need more time.” He puts the meat in his mouth and starts chewing.

  Treyose nods. “I will send someone to fetch you and show you to your new chamber after the feast, but don’t complain to me if you dislike the chamber.” He turns on his heel and strides away.

  After a long moment, Enzio asks around a mouthful of bread, “What does Treyose want from you?” I hold my breath as I wait for Golmarr to answer.

  “An alliance with Anthar, and me acting as his wizard.”

  “He wants you to be his wizard?” I cannot hide the skepticism in my voice.

  Golmarr’s eyebrows rise. “You have so little faith in me, Sorrowlynn, but yes, he does.”

  I don’t mean to laugh, yet it bubbles up out of me. “Does he know you cannot do magic?”

  Golmarr shrugs. “He seems to find my abilities believable enough. Once an alliance is established, we agreed to begin open trading between our two kingdoms, and I am going to send my best farmers to Trevon to teach the Trevonans how to grow better crops and grain. Also, I will give Treyose half a dozen Antharian horses, and he will stop attacking Antharian ships that attempt to sail to Ilaad. Plus, and more important, if Treyose has the backing of the horse clan, he might have the power to overthrow his grandfather. If he has the horse clan’s support and a wizard aiding him, he will be able to claim the throne and put an end to his grandfather’s madness.”

  “And you trust that Treyose will not come after Anthar when he is king?” I ask.

  Golmarr presses his lips together tightly and nods. “More than anything, Treyose wants peace for Trevon. He is sick of fighting. I know because he pulled out of the last battle he fought against Anthar. I could see his hate for war in his eyes when he killed my brother Jessen’s wife.” Golmarr’s eyes darken, and he lowers his voice to a whisper. “King Vaunn is insisting Treyose lead an army against Faodara this spring. When he conquers Faodara, Vaunn wants him to combine armies and finally vanquish Anthar. Once Anthar is Vaunn’s, he will use all the armies to overpower Ilaad and be the ruler of all. Treyose wants to be done with war because he knows that to defeat Anthar, he will have to kill every man, woman, and child. But his grandfather is very…persuasive when it comes to getting Treyose to do his bidding.”

  Enzio glances over his shoulder at the darkened library before furtively whispering, “Does he want you to assassinate the king?”

  “No,” Golmarr says. “He wants to win the support of the nobles and then lock King Vaunn away in one of the castle towers where he can finish out his life in comfortable confinement.” He picks up a small loaf of bread and tears it in half, giving me the bigger piece. “Let us eat before this gets cold.”

  * * *

  The food Treyose brought up has been gone for hours, and still no one has come to fetch us. I pull my borrowed purple cloak more tightly around my body. I am still sitting in the chair, my arms crossed over the table, my head resting on them. If I didn’t shiver every few minutes, I would give in to th
e exhaustion dragging at my body and fall asleep. Golmarr, sitting on the floor beside Enzio, their backs pressed against the wall, notices every time I shiver. Enzio, on the other hand, is fast asleep with his arms and head resting on his bent knees. Every few minutes he snores and mumbles something about pretty ladies in his sleep.

  I shiver again, and Golmarr jumps to his feet. “Every time you shiver, I have the urge to come over there and warm you up with my body. It is almost painful, knowing you are so cold,” he whispers.

  “I would like that,” I say, sitting tall and imagining his warm arms wrapped around me, his breath against my neck. Just the thought warms me a bit.

  “So would I,” Golmarr says, but shakes his head and strides to a dark corner of the library, too far to be illuminated by the weak lamplight. He returns with a wool blanket and drapes it over my shoulders.

  I stifle my disappointment and pull the blanket close. “Where did you get this?” I ask.

  “From my pallet.”

  “You really do sleep up here? I thought Treyose was joking.”

  “I have been sleeping up here for months,” he says. “It is the easiest way to avoid a chance meeting with King Vaunn.”

  “Look.” I tap the glass lamp. The oil is gone, and only what remains saturating the wick is feeding the fire. “It is a matter of minutes before it goes out,” I whisper, my jaw tight with cold.

  “I’m not worried about the light,” Golmarr says, studying me with tired eyes.

  “Why? Have you been hiding out up here so long you can find your way around in the dark?”

  Something in his face changes, a spark behind his eyes, and he smiles. I can’t help the smile that jumps to my lips. “I’m not worried about the dark,” he says. He lifts his right hand, palm facing up. All the cobwebs lining the ceiling whoosh toward Golmarr, as if they are being blown at him, and then a tiny ball of blue light the size of a grain of sand is hovering above his palm. It grows bigger, as big as a pebble, an acorn, a chicken egg, and then stops. The cobwebs go limp.