The Dragon's Curse (A Transference Novel)

by Bethany Wiggins

  I blink and sit up tall. “What is that?”

  Golmarr looks at the light and dances it between his fingers, spinning it around like a knife. “I told you earlier that I’ve read hundreds of books about magic, hoping to learn how to break the dragon’s curse, but they taught me nothing like that.” The blue light reflects off his eyes. “But they did teach me this. Apparently I have a talent for magic. As I studied the books, I memorized and practiced the magic, and the more I did it, the better I got—just like with sword-fighting. Now I can pull energy and moisture from the air. Not a lot of energy, but enough to do things like this.” He throws the blue light against the ceiling and it turns into a thousand separate, tiny stars that slowly orbit around their center, Golmarr.

  I reach up and touch one, but feel only cool, damp air. “Is that all you can do?”

  “No, that is not all.” Mischief fills his eyes. “I made Treyose a medallion. By pushing cool, damp air into the metal, it makes him immune to fire.”

  I gasp and smack his arm. “You are the one who gave him protection from my fire? Why?”

  Golmarr grins and looks at his arm, touching the spot where I hit him. “Because I had the feeling you might try to set him on fire. I read about how to infuse metal with magic in one of the ancient scrolls. I have also learned about healing with magic and transferring fire energy from place to place, or person to person. That is why I knew how to help you when you were holding too much fire. When we are not focused on history, I will teach you what I know, if you’d like.”

  I tilt my head to the side and study him. “You truly are his wizard.”

  He shrugs, and all the little stars slowly fade to nothing, returning us to the dim light of the lamp. “You look exhausted, Sorrowlynn. Why don’t we forget about Treyose’s promised escort and go to your chamber? Can you find it from here?”

  “I don’t have a chamber. Treyose locked me in the throne room last night.”

  Golmarr makes a noise of disgust deep in his throat, and his eyes flash with anger.

  “But,” I say, and a small grin tugs at my lips, “I know this castle better than I know the castle I grew up in. I could probably find an empty chamber for us to sleep in.” I stand and stretch. “And if not, I could find us a pantry or closet close to the kitchen that would most definitely be warmer than up here.” I fold the blanket and hand it to Golmarr. “Enzio,” I whisper, giving his shoulder a shake.

  Enzio jumps to his feet and brandishes his black stone blade. When his bleary eyes focus on my face, he quickly puts the knife away and presses on his stomach. “I’m starving. Is it breakfast yet?”

  “Probably,” Golmarr says with a frown. His eyes meet mine. “You’ve been wed to an incredibly thoughtful man,” he adds sarcastically.

  “Don’t remind me.”

  Golmarr walks to the table and places his hand on his sword hilt. His breathing quickens and he yanks his hand away like he’s been burned.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Golmarr presses on his eyes. “Every time I touch a weapon, all the different ways I can kill you with it assault my brain. Enzio, will you carry this down to the chamber for me?” He slowly steps away from the sword.

  “It will be an honor,” Enzio says, though his eyes are troubled as they move between Golmarr and me. Enzio was there the day Golmarr tried to kill me with this sword. He is the one who carried me from the battlefield and put pressure on my wound to keep me from bleeding out.

  When Enzio has fastened the reforged sword to his belt beside his short sword, I pick up the lamp and we leave the quiet solitude of the library’s fourth floor. As we descend the first flight of stairs, with me in the lead and Enzio keeping Golmarr from my back, Golmarr whispers, “Sorrowlynn, exactly how well do you know this castle?”

  I pause and the lamp splutters, contorting our shadows against the stairwell wall. “I know it like I designed it,” I whisper, pressing my hand to the sleek black wall. “I know it like I built it.”

  Golmarr takes a step closer, so Enzio is sandwiched between the two of us. Enzio clears his throat. “I do not do so well in tight spaces,” Enzio whispers, shrugging his shoulders. “Especially with another man breathing down my neck.”

  Golmarr laughs under his breath, and Enzio leans as far away from him as he can. “I will move in a moment. Sorrowlynn, are there secret passages in the library?”

  “Yes. The only room that does not have any is the throne room. It was built to keep dragons out.” Without warning, I see scales the color of wheat and eyes like fresh-spilled blood, and a shroud of long-forgotten fear settles around me. “Not dragons, just one particular dragon.” I shudder.

  “If we need to escape for any reason, can you get us out of here without using any of the main passages?”

  I frown at Golmarr. “Why? Are we going to need to escape?”

  “Should I be worried?” Enzio asks, carefully maneuvering his short sword from his belt in the limited space between Golmarr and me.

  Golmarr nods and claps him on the shoulder. “Always be on your guard, my friend. Be prepared for anything. Treyose, I trust. But King Vaunn? If he discovers we are in his castle, using his library, he will try to kill us. He will set his entire army on us, if need be.” Golmarr takes a step away from Enzio. “There you go, my friend. No more man breath on your neck.”

  Enzio rubs his neck, but he laughs.

  At the bottom of the stairwell, I open the door leading to the third floor and gasp. Five armed soldiers are striding toward us. When they see us, all five of them slide their swords from their scabbards.

  When staring at five armed men, one does not expect to live long. Instinctively, I reach for a sword at my waist, but my hand grasps air. Enzio leaps in front of me, his short sword ready.

  “What is this?” Golmarr demands, sounding every bit like the prince he is. He strides past Enzio and me, placing his unarmed self between us and the soldiers.

  “We were sent by Prince Treyose, my lord,” a soldier says. Despite his bloodshot eyes and weary face, I recognize him. It is Reyler, Treyose’s man who was instructed to shoot me in the thigh if I tried to run. At a signal from Reyler, the Trevonans sheathe their swords.

  “Five of you?” I ask, stepping forward. Golmarr’s hand clasps my shoulder, staying me.

  “As he saw fit, my lady,” Reyler says with a small smile. “It is not my place to question my future king. I was instructed to show you to a chamber for the night.”

  Golmarr’s hand drops from my shoulder, and I feel its absence like I have shed my cloak in the middle of a blizzard. “Then, by all means, lead the way,” Golmarr says. He presses his hand to the small of my back, giving me the slightest nudge forward.

  The lower levels of the library are dark, the windows filled with the black of deep night. I follow Reyler silently, but when we reach the bottom floor, it occurs to me Treyose has not assigned five guards to protect his people from us. We are the ones being protected, and neither Golmarr nor I are in possession of a sword. I pretend to stumble and fall to the floor, my green skirt pooled about me. Groaning, I wrap my hands around my left ankle and rock back and forth.

  Golmarr is kneeling on the floor in front of me before the armed escort has even noticed I’ve fallen. He unlaces my boot and carefully pulls it off, and then his long, strong fingers wrap around my left ankle, probing the soft tissue around the bone. Enzio and the five guards gather around, frowning down at us.

  “Is it broken?” Reyler asks, crouching beside Golmarr.

  Golmarr slowly twists my ankle from side to side. His fingers slip beneath the hem of my skirt and slowly move up the length of my calf, pressing and kneading. Despite the six men surrounding us, despite the cold stone floor beneath me, my heart jumps into my throat and my mouth goes dry. I stare at Golmarr as he slowly trails his hand back down to my ankle. One of his eyebrows slo
wly lifts, his face questioning. I shake my head the slightest bit and, as if he knows exactly what I am doing, he nods.

  “It’s not broken,” Golmarr announces, slowly standing, “but she would benefit from a sturdy walking staff. One about this high”—he lifts his hand just higher than his shoulder—“and solid enough to hold most of her weight.”

  Reyler studies me for a moment. “A quarterstaff is about that size. They’re tipped with iron, so it’s not going to be lightweight, and for that I apologize.”

  “It sounds like the perfect thing,” I say, and hobble to my feet. Without a word, Golmarr lifts me from the floor, cradling me in his arms. He looks into my eyes and I stare back, so shocked by his actions I cannot speak. I loosely wrap my arms around his neck. Even though he is wearing Trevonan clothing, he smells exactly the same as I remember, and I breathe in the soap-and-cedar scent of him. Beneath my chest his heart is beating a quick, steady rhythm, much faster than it should be, and his hands are trembling. He inhales a deep breath. On the exhale, he whispers, “I cannot do this. It is too hard for me to be this close to you,” and sets me down. “Enzio, can you help her?” Golmarr growls, staring at the floor like he wants to kill it.

  “Of course.” Enzio steps to my side and pulls my arm over his shoulders and I start limping along. Reyler commands one of his men to fetch me a quarterstaff, and then we leave the library through a door that is also a bookshelf. We pass through a dark, dusty passage that Enzio and I can barely fit through side by side. At the end of the passage, Reyler holds a thick tapestry aside and we enter the slightly warmer castle. The halls are silent, and only our lamp lights their dark depths. Gauzy cobwebs hang from empty sconces, and the smell of mildew saturates the air.

  We ascend a flight of narrow stone stairs and continue down a silent passage, past several shut doors, before Reyler stops in front of one. “Wait,” he says. He draws his sword and opens the door, confirming my suspicion he was sent by Treyose to protect us. Reyler and two of his men sweep through the room before he gives us the signal to enter.

  The room is big and drafty, with a freshly laid fire burning in the hearth. On one side of the room, two moth-eaten chairs face the fire. The other side has a big bed with bright purple linens and a rotting canopy hanging above it. Beside it are a dusty table, two water basins, and a small stack of cloths.

  “My men and I put fresh linens on the bed for you,” Reyler says, “since this part of the castle hasn’t been used for nearly a century. The roof leaks, and until it is fixed, it is inhabitable only in dry weather.” Golmarr makes an irritated noise and Reyler glares at him. “Since Treyose did not feel comfortable alerting your presence to the cleaning staff, my men and I did our best to scour and prepare this room for you. It is the safest place you can sleep.”

  I smile and try to look gracious. “Thank you, Reyler. It will suit us just fine.”

  He nods. “We will be stationed outside your door, my lady. Your men can sleep in the chairs. There are two extra blankets at the foot of the bed. If you need anything, simply call my name and I will be here.” Before Reyler has passed through the door, a man enters carrying a staff. My heart soars at the sight of the weapon—tipped with iron on both ends. The guard hands it to me. The wood is smooth and worn from hours of weapons practice, and the metal makes it much heavier than a simple wooden staff. I take the staff and use it to help my limp, then nod my approval.

  “This will be perfect.”

  When Treyose’s men are gone, I center my weight on my feet and swing the staff, testing its balance. The iron tips lend a new speed to my swing—a more forceful swing—and the weapon feels good in my hands. I work through several exercises while Enzio and Golmarr stand beside the fire quietly talking. When I have worked up a sweat, I place the staff beside the bed and wash my hands and face at one of the basins.

  Golmarr moves to the bed. He pulls the covers back and plumps the pillow before sitting in the chair by the fire. The small gesture warms my heart. “Thank you,” I say.

  “You are welcome. It is the closest thing to a good-night kiss I dare give you. Enzio, sleep with your sword out,” he adds.

  “I don’t need the reminder. Yerengul has taught me well these past months.”

  “Your skill with the sword has improved immensely since I last saw you. I can tell simply by the way you draw your weapon,” Golmarr says. He glances at me. “Who typically wins in sword fights—you or Sorrowlynn?”

  Enzio takes a deep breath before admitting, “Sorrowlynn beats me every time we practice with swords.”

  Golmarr’s eyes fill with approval, and I smile as I loosen the stays of my dress and climb into the bed, which smells strongly of mildew. Staring at Golmarr’s dark, brooding profile, I fall asleep.

  * * *

  I thrust my hands into the ground and they come up spilling black pebbles the size and shape of my thumbnail. The ocean crashes and swells over the pebbles, wrapping around my ankles, and I know if I look up, I will see a two-headed dragon. I close my eyes and inhale the smell of brine and realize I miss this place almost as much as I miss the way Golmarr was before he killed the glass dragon.

  The tide crashes to shore again, burying my feet beneath a shallow layer of black rocks when I hear someone call my name. I open my eyes, and the dragon is there waiting for me. Beside it walks a woman. Her hair is like clouds blowing around her face, her skin the deep brown of tea, and even though she is walking toward me, the distance between us never narrows. I look up at the dragon, and the woman follows my gaze. When her eyes alight on the beast, she jumps with surprise and swishes her hand at the creature as if it was a pesky fly. The two-headed dragon shivers and then slowly disappears until it is only the woman and me on the beach. She walks and walks, never getting close enough for me to see the details of her face. I try to step toward her, but the rocks on top of my feet grow heavy, rooting them in place. I grip my leg and yank, but the ground refuses to relinquish me.

  The woman cups her hands around her mouth. It moves, but I hear nothing. She yells again, but only the in and out of the tide, the crashing and receding waves, fills the air.

  Sorrowlynn. The voice does not penetrate my ears, instead forming inside my head. Come find me. Please.

  The urge to run to the owner of the voice is so strong, I sit up in bed, throw the covers off, and leap to my feet. “I’m coming,” I blurt before I remember I am in King Vaunn’s castle. I need to leave the suffocating black stone walls and run to the ocean.

  “What is it?” Enzio asks from the chair beside my bed, sword in hand. He blinks sleep from his blue eyes.

  Golmarr stands from the chair by the hearth and strides over, his bare feet silent on the sleek stone floor. He stops three paces from me, and his tired eyes take in my rumpled dress and tangled hair. He clears his throat and looks down at his tunic, double-checking it is tied tightly beneath his chin. “You said, ‘I’m coming.’ What does that mean?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep.

  I shake my head and rub my eyes, plopping down on the side of my bed. “I don’t know. I keep dreaming of the ocean and a beach with a woman on it. She wants me to find her.” Golmarr and Enzio look at each other, and Enzio shrugs.

  “Who was she?” Golmarr asks.

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t see her face.” I gather my hair and start combing my fingers through the tangles. “Have either of you ever seen a beach with black pebbles instead of sand?”

  Enzio’s face drains of color, and Golmarr curses.

  My hands freeze in my hair. “What?”

  “The only place I have ever heard of with black rock beaches is Draykioch,” Golmarr says.

  I shiver at the mere sound of the name. “What is Draykioch?”

  “The Serpent’s Island,” Enzio replies. “A sea creature as long as a ship and as black as night controls the sea around the island. My gran used to put me to b
ed with horror stories of that place—ships being sucked down whirlpools, waves as tall as a mountain. When I was fourteen, a man with hair bleached white as bone wandered into our forest. He asked if a stonemason could turn his metal flask to stone because it contained something more precious than gold. I was training to be a mason, so my father gave me the flask even though it is not possible to turn metal to stone.” He rubs his thumb over his fingertips and his eyes grow unfocused.

  “What was in the flask?” Golmarr asks.

  Enzio blinks. “Dragon tears.”

  “A dragon’s actual tears?” I ask.

  “No. Black rocks that glow in sunlight,” Enzio explains. “The stranger claimed he was a sea captain. He said he got the dragon tears from the Serpent’s Island, from Draykioch, after the sea divided and marooned his ship on dry land where the water used to be. He said when he and his men got off the ship, the sea rose up and crashed atop them, and he floated on an empty keg all the way back to the Antharian shore, but not before he filled his whiskey flask with the black rocks from the sea floor.”

  “What happened to the man?” I ask.

  “When I gave his flask back to him, in the exact state it was in when he gave it to my father, the man thought it had been turned to stone, so he paid me for my work and wandered away. He was so muddled in the head he couldn’t even tell that his flask hadn’t undergone any change. Fortunately, I never saw him again.”

  Golmarr starts pacing back and forth at the foot of my bed, right arm folded across his chest, hand above his heart. “I have lived by the sea my entire life. I have traded goods with sea captains from around the world. No one goes to Draykioch and comes back to tell the tale.”

  Enzio reaches under his rumpled, gray tunic and removes a small leather pouch fastened to a chain around his neck. He holds one hand out flat and cautiously dumps the contents of the pouch onto his palm. Two small black rocks the size of my thumbnail tumble out. “This is what he paid me with.”