The Dragon's Price (Transference #1)

It was taken by the only person who fought me and did not die. She got the trophy she sought, but she paid dearly, the dragon explains, its words becoming my thoughts. It shakes its head, and a pair of spiraled horns catch the firelight. I shall eat you without burning you first. You deserve a most painful death to pay for your ancestors’ binding me under this mountain and cursing me to a life of boredom. I used to be magnificent, but look at my wings! The dragon opens its great wings, sending ripples of heat that burn my skin and sear my lungs when I breathe it in. They are shaped like a butterfly’s delicate wings, and look like glowing gold stretched taut between bone, but they are not beautiful. They are tattered, torn on the edges, and have holes in them. Bedraggled.

Bedraggled? This is what your family has done to me! They are rent by the rocks when I fly through the stifling closeness of this cave! I can hardly fly anymore. I have been stripped of my freedom and my dignity. Feelings of anger and sorrow accompany its words. It pulls its wings against its body once more. And so I shall eat you piece by piece, saving your head for last so you see it all, and you shall get stuck in my teeth, and I will like it. And when I get bored in the years to come, I will remember this day and replay it in my head over and over.

Its words freeze me in place and fill me with such dread that I can’t even draw breath. I hear its laughter buzzing in my head, and it lifts one massive clawed foot and steps down the side of the burning rock toward me.

I turn toward the lake and start running, but a wall of fire shoots up in front of me, blocking my way. The dragon lifts its other foot and boulders spill and topple, tumbling down onto the sand path and rolling to a stop at my feet. I leap out of the way to keep from getting burned, but the rocks aren’t on fire. They are as pale and clean as if newly hewn from the cave wall.

With one final step the dragon is before me, its razor-sharp talons sinking into the sand. I crane my neck to look at it, and it opens its mouth, showing me rows of curved yellow teeth. Are you not going to run? it asks.

“You have blocked all the pathways,” I say, amazed that I can speak at all. “I cannot run.”

I hear the laughter in my head once more. Poor little princess, trapped with nowhere to go. Are you not going to lift a hand to fight me, at least?

I look at my hands, feel the pressure of the hunting knife at my back and the weight of the dagger in my sleeve. Slowly, I pull the hunting knife free and look from it to the towering dragon. It is so big, and my weapon is so small; it is like agreeing to fight a lion with a sewing needle for a weapon. My hand begins to shake so badly I can barely keep my fingers wrapped around the knife hilt.

You disgust me. You possess no courage, no ability to fight. If you were courageous, you would try to dive through my fire barriers and run. If you knew how to fight, you would attack me with that puny blade, even though you would die trying. You deserve to be eaten, so I shall eat you now, and I will savor every excruciating moment of your pain.

Anger drives my fear away, and I scream and lunge for the dragon’s foot, stabbing the small scales just above the claw with every fiber of strength in my body. The blade jerks to a dead stop against the scales. I hear the laughter in my head again.

I guess you do possess one drop of courage in your weak, human body. I like the taste of courage. Show me your courage as I eat you!

Nona, my sweet Nona, pops into my head, and I can hear her voice as if she is standing beside me. It is better to be eaten dead than eaten alive. With that thought, I finally understand my birth prediction. The relief of it makes me weak in the knees. It is time to make the blessing come true. I throw the knife to the ground and take the flask of poison from where it hangs and clasp the lid between my thumb and finger. I am ready to die by my own hand.

By your own hand? No! The dragon’s wings burst open, and it shrieks. Before I can unscrew the lid from the poison, the creature lowers its head and lunges for me. I fling my arms up to protect myself as its sharp teeth snap down. A fang slides through the back of my hand, and I scream as the skin opens and my bones separate. The tooth comes out through my palm and shatters the dragon scale still clutched in it, and I think the pain alone might kill me. Other teeth close around my elbow and tear through flesh and bone, and with an agonizing snap and the sound of tearing fabric, my arm is in the dragon’s mouth, and the pain in my hand simply stops existing, being replaced by the agony in my elbow.

The dragon swallows my arm and sleeve—even the dagger still tied to my arm with the white handkerchief—without chewing, and I fall to my knees. Blood pours from the stump of my elbow, turning my shirt and skirt crimson. It drips onto the ground between my knees, and the sand soaks it up before it can spread. My mouth falls open, and I scream, not from the pain, or the fear, but from the shock, the horror, of not having an arm.

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