“You filthy son of a…” The black-haired man lunges at the bald king, swinging his good arm at the king’s head and flinging his crown across the room. I recognize the room. It is the throne room of my mother’s castle. “You started this war to satisfy your own greed, and now claim you would have ruled us fairly? We are a peaceful people! We farm and breed horses. Thousands upon thousands of my men have died because of you! When I return to Anthar, I will have a kingdom populated with widows and children and destroyed by dragon fire. Who will feed them? Who will take care of them? Who will protect them? I will have to teach my women to fight if we want to keep our land from the hands of the Trevonans! We will have to arm our children!” he rails.
I hold my hand up—my thin-fingered, wrinkled hand. For a brief moment, I look at the mirror on the wall behind my mother’s throne and see Melchior the wizard looking back at me. His hair is not as gray as I remember it, and his skin is smoother, but I recognize the twinkle in his eyes when they look into mine. I am seeing through his eyes, hearing through his ears, speaking through his mouth, and sharing his body. “Yes, King Dargull, go back to your grasslands and teach your women to fight. Arm your children if you must. And…” I sigh. “I know a way we can bind the fire dragon under the mountain, but for it to work, you must pay two very high prices. First, all the gold and jewels in your treasuries. Second, your children, and your children’s children, will be bound by this pact for generations to come. Your two countries will have to live in peace.” I turn to King Napier. “Because you are the one who woke the fire dragon, the heavier burden will fall upon your progeny. Every Faodarian princess born under the binding will have to forfeit her own desires, or her life, in order for this to work. Is this something you can both agree to?”
King Dargull of Anthar nods eagerly. For a long moment King Napier of Faodara studies me. Finally, he closes his eyes and nods his head.
“If this is the only way to bind the fire dragon under the mountain, then I agree,” King Napier says.
“It is the only way,” Melchior says. “But it is also a very important piece to a puzzle that will eventually shape itself into the death of the fire dragon.”
The dream fades as consciousness slowly settles over me. My eyelids are red from the light shining on them, and I am warm. I fill my lungs with air and stretch my body until my arms are over my head and my toes curl. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. Except my stomach. Based on how hungry I am, I must have slept well past breakfast.
I crack one eye open and the sun is shining directly into it, so I squeeze it shut and call, “Nona?” She doesn’t answer. The only things I hear are the ticking clock and birds chirping. I push myself to sitting and pause, closing my hands. Lifting my fists, I open them and watch as damp sand falls in clumps onto a short, bloodstained skirt.
I am sitting on sand, in a perfect, jagged slash of sunlight. I peer up and see a stone ceiling cracked to the sky, and birds flying in and out of the opening to land in the little mud nests they’ve built on the cave ceiling. Water drips from stalactites, ticking onto the cave floor….
In a massive, gut-wrenching burst, my mind recalls the fire dragon, the cave, and Golmarr. I suck in a breath of air and realize it doesn’t hurt to breathe. Pressing on my ribs—strong, whole ribs—I gasp again and hold my right hand up to my face. Sunlight gleams off of my perfect, clean skin, and my filthy shirt is torn off just above my elbow. I wiggle my fingers and then hold my left hand up beside my right. They are different. My left hand is filthy with dried blood and dirt. My right hand looks like it was just soaked in a tub and scrubbed with soap. It is clean and whole and…not bitten off at the elbow.
Something beside me gurgles and gasps, and I leap to my feet, expecting the dragon. Golmarr is lying in the sand, in the exact position I last saw him. He looks carved from stone, he is so still.
I rush to his side and fall to my knees. “Golmarr!” Blisters have formed on his chest where his vest burned it. His black hair and eyebrows are a stark contrast to his ashen face. He gasps a small, shallow breath of air, and I can hear it gurgle deep down behind his ribs. I know, with complete certainty, that he is mere moments from death. Tears sting my eyes and drip down my cheeks, splattering on the sand beside his head.
“I am so sorry,” I whisper, and put my hand on his cold cheek. As I stare down at him, my thoughts begin to swirl out of control, and the sunlight seems to grow brighter. I sway and close my eyes, and a scrap of knowledge surfaces in my mind like a bubble working its way to the lake’s surface. My eyes fly open, and I stare at Golmarr in silent, breathless shock. I know how to help him.