The dragon stumbles backward, crashing into two wagons and knocking them onto their sides. Golmarr dives toward the beast and rolls between its feet. When he tries to stand, he slips on the ice and slams down onto his back. Even through the window, I can hear the crunch of his head against the frozen ground.
“No!” I shriek, and turn from the window. With unsteady hands, I fumble with the lock, then throw the door wide and run back out into the clearing. The scene before me freezes my blood. Golmarr is flat on his back, his sword arm motionless on the ground, and the dragon is lifting its great, clawed foot over him.
“Golmarr!” I scream, and try to run, but the ice is too slick. My bare feet move, but they do not carry me forward. The dragon splays its claws, and as its foot comes down, Golmarr bursts into action, rolling to the side as the talons shatter the ice where he was a moment before. Golmarr holds his sword in both his hands and swings his blade at the back of the dragon’s ankle.
The creature shrieks and stumbles to the side, and Golmarr climbs back to his feet. He swings his sword over his head and stabs forward, aiming for the dragon’s chest. An intense hatred grips my head so strongly that I grab my hair in my hands and scream. Suddenly, I know what this dragon’s treasure is. “Don’t kill it!” I shriek. “Don’t kill it, Golmarr!” Just as the tip of his sword pierces one of the scales on the creature’s wide chest, the dragon opens its black wings and lifts its body into the air. Great drops of crimson blood rain down from its injured leg as it flies over the clearing and disappears behind a shield of leaves. Where the dragon’s blood has landed on the ground, the ice is bright red and steam is rising up into the air.
Golmarr wobbles and collapses to his knees. I slip my way toward him and slide to a stop at his side. Dragon blood streaks his sword blade, and on the tip is a gleaming emerald dragon scale with a small patch of bloody skin still attached. Taking his head in my hands, I gently probe the back of his skull. A bump as big as a chicken egg has already formed beneath his scalp. Careful not to cause him more pain, I part his thick black hair over the wound to make sure it isn’t bleeding, but yelp and lurch away, pulling my leg from his grasp. Pain is pulsing up my calf.
Golmarr reaches out and wraps his fingers around my ankle again, and the pain intensifies. His fingers are as hot as live coals. “Stop!” I hiss, and look down at his hand to see what is wrong with it. My skin is pale blue between his fingers.
“We need a fire as quickly as possible!” Golmarr yells. People are poking their heads out of their wagon doors, warily peering between us and the sky. “Please, someone help us! We need a fire as quickly as possible!” he calls again. No one leaves their wagons. “We just risked our lives to save you,” Golmarr growls. “If you help her, I promise that we will leave your camp as soon as we are well enough to.”
Edemond, still holding the ax he used to break me free from the ice, comes out of the pink wagon. “Alfenzo, Matteus, start breaking the ice so we can light a fire. Stefano, get kindling! I will get the wood.” Still barefoot, he hurries outside of the wagon circle, and a moment later, I hear the rhythmic thumping of an ax.
“I need blankets!” Golmarr shouts. “Jayah needs to warm up!” His voice is panicked.
“I’m fine,” I say. Golmarr lifts the skirt up to my knees. Blue veins are creeping up my legs beneath my skin. When I touch one, it is as cold as ice. And then I realize I cannot feel the ice beneath my bare feet. “My feet are numb,” I whisper. Golmarr pales and lifts me off the ice.
Wagon doors open and women laden with piles of blankets in their arms come out. Not giving a care about the ice, they all make their unsteady way toward me and, one by one, place the blankets at Golmarr’s feet. He grabs one and swings it around his shoulders and me, hugging me to him.
“I’m fine,” I protest, and try to push the blanket away, but my fingers are numb with cold and too stiff to bend. My heart begins pounding with fear, and when it does, I can feel the ice start speeding through my body. “Golmarr?” I whisper. “I can feel it in my blood.”
Frantically, Golmarr starts rubbing my arms with his hands, trying to force warmth into my skin as a group of Satari women circles us.
Mama puts her frail, wrinkled hand on Golmarr’s bare forearm. “We have bed-warming pans in several of the wagons. Melisande is getting them. Can you get the girl indoors, young horse lord? We can warm her better inside.”
He presses on the back of his head. “I’m too dizzy to walk with her.” The words come out in a sob. “Is she dying?”
I shake my head vehemently, but the old woman nods. “Her flesh was touched by dragon breath. Your wife is going to slowly freeze to death.”
Golmarr’s arms start trembling. “How can we save her? There has to be a way!”