The man holding me tightens his arm on my throat, and the knife that was at my ribs comes up to my neck, just below my ear. “Who are you?” he growls. When I do not answer, the blade presses harder. “I have no qualms about murdering mercenary women to protect my people,” he says. “Who are you? Tell me or die.”
“I am…,” I whisper. I remember dying, and no matter what anyone else believes, it does not hurt. “I am not afraid to die. A swift death is painless,” I snap. The knife comes away from my neck, and he shoves me so hard that I fly forward and skid to a stop on my face in the coarse grass. I push myself up to sitting, swipe my long, loose hair out of my face, and glare up at my two captors even though my insides are quivering with fear.
“Who are you, and why are you in my kingdom with two armed men?” the man who held the knife at my throat asks. My kingdom? My fear melts in half, and I slowly climb to my feet.
“Keep your guard up, Jessen. She’s a trained fighter,” the man holding my weapons says. He sounds just like Golmarr—the tone of his deep voice, the slight accent. He lifts my dagger to the moonlight and studies it.
“This is your land?” I ask, studying Jessen.
He lifts his sword between us and answers, “Aye, lass. And what black deeds do you plan for my people?”
“You are Golmarr’s brothers,” I whisper.
His face hardens with fury at mention of his brother’s name. “Who are you, and what—”
“Golmarr brought me!” I blurt, and turn from my captors to look for him.
“Our brother is dead,” Jessen growls. “He followed a pretty face into a dragon’s lair.”
“He always was a fool for a pretty face, God rest his soul,” the other brother says, shaking his head.
“We lived,” I whisper, looking from one man to the other.
The man holding my knife looks at me. In the moonlight I can see that his eyes are narrowed, his mouth frowning. He looks at the knife again. “She is carrying Father’s knife, Jessen. The one he gave to the northern princess before we lowered her down to the fire dragon’s cave.” He holds the knife out to his brother, who takes it from his hand and runs his finger over the hilt.
“Are you Princess Sorrowlynn?” Jessen asks. I nod, but even in the dim light I can see the skepticism in his narrowed eyes. “Northern princesses do not know how to fight.”
“Not until now,” I say, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin in defiance.
“I am Yerengul of Anthar. If you are who you say you are, then where is my little brother?”
I turn in the direction I last saw him and point. “He was there a moment ago, but now—”
My words are cut short by Yerengul’s laughter. “Jessen! We took down our own brother! I thought I recognized his voice before I cracked him over the head.”
“We’ll see,” Jessen growls. He tucks my knife in his belt, grips my upper arm, and drags me forward. When we have gone ten paces, I see a dark mass hidden by the tall grass. Jessen shoves me at it, and I trip on my skirt and crash down onto my hands and knees, landing beside an unconscious Enzio bound hand and foot by rope.
“Enzio?” I shake his shoulder and he groans. I move to Golmarr and lean over him, and my hair falls around his face. Gently, I lift his head and press my palm to his cheek. “Golmarr,” I say. His skin is cold, and his neck is limp. “Golmarr?” I pat his cheek, and he doesn’t stir. Carefully, I lay his head back onto the ground and glare up at his brothers. “What did you do to him?” I snap. “He already had a head wound!” I stand and ball my fists. “What did you do to him?” I shout, and shove Jessen as hard as I can. He stumbles back a step and grabs both my wrists.
“Yeren, check and see if it’s really him before I knock this little fox on the head to shut her up,” Jessen says, tightening his hold on me.
Yerengul kneels beside Golmarr and leans close to him. After a quick inspection, he gently shakes Golmarr’s shoulders. He looks at Jessen and nods. “It is him, but his hair is short.” Looking back at Golmarr he says, “Brother, wake up.” He lifts Golmarr’s hand and lets it go, and it flops back to the ground. “Evay is going to kill us if we’ve killed him.”
Evay. Golmarr’s sweetheart. The mere mention of her name makes me sick to my stomach.
Jessen curses and drops my wrists and kneels at Golmarr’s side. He lifts something from his belt—a water skin—and pours water onto Golmarr’s face. Golmarr flinches and swipes at his nose, and his eyes flicker open. Yerengul whoops with delight and throws his arms around his brother.
Golmarr groans. “Gently, Yeren,” he croaks. “Did you really have to hit me so hard?”
“You’re practically bald,” Yerengul says with a laugh. “I didn’t recognize your ugly face without your hair hanging around it. And you’re supposed to be dead! What happened?”
Golmarr pushes himself to sitting, and his eyes search the darkness until they find me. “You didn’t hurt her, did you?” he asks his brothers.
“Not as bad as she hurt me,” Yerengul says, rubbing his stomach.