Golmarr grips his brother’s shirt. “You hurt her?”
“No, we didn’t hurt her,” Yerengul says. Golmarr’s hand falls back to his side. “But speaking of hurting someone, Evay is going beat you to a pulp when she sees you’re alive,” Yerengul adds quietly. “When she found out you willingly pledged your troth to a Faodarian princess, and then followed her into the dragon’s cave against Father’s will, she flew into a grief-stricken rage. She’s been taking her pain out on anyone who so much as looks at her.”
Evay again. I drop my gaze and study my clasped hands.
“I never pledged myself to Evay. She has no claim on me,” Golmarr says. “Why are you patrolling so close to the border, and where are your horses?”
Jessen stands and looks north toward the forest, and the wind blows his long, dark hair around his face. “Nayadi had one of her visions. She said something was going to be coming out of the forest.”
“What?” Golmarr asks.
“She wasn’t sure, but I am beginning to think she meant you. Rest for now. Yerengul and I will get our horses and stand watch.”
Golmarr wobbles to his feet and clasps his brother’s arm for balance. “I’ll help keep watch,” he says, but Jessen shakes his head.
“Rest, little brother. Yeren gave you quite a bonk. We will travel home at first light.”
I do not sleep well, lying on the hard ground, wrapped in a cloak, between Golmarr and Enzio. The cool night air creeps into me, and no matter how I wrap the cloak around my body, I cannot keep the chill at bay.
My eyes pop open when I feel hands crushing my throat. Armed men lie dead in the smoldering grass beside me, and overhead a shimmering orange dragon circles through the cloudy sky—I can see it just beyond the face of the man trying desperately to suffocate me. I claw at his hands and squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them again, the sky is blue, no hands are on my throat, the golden grass is free of dead bodies, and I am looking up into Enzio’s startled face.
“It is time to wake up,” he says. I press my hands to my throat and swallow. Enzio takes an extra cloak off of me—Golmarr’s—and helps me to my feet, studying me from the corner of his eye. “Nightmare?” he asks. I nod, and for a split second I see the charred grass again, feel the heat rising from it, and taste the smoke thick in the air. I close my eyes and rub them. “Sometimes, after the Black Blades have been attacked, I won’t sleep because I know if I do, I will relive the battle through my nightmares. It is the price we warriors pay.”
I nod. I was reliving a battle through my nightmare—just not my own battle.
“Golmarr has your breakfast,” he says, nodding toward the rising sun.
Golmarr and his brothers are quietly talking beside our two horses, which have been joined by two more. The brothers are both a little bit taller and broader than Golmarr, they both have the same glossy, dark hair, but one has a bit of girth around his belly and his shoulders, like a man gets when he has long outgrown boyhood. I watch Golmarr slide the reforged sword from its sheath at his hip, and his brothers’ eyes grow wide. The thinner one takes the sword and runs his hand reverently over the blade.
At my approach, Golmarr turns and looks at me, and a hint of a smile brightens his eyes. “Sorrowlynn.” He strides over, his legs swishing against the grass, and wraps me in an embrace. His hand cradles the back of my head to his shoulder and tangles in my hair. I close my arms around his waist and breathe in the familiar smell of him.
“Good morning,” he whispers, and kisses my forehead. His brothers are staring at us, both with shocked expressions on their faces.
“Evay is going to pummel you, Golmarr,” the thinner brother says.
“I already told you that Evay has no claim on me, Yerengul. She has never said she loves me, and I have never said that I love her,” Golmarr says, putting his arm around my waist and resting his hand on my hip.
“It’s a good thing you know how to fight, Princess Sorrowlynn,” Yerengul says, tossing my staff to me. I catch it with one hand.
“If Evay wants to pick a fight with someone, it is going to be me, not Princess Sorrowlynn,” Golmarr snaps. He turns back to me, and I can see anger gathering in his eyes. “Princess Sorrowlynn, this is my brother Yerengul”—he motions to the thinner brother—“and my brother Jessen.” He motions to the thicker, older brother.
“I am pleased to meet you, Prince Jessen, Prince Yerengul,” I say, and grip the sides of my purple skirt and curtsy.
They both study me in silence, scowling, until Jessen clears his throat. “Welcome to Anthar, Princess,” he says, and elbows Yerengul in the ribs.