“Three hundred years ago, when the fire dragon destroyed this land, he razed the ground with fire. Every living thing that could not find shelter was burned, almost all of our warriors were killed, and Anthar was populated by widows and their starving children,” Golmarr explains. I blink and see the charred ground, how it looked three hundred years ago. “Out of necessity, our women learned to fight and taught their children how to fight. After the fire dragon was bound beneath the mountain, after my ancestors started to rebuild, we discovered that our soil was richer than it had ever been. Our crops grow larger and sweeter than any others. Our cattle grow bigger, our horses stronger and faster from grazing these fields. Because of the dragon fire, this is good, fertile land. We also discovered a woman who is fighting to protect her home and her children can be a fiercer warrior than a man. So ever since then, our women have trained to be warriors and fight alongside the men.
“The Trevonan to the west want our land, so they test us regularly to see how strong we are. The men hiding in the Glass Forest, too,” he explains. “If my kingdom were not bound to your kingdom through the threat of a dragon and the possibility of arranged marriage, I would not be surprised if your father tried to take our land.”
Lord Damar’s face fills my mind—his cruel blue eyes, his cheeks flushed and beaded with sweat from whipping me so hard—and I stiffen. “Lord Damar is not my father,” I whisper. “Queen Felicitia is my mother, but that man is not my father.”
“Who is?” Golmarr asks, his voice gentle but not surprised.
“Ornald, the guard who found us out riding horses on the morning of the ceremony. When Lord Damar whipped me for riding astride, Ornald stopped him before he could draw more than one stripe of blood. At the time I didn’t know why he intervened, but it is because he is my father.” I think of him escorting me to greet the Antharian horse lords on the day of my sixteenth birthday, think of Lord Damar’s shocked outrage, my mother’s anger at the sight of my hand on Ornald’s arm. Now I understand their reactions. My true father escorted me to my first official ceremony, and it enraged them.
“So you’re the daughter of a Satari man,” he says. “No wonder their clothes look so good on you.”
I frown at him over my shoulder. “Satari man?” I shake my head. “Ornald is Faodarian. He used to be the captain of the guard.”
“He’s Satari, Sorrowlynn—at least he used to be. Have you never noticed the earring holes in his ears that never grew back? And the short sword he carries? And the slant to his eyes is very Satari. Look at Enzio.” I study Enzio, riding directly behind us. His eyes are a striking blue, like his mother’s, and at the corners they turn up. “Even the name Ornald is a Satari name.”
I frown at Golmarr. “Surely you’re wrong.”
Golmarr turns and looks at Enzio. “Is Ornald a Satari name?” he asks.
Enzio nods. “It is a most respectable Satari name. My uncle was named Ornald.”
“See?” Golmarr says, amused at my shocked expression. “Is that why you picked the name Ornald for me when we were taken by the Satari? Because it is…special to you?”
I nod. “I gave you the name of my father.”
The amusement in his eyes is replaced with a more solemn emotion I cannot name. “You gave me a great honor, giving me your father’s name. I thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Sorrowlynn, look. That is Kreeose, my city.” Golmarr points forward. We crest a rolling hill, and at the top, the world opens up. Golmarr dismounts, and I do the same, groaning at the stiffness in my body. After a moment, I shield my eyes from the afternoon sun and look around. The farmers’ green fields slowly taper off to the houses and streets and buildings of a large city. Beyond them, the horizon is a deep blue line before it touches the pale blue sky. “That is the ocean,” Golmarr says, and I know he means the dark blue line, for I saw it on the maps I studied as a child, but to see it now, with my own eyes—my heart swells against my breast.
Jessen and Yerengul trot up to us. “We’re going to ride ahead and tell Father we found you,” Jessen says. “He’s not been feeling well since we returned, and we don’t want to give him too much of a shock.”
“You nearly killed him with worry, Golmarr,” Yerengul says. “He will be glad to see you…with your self-proclaimed betrothed at your side, no less,” he adds with a wink. My stomach swirls at Yerengul’s words. I am Golmarr’s self-proclaimed betrothed. At the binding ceremony, he asked me to marry him—and I accepted. “Enzio, come on, man. We’ll let these two take their time arriving, but you, my Satari friend, look like you could use a good, hearty meal and a bath.” Jessen and Yerengul lean forward, and their mounts dig their hooves into the ground and gallop toward the city.
Instead of following, Enzio turns to me and says, “I am your sworn protector. Would you like me to stay with you?”
“No. Please go and have a bath and some food.”
He grins and kicks his horse into a gallop, following Golmarr’s brothers.
“Do you think we’re still betrothed?” Golmarr asks. “I made a solemn promise to you at the binding ceremony.” Speechless, I stare after his brothers. “I guess what I should be asking is…Sorrowlynn, if we are still betrothed, would you like me to ask my father to have it annulled?” He puts his hand under my chin and gently turns my face to his so I am looking at him.
“I have to ask you something first.” The pit of my stomach swirls, and the air feels too heavy. “You said when you kissed me by the waterfall that I bewitched you with my magic.”
He nods. “That’s how it feels.”
“What if that feeling is for the dragon part of me?”