King Marrkul rests his elbows on the table and frowns. “So we are going to battle.” The wrinkles around his eyes seem deeper than I remember, and he looks exhausted. “We will postpone the feast until after the fighting. For now, we need to prepare to defend our land and our people.” He looks at me. “And my son’s betrothed.”
Battle. The single word opens so many memories inside of my brain that my head begins to hurt. It hurts all day, so by the time the sun sets, I take my leave and retire to Golmarr’s room, alone, in hopes that sleep will ease the pain.
I open my eyes to a battle on the side of a sun-drenched hill—men slaughtering men. With perfect clarity, I can see the strategy of the battle. I know who is winning, and why. Blinking, I open my eyes to another battle being fought in the courtyard of my mother’s castle and again know the inner workings of battle strategy. I blink and see another battle, with rain-sodden soldiers and the ground awash with blood. I blink again and open my eyes to more fighting. Again, fighting. Again, fighting. Again, fighting, until I have witnessed every single battle of every single person whose memories live in my head, and all I want to do is close my eyes forever!
And then I blink and see the great green dragon, the dragon of the Glass Forest, sitting in its cave made of tree boughs, vines, and dirt. Thoughts are flowing out of the beast, rippling through the misty forest air, and settling in the dreams of sleeping men. I reach my mind out to the thoughts, and when I touch one, I hear what the dragon is communicating: Attack the horse clan. Kill any who oppose you. Take their land for your own. Accompanying the thoughts is the fierce, yearning desire to obey them.
The dragon’s thoughts shift as it grows aware of me, and I realize this dragon is female. With that knowledge comes a name: Corritha. Something sharp clamps down on my mind and wraps around it, stifling it, smothering my ability to think. Everything is stripped from my brain until all that is left is a dull gray void, and then something darker than the gray is forced into my head. Corritha’s treasure. The thing she craves above everything else. The weapon she has hoarded for a more than a millennium—hatred: the weapon that gives her the ability to kill and hate and terrorize without remorse. Her hatred is so intense, I want to take my own life—because her abhorrence feels like my own self-loathing. Her treasure of hatred once focused on a jewel prized above all others: the fire dragon. And since I killed him, all of that hatred has been transferred onto me. I am the new jewel.
I lash out at the glass dragon’s blackness with thoughts of my own, thoughts in opposition to the creature’s all-consuming hatred: I summon up every good memory I have, every single kindness I can recall, every type of love that exists in my hundreds of memories, and shove it at the black space devouring my conscience.
The glass dragon recoils, and I can feel the blackness dissipating from my brain like hissing steam. But my victory is only temporary.
Corritha spreads her wings, and I feel her wicked anticipation, for tomorrow she will eat me.
I sit up, throw the covers from me, and press my fingertips against my eyes, trying to remove the horrible things I have seen. I force my eyes open and stare at a square of light on the bedroom floor, from the moon shining in through the window, and then I get up. More than mercenaries and renegades are coming tomorrow, and King Marrkul needs to know. I glance at my nightgown and consider changing clothes, but what I have to say is too important to delay.
The hallway outside is dark, the wood floor cold on my bare feet. Beside my door is a black lump. I crouch and put my hands on it and discover something warm and firm and snoring, so I give it a gentle shake.
“Sorrowlynn?” I recognize Enzio’s voice. “Is everything all right?” He sits up, and I can barely make out his face.
“Why are you sleeping on the floor? Do you not know that there are twelve bedrooms in this house?” I ask.
“I could not sleep, knowing that witch was in the same house as you,” he says, his voice cold. “I was afraid, after the way she looked at you like she was going to eat you…”
Warmth fills my breast despite the chill left from the battles I witnessed in my dreams. “You are protecting me.”
“I was thinking tonight might be the night I repay the debt I owe you.”
“Thank you, Enzio,” I whisper. I reach out and clasp his hand, wrapping my frigid fingers around it. “If you want, sleep in the bed I was in. I won’t be sleeping anymore tonight. And Nayadi won’t be able to sneak up on me now that I’m awake.”
“Do you know how to throw a knife?”
When he asks, I can feel in my fingers and wrist the precise muscles and technique used to throw a knife. “Yes.”
Enzio stands. “If she comes anywhere near you, aim for her heart. Do not let her get close enough to touch you.”
“All right. Do you know where Golmarr is sleeping?”