“The dragon is coming for you, so no matter what I do, you will have to be there with me. Otherwise I would fight it alone.”
I lean in closer to him. “I will be there with you.”
He trails his hand up my arm. “First of all, you have to wear a cloak. You are going to try to distract it any way you can, without getting close enough for it to use its claws or teeth on you. If it breathes ice at you, fine. You shelter under the cloak. You’ll survive that. Meanwhile, I will use the reforged sword to immobilize and injure it to the point that it cannot come after you for a long time. And then, while it is healing from its wounds, we learn how to kill a dragon without being forced to inherit its treasure.” He looks at me. “What do you think?”
I nod. “I think that is our only option.”
“Then we are ready for tomorrow’s battle.” He lies down and pulls me so my head is on his chest and my back is against the back of the sofa. Turning his body to face me, he lifts the blanket up over us.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, smiling. He wraps both his arms around me and tangles his legs with mine, just like he did when we slept in the cave by the lake. He is right. I fit perfectly against him.
“I am savoring every moment we have together and keeping you warm until morning.” He slowly trails his hand up the length of my spine, and I shiver. “It is a family tradition,” he whispers. “On the night before a battle, we keep our women warm just in case…” His voice trails off.
I press my hands against his chest and feel the deep, steady beat of his heart. “In case it is our last night together,” I finish.
He kisses my forehead and leaves his lips there, and with the feel of his heart beating against my hands and the quiet noise of the fire, I sleep.
Wearing tan leather pants and a metal-lined leather vest over a simple cream shirt, I sit astride Dewdrop and breathe the cool dawn air. The wind blows, tugging on my braided hair, swishing Dewdrop’s mane, and whispering through the tall grass, creating ripples that spread as far as the eye can see. At my waist, I wear the belt from Melisande and king Marrkul’s hunting knife, and my staff is tucked into a leather loop on the side of my saddle. For all the rigid things I wear, purple and yellow flower garlands are draped over me and my horse, thanks to the tearful goodbye given us by those not fighting. Every single soldier is wearing flowers of some sort, such a sharp contrast to their armor and weapons.
Each soldier has one extra weapon today—or piece of armor, rather—that is not made of metal, wood, or leather: a heavy wool cloak. Protection of a sort against a dragon’s breath of glass. Axes are also tucked into saddlebags for cracking ice, should the need arise.
We ride hard, and every once in a while I glance behind me and meet the scowling dark eyes of Evay. I can feel her stare like fire against my back.
I look at Golmarr, sitting astride Tanyani and riding beside me. His eyes have a familiar fierceness burning in them, his mouth is pulled down in a frown, and the first hint of dark scruff shadows his chin. His body moves with his horse’s steps like they are one single, lethal entity. And yet I can’t help but smile. He is wearing a crown of pale pink baby’s breath flowers on his head.
We arrive at Crow Hill before midday. The archers, dressed in leather tanned to match the gold grass, take their places at the top of the hill and disappear into their surroundings when they crouch. The soldiers who fight on horseback, including Golmarr’s eight brothers and his father, stay on the far side of Crow Hill, waiting. The footmen take their places below the hill and hunker down in the grass. That is where I will be fighting.
I stand at the top of the hill, the tall golden grass swaying against my waist, and stare at the bright blue sky. I feel like I have done this before, hundreds of times—this waiting for the possibility of my death, the knowledge that I might be taking life, the surety that I will see men die today, and I feel so tiny in the grand existence of humanity.
Arms wrap around my shoulders and pull my back close against a warm body. “What are you thinking?” Golmarr asks, his mouth beside my ear.
“That one life is so small. My existence is so trivial.” I put my hand on his wrist, right below my chin.
“Not to me,” he says. He has been quiet all morning, his hand gripping and releasing the pommel of his sword over and over.
“What are you thinking, Golmarr?” I turn in his arms to look at him, and his hands loop behind the small of my back. His eyes sweep the sky behind my shoulder, study the collar of my cream shirt—look anywhere but at my eyes.
“When I am leading the foot soldiers, hold back. I don’t want you on the front line with me. Enzio says he will stay with you.” He still hasn’t looked at me.