I look from him to the dragon and understanding dawns on me. If the dragon dies from her wounds, her treasure is going to be transferred to Golmarr. He is leaving to protect me. Tears fill my eyes and a sob tears at my chest. “I love you,” I say. He cringes and holds his heart. Turning, he starts striding away, and I stand frozen in place as I watch him go.
Before he has taken five steps, he gasps and falls to his knees. Gripping his head in his hands, he moans. I reach a hand toward him just as the glass dragon bursts into flame. Flinching, I throw my arms in front of my face. Icy blue fire shoots up from the dragon’s body, reaching halfway to the sky like a pillar of light, as all of the power and magic she once possessed exits her body and then dwindles to nothing, leaving the dragon’s massive figure as dull and lifeless as stone. My arms slowly drop to my sides. I stare at the dead beast framed by ice and crimson blood, and stifle a sob. She is dead. It is done.
Golmarr moans again and slowly climbs to his feet, still holding his head. He looks at me over his shoulder, and the anguish in his eyes slowly fades until he looks like he is half-asleep. His tears stop, and he blinks as if the sun is hurting his eyes.
He takes four tentative steps toward me and then his hand darts out and cinches around my throat. For a moment he looks confused, but slowly his mouth turns down into a frown. I claw at his hand and look into his eyes, and even though I know these eyes, there is nothing familiar in them. They narrow with a hatred so intense that every bit of mischief, every bit of youth, even every bit of love leaves them. Golmarr tightens his hold on my neck and drags me to him so only the tips of my toes slide across the ice.
Glaring down at me, his lips pull back in a growl. “You!” he snarls, and throws me down to the ground hard. My back slams into ice, and all the air is knocked from my lungs. He swings his sword, and I struggle to lift my staff and block it before it pierces my heart. His weapon hits mine with so much force that my shoulders and elbows shudder with pain. He swings again, both hands gripping the sword hilt, and slams his weapon into my staff with every ounce of strength and hatred he possesses. My staff shatters, and his sword continues its downward strike. It cuts through my leather vest and lodges deep in my left shoulder. I cry out, and the broken pieces of my staff fall from my hands.
“Please, Golmarr,” I beg, and my eyes fill with tears. “Please don’t kill me. This isn’t you—this is the dragon’s treasure!”
He smirks and raises his weapon again, and as he plunges it downward, I roll to the side and shield my face with my arms. The sword slices through the back of my vest, shatters the ice where I had been lying, and sinks deep into the ground. Scrambling to my feet, I turn to run, but he dives for me, gripping the hair at the nape of my neck. I tip forward and he slams my face into the frozen ground. I feel a crack in my forehead and the world seems to tilt. Numbness seeps into my body, and I feel nothing as a hazy fog spreads from my head, into the rest of my body. I am rolled onto my back, a boot is pressed firmly to my chest, and I watch Golmarr raise his sword with both his hands cinched around the hilt, his knuckles white. As I stare up at him through my tears I can’t help but wonder—when he kills me, will he feel any type of remorse?
The sword starts to drive toward my heart just as the twang of a bowstring reverberates through the air. Golmarr’s body lurches to the side, and his sword plunges into the ground beside my arm. Not five steps away stands Evay, her bow still aimed at Golmarr, the string still quivering. Her dark eyes are round with horror, yet she pulls another arrow from her quiver and takes aim at Golmarr, waiting.
He presses on his chest, in the space where his shoulder meets his body, the space where his armor has a hair-thin gap. His fingers come away red, and I can see the black fletching sticking out of the back of his shoulder. Golmarr squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. When he opens them again, he looks down at me lying beside his sword, and his face drains of color.
“No!” He shakes his head and slowly draws his sword out of the ground. He stares at the weapon like he has never seen it before. Thrusting it into its sheath, he backs away from me. I can feel his pain and it is tearing my heart in two, stripping me of everything I am made of but despair. “No!” He turns his face to the sky and shrieks. Looking at me, he presses a hand to his heart, then crosses his fingers. Without a backward glance, he runs.