The Dragon's Curse by Bethany Wiggins
Let us eat her now! I need the sustenance!
Yes! I will eat her legs; you eat her head and torso!
The dragon yanks its wings flush against its body and dives, crashing into the water right in front of me, and I am blinded by the slap of spray. I plunge into the roiling white wave and shake the vest from my arm, letting the weight of Enzio’s sword carry me deeper as two sets of teeth snap the water at my feet. Golmarr dives, shooting through the water until he is below the beast. With both his hands wrapped around the reforged sword hilt, he thrusts it up against the wide, smooth belly scales of the two-headed dragon until it is buried to the cross guard. When he pulls the sword free, a fresh cloud of red follows.
The dragon spirals in the water, the force pushing me so hard I sink all the way to the ocean floor. And then I am sitting between two sunken ships, staring up through the red water as Golmarr dives and plunges his sword into the creature’s shoulder.
My lungs are burning for a breath of air, so I dig my feet into the black rocks and push upward, but I can hardly swim and hold the heavy sword. I try again, kicking against the water, but sink back down. Just as I decide I have to drop the sword if I want to live, the sea serpent slithers out from between the two ships. A squeak of surprise leaves my mouth and bubbles up to the surface as the serpent coils around me, pressing my arms tight to my body. With one powerful squeeze, the serpent could crush me, and no matter how I squirm, I cannot loosen its hold. But instead of squeezing, it puts a thought in my head: Peace, child. I am here to help you. The creature lifts me to the water’s surface and then unwinds its body from mine and slithers back under the sea. I gasp for air and Golmarr paddles to my side. He presses a cork vest into my free hand.
The two-headed dragon, far out of reach and sitting atop the sea like a bird, spreads its wings and drags its body out of the water. As it starts to fly away, the black dragon shoots straight up into the sky like an arrow springing from a bow, aimed at the two-headed monstrosity. The sea serpent opens its mouth and snaps its teeth closed on a feathered wing, but a bolt of lightning shoots from the ugly dragon’s mouth. Blue energy wraps around the sea serpent, hissing and popping against the creature’s flesh. The black beast releases the feathered wing and writhes as it falls back toward the ocean, the side of its long body slapping the water. It slowly sinks below the bloody depths of the sea. The two-headed dragon is bobbing and weaving through the air, raining blood into the ocean as it flies toward Draykioch. Slowly, the water becomes as still as red glass.
Golmarr peers into my eyes, but I hardly see him. “Sorrowlynn, are you okay?” When I don’t respond, he wraps his arm around my shoulders, holding the back of my body against the front of his, and starts swimming us toward the ship. After a moment, I untangle myself from his arm and swim beside him, paddling through the silent red sea.
When we reach the ship, a rope ladder is dropped over the side. As I step onto the deck, Enzio’s sword falls from my fingers and thumps against the wood, followed by the cork vest. My father grabs me, pulling me so tight against him I do not have to try to stand on my weak legs.
Water is trickling in streams down my face, my sleeves, my pants. A pool of pink is growing around my feet and merging with the pool forming around Golmarr. Everyone is frozen in place, staring as we drip on the deck. After a long moment of stunned faces and uncomfortable silence, my father says, “Well? Don’t you have anything to say to them? They just saved all of our lives!”
Golmarr’s brothers both touch their foreheads with one finger, then fist their hands and cross their wrists in front of their chests: honored warrior. They are saluting us.
Captain Yeb presses a fist to his heart and bows. “Thank you, Prince Golmarr and Princess Sorrowlynn,” he says. “For my niece’s life and my ship, I thank you.” Too tired to speak, I nod.
My father guides me toward the ship’s helm, carrying the majority of my weight. Every step I take, Yassim’s pale gaze follows. When I have walked past her, she calls out, “Wait!”
I stop and face Yassim.
“The dragons fear you and Golmarr.” Her eyes move to his sword. “What is that weapon?”
Golmarr answers, “It is the reforged sword, heated by dragon fire until all the impurities were burned from the steel.”
“Please come to Ilaad with me and fight the sandworm,” she says, her voice trembling.
Her words stun me, and I do not know what to say. Before I fought the dragon, I was her enemy. Now she is pleading with me to come to Ilaad. Yassim falls to her knees, her hands still tied to the mast. Eyes brimming with tears, she says, “If the two of you will help me fight the sandworm, I will give you more gold than you can spend in a lifetime. Please! He is ravaging my people!”
I open my mouth to tell her I do not require gold in exchange for fighting the worm, but Golmarr shakes his head the slightest bit and touches his throat, the horse clan’s hand signal for Let me speak. To Yassim, he says, “Sorrowlynn is a princess of Faodara, and I am an Antharian prince. We are not mercenaries. We do not fight for pay, Yassim.”
Tears stream down Yassim’s face. “Please! I will give you anything you ask for.”
“Anything?”
Yassim nods. “Anything.”
“Peace,” Golmarr says.
Yassim tilts her head and frowns. “Our people are at peace with Faodara, and we have not had any disagreements with the horse lords for nearly thirty years.”
“Peace with Faodara and Anthar are definitely part of the bargain I am striking, as well as peace with Satar. But I ask for peace with Trevon also.” His words send a shiver of recognition through me as I see yet another piece of Melchior’s puzzle fitting into place.
Anger darkens Yassim’s eyes and she climbs back to her feet. She swipes the tears from her cheeks. “No.”
A small smile quirks the sides of Golmarr’s mouth. “Let me know when you change your mind,” he says.
Captain Yeb steps up beside me, so close I smell eel on his breath and sweat on his clothes. “Are you still planning on swimming to the island?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Come here.” I follow him to the helm. Yeb points south. “Do you see how the water is mostly moving into the bay?”
I study the pattern of the surging waves and nod.
“I recommend you leave now. The tide is rolling in. It will pull you to the island. But if you try to swim from the land to my ship while the tide is still moving in, you will not be able to make it back. You must wait until sunset, when the tide starts moving back out, before you swim to the boat.” He looks me right in the eyes. “Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
Behind me, I hear the quiet slap of wet feet on wood and without looking know that it is Golmarr. He stops at my side, and he is holding a large, waterproof sack in one hand and his staff in the other. The reforged sword is sheathed at his waist.
“Your father has packed supplies for us—food, water, our boots.”
A sudden image of soft sand pathways and bare feet enters my head. “I don’t think we will need the boots,” I say.
A hint of a smile graces Golmarr’s mouth. “You just saw something, didn’t you?”
I nod. “Melchior has been here before…only I don’t remember black beaches.”
“Sorrowlynn says we don’t need boots,” Golmarr calls to Yerengul, and the certainty in his voice, the utter and complete faith he has in me and what I just saw, makes me want to kiss him full on the mouth, right here in front of everyone.
Yerengul looks from Golmarr to me, and then back at his brother. “I’m taking mine anyway.”
“Suit yourself,” Golmarr says as he pulls my boots and his from the sack and tosses them onto the deck. He holds the staff out to me. “Since I am carrying the sword, I thought you would like the staff.” I take it from him and cannot contain m
“Thank you,” I say, taking the staff.
I walk to the starboard bow and climb up onto the railing. Golmarr climbs up beside me. We look at each other, and then Golmarr loops his fingers through mine and gives them a quick squeeze. Leaning close, he presses his lips to my cheek and whispers, “I love you.” My heart starts zooming beneath my ribs, but before I can respond, he releases my hand and dives into the water.
Water splashes around me and then sucks me into its depths. I stare through the pink tinge, down to the ocean’s sandy bottom and our ship’s anchor settled upon it. The sand is gray here, and the sunlight shines on it in perpetually moving ribbons of light. I arch my body and pull myself to the water’s surface, and emerge beside Golmarr. Yerengul, wearing a cork vest, jumps feetfirst into the water, making a massive splash and surfacing a moment later with his long hair matted to the sides of his face.
Small waves roll around us, lifting me and dropping me, pushing me gently toward the reef. I turn onto my side and use the pull of the water to propel myself toward the reef’s narrow opening. With very little effort, I am sucked through the small break and spit out into the calmer water of the bay. Golmarr follows, but Yerengul bumps up against the reef, curses, and goes under.
Golmarr starts swimming toward his brother—sure, strong strokes even with our supply bags held in one hand—but the tide fights against him, holding him in place. A darkness swims toward us, and then Yerengul’s head breaks the surface, his hair fanning out around his shoulders like tentacles. He coughs and wipes water from his eyes. “The water looked a lot calmer from the boat,” he says, glaring accusations at the ocean.
Golmarr glowers at him. “I thought you said you could swim to the island.”
Yerengul starts swimming, paddling at the water like a dog. “I can swim,” he calls.
Just like Captain Yeb said, the tide is moving toward the land and pulling us in with it. Even holding the staff, it takes me only a moment to pass Yerengul and Golmarr, my body slipping and gliding through the water like a fish’s. Before long, my feet touch the ocean floor, but it is not the soft, silky sand from Melchior’s memories. I am standing on gravel as black as coal.
I pause and let the water surge to shore around my waist as I study Draykioch. It is exactly the same as in my dreams. The gravel shore is so black, it seems to repel the sunlight, throwing it back into the air. The beach is wide, stretching to the base of the cliff, which juts up white and pristine.
I dig my feet into the gravel and slosh out of the water, tossing my staff higher up onto the beach. My tunic and leggings suction to me, and I am grateful for the high quality of the fabric—it is not see-through. Still, as Golmarr splashes his way to me, his gaze clings to my figure just as tightly as my clothing. The intent, focused expression on his face makes my heart start to pound.
Without slowing his pace, he unties the laces at the neck of his tunic and pulls it over his head, flinging it up onto the dry black gravel. Now it is my gaze suctioned to him and the way the sunlight reflects off his dripping skin and the midnight dark scales that curl around his shoulder and dip halfway down his arm. “Yerengul is going to see your scales,” I say.
“It is time he knows the truth.” Golmarr strides straight to me, tossing our supplies to the ground. “I have been waiting to do this since the moment you woke up from being poisoned,” he whispers, and frames my face with his hands. He tilts my chin up and our eyes meet. His eyes flutter shut as his lips find mine, and they are soft and gentle and warm despite the water dripping down our faces. I taste the salt water from our lips, and even soaking wet, his suntanned chest is warm beneath my fingers. Sliding my hand over scales, my fingertips explore them, memorizing their feel.
Golmarr’s hands leave my face and find my hips, slipping under the hem of my tunic and coming to rest on the small of my back, right over my scales. He pulls me closer, eliminating every bit of space between us, and the warmth from his bare chest leaches through my soaked shirt. I wrap my arms around his neck and grab a handful of his hair.
“By the way you’re kissing her, I can only assume you thought it would take me at least a few more minutes to swim to shore,” Yerengul blurts.
Golmarr’s lips smile against mine and he slides his hands out from under my tunic. Stepping away, he calls, “I figured I’d take advantage of your mediocre swimming skills.”
Yerengul laughs and pulls off his tunic, tossing it to the black beach beside Golmarr’s. “That was some kiss, brother. You had me blushing.”
My cheeks flame, and Golmarr laughs. “Don’t play innocent. You’re the one who showed me the place in the barn where we could spy on Jessen and Shay when they snuck away to steal kisses.”
“That was ten years ago! You still remember that?”
“Who is Shay?” I ask. I have never seen Jessen with a woman before.
The smile drops from Yerengul’s face. “Shay was Jessen’s wife. She died in battle four years ago.”
Golmarr solemnly adds, “That was the last battle Treyose led against us. He quit fighting after he killed Shay—not because they were losing, but because he’d killed a woman. Another man’s wife. Treyose’s own wife died when he returned home.”
A thorn of sorrow twists in my heart, and the scales on my back seem to dig into my skin. I wince and press on them. They are firm and hard, yet nearly as supple as my skin.
“Are you all right?” Golmarr asks, his face so worried I can’t help but smile.
“I’m fine, I just—”
“What has suctioned itself to your chest, little brother?” Yerengul blurts. He steps between Golmarr and me and tries to swipe Golmarr’s scales off his skin. When they don’t budge, Yerengul shudders and leans in for a closer look. “Those look like—”
“I’m growing scales,” Golmarr says. “I think I may be turning into a dragon.”
Yerengul slowly draws his hand away from Golmarr. “What do you mean you may be turning into a dragon?” he asks, his eyes tight with a fear I have never seen in them before, not even when we rode out to battle mercenaries and the glass dragon.
“I’m growing scales,” Golmarr snaps. “What else could it mean?”
Yerengul shakes his head and twists his long, drenched hair around his hand, wringing the water out. “Dragons are evil, inhuman monsters. You can’t be turning into one. It isn’t possible.”
“Then you tell me what these mean,” Golmarr says, pointing at the scales.
Yerengul grimaces and rubs his forehead. “Does Father know?”
Golmarr shakes his head. “They started growing after I left, after I killed the glass dragon and tried to kill Sorrowlynn.” Leaning close to me, he quietly asks, “Will you show him the scar on your shoulder?”
I unlace my yellow tunic and slide the soaked garment from my left shoulder, exposing the puckered scar where Golmarr’s sword stabbed me. Golmarr moves directly beside me, so we are lined up shoulder to shoulder. “This”—he points at the exact spot on his shoulder where I have a scar—“is the very first spot I got scales. They started out tiny, a patch as long and wide as my finger—the same shape and size as Sorrowlynn’s scar. Now they won’t stop spreading.”
He turns around, showing us his back, and I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a gasp of shock. The scales have spread from his shoulder and arm down to the hollow dip between his shoulder blades. “Try cutting them,” Golmarr says. Yerengul removes a knife from his belt and scratches the tip on one of Golmarr’s scales.
Yerengul’s eyebrows shoot up. “Not even a mark.”
Golmarr nods. “King Vaunn tried to skewer me. His blade hit me wi
Yerengul grunts and nods approval. “So they’re not all bad. Wait…” He glares. “King Vaunn tried to kill you?”
“He did.”
“Why?”
Golmarr’s eyes flash with fury. “Because I am Antharian, and he was close enough to reach me with his sword.”
Yerengul laughs a cynical laugh. “That’s all? You didn’t provoke him? Insult his manhood or tell him that all Trevonan women look like swine? Boast about your sword-fighting skills until he wanted to kill you just to shut you up?”
Golmarr throws his hand up into the air. “My own brother, and you have so little faith in me!”
Yerengul flicks Golmarr’s scales. “That’s because I have known you your whole life. You have no idea how many times I have fantasized about finding a way to shut you up when you start to brag.”
“I did nothing to provoke him—my only weapon was a staff. He tried to kill me for the simple fact that I am Antharian.” Golmarr’s eyes smolder with the memory. “King Vaunn’s hatred for our people ran deep.” He glances at me and adds, “Sorrowlynn killed him before he got a second chance at taking my life.”
Yerengul’s eyes slip shut for a moment as everything Golmarr told him sinks in. When he opens them, his gaze is focused on me. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “If King Vaunn had killed Golmarr, it would have destroyed our father. He has lost five sons, and the grief takes more of a toll each time.”
I put my hand on Golmarr’s arm. “Five sons? Five of your brothers have died?”
Golmarr, his eyes heavy with sorrow, nods. “Five of my brothers have died.”