The dark never felt complete in the cave.

  Veliah lay in her stone bed, staring up at the ceiling where faint phosphorescent moss cast everything in dim green light.

  The moss was pretty. She would give it that.

  It reminded her of something she couldn't quite place. She lay there picking at the memory until it came loose. An inn. Three or four years ago, somewhere in the middle of a long trade route she had ridden with her father, before everything had started to go wrong between them. There had been a man at one of the tables, a wandering scholar of some kind, the type who nursed a single drink all night and talked to anyone who would listen. She had sat nearby and listened.

  She remembered he had been talking about fae, of all things. But she’s not sure how to puzzle that foggy memory together with this.

  The fabric from her father’s wares that the dragon had claimed beneath her was soft, and the chamber Barjuchne had carved for her was warmer than it had any right to be. She had no idea how, but the dragon had carved a hearth into the stone of the mountain itself and a lit fire was radiating inside of it. It went a long way to chasing away the chilly bite of the mountain’s stone. But sleep refused to come to her.

  She pushed herself upright and pressed her palms against her eyes.

  The silence from the main chamber bothered her more than noise would have. She'd grown used to the sounds of camps and inns during her travels, the constant murmur of voices and movement. Here, there was nothing. Just the faint crackle of dying braziers and the whisper of her own breathing.

  And as for Barjuchne, well, from stories one would have thought that dragons were loud, thunderous beasts. But the dragon was mostly reserved and quiet, only ever speaking a sparse word now and then at most.

  Curiosity won out over her caution.

  Veliah slid from the bed and crossed to her door, easing it open just wide enough to peer through. The central chamber of the cave spread before her, lit by the low orange glow of embers in the braziers scattered around the perimeter. Gold gleamed in the firelight, with coins and candlesticks and bolts of silk arranged in careful piles.

  And sprawled across the largest pile of treasure, completely unconscious, was Barjuchne. Veliah's breath caught.

  The dragon girl lay on her side, her dark scales catching the light in subtle gradations of charcoal and black. Her massive tail, which was as long as the rest of her body itself, lay coiled around a mound of gold coins, the tip twitching occasionally in whatever dream held her. One clawed hand clutched Sir Malwas's enchanted sword even in sleep, holding it close to her chest like a child would hold a doll for comfort. Her face was pressed against a pile of silver, and her breathing came deep and even, accompanied by soft rumbling sounds from somewhere in her chest. It was like a passive, constant growling.

  During the day, Veliah was still scared of her, despite it all. But, somehow, asleep like a cat on a heap of old blankets, the young dragon looked contrastingly small and vulnerable. Asleep, she looked nothing like the creature who had torn through the armour and bone of screaming men three days ago.

  Veliah watched her for a long time, trying to reconcile the two images in her mind. The terrifying protector who had killed without hesitation. The contradiction made her head ache.

  Not even really sure what it was she herself was after, Veliah retreated to her bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, but it was still a long time before sleep finally came.

  However, as she had turned to retreat back into her room a minute before that, she wasn’t aware of the slightly open reptilian eye constantly watching her in the darkness.

  Morning arrived with pale grey light filtering through the obsidian gateway.

  Veliah emerged from her room to find the main chamber lifeless. Barjuchne was presumably off inspecting her dungeon or hunting or doing whatever it was dragons did in the early hours of the day.

  The silence was almost peaceful. Somehow it was different during the day.

  At night, the emptiness of sound was frightening. But when the sun was out and birds sang and warm morning air came into the cave, it was peaceful.

  Veliah moved one of the stone tables to a spot where the light fell strongest and began her routine.

  Stretching first. She bent forward, pressing her palms flat against the cold stone, feeling the pull along the backs of her legs. Her muscles protested, stiff from days of tension and poor sleep. She held the position, breathing slowly, then shifted to the next form. Arms overhead, spine arching backward. Side bends. Hip rotations. Each movement deliberate and measured, the way her mother had taught her to prepare her body for the day back before she died. It was a method the eastern merchants had refined and the woman had picked up during the wandering years.

  The meditation came next. She sat cross-legged on the table, hands resting on her knees, and closed her eyes. Breathe in for four counts. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four. Repeat. The world narrowed to just her breath and the subtle sounds of the cave around her.

  As for the table, this was simply the practice of the men of the east. The teaching was to find the highest place you could, not the most sensible.

  Lost to her inner senses, she didn't hear Barjuchne return.

  When Veliah opened her eyes, the dragon was standing near the hoard, watching her with open curiosity but saying nothing. How long had she been there? Veliah's face warmed, but she finished the last breathing cycle before acknowledging her.

  "You do this every morning?" Barjuchne asked, having seen it a few times before. Her voice was carefully neutral, but her tail swayed with obvious interest.

  "Stretching and meditation," Veliah replied. She climbed down from the table, her legs feeling steadier than they had in days. "The men of the east practise it to stay flexible during long journeys and to stay calm during negotiations."

  Barjuchne nodded slowly, processing this. Then she hesitated, her claws flexing at her sides. "Do you miss him? Your father?"

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  The abrupt question caught Veliah off guard.

  The elf thought about it seriously because Barjuchne deserved a real answer. She thought about the man who had taught her to read by candlelight in cramped inn rooms, who had let her sit beside him on the cart and explained the trade routes and the different peoples they met. She thought about his laugh, warm and genuine, before her mother died. Before the business consumed everything else.

  Then she thought about the same man who had chosen a chest of coins over her safety. Veliah thought about the same man who had told Sir Malwas to take her in exchange for a pile of money.

  "I miss the man he was when I was young," she said finally. The words came out steadier than she expected. "But not the man he is now. My mother’s death changed him." The elf thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. “Or maybe my mother’s presence was a shackle of sorts, keeping him under control. When she was gone, he was free to be who he always really was.” Her eyes rise again. “I am unsure which is truer.”

  Barjuchne just nodded, and something in those reptilian eyes shifted. It was an understanding, maybe. Or at least a recognition of the complexity of the matter. The dragon didn't offer platitudes or try to tell Veliah that her father surely loved her really. She just accepted the truth of it being what it was and moved on without a word.

  Veliah found that honest silence, in particular, strangely comforting.

  “You are mine. Forever,” whispered the dragon to the ant.

  Barjuchne was crouched beside the small stone alcove she'd carved near the entrance to her hoard chamber, a tiny vessel of nectar-sweetened water balanced carefully between her claws.

  The ant princess wobbled along on her claw toward the offering, her bloated abdomen dragging across the long, deadly nail. Barjuchne had been careful with her. Fed her regularly.

  The ant was hers, after all. Everything that is hers is important.

  The ant approached and began to drink.

  "What are you doing?" asked Veliah from afar.

  Barjuchne's tail lashed involuntarily. She glanced back to find the elf standing in the chamber entrance, her expression curious, her head tilted slightly to one side.

  "Feeding your predecessor, Princess," Barjuchne replied with sarcasm, looking back at her only princess. Her voice came out flat and cold, harsh, as she found herself rather annoyed by this fact, actually. She wanted a real princess.

  Veliah's brow furrowed. "My... what?"

  Barjuchne turned her head slowly, and her eyes locked onto Veliah's. The draconic presence that constantly surrounded her intensified, filling the space between them with something heavy. Her pupils contracted to thin slits.

  She said nothing. Just stared.

  Veliah took an involuntary step backward, her earlier curiosity evaporating in the face of that cold, reptilian gaze. Whatever question she'd been about to ask died in her throat. "I'll- I'll just..." she stammered, then turned quickly and retreated to her chamber, the stone door closing softly behind her.

  Barjuchne watched her go, then turned back to the ant princess and carefully added another few crushed flower petals to the bowl of sweetened water.

  The ant drank.

  “Forever,” said the dragon girl again, her eyes staring greedily.

  The ant didn’t seem to mind. It just did the usual ant things. As ants are simply wont to do.

  Five days after the knight's death, Veliah gathered her courage.

  Barjuchne sat cross-legged on her hoard, running her claws through the coins with obvious satisfaction. The sound was almost musical, a soft chiming that filled the chamber. She looked content in a way Veliah had rarely seen, her tail swaying gently behind her.

  Veliah approached slowly, her heart hammering. "May I ask you something?"

  Barjuchne looked up, her expression immediately guarded. "Yes?"

  "I'd like to use some of the fabric. From the hoard. For a project."

  The effect was instantaneous.

  Barjuchne went rigid, every muscle in her body locking tight. Her pupils contracted to thin slits. Her tail stopped mid-swing, frozen in place. For a long moment she didn't even seem to breathe, and the silence stretched so thin Veliah thought it might snap.

  "What project?" The words came out strained, barely controlled. Veliah could see the effort it took for Barjuchne to keep her voice even, to not snarl or snap or do whatever her instincts were screaming at her to do.

  "I want to make something," Veliah said quickly. "Something for the cave. I won't damage anything, I promise. I just need enough for -"

  "- How much?"

  "Two bolts. Maybe three."

  Another agonising silence. Barjuchne's gaze shifted to the silk stacked carefully among the gold, and her claws flexed and unflexed, scraping against the coins. She looked at the fabric the way someone might look at a limb they were about to amputate. Necessary, maybe, but unbearable.

  Finally, with visible effort, the dragon jerked her head in a nod. "Fine." Each exhalation needed to make the single word sounded like it was being pulled from her chest with hooks. "But only what you need. No more. Not even an inch!”

  "Thank you," Veliah replied.

  She gathered the fabric quickly, before Barjuchne could change her mind, and retreated to her room. As she closed the door behind her, she caught a glimpse of the dragon girl staring at the remaining treasure, her lips moving silently as if counting every piece, making absolutely certain nothing else had vanished.

  Veliah worked on the quilt for three nights.

  She stitched by candlelight, her fingers moving through familiar patterns her mother had taught her when she was still young enough to sit in her lap. The silk was beautiful, deep blue and emerald green, and she lined it with softer cloth from her own bedding to make it warm. The quilting itself was simple, just geometric patterns that wouldn't be too difficult to make, but she took care with every stitch.

  It felt good to do something productive after weeks of just sitting around going stircrazy.

  On the third night, when the last stitch was tied off and trimmed, she folded the quilt carefully and carried it out to the main chamber.

  Barjuchne sat on her hoard as usual, counting coins. She did this every night, Veliah had noticed. Running her claws through the gold, sorting and resorting, making sure every piece was accounted for. It seemed to calm her.

  "Here. I made this for you," Veliah said.

  Barjuchne looked up, startled. Her eyes went to the bundle in Veliah's arms, then back to her face. "What is it?"

  "A quilt. For warmth." Veliah held it out. "I noticed you sleep on the coins. This might be- well… softer."

  The two of them stare at each other.

  “Why?” asked the dragon girl, her voice sounding harsh and callous.

  “Just take it,” said the elf, almost annoyed in tone, actually, while holding it out to her an inch closer. “Sheesh.”

  Barjuchne reached out and took it slowly, her claws catching slightly on the fabric. She unfolded it with exaggerated care, spreading it across her lap, and ran her scaled hands over the surface. Her fingers traced the quilted patterns, testing the weight and texture, examining it the way she might examine a new piece of treasure.

  Something in the dragon’s expression shifted. Surprise, first, that then changed into something softer. “No, I meant, why did you make this for me?” asked Barjuchne. Her voice came out quiet and, perhaps, almost uncertain.

  "I guess we’re… I don’t know,” replied Veliah, folding her arms. “- Married? I don’t know. Just take it, okay?” She looked away.

  Barjuchne clutched the quilt to her chest, and for a moment the terrifying dragon disappeared entirely. She looked like a girl who had never received a gift before, who didn't quite know what to do with the gesture.

  "Thank you," said the dragon.

  Veliah smiled. "You're welcome."

  That night, sleep still refused to come.

  Veliah lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind too full of thoughts to settle. After an hour of tossing and turning, she gave up and padded to her door, opening it just a crack.

  The main chamber was dark except for the faint glow of embers. And sprawled across the hoard, exactly where she always was, lay Barjuchne.

  But this time, the quilt was spread beneath her.

  It cushioned her from the hard edges of the coins, and she'd curled around it slightly, one hand still touching the fabric even in sleep. Her tail was wrapped around both the quilt and a pile of gold, claiming both as equally precious, equally hers.

  Veliah watched for a long moment, something warm and complicated settling in her chest. The dragon girl looked peaceful. She was still pretty scary. But the colourful quilt beneath her did a lot to hamper that frightening image.

  The elf closed the door quietly and returned to bed.

  This time, when she closed her eyes, sleep came easily. She’s not really sure why.

  Outside of the cave, something scratched around in the soil.

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