Chapter 12: Intermission – Rou-Ya of the Dragon Clan

The scent of mushroom stew drifted through the lower chambers, mingling with the mineral tang of stone and the acrid bite of brewing toxins. Rou-ya sat cross-legged on a flat stone, her fingers working carefully with mortar and pestle. The poison paste she was preparing would coat the tribe’s arrows and traps. She ground the nightshade carefully, watching the purple-black berries release their oils.

It was simple, mindless work. Easy enough, even given her limited interest in the task.

A princess had many duties, apart from wearing the crown and making more goblins. Unlike the societies of the big people, princesses in goblin communities were expected to also contribute in some more mundanely pragmatic fashions. Perhaps this was simply a matter of resources. Goblin societies live on the fringes, in scarce, harsh places. A tribe couldn’t spare the manpower lost compared to a spoilt human royal who had no duties at all.

She added spider venom to the mixture and stirred it carefully, then held the bowl up to examine the consistency in the dim glow of the phosphorescent moss that clung to the cavern walls. It was thick and even. Exactly the kind of competent mediocrity that had defined her entire life before the dragon.

Her golden eyes tracked the movement of goblins passing through the chamber. Three warriors heading towards the surface with crude spears slung across their backs. Two juveniles were hauling baskets of ore toward the forges. An elder carrying bundled herbs towards the living quarters. All of them were busy and all of them seemed rather purposeful.

All of them were, really, completely fine without her.

And yet, she was nonetheless cursed to be stuck with them forever, wasn’t she? Rou-ya felt like a third arm on a body of the goblin tribe that only needed two. She would rather not be attached, but the metaphorical body was seemingly insistent on her not being amputated off. She couldn’t escape them, ever, could she?

Rou-ya set the bowl aside and reached for the next batch of ingredients in her pile. More nightshade. Another simple poison. She began grinding the fresh berries, her mind wandering while her hands moved through familiar motions.

This was supposed to be better.

She had schemed to flee her tribe’s expectations, thrown herself at a dragon’s feet, and somehow stumbled into exactly the same place she began at despite it. She ran from one trap straight into another. But really, it was better here for her. Here, she had freedom from some of the burdens of her role at least. Safety from the endless demands of being a princess. No more councils. No more disputes to settle. No more expectations to meet.

Things were, surprisingly enough, more peaceful here than back at the village. She slept better at night. Even with the big people’s attack on the dragon’s den, it still felt safer. After all, they attacked their villages and outposts too. This place was much more secure in comparison. And after the last attack was repelled so viciously, Rou-ya was certain it would be a little while before any outsiders came sniffing around again.

The dragon had taken all of those worries from her. Barjuchne ruled the goblins now. The tribe looked to the dragon queen for protection and guidance. They brought their problems to the Dragon Queen, not to the useless princess sitting in a corner making goo or a theoretical chieftain to whom she would have been forced to be married.

Really, it was, in theory, almost perfect. She had gotten almost everything she wanted, apart from a full separation from her tribe.

Except it did not feel almost perfect.

Rou-ya accidentally got some of the slime acid on her finger, burning the tip. She hisses, placing the tender end of the digit in her mouth to ease the pain.

Stupid.

She was being stupid. This was what she wanted. Freedom. Comfort. A safe position as consort without the crushing weight of responsibility. So why did the sight of Veliah organising tribute payments with calm efficiency make her want to throw something?

It was the contrast, she thought.

The elf was useful. Smart. Analytical. She could look at a problem and break it down into neat little pieces that made sense. She managed the hoard, negotiated with emissaries, and kept the dungeon running smoothly for Barjuchne. It was not a question in Rou-ya’s mind. Even barring her advantage of time, the elf was certainly the favourite bride of the Dragon Queen; she was just more useful.

After all, what did Rou-ya do?

Make poultices, poison. Such trivial tribal matters surely meant nothing to a powerful creature like the Dragon Queen. In a way, apart from being sworn to the dragon, she was no different than any other goblin down here, right?

Rou-ya took a stone jar, carefully bottling the mixture she had made. Although she was somewhat careless sliding it across the floor to its resting spot after doing so. It almost tipped over.

“Careful. That looks like dangerous work.”

Rou-ya’s head snapped up. Veliah, of all people, stood at the chamber entrance, barefoot and composed, her hair pulled back in a simple braid. She wore the practical travelling clothes she favoured for daily work and carried a rolled mat of thick fabric under one arm.

The goblin princess felt her hackles rise automatically at the sight of her competition. She moved a hand away from the bubbling toxins she had been grinding. “I am not afraid of a little poison,” Rou-ya replied, her voice coming out more defensive than she intended.

Veliah’s violet eyes swept over the collection of filled apothecary pots, then moved to the goblin’s pale green face. Something shifted in her expression.

“Don’t mind me,” said the elf. “I needed to find a quiet space. Things outside have gotten hectic lately,” she says, pointing back behind herself toward the central chamber that is buzzing with activity.

Rou-ya opened her mouth to tell her to go find her quiet somewhere else, then closed it again. She couldn’t show weakness in front of her rival and making it clear that they were enemies would be an establishing of that weakness. Instead, the goblin had to pretend that such things were beneath her. The proper social etiquette would be to act as if the thought of Veliah being her rival was laughable and not even worth considering.

After all. She herself was an actual royal by blood.

The elf was just a common elf, if the information she had gathered was correct.

Veliah stepped into the chamber and unrolled her mat on a flat section of stone. She settled onto the surface and began stretching, extending one leg while folding the other beneath her with fluid grace. Elves were known to be graceful by their nature; goblins, in contrast, were not offered such generous perceptions.

Seeing her watching, Veliah turned her head. “Want to join?” she asked.

Rou-ya blinked. “…What?”

“Stretching. Meditation. It helps clear the mind.” Veliah bent forward, her forehead nearly touching her extended knee. “It’s easy.”

The goblin princess bristled. Is this a challenge? She watched the elf suspiciously, wondering if this were some kind of trap.

“Get over here,” Veliah said, smiling.

Surely, it was a challenge from her rival bride. The elf was trying to posture her dominant position by showcasing her physical prowess over her. Rou-ya recognised the manipulation for what it was, yet found herself setting aside her alchemy and moving to the mat. There was no way to back down from the challenge. She settled onto the stone beside Veliah, her skin’s tone stark against the elf’s fair complexion.

“Copy what I do,” Veliah said, shifting into a new position.

Rou-ya tried. She extended her leg and bent forward, reaching for her toes. Her fingers made it perhaps halfway down her shin before her muscles screamed in protest. She was strong and healthy, but flexible? Absolutely not. Veliah, meanwhile, folded herself into positions that looked anatomically impossible.

Rou-ya muttered, struggling to reach further.

Veliah shifted again, moving through her routine with calm precision. “I do this every day, and I was thinking it would be fun if I had a partner,” she noted, sounding hopeful.

“Ask the dragon queen,” replied Rou-ya, straining as she tried to reach her toes. Her back felt as if it were going to rip in half. What sort of elven treachery was this madness?

“Barjuchne is not… uh,” Veliah started. She leaned in closer. “She’s a little scary sometimes, you know?” she mused. “I’ve gotten used to pretending I’m not scared of her, but I really am still, now and then.” Her eyes wandered away in thought. “It’s complicated.”

Rou-ya looked at her, nodding quietly.

It was, indeed, complicated.

She returned to her routine, and Rou-ya forced herself to try again. Extend. Breathe. Her body protested every movement, muscles trembling with the effort.

They worked in silence for a time, the only sounds being their quiet breathing and the distant drip of water.

“So?” asked Veliah, still kneeling as they reached the end of the practice. She placed her hands on Rou-ya’s shoulders from behind, rubbing them. Rou-ya tensed up further, expecting a dagger to pierce her side. “I could really use a friend in here,” said the elf instead, her expression almost hopeful.

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Rou-ya studied her, still searching for a scheme.

Was she offering a truce?

“…I will try again tomorrow,” replied the goblin tentatively. It was an answer that allowed her to keep her distance but remained affirming.

The elf smiled.

Rou-ya left the chamber feeling lighter than she had in days. The tightness in her chest had loosened enough to let her get past her feelings and really think about the subject matter at hand.

How could she be useful?

She made her way through the lower tunnels towards the living quarters, her mind already going through many possibilities.

The living quarters came into view, carved chambers branching off the main tunnel where the tribe had made their homes. Cookfires burnt in stone pits. Juveniles played crude games in the corridors. The scent of roasting meat and unwashed bodies filled the air with familiar goblin musk. She hated being around other goblins, even if they were her people. She’s just… always felt different from them.

And standing directly in Rou-ya’s path was her mother.

The goblin matriarch was shorter than her daughter, broad across the shoulders, her face lined with age and authority. She wore practical leather and bone jewellery, her grey-streaked hair braided in the style of the tribal elders. Her golden eyes fixed on Rou-ya with the kind of maternal intensity that made the princess want to turn around and flee. She had done well at managing to avoid her so far.

“There you are,” her mother said.