Chapter 5: Intermission – Veliah\’s Days
by
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?”
The abrupt question caught Veliah off guard.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
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.
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