Chapter Six
Her job of helping rescued humans proved as hard as expected. The people she got saddled with at the inn were damaged goods. The younger ones maybe possessed more hope, but older ones simply had set views, unable to understand that life could be different. They didn't get that they no longer needed to worry about keeping their voices down, or expect punishment for every minor transgression. They flinched like awful, shattered animals who had been kicked one too many times.
Honestly, it became exhausting. But at the same time, seeing the first spark of hope, no matter how rarely it came, made the whole process worthwhile.
Travelling the lands on Kalgrin's back was pretty fun, too.
The first time she did it, she marvelled at the world from atop. Not being encased in his claws made her beam and want to throw up her arms in excitement, except if she did, she'd probably fall off and break everything in the fall.
“Must be different for you now, eh? Instead of staring at everything through my claws.”
“It helps I'm not covered in shit, either,” Anya said, grinning. Her hands curled around Kalgrin's spikes. She rode at the bottom of his neck, finding it the best place to not accidentally fall off. He'd let her try a few positions before settling on this one. “How must you feel, Kalgrin? Seeing the world like this? What I wouldn't give to fly like you.”
Kalgrin let out a rumbling laugh. “You get used to it after a while. But you know, if you want to fly so much, you can just ask me. I might be able to find some spare time here and there to take you into the skies. Visit some nice places. The wyrms can't touch us there, after all.” He then let out a theatrical sigh. “Apparently the drakes of old used to be able to breathe fire. If we still had that ability, I'm sure the wyrms wouldn't have such a strong foothold on everything now. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time where I nearly lost my life trying to protect people on a supply run?”
“Did you now?” Anya deliberately enthused her voice with as much interest as possible. She caught about every second word he said with the winds whipping past them.
“Yes. I'll have you know I was very heroic.”
“I'm sure you were,” Anya said, now smiling, though obviously he couldn't see it. Her mother had warned her about this. Boasting. Men liked to boast of their achievements, to impress women. Because they didn't know any other ways to impress.
It probably wasn't anything like that, but the description did give Anya some amusement.
“There were about fifty humans on the food wagons, escorting them to one of the barren northern towns. It's hard to grow crops up there, so they rely on the nearby farming villages, the ones run by drakes for sustenance. We were almost there, before two hundred wyrms set upon us from the hills.”
“Two hundred?”
“Yes. Two hundred. And there were just twenty drakes, expected to protect the humans from those bastards. Twenty! Can you imagine the odds?”
Anya let out a complimentary mm hmm, and Kalgrin continued talking about his heroic efforts to save the food caravans. How they helped pick up the humans from almost three hundred wyrms – the number kept increasing for some reason – and protected most of the caravan from being destroyed thanks to the sheer ferocity of how Kalgrin fought.
When he'd finished his astonishing tale of ardor, Anya waited a moment. He held his head up high, wanting her to see how heroic he was.
And then she asked, “So what really happened?”
At first, Kalgrin blustered. Then, with a little more teasing, he admitting it was just twenty wyrm guards, and they'd already been forewarned of the attack. They did have ballistas like he mentioned, but none came close to hitting the drakes.
“It just sounds boring if I describe it as a routine rout, you know.”
“I'm sure,” Anya said. “How many times have you told that story to others?”
“Probably a few dozen times,” he said, sounding rather sheepish. “But it was scary. We don't usually get attacks so far north.”
Anya shook her head, smiling because he'd so clearly been trying to make her admire him. Not that he needed to do that, because she admired him already.
“Kalgrin. I'm sure you've done some spectacular, amazing things in your life. Things I could only dream of.” That soured her a bit, because the words stung of truth. She'd never done anything past the plantations except dream. Other places felt like clouds hanging over her head. Unseen, unknown, except for that city they once visited. Wherever it was. She cleared her throat, banishing the mood. “And I'd love to hear about all your exploits. I could do with some more color in my life.” She discreetly checked over his red scales. Yes, this definitely added extra color in her life.
She grinned, rubbing his scales, knowing his tough hide wouldn't feel it. What a wondrous creature Kalgrin was. Soaring through the skies like this. Covering grounds that might take humans days in a matter of hours. Seeing the entire world from above, nothing stopping his flight.
“Oh, well, I guess I can tell you about that time where I nearly got cursed by a strange old witch in the forest.”
“There are no witches. There is no magic.”
“Isn't there? Oh, you'll be surprised at what kind of things we have in this world,” Kalgrin said, the smile in his voice. “And you know, there used to be magic. Lots of it. Practically as common as breathing.”
“Why don't I believe you?”
“Well, how do you think we can turn from humans into dragons and keep our clothes, thereby disobeying logical laws of conversion? It's because we're magical. We don't have any other powers, obviously. Except the fire breathing thing some centuries back...”
He continued talking about the magic, and Anya simply shook her head, enjoying the sound of his voice and the wind in her hair.
Their first proper flight ended with her meeting a small, frightened group of slaves who had been released from a slave cage. They were on their way to being sold to a distant mining company, until Kalgrin's group intercepted them. They were too nervous to talk to the drakes, though, which left Anya negotiating with them. Trying to push through that sullen despair to let them know life would change for the better.
That they deserved it.
After that, she returned home, not exactly triumphant, but better off than before. Knowing her arguments did punch through to these people. Because she shared their experiences. And she held within her a burning passion. Sometimes, she saw Kalgrin interact with that Leoch person, though she didn't like him. Not at all. Just some brash drake who helped humans, but at the same time liked to remind them that he didn't have to, but he assisted them anyway.
It rubbed her the wrong way, somehow. Kalgrin seemed to like him, however. And she liked Kalgrin. So she kept her mouth shut.
The biggest boost to her independence came from living in her small house. She stocked it up with supplies, making it something that felt like a home. And she had one person to thank for all this. Kalgrin.
That smug, boastful, garrulous drake had done everything possible to give her a better life. Rescuing her and the rest of the family. Securing her a job helping others. Securing her independent living in a little house with objects of her own that she had bought. Because money jangled in her pouch. Money she never formerly held.
Coins did have that lovely musical clink when a lot of them were squashed together in a bag.
Her heart also liked to do that stupid lurching thing when she looked over his way. When he transformed from his drake form to that astonishing human with those storm-gray eyes. When he smiled. When he laughed at something she said. When they both made up an excuse to hug one another on meeting and departing.
Everything she kept expecting him to do, he didn’t. When she thought Kalgrin would just absorb her into his life without any chance for protest from her, it didn’t happen. When she thought she might be forced to stay on with him, she got the option to work and live in her own place instead.
She did see wyrms visit Tarn every now and then. Thankfully, they ignored the humans who lived here and didn’t try anything funny with them, respecting the drakes enough not to encroach on their space.
She suspected things wouldn't be like that forever. Not when you had someone as cruel and destructive as the wyrms. Those bastards never stayed away for long. They broke people, crushing them so often and so hatefully, that emotions stopped existing. They became something you longed for. Crying and pain was better than the feeling of being dead.
Then there was Kalgrin. Her vague ideas of independence virtually disappeared around him. She liked the idea of striking out on her own, of being here without someone's foot in her face as she tried to sleep. She also liked the idea of being close to Kalgrin, to the point where she practically stalked the poor guy. She found herself anticipating his visits. Talking to him about anything. What the drakes were doing, how her family was doing, if he’d like to help deliver a letter to them or let her ride him to visit.
She made excuses to go over to his house for his cooking, just so she could see him smile and laugh in her presence, and admire her openly with his deep gray eyes, which brimmed with wisdom. She liked the way his light brown hair tumbled carelessly about his face, like a living mop. She even liked sometimes the awkward pauses between them in conversation as he stared, before trying to fill the empty space with words, to make her at ease, or to ask how her job was going.
It's going fine. More than fine. It's going like a dream. And I can't shake him out of my head.
On one of her days off, Anya visited Seon at the inn, enjoying the friendship they'd developed. Drakes and humans filled up the place. Some of them turned keen eyes upon her.
“You know,” Seon pointed out, as one gray-eyed drake kept glancing over to Anya's table, nursing his tankard, “you're really taking your time on your love life.”
Naturally, Anya decided to turn crimson and splutter a bit. “I'm not delaying anything! I'm just happy being by myself. Doing things. By myself.”
“Uh huh. Is that why you specifically chose a house one street away from Kalgrin's place, despite having better, cheaper offers? You had the pick of the town with your wages, and you choose one of those run-down, thatch-roof buildings that no respectable person would be seen in.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Anya said, the blush now transitioning to her voice. How did a voice even do that? She might as well be wearing her heart like a badge.
“I think you do. And you keep getting excited whenever you end up working directly with him. You keep wearing that stupid lovesick grin on your face. And you make these moony eyes that clearly tell me you'd like him to mean something more to you.”
Drat. Seon didn't miss a beat, did she? Nosing around in Anya's feelings like they weren't hidden at all. Her brain really tried to jump around the subject. She liked him. She even dreamed about him and thought admiring thoughts. She lived near him, and yet, somehow, her brain malfunctioned. It didn't step any further ahead and link all of the incidences together into one tangible fact.
She wanted him. Not just as a friend, but someone to keep in her life. Someone to share her bed with. She'd never even had sex before, but she knew she wanted it with him.
A drake. Someone she shouldn't love.
I shouldn't like him. It's all wrong, surely? All wrong and twisted.
“You're right. I do like him.”
“I knew it,” Seon said, thumping her hand on Anya's shoulder. “It's one thing to know it, another to hear it... sorry.” The blasted woman grinned like she'd done something clever. “So why not just... say this to him?”
Anya gave a helpless shrug. “I don't know if he likes me that way.” Even though her mother said Kalgrin did. Even though Kalgrin treated her with reverence. “And if he did, I might have left it too late.”
“Anya. You need to stop making excuses for yourself. Just stop. You know as well as I do that you want him. And you also know that until you ask, you won't know.”
Yes. And that thought sent a shiver of fear inside Anya. “What if... what if,” she mumbled, “he rejects me? And I look like a fool for thinking... for thinking that I had a chance with him?”
“Then he rejects you and you look like a fool. But you still have a nice job. And you're not going back to that plantation of yours. You need to take risks, Anya. You won't get anywhere in life if you don't take risks.” Seon glanced over to the window, her eyes going distant for a moment.
You won't get anywhere in life if you don't take risks. Anya sensed the truth in those words. It applied to her former life only too well. No one took risks. And nothing happened. She took a risk instead. A huge one. And it made something happen. Unfortunately, it would have led to her demise. Until Kalgrin saved her.
If she admitted to Kalgrin she liked him, what principles might she break with herself? The principle of not doing what her mother expected with the drake? The principle of learning to strike out on her own?
A small, manic voice in the back of her mind said excuses, excuses. It's just like Seon said. You're making excuses and stalling.
But why? Why did she stall?
“You're afraid,” Seon said, eyes gentle. “It's something new to you, isn't it? Liking someone in this manner. Wanting them, but fearing rejection. Considering going for that half-life instead, where you'll always harbor those feelings of longing, but you won't ever admit them because you don't want to compromise what you have now.”
“I... yes.” No point in lying. Those words seemed to actively wrench the truth out of her. As if naming the emotions made them opaque and possible to touch. It created a wildness in her, a kind of panic that she struggled to contain.
“From my observations, Anya – I think he likes you as well. I think you should go for it.”
Anya took deep breaths, attempting to calm herself.
“Perhaps I will,” she said.
She didn't, though. Not for another few days. Seon had tried to help in her own way, but she didn't wield the tempest of emotions Anya felt inside. Plus, Anya knew so little about everything. Of love, of the world, and what made people smile.
Maybe I am just afraid of this. And I should stop. She just... she didn't want to lose the things she had gained. It terrified her. And that terror led to the instinct of staying put. Not moving. Hoping nothing bad came to pass.
In choosing that, her life never developed into what it might have been.
She did one more mission with Kalgrin. Another pleasant ride through the air. Another successful run at some far-off plantation where the lord had a rather nasty habit of cutting off workers’ fingers if they disobeyed any order.
Most of the women and men and children on that plantation had an average of three fingers missing. Apparently, few people disobeyed for the fourth. Or perhaps they had simply been killed, judged too unruly.
After the run, she made it back home after leaving Kalgrin. For a moment, she'd been tempted to ask to go into his house, but refused at the last moment.
At her place, in her tiny bedroom, she considered her reflection within the little mirror. Her grave face. The fears eating her up.
Her eyes hardened. Rummaging through her drawers, she scooped out a fresh blue top and knee-length blue skirt.
She grabbed the sponge and scrubbed herself thoroughly down until she smelled like strawberry perfume.
I'm going to do it. I'm going to go over to Kalgrin's house, knock on that door, and just walk in. And stop being such a coward.
Thinking the thoughts bolstered her resolve, and she preened in the mirror, her head held high. Besides, if she didn't do something about the blasted drake soon, her thoughts might be so saturated with his image that she'd end up mad. Her brown hair was frazzled from the brush, so she spent longer straightening out the frantic strands.
With her comfy black shoes on, with their little brass buckles, she nodded to herself. Resolved. Determined.
Walking to Kalgrin's house took a minute.
Blasts. What if he slumbered? The moon rose about a quarter way in the sky. Lights were turned on in the houses, though no light shone from Kalgrin's home. She knocked on the door, her heart palpitating in a mix of fright and anticipation.
Kalgrin opened the door and blinked when he saw Anya standing there with a face like a storm. “Anya? Is something wrong?”
“Iwanttospeaktoyou.” Drat. She’d said that too fast, and enunciated it when Kalgrin frowned in confusion.
“Oh. Right. Sure, you can speak to me, anytime. You know that. Come in.” He wrinkled his nose when Anya passed, taking a deep sniff. “Hmm. You smell nice. And fresh.”
“I try,” Anya replied. No. Don't get distracted. Her emotions were all over the place. Her pulse lurched in her throat, making it hard to focus, to get what she intended. Curses, she didn't want to be a blathering fool in front of him. “It's something that's been on my mind for a while. And I feel like I need to get it off my chest before I explode.”
Kalgrin’s nose twitched as he scented her perfume, and observed her elaborately brushed hair and popping breasts under her shirt. Yes. Perhaps she had been a little overkill with the attire. She might as well have turned up at his door naked. How to begin? Her heart turned craven. “It was just a question I've been thinking of, since, you know. We have so many humans suffering over the world. Are there many places where humans actually live good lives? Or just a few?”
Kalgrin shook his head, though his eyes observed her in faint hunger. Sometimes they dipped in the gap between her breasts. He didn’t look half bad, either, opting for a ruffled blouse, a black waistcoat, and pinstriped pants. He chose to walk around in black socks, though, preferring to leave his shoes at the door. Anya did the same, though she wore no socks under her shoes.
“I’m afraid it’s not common. We send the humans to the north, or to towns run by drakes, but there are more... unsafe places than there are safe. Wyrms are the ruling factions in most countries. And there is a reason for it. A reason I've not fully explained to you. Just hinted at.”
A reason for the wyrms being in power? What more reason than the fact that they were stronger than humans? “Okay.” She waited for his explanation.
He did seem a little puzzled, though. Suspecting she intended to say something else, before she diverted her thoughts. “There was a war. A long time ago, between humans and dragons. Humans used to be the dominant population.”
What?
“They used to live in big cities, practise magic, fight with each other and live off the cream of the land. Hard to imagine something like that, right?”
Impossible to imagine. Anya tried picturing it and failed. Kalgrin spoke about magic. Anya had seen no magic, and Kalgrin simply implied it had fallen into disuse, somehow. Like people had forgotten. “But how could we rule against dragons? They’re so… strong.”
“Humans were stronger, with their magic.” Kalgrin automatically reached out a hand to steady Anya as she stumbled upon his carpet, not paying attention to her walk. The shiver of contact made her blink stupidly for a moment as he gripped her. Her mind started going ahead to certain scenarios. Maybe it struggled to imagine humans being leaders, but it certainly had no issues going through the fantasy of taking off Kalgrin’s clothes, leading him to bed, and having her wicked way with him. Her face flushed, even as Kalgrin continued explaining, apparently unaware of her sudden arousal. “Humans used to have powerful magic. It doesn’t matter if your opponent is a big lizard if you can blast them out of the sky with a rain of diamonds, or with thunderstorms and balls of fire. Humans used to enslave dragons.”
A quiet gasp slipped out of Anya's lips at this thought. No. She didn't believe it. “What? Really? How do you know?”
“History books. We keep information,” he answered. “See, this is why I think you should learn to read. There’s so much knowledge written down!”
“Why should I learn to read when you can just tell me everything?”
“I…” he paused. “I guess that’s a good point.” His frown made her laugh.
“Sorry, Kal. You were saying?”
“Well, I was saying – you guys used to have magic. But something happened to your magic a while back. A sickness. Magic users caught some kind of disease; no one knew where it started. But it targeted magic, and your magic died. And, without magic… you became easy prey to the wyrms and the drakes. And ever since then, the roles have been reversed.” He gave a shrug. “But I suppose just as it suddenly vanished, it can find a way to come back. What if I told you that I know humans who wield magic and who are alive today?”
Anya shook her head. “I need to see it to believe it.”
Kalgrin smiled. “There's a school in the mountains. They take magic users if they find them, and train them. I haven't found a user myself yet. I don't have the ability to seek them. For all I know, half the humans in Tarn have magic, but because I've never seen it directly, they're just uncut gems, walking around. For all I know, you have magic. It's a strange thing.”
No. No one had magic. Except, he appeared adamant that the possibility was there. That he'd seen them.
She forced herself to accept his words for now. She'd still want to see one for herself... but he had no reason to lie to her. However, something bothered her.
In his story about humans once enslaving dragons, which she had issues processing as it was – then why did drakes bother helping humans at all? If humans had done this thing, then in a way, the dragons were justified in doing what they did. It sickened her to consider.
How could you justify anything like this?
“Why do drakes help us, then? It doesn’t sound like you have reason to.”
“Don’t we?” Kalgrin smiled. Affable. Maybe a little weary, too. Perhaps he'd experienced this type of discussion with others. “Times change. There are no excuses for suffering. Not when you’re punishing people a thousand years later, who have no memory of before. It makes us no better. And maybe one day, we’ll find the tables turned again. And it'll just keep going on in some big, bloody cycle.” He licked his lips, his eyes distant. Seeing something Anya didn’t understand. “We don’t have excuses anymore, little human. But we like to keep making them all the same.”
There was some truth in that. Anya thought the same thing about her people. How could they excuse such treatment? How did they keep allowing it year after year? Surely there reached a point where the excuses stopped?
Surely there came a time when people faced reality, and realized it’d never get better, not unless they did something about it? Surely... they could find a way to stop being the kind of broken that never picked itself up again.
Anya reflected on Kalgrin's words for a little while. She'd done this to distract herself, really, but the information was valuable all the same. Something she needed to know.
But now, she needed to face that tempest inside herself. The one that wondered if things might be more. If she could reach out to Kalgrin and touch him upon his face, and kiss those lips.
Anya sure made a lot of excuses for not confronting Kalgrin. Excuses like she wanted to be independent, she didn’t want to be beholden to a dragon, she didn’t feel ready…
Why bother distracting herself any further? She was here. Dressed up for the war to figure out Kalgrin's heart, and discover her own. She hovered at the edge of that emotional cliff, terrified to jump down. But she needed to.
Time to stop with those excuses, then.
“Kalgrin. You know I came over, wearing these nice clothes, and putting on this nice perfume?”
“I had noticed that,” he said, with a rather amused expression. “Why?”
“Well… it might be related to the fact that I have a house near you. And I enjoy excuses to go with you to those places. And I enjoy... talking to you. And... I don't want to leave you.”
Yes, she was babbling. Extending it. Her heart wanted to leap out of her mouth. Just get to the point! Kalgrin seemed frozen, like a statue.
“Okay. Kalgrin. I like you. And I want you. In every sense of the word.”
“Oh.” His eyes blackened. His nostrils flared, and his body trembled in pleasant shock. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Though I'm not sure what it might feel like. You know. Having a person you can wake up next to and smile at. My mom never had that. So many people I’ve known don’t get that happy ending. But I think with you… I’d like to try and taste it for myself.”
His smile softened. “It’s the least you deserve. To have some measure of happiness. You should never have been denied the chance in the first place.” A flicker of worry then consumed his face. “But, are you sure? I mean, I’m a dragon. I recall that you might have some issues with that fact.” His tone sounded like he was preparing for something. For her to retract her statement, or confirm it?
“That doesn’t matter to me anymore.” The truth.
Those words cleared the doubt in his eyes and settled the fluttering nervousness in her stomach. She didn’t know what she was saying, if she’d said it right, but she seemed to be hitting the right notes so far. It flowed naturally from her, when she let go of the excuses and let the truth trickle out.
I should have admitted this as soon as I began to feel it. Not entirely fair. She didn't understand it. And the fear... it ate at her. Insidiously, without her usually being aware it did so.
This, though. This was perfect.
He folded his arms neatly over his lap, and leaned forward, feet pointing to her. Those eyes of his seemed to twinkle now. They shared smiles, the kind that threatened to burst out of their bodies. “May I kiss you?” He waited, earnest, not making a move without her say-so.
How polite. She took a deep, glorious breath, which flooded her body with light and life. Maybe also a hint of excitement. “You may,” she said, pasting on a mock formal expression. It made her giggle, before her heart lurched further, since Kalgrin had stood up, his face hard with intent.
“Kissing in three, two, one…” He leaned forward and planted his lips on hers. That first contact came awkwardly, clumsily. Nothing like what Anya had imagined, where she thought stars might burst around them and the heavens then fell – the things they only told you in the best stories when love flourished and didn’t have to worry about the grind of everyday life. Of being crushed to the point where nothing remained.
Few people in the plantations became whole families, so they had to rely on the run of the community, and elected leaders within that community. Feeling strong bonds of love was considered dangerous, but people made those connections anyway. Some deep, primal part of them craved closeness. Craved affection.
A kiss from Kalgrin at first felt disappointing, likely because she didn't know how to kiss. She half expected fiery explosions and melting feelings in her, but really, it was just the unusual, smooth texture of the lips and the heat of their breaths that confused Anya. Did she keep breathing? Did she hold her breath until she couldn't anymore? Did she keep her eyes open or closed?
Open seemed rather awkward. Closed helped heighten the sense of the moment. Kalgrin worked at kissing with her, being patient with her lips, and it got to a point where the pressure they placed and the movements they conducted became natural and pleasant.
Sure, the countdown Kalgrin did might have been strange, but then again, the whole thing could be construed as strange. What mattered was the rapid beating of her heart, and the gentle way he touched her, and the patient affection he showed. Being embraced in such a way embarrassed and pleased her at the same time, tinged with a hint of sadness. She should have known something like this before. Not spent eighteen years of her existence barely making it above water.
Sometimes she wondered if she was doing the wrong thing when it came to the touches, the kisses. Those thoughts cleared away when she lost herself in the moment. They slowly led one another to bed, taking the time to stop, to kiss, to caress.
The treatment made Anya want to cry – she couldn’t remember the last time someone held her with so much love. Not wanting to start blubbering her eyes out, she dove deeper into the kiss, into ruffling his floppy curls, into sharing herself with him. Just to stay in the moment, and to remember that Kalgrin wanted this as much as her. One by one they peeled off one another’s clothes, until both were naked – her skin had the hardened tan of working on the fields, and his was as pale as snow.
What a wondrous thing.
He stood back to admire her body, all the way from her freckled face to her soft, rounded breasts, calloused hands and strong thighs. She admired his body, too, the sculpted build, with broad, toned shoulders, not bulging with muscles but hinting at the power that lay within. He had a flat, hairless chest with the hint of abs showing – not quite a muscular demigod, but certainly an arousing sight to behold. Everything was just right.
He reached for her hand and kissed the rough underside, not caring if her skin was hard and lacking in softness. She had other soft parts to make up for it. She also couldn’t help but notice his growing erection, from the way it uncurled from small to big. She liked the way he always asked her if it was okay, though it eventually reached a point where she simply whispered into his ear, “Just shut up and fuck me.”
That worked pretty well. He lowered her down onto the mattress, those gray eyes dark and his body quivering in excitement. Anya’s cheeks flushed, her whole body raised up its temperature, making it feel as if she were about to burn up. Nothing else mattered at this moment except him.
He kissed her neck, warm air wafting onto her skin. He braced his arms on either side of her, sliding into position between her legs. His erection pressed against her stomach in a promise. A shivering, tantalizing promise. Would it hurt? Would it be pleasant? Would she let out a sigh from her lips and arch into him, or stiffen in pain?
He crawled backwards slightly, and rested his length upon her entrance.
Heart beating in a frenzy, Anya let out a whimper as he moved inside her for the first time, the first time for anyone in her life. She knew something of masturbation and got urges like anyone else – she just didn’t want to risk having children in such an impoverished, cruel place. Even though the others didn't care, and just went for it, Anya restrained herself.
But here, it didn’t concern her. Not with someone who showered her with affection, who helped raise her life above the mud it had dwelled in, who helped save her family, and for some reason, loved the soul inside her. Not when she didn't have to worry about her child growing up on a miserable plantation, knowing nothing but the slash of a whip upon their back, and the sad, gibbering voices of the humans around them. Or the musk of dark that followed people, like an evil that had attached itself to their souls.
People used to think she deserved punishment for being so outspoken.
Now, allowed to be who she was, she felt nothing but happiness and gratefulness for her new position. She whispered her love in his ear, perhaps encouraged by the feel of him so close to her. Maybe the feeling would vanish afterwards, when the tension wasn’t knotting up in her stomach, getting ready to spread out in a warm, delicious wave of bliss.
He sped up his thrusts, continued snatching kisses from her lips, breathing harsh, his heart thundering at the same pace as hers.
When he came, her heart soared at his pleasure and sounds, and she moaned as well. She noticed the drop in pressure inside her, and would have been perfectly happy leaving things like this. Then he reached down with his fingers and fumbled around her slit, until he hit the right spot. The electricity bolted through her like a thunderstorm, the feeling came hard and intense, and within moments, she found herself shuddering and moaning her way into orgasm.
“Didn’t want to keep all the glory to myself,” he whispered in her ear, before kissing it, and allowing themselves to arrange into a comfortable embrace.
Exhausted with happiness – who knew such a thing could wear you out? – Anya fell into a deep sleep, breathing in Kalgrin’s musky scent, secure in the wrap of his arms around her.
Security. What a strange thing to feel, and to know you had it. Her family were tucked away safely in that fort town which she didn't remember the name of. She flew the skies with Kalgrin, spoke to the broken, the people who had forgotten what hoped looked like, who had been reduced to animals, simply living for themselves and their own survival, not caring about anyone else. Anything else.
It needed a special kind of work to coax these people out of their shells. Words didn't work. Not really. Attitude did. Showing them the reality of their new world did. And giving them the chance to step out on their own.
She couldn't blame them in the end. Depression settled like a heavy blanket, smothering those it touched. Clouds followed them, brewing their storms. And their night terrors filled dark silences. They lived, but not really. And Anya had tried to live, but she was stagnating, withered away by the years. She would have died in that place.
She woke up once in the night, sweat coating her face. A half-remembered nightmare, of being chased, the wyrm's feet pounding the earth beneath her as she ran. There had been mud upon her arms and legs, but it dried up, caking her, making it harder to move forward. Maybe if she could fly, hop up into the air...
But those wyrms would never stop. The sound of their feet somehow always clattered in the distance. The vibration of each footfall carried the taste of hate.
Kalgrin slumbered like a babe at her side, his arms sprawled out, taking space under the pillows. Half the bed covers wrapped itself around his lower half, leaving his chest exposed, which rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm.
Anya watched this for a while, relaxing in the calm of Kalgrin's deep sleep. Reminding herself that somehow, this drake had become hers. She didn't want to risk waking him up, so she left him untouched.
It made her heart ache to see how beautiful he was, even cast in shadows. Sometimes in the dark, people's faces took on frightening visages. She didn't know why, just that the dark increased her level of fear. No fear lingered here. Smiling, she soon fell asleep again.
Waking up to an empty bed, Anya stretched out languorously, the sheets slipping over her bare skin. She didn’t regret a moment of her choice. She didn’t regret staying with Kalgrin, with sharing her heart and soul with him, or falling in love with him.
Yes. It was love. Such a tiny word. Such a powerful feeling.
Her family existed in a better place. But many more families didn’t. And as long as she stayed by Kalgrin’s side, she actively helped contribute to the cause he followed. It became her cause, her calling. And she fell that little bit more in love.
Kalgrin smiled at her when she walked into his kitchen. The smell of cooking food lured her, and she lifted her nose to sniff. Eggs and toast and sausages. Simple but filling. And exotic, compared to the slops she tasted at the plantation.
“A good, hearty breakfast is the best way to start the day,” Kalgrin declared. “Though I usually prefer honeyed porridge. I work better in my day when I have a full stomach.”
Anya agreed. She skipped meals in the past, but if you headed off to the wheat fields without food, you found yourself drained so fast that you could barely stay upright.
“I could get very, very used to this. Having you cook for me in the mornings.”
“You can do the same for me. When I go over to your house.” He winked at her, before flipping the egg over in the little pan over the hearth. The sausages were already cooked. The heat from the hearth radiated through the room, warming up the cool space. Anya stepped outside for a moment, inhaling the cool air, before she noticed that there were those little envelopes on the ground. The ones with the letters that she couldn't read.
Taking one last glance out into the crisp late morning, taking in the bustle of people going about their business and the calls of stall owners trying to attract people to their wares, Anya ducked back inside, clutching the letters.
“Kal. Some letters for you.” The messy-haired drake took them from her and inspected them.
“Huh. One's for you. From... your mother, I believe.”
“Oh!” Right. She hadn't passed on the new home to her mother yet. Kendra still thought her daughter lived here, so of course the letters would come to Kal. “I can't read it.”
“I know. I'll do it for you, unless you want to get a scribe?”
Anya shook her head. She wanted Kalgrin to know the contents of the letter as well. The drake opened the envelope and examined the squiggles all along the page.
“Actually, let me finish the cooking. We don't want it to get cold, do we?”
He cooked the last of the eggs and spilled them over buttered toast. Anya sat at his little table, grabbed a fork and knife, and tucked into her delicious breakfast. The smell of the food lingered in an appetizing way, saturating the air around them. Kalgrin wanted to finish eating first before starting on the letter, and he wolfed down the food fast.
“Wow. You don't waste time when it comes to food, do you?”
He let out a belch, which made Anya blink, half in amusement, half in disgust.
“Sorry. My digestive system can be a bit odd at times. Okay.” He cleaned his hands and dried them off, before taking the letter and settling back into the seat. “Dearest daughter. I hope everything's well with you, and you've gotten around to a relationship with Kalgrin at last. I know you were stalling, but I'm telling you, you'll be hard pressed to find better.”
Kalgrin paused. “Huh. Did she try to foist you off on me?”
“Yes,” Anya admitted. “But I didn't want to think of her as being right that we were attracted to one another. She'd likely chase me to the ends of the world until I got into a relationship with someone respectable. She always had hopes I'd break the cycle.”
“Well,” Kalgrin said, grinning, “you might just have done that, haven't you?” Then he frowned. “Though should I be concerned that your mother wanted to shove us together?”
“Probably not. Just watch out for the grandchildren queries.”
Kalgrin chuckled before reading more of the letter.
“I named all the children proper. Your two sisters are now Jeyna and Daisy, and the two little ones are Bodrin and Kallen. Named in honor of the wonderful drake who saved us, of course.”
Kalgrin's expression grew soft at the mention of a child being named after him. Meanwhile, Anya felt little stabs of irritation because her mother didn't say which sibling was which. The rest of the letter mainly focused on when Anya was going to come and visit, or when Kendra might be able to visit her. She wanted to know all about everything, since although the fort town was a nice enough place, there weren’t a lot of humans there, and she still struggled at times to snap out of what the plantations had done to her.
Five children, and she didn't want to lose a single one.
That was Kendra for you. Yet, for some reason, Kendra had risked all her family to get Anya away. She wanted to include that question in the next letter.
“I've never had people praise me like this,” Kalgrin said, still wearing that soft expression. He passed the finished letter reverently to Anya. “Don't tell anyone, but I feel like crying big, manly tears.”
“Manly?” Now it was Anya's turn to raise an eyebrow. She plucked at her food, finishing off the rest of the egg.
“Of course. If I plan to keep you around, you'd rather have someone reliable to support you, right?”
For some reason, this statement seemed to darken the mood. Anya wondered why her emotions had sunk. Perhaps it came because of her need for independence, instead of being constantly supported. She let it go, however. He meant well.
And he'd found that place in her heart. They spent the morning together, just talking, considering her mother. Kalgrin wanted to understand better why the children hadn't been named until now. He never asked their names when he'd saved them. Just Kendra. Anya explained, and Kalgrin reacted as expected – saddened by the reality of the serf's situation.
Back in her house, Anya aimed for another quick rest.
She planned to go with him next week to one of the plantation areas. She wanted to see if all plantations were the same, or if some had more or less cruelty than hers.
“It’s dangerous,” Kalgrin had told her when she had first asked, “but I can see you've got that determined glint in your eyes. I'll say this: If you want to get involved with infiltrating these areas, you’ll need more training. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go to those places without some kind of basic self-defense.”
“So, teach me,” was her response.
“With pleasure,” he replied, bending to kiss her hand. He looked so proud in that moment, standing by her side. Admiring the spirit inside her body. Allowed to be a part of her life, by a choice of her own making.
She knew full well the path she now chose wouldn’t be easy. She knew Kalgrin, despite his jovial manner, his casual way of dipping himself into dangerous situations, might die any day. One mistake when he crept into an isolated lordling’s home, and she’d no longer have a lover returning home. But, well, if a bloody dragon wanted to risk his life for humans, then surely, she could do the same in return. And support him in any way possible.
A few of the former plantation slaves had chosen to settle in Tarn, enjoying the simple, vibrant life of a small town where people ended up sticking to one another like glue. Others had run away into the wilderness, not being able to handle the truth. Likely they would have died or been recaptured.
Something, Anya decided, is very wrong with everything. If what Kalgrin said was true, if humans once used magic to rule the world, then lost it... had the wyrms originally started enslaving humans out of revenge? And did they never let go of that hate, even though the humans born centuries later no longer remembered what it was they did?
She really didn't like that the wyrms might have a valid justification for what they did. No. It's not valid. It's never valid to treat people like they don't deserve to live.
But it did feel like fighting a difficult, uphill battle. One where she wasn't sure if humans could ever reach the top.
He said humans had magic, though. And it might be possible that many under our noses can use it, but never reveal it. She decided that for Kalgrin, she'd pay attention to the serfs and slaves they helped, and see if any of them had the spark of magic.
She scheduled a letter to send to her mother. Just her general thoughts and feelings, and confirming that she did get together with Kal, and worked closely with him on a number of projects. The scribe had glanced at her a few times, a little surprised to hear she came from a plantation, but otherwise kept impartial to the matter. Likely she heard all sorts of interesting things in her effort to transcribe speech.
Anya wandered through the little town of Tarn afterwards, thinking hard on where she wanted to aim her life. Perhaps she could go to the northlands in time, without fear of the wyrms. Maybe not to a fort town – she suspected life in those to be uniform, with everyone having their set routines and cautions in place.
She settled at the inn once more and saw Seon, strangely morose, taking her time cleaning out the insides of an already glistening jar.
“What's wrong, Seon?” Anya ventured over to the bar counter, and sat with her arms folded as Seon continued polishing the glass.
“Oh, nothing.” She gave a wry smile when Anya appeared less than impressed with her answer. “Okay. It's something. I'm just a little worried because I've been seeing more of a wyrm presence in the area lately.”
“Really?” Anya had only seen a few in the whole time living here.
“Yes. You just don't get wyrms here, you know? But for some reason, they're insisting on regular patrols through the streets. Drakes and humans might hiss at them, but we can't legally stop the idea of community protection from the city. But it seems like they're looking for something.”
A chill went through Anya's heart. Are they chasing me? Kalgrin? The feeling lingered, before Seon said, “Don't worry. I don't think it's anything to do with you or Kalgrin. That happened far away in some little rural place nobody cares about. They'll likely assume the slaves revolted. So don't worry about that.”
Anya deflated slightly. “Sorry. I keep thinking... having nightmares that they're still coming after me.”
“I suspected as much. No. I don't know what they want. Guess we'll just have to wait and see.”
The way Seon kept polishing that glass, though, told Anya that maybe she did have an idea of what they wanted, but didn't plan to tell Anya. Perhaps in time, with some more trust.
“So,” Seon said, “did you do the thing with Kal yet? I'm waiting.”
Anya blushed brighter than a ruby. “Uh... yes? We did the thing.”
The barmaid cackled in delight, now finally putting that glass away. “Okay, this I have to hear. How did you get around to it?”
“We just... did. I turned up at his door, dressed in a way so he saw a hint of what I looked like under the clothes... and I guess we're a couple now.”
“Good. You two make a good one. He's a good man. Drake. Whatever. You have enough spine in you to not let yourself be completely walked over. And you're going back to places that you have every right to not even want to touch, ever again. I admire you. Just keep at it, okay?” Seon gave Anya a pat on the back, and the two women shared a smile.
She returned back to Kalgrin's house later in the evening, giving a small knock, hoping he'd be in. When he answered, she stumbled into his arms and planted her lips upon his.
“Mmf,” Kalgrin said, gray eyes amused. Anya removed her lips from caressing his. “I could get used to that. I'll feed you if you want, just don't expect anything more than tomato soup.”
Anya smiled. “That will be perfect.”
“Obviously. I'm a perfect guy. Well, since you're here, I don't have to knock on your door about it. Fancy coming to see my parents tomorrow?”
“Uh...” Anya blinked rapidly. “Is that necessary?”
“They don't bite. My mother, I bet, would love to see you. She sent me a letter a few days back, asking when I'd be coming over, asking if any nice ladies had wandered into my life. Bet she'll love to hear how we met.”
Anya laughed, though she ran a hand nervously through her brown hair. Kalgrin's parents wouldn't be like human ones in the plantations. Likely they gave him a wonderful upbringing, a balanced one without him needing to work before he became the right age to do so. “Sure. But I admit I'm kind of terrified they won't like me.” Or me them.
“I don't mind. I want to introduce you to them eventually. It can be tomorrow, or it can be a little longer if you're uncomfortable.”
She grasped his hand with her own. Steeling her stomach. This is Kal. If he turned out like this, his parents aren't likely to be monsters. “I'll do it. Can't be scarier than running from a wyrm, right?”
He grinned before ruffling her hair and seizing her in another kiss. During the kiss, Anya forgot how to breathe. He looped his arms around her waist and pulled her up with him until her feet left the ground.
“Hey,” she gasped, the sound vibrating on Kalgrin's lips. “Put me down.”
In response, Kalgrin lifted her higher, pretending not to hear. She flailed her legs and he grinned, holding her at arm's length before him.
“Look at you. Small thing.”
“I'm not that small,” Anya grumbled. She wasn't – she hit about average height with other women. Kalgrin wasn't even that tall, either. He just wanted to show off his strength. Anya punched the air ineffectually.
“Oh, what fun we’ll have together…” Kalgrin purred, giving her a rather sultry gaze, gray eyes darkening in lust.
Anya twitched a smirk of her own.
That seemed to be the trigger, for Kalgrin hugged her close and dashed towards the bedroom, the tomato soup apparently forgotten. Clothes found their way to the floor fast, and their naked bodies entwined with one another as they lost their minds to the moment.
Anya wanted so much more of this. Her body had a lot of catching up to do, sure, but now that she knew for certain that Kalgrin desired her, and she desired him back, she needed to make up for lost time.
She arched her body, shivering as he glided into her, his length hitting her sweet spot, over and over. She gasped and moaned, and his hands seemed to be everywhere. Touching her cheeks, neck, breasts, hot and leaving a ghostly trail in her mind. She imagined all her skin that had been touched by his hands to glow a different color.
His mouth grasped her neck, licking and sucking hard, until a dull throb spread across it, next to where her pulse beat madly. Marking her. Those gasps of pleasure kept eliciting themselves out, and she wanted him to never stop.
Not just to feel his body moving over hers, to see those eyes dark and glazed, to see that smile upon his face or to hear those soft grunts of pleasure. She wanted him to never stop loving her.
Maybe a tall order, but she clutched him as if he were a life raft. In a way, he was. The one who pulled her out of that dark sea, before it swallowed her below water and snaked into her lungs.
The one who brought her the keys of freedom, allowed her siblings to be named early, and wanted her with all his heart.
The orgasm hit her hard, spreading a heated path through her veins, sinking her into bliss. Her contractions caused him to orgasm with her as well, and they lay side by side.
Yes. Anya snuggled up into him. Still not intending to eat just yet. I could get used to this...
The End
Elise’s Freedom
Found by the Dragon – Book 3
by Lisa Daniels
Chapter One
Elise lived in a world of darkness. The kind that slowly choked the life out of everyone, until nothing remained but an empty shell. A mockery of a human.
She saw it everywhere. Shivering forms in the dark. Calloused hands that had bled one time too many, with cracks in them that went as deep as the veins in the mines. She heard people hacking and coughing every day, and the older the person, the more damaged their lungs. A toxic substance slowly seeped out of the walls they worked in, leaving the weakest dead within twenty or so years of exposure. It was a poison that killed slowly, and let its sufferers watch the detrimental effects of that decay all around them. It built up in the blood of those who knew that all doors ahead of them led to death.
Not exactly a place of luxury, or a place that treated people with kindness.
Elise was eighteen. Or, at least, that was what people told her when they coughed weakly at night – the only time they weren’t working in the mines. She wouldn't know otherwise. She didn't keep track of the years, and didn't exactly have someone there for her when needed. The elders told Elise her mother died of lungdust shortly after she was born. The father was unknown, and no one made claims for her. Because no one cared.
Her lungs must now surely be reaching breaking point. She hoped not, because she needed them for her hobby.
Her arms were strong, hardened by the constant slam of axe against ground. Her blonde hair lay limp and short about her face, tufting out in wild strands. A shower of dust hit her from her companion’s pickaxe blow, and she coughed, feeling that leaden weight in her lungs. That hacking, wet sensation that indicated the slow advance of death.
Lungdust. It probably had a fancier name than that amongst surgeon circles, but all the miners here called it as such, simply because the mines kicked up dust, and choked their lungs.
Pity the poor soul that ended up in the mines, though. Pity those who lived and died in this place.
Elise was born and bred for this darkness, kept out of the place until she reached ten years of age. The wyrms wanted to give enough time for the children to grow, and enough of a lifespan to make sure they carried on their legacy. After all, if you run out of slaves for mining, then you can’t hit your targets.
Brutal and cruel but efficient, Elise supposed. But it did make a simple breath an ordeal, however. Elise didn't think it normal to feel like breath was precious. Then again, she didn't exactly think anything about this life was supposed to be normal. The wyrms might say it was the human's lot to live like this, and maybe even humans themselves endured it, but Elise didn't believe what the rest believed.
She thought it all lies from their mouths. Lies to keep them quiet. Lies to keep them broken.
Elise’s only friend had long since vanished from the area. The friend used to be a servant of the manor, living a marginally better life working on the upkeep of the estates rather than breaking her bones under the earth. A woman called Isera. A woman who once used to sneak Elise spare food during the evenings, or join in the beerhall for a drink and quiet talk. The wyrms allowed the humans this one reprieve. Probably because they understood that a fully crushed individual couldn’t work at all unless they had something to look forward to.
The beer itself got made by volunteers, usually the oldest of the group, whose lungs were close to collapsing altogether. They certainly couldn't step in the mines anymore without devolving into coughing fits, which would get them beaten and weak enough to die without any kind of medicine or proper care in their little village.
At night, Elise slept in a tiny mud hut alone, curled around a stuffed toy rat shaped out of a grain sack and filled with chicken feathers. Two little black buttons stood in as eyes, and the tail was made from twine. She had kept Ratty with her for as long as she could remember.
She didn't know who gave her Ratty, but someone must have cared enough once upon a time for her to have such a possession. Maybe it came from her mother. Sometimes she liked to dream that her mom was still alive, just waiting in a nice city somewhere for her to return. Maybe Elise had been snatched out of her arms by slavers or something and sent to work here. It provided some of the best feelings of her younger life, thinking that someone waited just around the corner for her.
Even now, though she knew better, a part of her still dreamed that dream, because it lit up a beautiful fire in her mind, and made a part of her soul light. Food for the soul. Food to keep her going, since no parents ever claimed her. The only ones who did look after the children were the old who also allowed the children to run through the beer hall during the day. The biggest “safe spot” for humans in the vicinity.
So many of the old ones were dead now. With each bite taken of her past, the world grew colder.
Sometimes she sang quietly to herself, just for comfort, or to strengthen her soul. She did that a lot. Staring sometimes into a crack of mirror with her blue eyes, and running her throat through the sounds which came naturally to her. She instinctively understood pitch and control.
Singing, along with Ratty, was one of the few things that kept her sane, even as her lungs rotted out. Isera, the other thing, had long since vanished. That woman's kind smile had disappeared into the dark, and Elise never found out if and how her friend had died.
At least the music helped, too. More food for the soul beyond her dreams of one day meeting her mother again.
She frowned at the rock in front of her, feeling the ache of muscle, and focused on a song that helped brighten the mood and energize her. She had a clear, high voice, as delicate as a butterfly.
Isera once described it as a youthful and ancient voice at the same time, hiding the power under a layer of innocence. Even though Elise felt far from innocent, and knew what a man would do between her thighs.
She didn't think her voice to be that particularly good, though. Sure, she kept in pitch, but she sang like a child, unable to have that strong gravel that she heard older people sing with – unable to force the power through her throat without her voice cracking. She easily became breathless if she did that. Probably due to that accursed lungdust messing around her insides, robbing her of air.
Usually, she kept her singing to herself, in her mud hut, or in the spot where she and Isera once liked to go. Sometimes she hummed or went for tunes to calm herself in the mines, though she usually timed it to the strikes, so people wouldn’t hear her. She didn't like people overhearing her, though at the same time, sometimes she wanted them to, just to hear their opinions on her voice. A strange conflict, craving attention and wanting to avoid it at the same time.
After a brief, upbeat song, another one started clawing at her consciousness, demanding to be heard. A bubble of an idea, a suggestion that had been boiling in her head long enough to be complete. Sometimes she thought of lyric fragments and strung them together in the way that felt just right. Songs either came to her gradually, or in a fiendish fit of inspiration, as if some powerful spirit from beyond dumped the lyrics in her brain.
She pursed her cracked lips to start it, after making sure there was no one nearby to hear.
I don’t know what love is
Yet it’s a strength in me
My bones ache, my lungs hiss
My soul’s lost to me
And I know that a heart full of longing’s not enough
And I know I breathe the dust and slowly die
And although my body lives too deep inside the world
There’s a dream where I believe that I can fly
Who knows where we all came from?
If there's a place better than this one
I’m lonely and empty
Nothing's here for me
Diamonds make my hands bleed
Shining misery
Oh...
And I know when the yellow bird dies the flames will burn a hole
And I know in the darkness we all cry
And although my body lives too deep inside the world
There’s a dream where I believe that I can fly
Up high with the angels
Wings spread and stable
Breathe…
Just breathe…
She knew as soon as she’d started that it wasn’t a tune for power, to help her cope in the mines. It was too sad, too heavy, and when she murmured the last words, they came out like a prayer, a desperate, quiet pleading. A longing for change. It was a song that meant something to her.
That was what the music did for her. She found the right words, she sang. And sometimes she didn’t even know what her brain wanted before her mouth slipped out the words. She might fumble around the words at times, sometimes needing to repeat them until she found something that clicked, but this one didn’t need any corrections. It was all facts for her, recorded in music.
The man next to her, Evon, ten years her senior, dabbed at his dark eyes. He had drifted closer during her singing. She hadn't noticed until he practically breathed down her neck, and a slight stab of panic went through her.
“Oh, don’t do that, sweetheart,” he said. His eyes became fountains. “You’re breaking me heart.” He actually had to stop for a moment, now using both wrists to dry his face. Elise gave him an apologetic, pink-tinged smile.
“Sorry.” She didn’t know why it affected him so much. Then again, she never fully understood why the music came so simply to her, as if there were instructions buried in her head from long ago. A blueprint that let everything make sense.
Singing was the best way to hide the ugliness, to eradicate the thoughts she sometimes had where she believed it was better if everyone here just died. Either that, or the humans found a way to see past the lies conjured by the wyrms. After all, the wyrms wouldn’t have nearly so much power unless the humans encouraged misery as well.
Elise coughed, making a sucking, wet sound with her throat. That accursed lungdust, still sucking away at her voice. Once the sensation vanished and Evon had drifted away, she tried humming a jaunty tune instead, keeping her mouth shut to avoid the impulsive lyrics. The tune revitalized her, and she returned to her work with increased vigor, slamming the pickaxe into the stone, finally revealing a diamond pocket. Well, at least she would hit her quota today. Quotas tended to be relatively low, but there was always a certain amount of stress involved until a gem pocket was revealed. The kind of feeling of being on a timer where the bomb exploded at the end.
She tore out the diamond and dumped it into a wheelbarrow, briefly examining the meager pile there from others' pickings. Canaries fluttered in their iron cages in the dark, lit only by glass-protected candles. Still a risk if they encountered any flammable gases.
Everyone knew well what it meant if a canary died. And only the “favored” workers got gas lamps, concealed inside their glass containers so they didn't mix with the noxious air.
Elise hit the rock with another grunt. She couldn’t rely on singing to stave away the pain for much longer. Her limbs could only take so much. Her arms shook now with each blow, and her wrists and fingers tingled unpleasantly, making each limb feel detached from her body.
When their shift came to an end, Elise trudged past the impassive wyrm guards. Sometimes they goaded their charges, mostly they didn't. The wyrms were too busy most of the time holding their breaths, afraid of the fumes within.
Luckily, the dangerous gases tended only to leak in deep pockets of the mines, usually where the rock was tinged with a sickly green. You did need good eyes to notice the green, since under the pathetic candle lights and long swathes of darkness, some colors became hard to see.
Sometimes, a slave snapped and decided he or she couldn’t handle it anymore. That was when the chaos began, and the wyrms unleashed the full force of their punishment. It wasn’t exactly uncommon to see death in this place. Elise had seen enough bodies trapped in the rock, expired in their beds, or slashed by wyrms to not hold any illusions about the deep well of cruelty that existed around her. Enough cruelty to let her hold her tongue to avoid the hammer falling on her.
One guard squinted at Elise as she passed. Elise didn’t like that suspicious glare, but focused instead upon heading towards the beerhall with many of the others to eat and drink. The stare followed her out, making the back of her neck buzz.
She heard they got better food in Gemstock compared to other mines and plantations. The wyrm masters here allowed the older population, the ones with their lungs too fucked to work strenuously without collapsing, to serve a use in feeding their own and raising up children. That is, if they survived the initial, frustrated beating when the wyrms realized they had lost another worker in the mines.
All in all, the older ones had a fifty-fifty chance of making it to the beerhall stage of their life.
Now that all the humans were gathered in the hall, handed soups with leftover chicken scraps and bread along with mugs of foul-tasting beer – the entertainment began. The wyrms merely guarded the entrance, not interfering with human recreation. Usually.
Elise had to commend the wyrm lord of these mines. Even if she hated what the wyrms did, she also understood the slyness behind it as well. Whoever he was, he had enough smarts to offer breadcrumbs to his slaves to keep them going. Enough to know he got more value out of a slave if he gave them some free time, some cuttings of joy.
She remembered the things Isera told her about that. Compared to other lords, he is less cruel, though that is obviously no relief to you at all. Just be glad your older ones still serve a use…
She missed Isera. That woman had been a breath of fresh air in this place. A breath of freedom, in a way, since she knew about things beyond the mines. Things Elise could only dream of. Stories about mountains and cities and long stretches of grass. Stories she said travelers through the estate brought, so that all the house servants learned.
Would have been nice if I was a house servant instead. Then at least my lungs wouldn't feel like lead. Except, being a house servant also meant intense scrutiny by the wyrms they served. More opportunity to be punished. As for the servants themselves, well, many wouldn't mind selling you out. Some even framed you if they didn't like you. Isera talked about all these things, help Elise to paint the world beyond hers.
She sat down with her slops and beer, though she sipped at it to not look too much out of place. The humans went through a series of acts. Some people sang, some told jokes, others acted out dumb things. Elise ate her food in silence, nursing the heat in her belly.
This wasn't so bad, she supposed. Even if some of the smiles were forced, even if people screamed on the inside, at least here they made a rowdy, happy picture. They could almost pretend that their lives meant something.
The comedy act where two people took it in turns to insult one another ended. Evon, the man who had overheard her mournful song in the mines, pointed at her with a wooden spoon, wet from the slops. “Get that one to sing! She got a voice of an angel. Made me cry.”
“Cry?” one of his friends laughed. “Yeh fucking wuss. Cry over a bit of singing?”
“Oh, shut up, Jared, you toad,” another man said, his bony hand slapping the one he named as Jared. “Go on, girl, you sing! Do it!” Another voice joined the fray, and more people began calling for Elise to sing, some of them thumping the table and floor. Her cheeks reddened, and her heart sped up in pace. Her mouth suddenly became dry. She didn’t want to go up there. No way. But she also knew that if she refused, she’d likely lose the chance to be invited again. And part of her did want to sing in front of people. Even if the thought terrified her.
Trembling slightly, with her legs getting that horrible weakness as if the bone had decided to become brittle, Elise stood up. A few people clapped, others cheered. Her brain shut down, unable to think of something to sing, and she panicked for a second. She swallowed the feeling and with a few paced out breaths, decided to go with the song she did earlier in the mines. The melody still lingered in her heart. It made sense to her, it whispered to be sung. It squeezed around her with that same submerged weight on her body, suffocating her for release.
She didn’t move from her table, not wanting to go to the front of the hall, in case her legs gave out from under her with the first few steps. She used her hands to brace against the table at the start of the song.
Her first notes were wavering, but once she got into the flow, the hall rapidly fell into silence. Eyes stared at her, wide, some disbelieving. Her audience leaned into her, eyes like suspended stars, wanting to merge into the song. She held them there with every note, sensing the way she kept her listeners captive, and grew in confidence. She took her hands off the table, as there was less shake to her limbs now. They lingered on her every word as if wrought in a waking dream.
Breathe…
Just breathe…
Her last, haunting note died out. The hall remained in electrified silence. A few people sniffled. Others displayed teary eyes. Then, scattered applause, and murmuring conversation began again.
Evon bawled his eyes out, much the same as before. His friends glared at him, embarrassed by his display of emotion. “My word!” Evon flapped his hands. “Ain’t it beautiful? Ain’t it?”
“Yeh still a wuss. Ain’t nothing special.”
“That girl has magic in her voice!” A woman snapped the words, and Elise tore her attention away from the argument, sitting down to finish her food. She suspected she’d dragged down the mood of everyone else there. No one wanted to be reminded of their suffering. Even though they faced it every day, they did a good job of holding everything inside. And then you had someone like Elise, who could tease it out just with a few well-placed words and a melody.
Music was powerful like that. Sometimes Elise thought she really did wield magic, though it was just the power of a good tune.
The way the words came to her, though. No one else seemed to have that ability. Elise knew better words as well because of Isera's knowledge, though she didn't know how to read, which would increase her vocabulary further.
Finishing her food, she decided to make a fast exit from the hall, to avoid the attention she'd created for herself. Outside, a wyrm guard seized her by the arm and snarled, “You’re coming with me.”
Fear pulsed. Elise's bowels became liquid, almost spitting everything out at once. Words choked up in her throat, unable to find any purchase from her tongue. She slipped and stumbled behind the wyrm as he dragged her to the main house.