Chapter 6
993 Words
I sat at the table as he added berries to the bowls and then sat across from me.
“Thank you for the meal, and for letting me stay,” I said to him, trying to remember my manners and forget my wanton inclinations.
The violet eyes met mine across the tabletop. I wondered what manner of brethren he was. He was not a man, in the common meaning of the word. He had told me that much himself. Male. Oh, very definitely male, but not mankind. He ate quickly and neatly, with indifference to the heat of the food.
“When you are done,” he stood, leaving the bowl on the table. “Clean the pot and the dishes and return them to their places.”
I ate much slower than he, as the food was too hot for my tongue. When I was done, I regarded the dirty dishes and the kitchen feeling overwhelmed. Clean the pot and the dishes, he had said. It sounded so simple, and I understood the concept, but not how such things were done.
“In the chest near the wall, you will find a bowl for washing up in, along with rags,” he was seated upon one of the thrones, reading, and spoke without looking at me. “Use the rags to remove the pot from the fire and empty it over the edge of the cliff. Refill the pot and put it back onto the fire to warm water. Put the warm water into the bowl and use a rag to wash the dishes.”
I did as he had instructed, using one of the rags to dry the dishes after, and put them away on the shelves he had removed them from. I emptied the bowl of the soiled water off the cliff, and swung the hook away from the flames, hanging the rags to dry across the metal frame. It hissed as the hot metal and wet cloths came into contact.
“Do you read?” he asked. He gave no impression of looking at me but must be doing so to know precisely when I became idle.
“Yes,” I drew near to him, fascinated by his beauty. His hair draped over the arm of the chair and puddled on the floor amongst the gold and gems in luxurious waves. It reminded me of a hearth story of a princess locked in a tower. I wondered if he had ever cut it. I had never seen a man with hair so long. On another man, it might have been effeminate, but on him, it was a glorious frame for his perfection.
“Just the common tongue?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Your education is lacking.”
“Amongst my people, that I read and write at all, is unusual,” I protested. “I have studied all the classic works, the history of this world, and have a good understanding of mathematics and geology.”
He made a noise of disdain in the back of his throat. “Mankind’s concept of the world.”
I did not want to argue with him, my presence in the caves was dependent on his good will, so I swallowed any further protestations. “Was there another task you wished me to perform?” I asked him.
“The treasure has become scattered. Retrieve it.”
I went into the tunnel and began collecting up the gold. What appeared to be a small scatter was misleading. There was a king’s ransom of coins and gemstones dislodged from the main pile. I gathered the pieces into my skirt. It seemed irreverent to simply pour the coins and stones onto the pile and I kept an eye on the golden-haired man as I did so. He did not look up from his book. The noise of them falling was impressive.
The gold was heavy in my skirt and there was a limit to how much I could collect in one go. I quickly became sweaty, dusty, and sore from stooping. I rested on my knees, stretching my back and shoulders out.
“There is enough gold here,” I commented, “to make every person in the village below wealthy.”
“I’m sure the dragon would be flattered to hear you say so.”
“Why do dragons collect so much wealth?”
“Why do kings?”
“A king has a kingdom to support, roads to pave, buildings to maintain, armies to feed…”
“A dragon has a long life, and many children to support,” the man replied.
“Many children?”
He lifted his eyes from the book. “When you live as long as dragons do, it is natural that you have lots of offspring.”
“You would think dragons would out populate men,” I observed.
“There are very few dragons left in this world because of men,” the man’s voice became cold, and the hair along my arms stood on end in reaction. “And what few there are left are subject to the sport mankind has made of stalking a dragon in his cave.” There was a tone in his voice which told me he spoke from personal experience and regarded the dragons as lost kin.
“I’m sorry,” I apologised, regarding him with puzzlement. What manner of brethren was he? I wondered again. Some connection to the dragons, to be sharing a cave with one and to be so personally affected by their losses. In the stories, however, the dragons were always solitary. It was hard enough to imagine one with a wife and the many children that he spoke of, let alone with a mysteriously beautiful, golden-haired, book obsessed companion.
“When you have finished, sweep the cave floor. There is a broom in the kitchen,” he returned to his book, ending our conversation.
- Writer
