Twenty-One: Got Blasted

“Uuugh… it burns. It’s killing me.” Her voice wavered like steam from a kettle, tongue glowing red like a chili seed.

Minutes later, the Little White Dragon stuck out that pepper-red tongue, sniffling and sobbing, tears and snot mixing like rain on clay.

Nidhogg crouched beside her, dabbing at the girl’s tears with a napkin. Her sigh fell soft, like a leaf dropping onto water. “You can’t handle spice. Why order it?”

“I—I thought I could.” The bravado was paper-thin, a lantern in wind.

Lilith couldn’t confess she’d been staring at the Black Dragon, dazed, and had blindly picked the extra-spicy risotto. She kept sniffling and doubled down.

Nidhogg rolled her eyes, helpless. That face was tomato-red; those pretty blue eyes were two swollen plums. And still, that stubborn look, like a sparrow pecking the fire, ready for another bite.

“Alright, alright. No more. If you can’t do spice, don’t force it—your body pays for it.” Nidhogg caught Lilith’s spoon mid-stab, pressed down her restless little hand, then slid her own risotto in front of her. “Eat mine first. It’s still a bit spicy, but miles better than that. I’ll bring you something to cut the heat.”

“’Kay.” Her tongue felt thick, words slurred like syrup, eyes shimmering like wet glass.

Truth was, the Little Dragon hadn’t planned on lunch at all. Asking a chili-defeated dragon to go another round was a tall order. And Lilith couldn’t take any heat; what Nidhogg called “mild” was a torch to her.

But it was Nidhogg’s food.

A spark jumped in the Little White Dragon’s chest. Pain dulled like embers under ash. She felt she could polish off a whole bowl in one go.

She took a confident bite—then went “wah!” and spat it out like a geyser.

“So spicy…” Tears broke free like beads on a snapped string. “It’s killing me…”

“Crying again?” Nidhogg came back with cold yogurt and found the Little White Dragon drooping over the bowl, a stray puppy in the rain. It made you want to scrub her head warm.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. Drink something to cut the burn.” She set the chilled carton against Lilith’s red-swollen lids. Cool paper kissed flushed skin; relief spread like moonlight on a pond. Lilith blinked, tears quivering like dew, then looked up.

“Look at you, you’re a mess. If you can’t eat it, we’ll order again. Here—what flavor do you want? This time keep your eyes open; don’t pick ultra-spicy.” Nidhogg bent with a gentle curve, like bending a willow. She opened the menu and set it before Lilith, coaxing her like a child.

Lilith hated that tone. She didn’t want to be the kid who needed hand-holding in Nidhogg’s eyes. Yet she knew she’d acted exactly like one—who else cries over their own order being too spicy?

She scolded her drifting mind, a stern drumbeat in her chest. Then she leaned in, her forehead brushing Nidhogg’s lightly like clouds meeting a hill, and tapped a dish on the menu with a small finger. She chose a little bowl of that.

“Then we’ll get this. Give me a minute.” Nidhogg triple-checked for anything Lilith might dislike, then rose with the menu and headed to the counter. The place wasn’t a tide of people, but patrons flowed like a steady river. Better to move than wait.

Lilith sat biting the corner of the yogurt carton, a left-behind child watching Nidhogg’s silhouette drift away like a kite on a faint wind.

She let out a long sigh. Then the whole dragon wilted, laying flat on the table like a drooping lily.

“So embarrassing.” Shame pressed first, heavy as a stone; her self-mockery followed like a shadow.

By the time they left the restaurant, the Little White Dragon had steadied her heart. All day, sudden feelings had been chasing her like a startled deer in a grove. She swore she wouldn’t let a budding crush trample her life.

She slapped her cheeks—two crisp pats like clapping fans—and lit a tiny cheer in her chest. Then she put on a careless face and looked at Nidhogg. “What’s the plan this afternoon? Keep wandering the commercial street and buying clothes?”

They’d packed almost half an album by noon, photos stacked like petals. Lilith hoped the afternoon could be lighter, let her pick some pretty little skirts at her own pace.

Of course, that was to maintain her image in Tartarus and Asterios’s eyes. Not to wear for Nidhogg. Not for Lilith herself either.

Absolutely not!

“No. We’ve got other plans.” Nidhogg shook her head, firm as a gate bar. “Remember why we came to Lamter?”

Disappointment pricked like cold rain. Lilith swallowed it and answered obediently. “Relax?”

“Of course not.” Helplessness colored Nidhogg’s voice, a soft-gray cloud. Lilith’s head dipped, awkward and small. Had she left too many bad impressions today? Would Nidhogg start to dislike her?

“You’re joining the Coining Festival. Forgot?”

The words rung like a bell. Lilith remembered her task. She hadn’t learned anything about the festival yet, despite all this time in Lamter.

“Right, I still have to join the Coining Festival.” She smacked her forehead, a light thud. “So… what do I need to do?”

“Easy stuff. Say a few words to the visitors, dance, then light the bonfire.” Nidhogg spoke offhand, like tossing pebbles into a stream. “We’ve written the speech. You can read it, memorize it, or say something of your own. The fire’s handled, too. Even if you can’t use magic, it’s fine. It’s just the dance…”

A chill passed through Lilith, the kind that spreads like shade under a tree.

“Don’t tell me…”

She looked into Nidhogg’s eyes. All she found was certainty, dark as ink and inescapable.

“Yeah. You have to learn it yourself. It’s a blend of the Mali tradition and Lamter elf steps. No one outside knows it. You’ll start from zero.”

Nidhogg said it without mercy, steel wrapped in silk.

“This afternoon I’ll take you to the Mali Divine Statue downtown. Aila’s already found you a teacher. We plan to teach you before the Coining Festival begins.”

Lilith’s face went pale, color draining like water from rice. She did not want to dance.