37 A Day Trip
Lilith and her little crew reached Lamter’s South Market the next day, drifting in like a bright stream into a bustling bay.
The Little White Dragon had spent yesterday sprawled in bed like a sun-warmed cat; her waist and legs felt mostly mended, with a faint ache like rain on old stone.
So she followed her plan and scooped up the two little ones, heading for the South Market, the city’s brightest hive, like bees drawn to a field of blossoms.
Last time they bought clothes along the avenue between the North and South Markets, a road like a main artery pulsing through Lamter; lively, but not as rich as a shore stacked with sails.
That’s why the Little White Dragon steered the kids here, toward stalls that spread like tidewater and voices that rose like gulls.
At first, Litt didn’t want to go out with Lilith, sulking like a shadow curled under a bed.
The Little Fragment had inherited Lilith’s Vampire streak, and after so long in Morris, it had picked up that clan’s habits, a shut-in who treated sunlight like poison.
They clung to Abaddon at the inn, hungering for stories, like a moth loving lamplight but fearing the dawn.
Lilith finally swallowed her pride and begged with tears in front of Litt, her voice soft as dew on leaves.
She got Abaddon to scoop up the Little Fragment, and the group—one black dragon, one white dragon—flowed onto the street like twin currents.
“I feel like I’ve lost all my motherly majesty,” Lilith lamented, her mood drooping like a carrot hit by frost, face scrunched as if tasting bitter tea.
“Two nights ago you called for me sweet as honey,” Nidhogg said, voice lazy as smoke. “Yesterday you were cold as stone. See? Same mold.”
That comfort didn’t lift the Little White Dragon’s heart; she pinched Nidhogg’s waist, a snap like a crab’s claw on armor.
Her White Dragon body was too soft against the Black Dragon’s hide; the pinch landed like a leaf on a river, barely a ripple.
“Don’t blurt nonsense out here,” Lilith hissed, a blade of voice wrapped in silk. “At the inn, do what you want. Outside, don’t bring me shame.”
“Alright, alright,” Nidhogg murmured, mind marking Lilith’s dangerous little wishes like lines on a map, saving them to trace later.
“But kids are like weather,” she added, warm as embers. “Whoever treats them kindly becomes their sun. Since you started rehearsing the Mali Dance, Abaddon’s been caring for Litt. So Litt chases Abaddon like a shadow.”
Lilith had to admit the truth, a pebble she couldn’t skip across the stream; yet her heart still pouted like a cloud refusing to rain.
She thumped Nidhogg’s waist again, a tap like a drumstick on a shield, and mumbled coyly, “You rascal—why don’t you help, too?”
“Because I’m taking care of you,” Nidhogg answered, simple as a hearth-fire and just as shameless.
The Little White Dragon was speechless, her thoughts scattering like sparrows.
“That’s care? I’m almost too embarrassed to call you out,” Lilith snapped, then flipped the topic like turning a fan. “We’re close to the South Market. Give us the lay of the land.”
“The South Market?” Nidhogg’s gaze swept wide, like a hawk gliding over fields. “It’s one of the largest markets on this earth. Here, you can buy almost anything under the sun.”
“It ties to the Mari Sea,” she went on, voice steady as oars. “Back when you were human, you knew the ocean was peril for landfolk—most waters belong to creatures below.”
“Only a few routes let ground-bound lives pass; the Mari Sea is one such path, a blue artery cutting safe through the deep.”
“And it’s not only passable—the coastal nations around Kuri are prosperous, lanterns bright along the shore,” she said, words like sails catching wind.
“The kingdom spent centuries fighting the Taint, and war stoked spending like bellows on flame; the South Market swelled almost overnight.”
As prosperity rose, shadows grew too; Nidhogg’s tone dipped, like dusk slipping over rooftops.
“Problems came along: the law here runs thin, and the folk are plain and blunt, hands like hammers,” she warned, eyes flicking to the children like a mother fox watching kits.
“So keep an eye on the little ones,” she added, caution coiling like a rope.
“So that’s why you made me wear this?” The Little White Dragon looked down at her clothes, gaze circling like a finger tracing a pattern.
Nidhogg had handed her a cropped top baring her midriff and hot pants that barely hugged her backside, then threw her cloak over it like night hiding dawn.
Lilith had to admit the outfit moved like water, easy and light; but wearing a belly-baring top and hot pants felt almost like wearing the wind.
“If it’s that rough, why bring the kids?” she asked, a frown like a pinched string.
“You’ll see soon,” Nidhogg said, playing coy like a cat under a curtain.
Lilith wasn’t having riddles; she socked Nidhogg’s waist again, a fist like a pebble hurled into a pond.
This time she put power into it and cracked the Black Dragon’s guard; Nidhogg hissed, rubbing her side like warming a bruise.
“Alright, I’ll tell,” she yielded, hands up like leaves in a breeze.
“Because the South Market’s too vast,” Nidhogg explained, words marching like guards. “Lamter’s government is swamped—stamping out price-gouging, fake goods, counterfeit coins—smoke everywhere.”
“So the elves leaned on their own customs and set a rule: if your stuff gets stolen, you can catch the culprit yourself, hands-on as a net,” she said, the idea bright and hard as a hook.
“As long as you don’t take a life, whatever you do is fair game,” she finished, the line dropping like a stone in water.
“Huh? Then how do you prove it’s real theft?” Lilith frowned, doubt fluttering like a startled sparrow. “If someone gets framed, won’t they be beaten for nothing?”
“Don’t worry,” Nidhogg soothed, a palm like shade. “Lamter’s many city-lords have chewed on this. If the rule endured, it has a root.”
“What root?” Lilith asked, suspicion pricking like a thorn.
“What’s the South Market for?” Nidhogg countered, tossing the question like a coin.
“Trade in goods,” Lilith shot back, the answer neat as a folded fan.
“And trade belongs to which god?” Nidhogg pressed, smile thin as silk.
“Mali,” Lilith said, then slapped her forehead like a cymbal. “Ah—you mean the god Mali helps oversee the South Market?”
“But won’t the god be overwhelmed?” she added, worry creeping like mist.
“It’s a god,” Nidhogg shrugged, shoulders rolling like hills. “It has its ways. We don’t need to overthink.”
“Mali above—Mammon,” she said, an oath tossed up like incense smoke to the sky.
