Forty-Three: Cut and Run

Lilith pocketed the defeated lady’s dagger. Thinking of the children outside, who had no idea what their mama had done, she didn’t bind the elf—she just led her out of that house that stank like a damp, rotting bog.

“Do you people never clean? I can’t take this smell.” Lilith frowned. She wasn’t being delicate; a dragon who’d trudged through Morris’s sewers had tolerance for stink. She just refused to nest in filth and chaos.

“Too many kids, small rooms, no air,” the elf said, voice flat as still water. “Even if they scrub daily, the smell won’t lift. I can’t stand it either; indoors I mask it with magic.”

“Funny, your room was neat.” Lilith remembered how that room felt like a different painting, its scent lighter, its corners bright.

“The kids do it themselves. I can’t stop them.” Her tone was helpless, but her smile rose like a warm lamp behind paper. “I raised those little ones from the start. No schooling, no skills—this is how they repay me.”

“You’re fond of them.” Lilith caught the way her face softened at the mention of those beastkin kids, like a creek in spring. “Then why leave them in that place? I saw more than a few were sick.”

“Not up to me.” The elf kept it short, like a snapped twig. Lilith nodded. The woman’s background wasn’t simple. Weak now, sure—Lilith had cut her down in moments—but her movements had the print of training, maybe rusty, maybe half-learned, certainly not a civilian’s.

“Your background? Forget it. You won’t tell me your name; you won’t tell me that.” Lilith let it drop. The Little White Dragon had just fought and felt clear as cold dawn. She only wanted to deliver the defeated lady to the city lord’s estate, then spend her extra hours with Litt and Abaddon.

She figured Nidhogg would hold back for now, mindful of the egg in her belly. Fresh from the fight, the young dragon felt bold; tonight she’d try to flip the bed. Last time Nidhogg pinned her down till she cried past midnight. Tonight the Black Dragon would learn who rules this nest.

“My background can’t be spoken,” the elf said, voice calm as stone. “But you’re strong and worldly, miss outsider. One day, you’ll know.” She sounded nothing like a captive. “I just want to know what happens to the kids.”

“They’ll be sent to the orphanage. They’re young; they’ll get into school.” Lilith thought a beat. “Liyana’s sharp. She might go far. Don’t worry.”

“Good.” The elf let out a long breath, mist leaving a cup. “I’m actually happy.”

“Why—do you like jail? Then you should play at summoning.” Lilith shot her a look, a knife’s glimmer. “You got caught. Shouldn’t you hate me? Why happy?”

“Because I can run.” Her answer fell light as a dry leaf. “I’ve been here ten years. No word from above, so I couldn’t leave. Now the mission’s basically failed. I finally get to cut and run.”

“Won’t your bosses come for you?” Curiosity first, then the picture formed. The elf smelled of some assassin outfit. Fail a job, don’t they erase you?

“No.” She shrugged, shoulders like empty shelves. “My direct superior stopped talking to me years ago. I think he’s dead. They never assigned me a new handler. I figure the whole organization forgot me.” She tilted her head, voice dry as paper. “But the mission is on file. If I bolt, and they later remember and check, they’ll find an ‘ongoing’ task and send someone. That’s trouble.”

“Do you still get paid? How does an outfit forget the person on the job?” Lilith couldn’t help picturing a clown cart of killers.

“I do. They’re rich and dumb. Their books are a mess. They probably don’t even notice a yearly payment wired to Lamter.” The Little White Dragon rubbed her temples, a storm easing. “So what’s next?”

“I’ll attend Lamter’s trial, then stage a neat little death,” the elf murmured, like a breeze behind a screen. “Leave a record that the mission failed, then grab my bucket and run. I’ll change identities, join the Mali Church as a nun, and idle away my days.” A thin smile. “I won’t report the mission. They’ll keep sending me money. When they finally investigate, they’ll find the mission failed and I’m dead. The cash after that? Heaven knows where it went.”

“You’re a fox.” Lilith finally saw why the defeated lady fought like wet paper. She spent her days gaming the system, not honing her claws. “Fine. Good luck.”

Lilith walked the sly lady to the door. A Black Dragon girl waited with several elves shouldering longbows, a line of dark pine against the street. The Little White Dragon moved up and handed the elf over.

“We’ll message you when the trial begins.”

With that, the bow-bearing elves took the sly lady and left like arrows vanishing into dusk.

Nidhogg stepped to Lilith, crouched, and stroked her cheek, a wing-soft touch checking for wounds.

“Relax. How could I get hurt by someone like that?” Lilith lifted her chest and hummed, pride bright as a lantern. “Eh—what’s this?”

Something small had been slipped into her palm. She opened her hand. A tiny rune lay there, lines fine as frost on glass.

“A single-use communication rune. That lady left it for you?” Nidhogg knew at a glance. The Little White Dragon nodded. She understood what the defeated lady meant to do.

But why would she want Lilith?

Forget it. Lilith wouldn’t dwell. Better to plan the counterattack.

Not tonight. Tonight she was curling around Little Shard and sleeping.