Fifty-Nine: Calm
In the end, Nidhogg did nothing; the storm folded its wings.
The Black Dragon slid into a tub brimming with hot water, steam draping her like silk. She cradled Lilith, set the Little White Dragon on her lap. Now and then her fingers pressed Lilith’s flat belly like a warm tide; now and then she teased those tender ears, petal-soft and quick to quiver.
Fear pricked first, but Lilith swallowed it like bitter tea. Parked on Nidhogg’s lap like a lamb on a chopping block, she held her tongue; as long as no awful bath-time schemes brewed, she could let the tide steal a touch or two.
The Little White Dragon stayed magnanimous, drifting past the nonsense like a lone cloud ignoring market noise.
Nidhogg truly didn’t cross a line. After a spell in the tub, the heat turned Lilith’s head light as mist. When the Black Dragon felt the hour ripen, she lifted the Little White Dragon and stepped out, steam trailing like a pale veil.
Washed clean, white and soft, Lilith got tossed onto the tiny bed in her dorm, a little, long-suffering thing. Funny, really—aside from her first night at the Astrology Academy, she’d treated the bed as a convenient clearing for stacked books, not a harbor for sleep.
Her real bed had been the big chair by the desk. In these days, she’d nod off mid-task, head tipping like an owl at dawn, eyes shut for a heartbeat that stretched into a nap. She’d wake, lean back, stretch like a cat, and call it rest. That poor little bed had been favored only once.
Tonight the favor came doubled, two bodies at once. Lucky bed, Lilith thought; lucky cushion, unlucky dragon.
Nidhogg peeled open the Little White Dragon’s bathrobe, the fabric unfurling like a shell. Then she dove onto the bed; one flick of a heel, and her slippers skittered away like kicked pebbles.
Fear rushed first. Lilith froze as she realized Nidhogg had lain down beside her. She folded her slim arms over her chest, a small creature shivering before a predator. In her tiny eyes, fear pooled like ink.
“Warning you,” she whispered, voice thin as paper walls. “The soundproofing here is awful. Don’t go overboard. If the seniors around us hear… I’ll never live in the Academy again.”
“Does the Little White Dragon want to stay here long?” Nidhogg didn’t answer the plea; she tossed another pebble into the pond.
“I want to at least finish what I should do.” Steady first, then action—Lilith nodded, serious. “After I arrived, I met the Star Canvas in a dream. She said if I could observe this sky’s new robe, she’d tell me the truth of the world.”
“It won’t be easy. I’m no gifted Astrologer, and I don’t know how much effort it’ll take. But I have to do it right, so I may linger here for a while.”
Lying on the bed, Lilith let the fear ebb. The White Dragon turned onto her side, half her soft, pale cheek nestled into a pillow as white as her hair. In her eyes—deep-blue as evening water—a light rose.
Nidhogg suddenly felt those eyes were more than sapphire; no gem she had seen in her long life ever shone like that. She found a better word.
A star burned in the Little Dragon’s eyes.
A wry, admiring smile touched Nidhogg’s lips. Her hand sank into Lilith’s fluffy hair like a gentle breeze through willow. “I’ll wait for you. You’ll make it.”
“Heh, thanks.” Lilith grinned, foolish and sweet, eyes squinting as they quietly glowed. The Black Dragon could feel it even through skin—the pulse of passion hidden inside that small body.
Worry came first, then memory. Nidhogg fretted if Lilith could keep her life comfortable in the Academy. Only days after sending her up the mountain, the girl had worked herself ragged, no longer looking like a White Dragon at all.
Her Little White Dragon had been a mochi snowball—pure white, soft and round. How did a few days apart turn her into dirty snow, stomped flat by careless boots?
Nidhogg couldn’t stand that; more than grime, she couldn’t stand dullness in Lilith’s eyes. A girl’s eyes ought to carry light. She refused to watch Lilith’s spark go out.
Her Lilith should be like this—energy to spare, walking alone with bright interest on her own path.
“But I’ve got to remind you,” Nidhogg murmured, eyes narrowing, voice soft at Lilith’s ear. “What I said in the bath stands. If the Little White Dragon can’t care for herself, I’ll use some… necessary measures.”
Fear pricked and flared. Lilith shivered, a small white rabbit feeling the wolf’s gaze, spine snapping straight. She stared at Nidhogg, tense, afraid the Black Dragon would suddenly pin her and mete out discipline.
“I—I’ll take care of myself. I won’t let myself get sick,” Lilith said, compliant as silk in the rain.
Nidhogg loved this in her too. Her mouth was harder than iron, but her body was softer than ice cream in summer—one poke and she often surrendered, exposing her soft belly like a trusting pup, so helpless it hurt to look.
The Black Dragon loved that softness.
But Nidhogg wasn’t a devil. She knew Lilith was spent tonight, so she did nothing excessive to the Little White Dragon lying on the bed.
She simply lifted the quilt and tucked them both into one warm nest, a shared cocoon against the night.
“Good. I won’t touch you tonight. Sleep,” Nidhogg said, and kissed the corner of Lilith’s eye, her warm lips grazing those blue bruised circles. She winced inside; her hands grew gentler by instinct.
“Heh, night.” Lilith blinked drowsily, offered a sweet, silly smile, then pressed a soft kiss to Nidhogg’s brow—a small gift before sleep.
“Good night, darling.” Nidhogg held the drowsy Lilith close, her goodnight syrupy enough to bubble like honey on a fire.
Darling.
Lilith repeated the name in her heart; joy leaped like a fish and nearly lifted her off the bed.
But a day without sleep had already sanded her down, and after Nidhogg’s gentle fussing, sleep rose like an unbeatable tide. Lilith tried to keep her eyes open against the swell; in the end, the tide carried her into a calm dream.
The Little White Dragon fell quiet; her breathing stretched long and light, like a stream under moonlight.
She was fully asleep.
