Lilith finally chose a pale-blue ice-crystal pendant, pale as winter sky. The crystal was carved into a tiny snowflake, with a small heart sitting in its center like a seed of frost. The shopkeeper said they could inscribe it with magic—buy the necklace and they'd do it for free—or she could carve it herself.
“Do we pay?” the Little White Dragon asked directly, her voice crisp as an icicle.
“No charge, dear—it's free.” The shopkeeper smiled with crescent eyes and set out a white practice slate and a bone stylus for carving.
Lilith grabbed the bone stylus; under the clerk's guidance, she bent over a small table and focused on carving, a reed bowing to wind. For this shop's usual customers, the Little White Dragon was on the short side. Seated on their stool, her small feet couldn't touch the floor, dangling like wind chimes. Lilith swung her legs on the stool; the slim tail behind her swayed like a windshield wiper, left and right in a steady rhythm. The Little White Dragon sprawled over the table, clutching the bone stylus and carving with focus, soft as a daifuku flattened by a palm. She looked even more like a child, a snowball spread thin against warm wood.
“What do you think she'll carve?” Mio had been chatting with the Archbishop; she saw Lilith settle and drifted to Nidhogg's side to talk with the Black Dragon.
“Secret.” The Black Dragon raised a finger to her lips and hushed, cool as shaded stone. She knew what the Little White Dragon meant to carve, but she wouldn't tell Mio.
“Fine, don't then.” Mio hadn't expected an answer anyway; she shrugged like snow brushed off a sleeve and turned to chat with the clerk.
“How long has this shop been open?”
“I've been in Lamter for years and barely remember it.”
“Ha, maybe you don't visit the North Market much.” “We've been open for years.” The clerk saw few customers; she had time to chat, like afternoon light pooling on the counter.
“Could be. I tend to run toward the South Market.” She leaned on the counter, her gaze combing the décor like wind over grass. “I'm more familiar with the old shop that used to be here. You even kept their Gaul lamp.”
“Because that lamp's quality is really good.” Ordinary magic lamps last only a few years before they quit, but this one has shone for over forty. “It's a little older than me, and it still runs as long as you feed it mana.” The owner found it too handy to let go, so he kept it.
“I've heard Gaul's industrial goods are famously durable.” Mio agreed. “Ask her. Our great traveler probably knows Gaul better than us Lamter locals.”
“I've never been to Gaul.” Nidhogg rolled her eyes, but she took the thread anyway. She swept the room with a quick glance, like cold wind reading snow. “The owner remembers they're a shop for Usas ornaments; most pieces match what people on the Usas icefields use. The only odd thing is that big Gaul lamp hanging overhead.”
“Is it really okay to use a Gaul lamp? Won't customers think you're unprofessional?” Nidhogg voiced the question, her tone dry as winter bark.
“Of course they won't.” Most customers can't tell Gaul from Usas at all. People who can tell never buy from us; they go straight to the Usas icefield and get local goods. The clerk leaned on the counter and just chatted, resigned as dusk. “Customers don't care what lamp we use; as long as it lights, it's fine, whether it's a Kuri lamp or a Gaul lamp. If the owner weren't worried the neighboring shops would beat us up, he'd even fetch a kerosene lamp from the Demon Realm and light that.”
“Fair enough. You're selling jewelry; customers care about how the pieces are made, not the lamp above them.” Mio nodded, approval warm as tea.
“Why do I feel there's subtext in your words?” Nidhogg saw Mio's satisfied smile and the thoughtful Archbishop, and she sensed the elf's plan like a scent under new snow. She shrugged and went along.
“Anyway, tell us about the jewelry.” Nidhogg steered the talk back to the wares while the Little White Dragon kept carving like a careful mason. “Tell me about the charm I bought her; it's pretty, and the kid loves it.”
“Ah, that one.” The clerk froze for a beat, then started her introduction, words slow as breath on glass. “Usas ornaments fall into two lines. One line is the ice-crystal ornaments the native ice-crystal folk wear. The other grew from settlers of other races, called—if I remember—Xuesi. To stand against the tundra wind, they craft accessories from heavy furs. As one of the races best at magic and spell-speech on the continent, the Usas give each kind of jewelry its own meaning.
“Fur weave stands for warmth and new life.” She took a small fur earring from the case and set it on her palm, then softly chanted a spell. Heat rippled from it, and pale yellow warmth bathed the little shop like honeyed lamplight. “See, just like this.” She put the earring away and drew out a bracelet of ice crystal, clear as river glass in moonlight. “Ice crystal stands for love that never changes and feelings pure and flawless. The Usas use it to speak love in hints, and to honor teachers, elders, and the worthy.
“And if you carve your beloved's name into it, that means—”
Lilith suddenly sprang from the table, a flicker like a snowbird taking wing. She held up something bright, and the Black Dragon's keen eyes caught the earring in her hand. On the white heart wrapped in ice spurs, she'd carved the Black Dragon's name. The Little White Dragon's technique was clumsy; Nidhogg's name sat crooked and messy, ugly yet earnest as finger-traced frost.
“To be bound together in Eternal Life, into the days to come.” The clerk finished the last line, her voice soft as falling snow.
