Eighty-Nine: The Selnos Plain
The cute little potted plant the Archbishop bought ended up perched on top of Lilith’s head.
“Why me?”
A tiny blue flower sat on the Little White Dragon’s crown, like a sky-colored sparrow that refused to fly off. After buying it, the Archbishop popped over to the next stall and ordered a pot fired from flameflower. Flameflower is a crimson bloom with orange-yellow stamens; under magic, the stamens burn to 1,400 degrees and ignite anything dry around them. They spent twenty silver coins and, in two minutes, watched a lump of clay turn into a finished pot, then set the blue flower inside.
“Advanced stuff,” Lilith breathed, wonder blooming like morning light over water. As a Little White Dragon she knew little of pottery, but in her old world no one made a pot in two minutes. This world stayed strange and bright, like a lantern in fog.
But the Little White Dragon soon stopped smiling. Professional as it was, the little blue flower never threw tantrums; yet in the Archbishop’s arms it went chalk white, like frost on glass. It looked ready to shatter. So the Archbishop, believer that a plant’s life is still a life, handed it to the other three. Mio was an elf too; to the flower she likely felt no different from the Archbishop—if the flower even has the concept of eyes. It refused to be held by Mio, no matter what she said. Nidhogg, standing still, kept leaking cold like winter wind; forget a hug, the flower wouldn’t even approach the scary-looking Black Dragon.
That left only the Little White Dragon. As Lilith reached to cradle the flower, Nidhogg lifted the pot and set it on Lilith’s head. Her smooth, snowy little horns caught the pot just right, like twin pegs on a spotless harp. The little blue flower rode there, bobbing like a tiny mast atop a white ship.
“Perfect,” Nidhogg dusted her hands, pleased with her handiwork like a cat admiring a caught ribbon.
“You’re so annoying,” Lilith deadpanned, eyes flat as pond water, her whole body spelling out displeasure. But for the little blue flower’s sake—life is life—she kept it perched on her head.
“So we’re leaving the North Market like this?” the Little White Dragon asked as they neared the end of the street.
“If you’re interested, we can linger,” Nidhogg stopped and turned to look at Lilith, her gaze like a hook.
“Forget it, let’s go,” Lilith shook her head, like a bell that refused one more ring. She liked to browse, but the North Market’s wares didn’t sing to her; next time she’d drag Typhon and Nidhogg to the shopping street.
The Little White Dragon pushed Nidhogg toward the eastbound street. Perched above, the little blue flower feared a tumble and seized her horn, clinging like ivy to a cliff.
“Ow, that hurts—don’t pull so hard.”
The Little White Dragon’s sensitive horns were seized; pain swept her like a cold wave, and her strength fled. She crouched, clutching her head, and tussled with the blooming culprit atop her crown. Realizing it had hurt the one beneath it, the little blue flower quickly drew back its leaves. It folded its petals and turned back into a tight blue bud, all innocence again.
“This little thing is fun—who even made it?” Mio had watched the whole play, and the childish adult elf took the bait like a fish. “Which workshop?” she asked the Black Dragon at her side.
“No idea; we’ll ask on the plain.” Nidhogg hadn’t been to Lamter in years; her grasp of local firms was mist-thin, so she had no clue which genius workshop made this toy. As for Mio and the Archbishop, born and bred in Lamter, shut-ins rarely catch the wind of outside news—no matter where they squat.
“I feel like you’re thinking something rude,” Mio said, voice sour as unripe fruit.
The Selnos Plain sits in the southeast corner of Lamter, between the Mari Sea and the Selnos Mountains. It’s the lowest ground in all Lamter and even Kuri. As they left the North Market and headed for the plain, the Little White Dragon felt the road pitch downward, steep as a slide. It wasn’t like the easy flats before; one misstep and she could spill like a dropped plate. Her footing felt unsure, so her tail went taut, a drawn cord ready to act as a third brace. All of Lilith pressed to Nidhogg’s side, and she gripped the Black Dragon’s wrist like a lifeline. Perched above, the little blue flower wore almost the same look—if it has looks at all. It had nowhere to fling its panic; it clutched its fresh-baked pot and prayed it would stay wedged, solid as a chock in stone.
“This slope is ridiculous,” the Little White Dragon groaned, voice thin as wind.
“Because there’s a real height drop between the Selnos Plain and the city center, and Lamter’s roadwork is... hard to praise,” Nidhogg said. “Back when the three of us were here, the roads were worse; only after Aila took office did she push a rapid overhaul.” Otherwise, almost no outlanders could have used this path, she added, words falling like stones down a well.
“Why? Do they just not fix roads?” Lilith wailed, her question flapping like a startled bird.
“You’ve got to understand. Elves love rough, uneven paths. Stopping them from going barefoot in the streets is already Lamter’s biggest concession to foreigners. Just as no dragon lacks a hoard of their own, no elf is at home on a perfectly flat road.”
“Who says? I don’t like walking on streets,” Mio shot back, bristling like a cat.
“I also don’t have a hoard,” the Little White Dragon chimed in, small voice like a pebble.
“You’re just a lazy mutt; you don’t represent the elves,” Nidhogg retorted. Their bickering had become routine; the Little White Dragon’s ears felt callused, like shells rubbed by sand.
“As for you, Little White Dragon, you’ve got a hoard now,” Nidhogg said, a sly smile blooming like a crescent moon. “Ancient dragon law says that once married, a dragon couple shares one hoard, so mine is yours. I took a gold-shining throne from the human kingdoms and set it at the center of my hoard. It’s waiting for you,” she said, her words clinking like coins in the dark.
