102 The Last Story

Lilith curled in Nidhogg’s lap, a pale moon cupped by a dark ridge.

The Little White Dragon leaned all her weight on the Black Dragon behind her, like a kitten sinking into warm fur.

She lifted her small foot and set it in Nidhogg’s hand, a pink petal resting on a dark leaf.

The Black Dragon held a towel; with both hands she wrapped that foot—small enough for one palm—and wiped off the water like dew off a lotus.

“It tickles.” Lilith giggled, a silver bell in a quiet grove.

Her skin was quick to feel, like a string tuned too tight; the towel was rough as bark.

She kicked without thinking, her calves fluttering like startled minnows.

“Don’t wriggle.” The Black Dragon pinned her foot, firm as a stone on a reed.

She whisked away the last droplets, quick as wind through pine.

She set the towel on the rim of the wooden basin, steam curling like low cloud.

Then she pinched Lilith’s slender waist and lifted her onto the white sheet, a flake of new snow on fresh frost.

“I’ll pour the water out. When I’m back, I’ll tell you a story.” The Black Dragon rose with the bucket, water sloshing like a small sea.

She lowered her head as she spoke, her voice soft as dusk light on water.

“Okay—” Lilith drew the word long, like a ribbon trailing in breeze.

Nidhogg carried the bucket into the bathroom, footsteps fading like waves down a shore.

When Nidhogg came out, the Little White Dragon had changed into pajamas, lying on her side like a cat by a sunlit wall.

She stared at the white wall, blank as snow, thoughts drifting like smoke.

Seeing Nidhogg, she sat up at once, joy popping like a spring bubbling from stone.

Silk slid with her motion, a silver stream slipping aside, and a round shoulder showed like a pearl.

Nidhogg hurried over and straightened the fabric, hands smoothing it like wind over grass.

“Go change into your pajamas.” Lilith lifted her foot and tapped Nidhogg’s waist, a soft nudge like a paw at dawn.

She didn’t use strength; her tender foot nuzzled the Black Dragon’s side, a plea rubbing like velvet.

“I want to hear it under the covers. Change fast. Let’s sleep together these next few days.”

“Haven’t we been sleeping together all along?” The Black Dragon stepped to the bed’s edge, voice calm as a lake before rain.

She bent and picked up Lilith’s scattered clothes, gathering them like leaves into a neat stack, and set them on the other bed.

Then she undressed, movements clean as a blade through water, and put on a silk nightdress, the twin of Lilith’s in another hue.

Nidhogg let her hair fall loose, a dark waterfall spilling down, and lay beside the Little White Dragon.

“Careful not to lie on my hair,” the Black Dragon warned, the words a hand lifting a branch off a path.

“Only now do I feel how inconvenient long hair is.” The Little White Dragon puffed her cheeks, like a pufferfish in a tide pool.

Hair to the waist snagged like hooks; even turning could sting like a thorn in fleece.

Two heads of long hair on one pillow could wake as one braid, knotted like vines after rain.

But this wasn’t their first night together; she knew the twists and turns, like a boat that knows its cove.

“Let’s get to the point.” The Little White Dragon nestled into Nidhogg’s arms, a swallow into the eaves, and spoke first.

“How much do you know about Lamter’s shipping?”

“Not that much,” Nidhogg said, and her head shook like a slow pendulum.

“I’m a landlubber, dry as driftwood on a dune.

All these years, I’ve barely touched the sea, so what I know is mostly hearsay, like stories told around a fire.”

“That’s fine. Hearsay’s still more than I know. Keep going!” Lilith’s eagerness rose like a kite tugging string; she only wanted the Black Dragon’s voice to lead her through fog.

“Then I’ll continue.” The Black Dragon cleared her throat, a pebble skipped across water, and began.

“Long ago, monsters lived in the seas of this continent, like shadows under waves.

They hunted every ship that dared the blue sea, jaws closing like storm squalls on sails.

For a time, no race could use that blue at all.

Lamter was no exception, a harbor walled in by fear like cliffs hemming a cove.”

“Only lately did things change.

Lady Poseidon set up her research center along the coast, a lighthouse of stone and thought.

She joined with nearby countries bullied by those monsters for years, a net cast wide across the tide.

Together they drove the monsters near extinction, like a fire sweeping dry grass.

With their silence, the blue sea finally became a field humans could step into, like a beach at low tide.”

“As one of Kuri’s few coastal cities, Lamter was given a charge, heavy as an anchor.

Find a way to use the ocean’s wealth, not squander it like pearls in sand.

Lamter answered with ships, with seaborne transport, white wakes written like calligraphy across blue.”

“You went to the Church of Mali to practice dance not long ago.

You know their church better than I do, altar and ledger under one roof.

As faithful to Mali, they’ll do all they can to meet their god’s hunger for trade, like ants building after rain.

Most countries around Kuri cling to the coast like barnacles to rock, so Lamter’s shipping grew into the strongest in Kuri, a mast taller than the rest.

Deep-sea commerce became a badge of honor there, a medal that smelled of salt and wind.

Even the South Market’s chaos goes unchecked, churn wild as a riptide.

That mix of risk, windfall profit, and bone-bare poverty keeps it boiling, turning a tiny fish stall into Lamter’s largest market, a whale where a minnow used to be.”

“After all that, you can guess why that big blue blossom believed the God of Mountains no longer fit Lamter’s era.

Turning toward Mali would match the city’s new wind better.” Nidhogg looked down at the Little White Dragon in her arms, her gaze a calm pool reflecting a bright moon.

Lilith pondered a beat, thoughts circling like swallows over a courtyard, then spoke.

“Because the God of Mountains is conservative, a peak that holds rather than chases.

But Lamter’s age beats the drum to go outward, waves slapping ships and roads alike.

On land, those land magic-cars crisscross every which way, like ants on a wide map.

At sea, those huge ships cut lines through the blue, like knives through silk.

All of them run on Mali’s base logic—money and profit—coal and wind in the same sail.

They push Lamter to keep expanding, tide after tide.

The God of Mountains saw this, a mountain reading weather on its face.

So He asked the Majestic Court to prepare Him a grand funeral, a cairn of song and stone.”

“That’s most likely it,” Nidhogg said, her voice a hand putting a lid on a pot.

“But this is a Lamter matter at its roots; we’d better not meddle, like oars splashing in someone else’s pond.”

“But we still have to attend the God of Mountains’ funeral,” Lilith said, memory flaring like a lantern relit.

“No matter what, we should go.”

“We’ll go when the Majestic Court has most of it ready,” Nidhogg suggested, the plan neat as folded cloth.

“Mm. Let’s do that.” The Little White Dragon nodded, a blossom opening at first light.