The fire crackles soft. One leg curled under me, the other stretched toward the warmth, heel dirty, soot-stained. I pick at a splinter. Dragon's tail flicks behind him like he's annoyed but pretending not to be. He's been like that all day. Grouchy silence. Staring off. Probably brooding about a chipped scale or some bad poetry he once wrote.
Then he asks it.
"What were you doing before we met?"
I roll my eyes. "You know what I was doing. Indent—indetu—ugh. That."
He tilts his head. Waits.
"Oh." I exhale through my nose. "You mean after I jumped the contract."
He nods once.
I toss the splinter into the fire. Watch it twist, catch flame, vanish.
"Pleasure barge," I mutter. "Ferry route between Lerida and Tanagra. Real fancy. Silk sheets, scented oils, candles everywhere. Men with soft hands and thick purses. Called it 'The Pearl Current' or something equally vomitous. Was supposed to be exclusive. Refined. You know, the kind where they serve sugared dates and play flutes while you're getting railed."
Dragon doesn't say anything.
"I hated it," I admit. "Too many rules. Too many mirrors. You ever try moaning in four languages while maintaining eye contact and pretending to enjoy a poem about ocean birds? Yeah. I lasted three weeks."
I rub my arms, as if the pine chill has finally reached my bones. "One night, I slipped off the side near one of the docking coves. Drenched, barefoot, bruised my ass on the rocks. Swam till my lungs nearly burst. Stole a fisherman's cloak and ran."
A branch snaps in the fire. I flinch.
"I thought the countryside would be better. Quieter. Kinder. You know? Chickens clucking, bread baking, some granny patting your head and offering you a place by the hearth. But no. Turns out hamlets are just cities with worse lighting and more pitchforks. Every tavern's got a Madam lurking behind the innkeeper's wife. Every drunk thinks you're for sale if your hem's short or your boots are worn."
I scratch my bare thigh.
"I tried, alright? Played nice at roadside inns. Took tips in backrooms. Faked a lisp once just to seem exotic. Got stiffed more times than I got paid. Slept in stables, woke up with straw in my crotch and a mule licking my ear. Told fortunes to barmaids who paid in soup. Danced in a barn once. Place reeked of wet hay and disappointment. Still clapped though."
He starts to interrupt. I barrel through.
"There was a barony outpost near Bellota. Big fair. I set up a kissing booth. No sign, just a ribbon and a pout. Made enough in one night to rent a mule and a clean shift. Some guard captain offered to 'take me away from all this'—whatever this meant. Said he had a cousin in Delvida who ran a clean house with polished floors and perfumed linens. I told him I don't trust floors I can see myself in."
Dragon's tail flicks. I can feel his stare.
"I did get boots. Briefly. Shiny red ones. Sold them to an apothecary who promised me safe passage to the next town. Man was lonely. Said I had the eyes of a haunted widow. I said yes, darling, haunted by ten husbands and one ghost goat. He still cried when I left."
I lean back and exhale.
"Anyway. That's what I was doing. Surviving. Or faking it." I glance over. "But now I've got you. And a blanket that doesn't smell like turnips. So, upgrade."
I lean back against a tree. Close my eyes.
"Then one day there was this village. Smoke on the hills. Cows screaming. Some fool of a mayor offering bags of copper to get rid of a 'terrible beast.' And that's where I met you."
The Dragon says nothing for a long time.
I shrug. "Yeah, well. I'm a city girl, alright? Dockside bred. Raised on fish bones and alley spit. I'm supposed to be slinking through streets where you can buy an eel on a stick, a second-hand dagger, and a venereal curse all from the same cart."
I poke at the fire with a twig. Sparks dance up into the dusk.
"But here? In the trees? With goats bleating in the distance and mud between my toes?" I let out a breath. "At least I'm free."
The Dragon snorts.
"Or I can pretend to be," I snap. "Which is close enough, thanks."
I stretch out both legs. My thighs still sore from yesterday's 'misunderstanding' at the toll gate. "Sure, I got caught. Once or twice. Or six times. Sometimes I fell for some drunk with a sword and a badge. Sometimes it was just bad luck. Bad timing. Bad mattress escape attempts. Whatever. So I end up in stocks, or bound to a post, or—" I glance at him. "—in the back of a cabbage cart. But I always got out."
I flash him a grin. "And now I've got a Dragon. You. So next time they try to drag me back, they'll find their hayloft on fire and their horses weeping."
He rumbles low in his throat. Possibly a laugh. Possibly indigestion.
I lean back on my elbows, smirking up at the purpling sky. "So yeah. I'm a city girl in exile. Sleeping under pine trees and washing my crotch in freezing streams. But I'm not owned. Not sold. Not measured in coin and hours."
I glance at him again.
"Unless there's a really really good offer. Then we talk."