A sound behind her stirred the air. She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to.
She felt Midas—sensed his presence filling the cave with heat and weight and breath. A low huff escaped him, and Elowen turned to face him, still holding the tapestry in her lap. His eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, watching. Silent.
“My mother died when I was young, too,” she admitted, her voice fragile but steady. “She was sweet. Too sweet for our village. She loved music. Dancing. Things that weren’t allowed.”
She swallowed, brushing her thumb along the edge of the tapestry. “She went out to pick wildflowers for our shop, but made the mistake of keeping a butter-yellow one for herself on her nightstand. The Council said that was against the law. She was lashed until she got an infection, and then she died of fever.”
Midas’ breath caught—a low, rasping sound in his throat.
Elowen looked down at the tapestry again. Smoothed the image of the dragons. Carefully, she stood and moved toward a small niche in the stone wall she’d cleared earlier. She folded the tapestry with trembling hands, then placedthe bundle inside the alcove and stepped back, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“There,” she whispered. “Now she won’t be lost again.”
When she turned, Midas was still watching her. Something deep in his eyes shifted, like she had uncovered a most beloved memory from the very depths of his heart.
He moved toward her slowly, tail dragging behind him like a chain. He lowered his head to the alcove and breathed in deep, letting the scent of the tapestry and her hands settle in his lungs.
Then he looked at her, leaned in, and gently pressed his forehead to hers. And in the silence, she felt him saythank you.
Twenty-Three
Elowen satcross-legged near the hearth, her hair unbound, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Across from her, Midas knelt in his human form, his wings curled close, tail resting still against the floor. His chest was exposed, the firelight painting golden warmth across the scales that scattered like constellation fragments over his collarbone and shoulders. His long dark hair fell forward, shadowing his brow as he concentrated.
A deep breath. His tongue pressed awkwardly against the words he had spent hours rehearsing. He had been practicing the human tongue often lately, and had begun to grasp it enough to form full sentences, however simple they may be.
“I…want…to tell you,” he said, slow and careful. “About my things.”
Elowen tilted her head, encouraging. “Your treasures?”
He nodded once, pleased, she understood. “For practice.”
Hersmile was soft. “I’d love to hear about them.”
His fingers twitched where they rested on his knee. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He did not speak of the battles. Of the blood-soaked fields or the taste of ash. Not of the other dragons, not yet. Not of the humans with their spears and their fear.
He pointed instead to a flute that looked to be made of bone resting in a pile near her shoulder.
“That,” he said, “was music. From the desert, far away. Wind will play it when no one touch.”
Elowen turned to look at it, eyes wide. “What does it sound like?”
He thought about it for a while, trying to find the words. “Like…” He struggled for the word, frowned, then he pointed to her throat. “Like when you hum.”
Elowen flushed. She lowered her gaze, her smile growing quiet. Midas cocked his head and nodded toward a polished necklace with an emerald near her hand. “Pretty like Elowen.”
She let out a faint laugh. “You are very kind.”
His tail shifted. His claws—duller in this form—curled softly against the floor. He didn’t know the words to tell her how much she meant. How much she had changed him. Instead, he reached into a basket he had carried back in his teeth earlier, and pulled something small from it. It was a small plate painted to resemble the mountain and then glazed over to keep it pristine and shiny.
Elowen accepted it with both hands, examining the artwork. “It’s beautiful.”
Midas tilted his head, eyes bright with firelight. “You are…my mountain.”
She looked up sharply, her flush growing deeper.
His cheeks felt warm too. “I mean…I feel…” He pressed a fist to his chest. “Safe. Safe with Elowen.”
Her breath hitched. “I’m glad you feel safe with me. You make me feel safe too.”
