“What’s your name?” she asked, some of the friendly lilt to her voice gone now that they were alone and behind closed doors. “Your true name?”
Adrissu sighed. “I am Zamnes the Black, son of Mithantos the Black and Ilrenth the Blue.” She nodded, and he hesitated. “If you are who I suspect you are... you might know of my elder mother, Amaranthe the Silver.”
Her eyebrows slightly raised at that. “I do know Amaranthe. We are... on friendly terms.”
“Then perhaps you know why I am here,” he pressed, and she grinned again.
“I had not heard anything from her, no,” she said. “But I do know why you’re here. When I heard a human was asking nearly every jeweler in the central district about crafting a dwarven beryl bowl, I suspected as much.”
Adrissu was silent, considering. He had not thought to ask the dragons his elder mother knew for their beryl bowl: in truth, the idea of being indebted in some way to yet another dragon was utterly distasteful. But she had approached him, and if not to drive him out of her territory, it must have been because she had something else planned for him. It was only a matter of what she wanted in exchange—and whether she would broach the topic first, or wait for him to do it out of desperation. But he did not even know this dragon’s name, much less what to expect of her.
“Your suspicions were correct, then,” he said slowly. “I am indeed in search of such an item.”
She looked him up and down.
“Forgive my manners,” she said suddenly. “I am Heriel the Red. My mate Naydruun the Blue is not home at the moment, otherwise they would be here to greet you as well.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Heriel,” he said quickly, lowering his head in a placating gesture. “I am an intruder in your territory, and I apologize. I was not aware you were so close to Gylnefjell. Had I known, I...” He trailed off, uncertain. He was not sure what he would have done. Not come at all? Come to her first? Neither seemed like a sufficient answer.
But she only laughed. “Well, Zamnes, if you were here for any other reason I might not be so friendly. But I know what it is to fear your mate may be lost to you forever.” Her eyes flickered with pain for only an instant, just barely enough for Adrissu to catch. “Living so close to any civilization is dangerous. We only rarely make appearances in the city now.” She paused, clearly thinking of what she wanted to say. After a beat, she offered, “My mate was not first born as Naydruun the Blue, but was Grizenth the Red in their first life.”
Adrissu blinked, surprise and relief flooding him all at once. “So you’ve proven the ritual works, then.”
She barked a bitter laugh. “Yes, we’ve proven it works. It was a miserable five decades between Grizenth’s death and Naydruun finding me, though.”
“That long?”
“Not many dragons are born each year,” Heriel shrugged. “Naydruun was hatched almost a full year after Grizenth died, and wandered for a time in adulthood until we found each other again.”
He remained silent, thinking it over. If Ruan were eventually reborn as a human, it would not take as long—right? He could only imagine so. New humans were born every day. But even fifty years or more apart was preferable to being apart forever.
“As you can imagine,” Heriel continued. “I rather have a soft spot for other fated pairs, though you’re the first I’ve had the chance to really talk to. We still have our beryl bowl from when we completed the ritual... It was difficult to procure, so I’d be willing to sell it to you.”
“Name your price,” he said slowly.
“What did you bring?” she answered, and he sighed, shifting the heavy bag on his back uncomfortably.
“Some ancient dwarven pottery,” he said. Her eyes brightened at that; if she had no interest in the pottery itself, here in Robruolor it was sure to fetch a far better price than it would anywhere in Autreth. “And some gold in case that was not enough.”
“All the pottery you’ve brought,” she said. “And... five thousand gold pieces.”
“Done,” Adrissu said quickly—probably too quickly, considering how her expression slightly faltered. But the only dwarf that took his request seriously had quoted twice that price for the materials alone, so five thousand gold seemed a trifle in comparison. He would be glad to pay it and would have some left over. “Let me see it first.”
Her grin returned. “Wait here.”
Heriel opened the opposite door, and he watched curiously as she stepped through. The room beyond was even larger, almost comically spacious, and seemed totally empty from what he could tell. He imagined, since the floor appeared intact, that there was no ceiling and that the room was large enough to accomodate a dragon descending from above—or taking flight to some chamber higher up, possibly within the mountain itself. But she closed the door behind her, leaving him to simply wait.
This was the last item the ritual required, aside from Ruan’s consent. Anticipation boiled in his blood; he was sure that even if she came down and doubled her asking price, he would still gladly pay. Everything seemed so close now, almost within his grasp.
It felt like a long time before Heriel returned. He could feel, when she finally arrived, the overpowering sense of her presence, even without the sound of her wings and the creak of the stone at her landing. A moment later, the blonde human woman stepped back through, carrying a small bowl, far smaller than Adrissu had expected. The size of a dining bowl, it fit neatly in her hands. But it was cut like a gem, so its brilliant blood red color gleamed and sparkled even in the dim light of her decoy home.
“Here it is,” she said, noticing his eyes lingering on it. “Don’t let its size fool you. It will fit everything.”
“All the pottery and five thousand gold?” he said, easing the bag he carried off his shoulders. She visibly hesitated, then something in her demeanor changed. She looked partly resigned, and partly... something Adrissu could not place.
“All the pottery, and five thousand gold,” she agreed, stepping closer to him. When their eyes met, he knew that she knew it was a low price. He was unsure why she hadn’t asked for more, but he certainly wouldn’t complain.
He unloaded the five pieces of pottery that he’d brought, all carefully wrapped in cloth to avoid chipping. None of it was the finest pottery, but everyday wares meant to withstand being jostled and used: the two bowls, vase, plate, and teapot were all a glossy reddish clay with the same maker’s mark on the bottom. Their value was in their age, not their beauty; but still he was glad to see that none of them looked any worse for wear, despite having been flown half a world away.
