Old instincts had Ainsworth flinching—but just at the sight of fire in the midst of a flammable archive. Had they not been surrounded by books and papers, he would have found it miraculous. And he assured Honey of that when she clocked his reaction.
“A true scholar, indeed,” she said, laughing. “Well, for a time, I was enamored of the existence I had chosen. I met wonderful people, had a fulfilling life, and found love. Her name was Driana, as you know, and she was the leader of our group.”
“The portrait in your room,” Ainsworth said, suddenly recalling the striking painting. “She was beautiful.”
“She was, yes. We traveled together for years, Driana and I, and we were very, very good at what we did. She never found out about me—that I am a dragon, that is—but I like to think she would have understood. I knew from other dragons I had come across that I was far from the first to delight in companionship—though I knew the time would come when I would complete my hoard and then spend my days defending it.”
“But as you were acquiring your hoard…who defended it then?” Ainsworth asked, unable to suppress his inner scholar—much as he both wanted and feared to hear more about her lost love. Could a mere scholar compete with such a bold adventurer?
“Put that down to dragon magic, which tends to attract the sort of dark beasts who now call the mountain home. A dangerous territory becomes a kind of barrier all on its own—though such a tactic is not considered an acceptable way to defend your rightful territory for any longer than it takes for you to build your fortune. Still, for the moment, I was able to use magic—in a way similar to your Transportation Circles—to send my coins, gems, and treasure to my hoard on Mount Vengeance while the beasts kept thieves away. I would go to bed every night with a wonderful woman in my arms, and the delightful knowledge that I was amassing quite a fortune without ever having to resort to stealing or trickery. Or robbing the innocent. So for a time, I could push my troubling thoughts about what my life would be after my hoard was complete far, far away.”
She paused when he raised his hand slightly, then grinned. “Yes, Ainsworth?”
“Sorry, I simply have to ask: What is the point in amassing such a hoard, beyond increasing your strength, your magic? I mean…dragons, do they…spend it? Use it to build? Or is it truly merely something to be collected, so you can…fight to the death defending it?”
Honey stared at him for some time, and he did not look away from those eyes—eyes that were now, he realized, very human. He hadn’t noticed her dispel her magical flame, either, but only the ghostly light from the window now illuminated the space. He wondered how much effort she was expending to keep her eyes that way when she resumed speaking, a small tremor in her voice. “That is exactly it, Ainsworth.Why?What is the point? To be the richest and mightiest is the dragons’ goal—but it is a goal shared by many others in this land. People want to be the quickest, the strongest. The bravest, the smartest. People fight and clamber over one another to get to the top of whatever mountain they envision themselves climbing. And some never once turn their head to see who they pushed out of the way, or climbed on top of, to achieve that goal.”
Her voice rose as she went on, and that faint molten glow beganto shine in her eyes once again. Ainsworth ached to take her hands—balled into fists by her sides and trembling—into his own. He had been on this path himself, and it was she who had turned him away.
She clasped her hands to her chest. “While adventuring, I lost a lot of friends to their pursuits of glory, to their ambition. But despite my doubts creeping in—despite wondering what was the point of it all—I kept going. Because Driana did not share my outlook on life. She wanted to be a merchant, but one of high esteem, meaning she required large sums of money to get her started. It went against all my instincts, but I offered her my own earnings because I loved her so. She refused. She never was any good at accepting help—not that she needed it often, mind you. Then…one day we arrived at a town near the republic border to the north.
“It was one of the rare times I was naturally in the vicinity of Mount Vengeance and…” Honey paused, weariness washing over her features. “I got…territorial. I sensed another dragon in the vicinity and was overwhelmed with the urge to seek them out and challenge them. It utterly consumed me. I couldn’t sleep or eat until I knew they were gone. Driana assumed I was ill and insisted she do our job alone. We had been tasked to flush out some bandits who had taken over one of the old mine shafts, which still held some ore the city had claimed. It should have been a simple job, so I let her go on her own. Meanwhile, I discovered the dragon I sought, challenged them, and won.”
Honey walked away from the light of the window toward the shelf at the back of the room. She crouched and retrieved a leather-bound journal by the floor. He frowned—he had certainly not left one lying out! She flipped it open, and despite the darkness Ainsworth noticed the scarlet-red ribbon she had used as a placeholder. “Driana’s job was simple—in a way. The bandits were no match for her, but she was no match for the unstable terrain. She died along with the thieves when the mine shaft collapsed. I still, to this day, cannot believe it. How can a magic-user, one of the long-lived, meet such an end?”
“I’m sorry, Honey,” he said softly, and she nodded. There were no tears in her eyes, but he sensed she had not told this story for a very long time—if ever.
“I was devastated, but also furious. What awaste! We were there for a five-hundred-gold-pieces reward, so she died for two hundred and fifty, Ainsworth! And what good did her amassed wealth do for her when she was buried alive in pursuit of more? Something in me snapped, then, and I could no longer control my dragon instincts as anger and grief took over.”
She once again held up a sphere of golden light, the other hand holding the open journal. She looked at it so intently that Ainsworth wondered if she was reading from it, but he did not look at the page lest he overstep a boundary.
“The only things I could think to do were to feed myself and continue to amass my hoard. But I had no heart for gathering my hoard in an honorable way, so I started stealing, using my power as a dragon to raid towns and cities until I felt my hoard was sufficient.
“And then, as always happens, they came. Adventurers. Treasure seekers. Everyone willing to throw their lives away for the wealth I had both earned and stolen. Facing them gave me purpose—it gives all dragons purpose—but I still was half mad with grief and anger. Such was my wrath that I must have spoken to some of those challengers. Dragons are not usually so talkative, but I do not think I could stop myself, and soon the mountain came to be known as Mount Vengeance, for the revenge I sought on the world for taking the one I loved most from me.”
She gently closed the journal, then held it close to her chest. Ainsworth contemplated the dragon in front of him. Recalled her warm smile, the soft touch of her hands, the skill with which she played the harp as she sang. This was a dragon whose rage had once shaken this corner of the kingdom. And yet, this was a dragon who baked her staff special cakes, who foraged for mushrooms, who took pleasure in seeing her ivy plants grow. A dragon who had created a home, a haven, here at the inn for anyone who might stumble acrossit.
His silence must have irked her. “You need not look at me like that. I am ashamed enough of my conduct without your judgment,” she snapped.
Ainsworth shook his head. He thought of how Honey had changed. Howhehad changed. How even when the world made the worst of someone, there was still the chance to step forward, to do better. “I do not judge you, Honey. I was just thinking what a time you have been through, and what a transformation you have made to be the person sitting in front of me tonight.”
She did not acknowledge his remarks, looking away as though rejecting the sentiment entirely. “After about half a century or so of behaving like the monsters dragons are known to be—ravaging all those who came against me seeking wealth or glory—my rage finally burned out. And I realized that I was perpetrating a vicious cycle, gifting the friends and loved ones of the people I slaughtered the same grief that had driven me mad. I transformed into my humanoid form, as I had not done for the longest time, and ran from my hoard, hurtling down the mountain. I was horrified at what I’d done and who I’d become. Dragons shed their skin, did you know that? I don’t know if any have ever done it in humanoid form before. I didn’t even know it was possible. Yet something in my magic seized me as I fled, longing to cast off every part of me that I had grown to loathe. And…so I did. It felt like a purging of my old self, as though I was physically leaving the old me behind.” She smiled. “I believe you have several sketches of that.”
It took him a second to register what she meant. “The…standing stones and the statue? That wasyour skin?”
She smiled. “It was you who assumed it was a sculpture of my ‘grandmother.’ I simply…did not correct you. I admit I lied a little bit, though.”
“You spun some tale about—about the dragon making a bet with her?”
“Oh, I did, didn’t I?” she said, biting her lip. “Okay, perhaps I lied more than I thought.”
Wait. If that was Honey, truly Honey, then—
“Matron, Honey! How old are you?”
“It’s rude to ask a long-lived her age!” She swiped her tail at him and he leapt back, laughing. “I believe I am quite ancient—three-hundred-odd years?”
He did not know how long dragons usually lived, and did not want to ask. It had all seemed fine when he thought her a tyflan, with a life span similar to his own, but he supposed it was no different from the boat he had once found himself in with Enach. Ainsworth’s beginning and end would fit into just a part of her life, while her existence would continue long after.
