Intermission: Mistress of the Sands

The golden flame of a singular candle licked the scales of Farron’s pfod and darkened the crimson scales with soot as he ignited the letter. The messenger, a Metia a few years larger and with scales as coarse and gray as ash, watched with growing concern as Farron clutched the burning paper. “No word of this to anyone. Am I clear?”

The messenger nodded and turned to leave, trailing a fading, bitter scent beneath his sharp personal odor.

Farron released a long, drawn-out sigh when he was sure the messenger had passed the corridor. They always smelled frightened, a trait uniquely interesting to messengers. If only that fear and respect were directed at him. It was not, not yet. They expected Nahana to sit behind the table, ready to string them up as they silently panted their messages and filled the room with the bleak, bitter and mold-like smell of fear. Instead, they always found him sitting behind the table. She entrusted him with this task and the room had grown too small for her anyway.

He repeated the paragraph, or rather the single sentence, in his mind as he hesitantly moved towards the balcony. Nahana meditated right now. Disturbing her was the swiftest way to end up on the plaza, yet keeping information from her would be worse.

The evening sun glowed eerily red when Farron stepped out far enough to unfurl his wings. He jumped over the edge and swiftly ascended. Nahana’s sand garden was merely a few wing beats away, resting on the very top of the palace and inaccessible without wings. The sweet, resin-like smell of smoke would give it away even to the blind.

Farron landed at the very edge of the small path of inlaid stones leading to the canopy in the middle. Even though he tried to land as softly as possible, he was no Aer and disturbed the fine, meticulously sculpted sand dunes. He had never been fond of calling it a garden. Gardens should be green and buzzing with life like his private quarters, not a box of sand with some nice rocks distributed in it for the aesthetic.

Nahana rested under the canopy like a pale-blue mountain midst rocky hills. Her beautiful silken wings laid draped over her like duvets of finest silk and covered all but her head. She wore no jewelry on her horns or neck. This was her private time. From the slow and steady breathing and her closed eyes, one could assume she slept. A mistake you only made once. Her head rested precisely in the middle, her body in the same position as always. According to her, it was where her garden had the cleanest sound.

“Mistress,” Farron whispered from a good distance away. There was no answer. He disturbed her and if he did not provide an adequate reason, he would spend the next day on a pole. “A rogue dragon murdered Captain Tanno this morning.”

There was still no answer, and Farron felt a trickle of fear creep up from his spine. He knew her; he knew he did the right thing, but he could not help but feel like a mere messenger and spread the smell of fear.

Her ears twitched. “Tanno?” she rumbled and opened her eyes. “That idiot had to get himself killed. Do we know who did it?” Her voice appeared calm, but after years in her service, Farron knew she could hide all she wanted in her voice and the burning bowls of smoke masked any smell that might give away her true feelings.

“No. An outsider, perhaps. None of ours,” Farron answered.

“Jacobs still around?”

“Got done in for illegal bets.”

Nahana went quiet for a second. “Why is it that none of these humans can follow simple instructions?” She rose to her full height and lowered her head to match with Farron. “I promised Tanno the key to the city. All he had to do was wait.” Her green eyes fixated him to the ground. “What about yours?”

“Mine?” He tried his best to sound surprised, but judging by the singular twitch in her ears, even his best attempts failed to even produce a shred of doubt.

Her voice took on a sharp and dangerous undertone. “You know better than to lie to me.”

Farron lowered his head in a bow and thanked the gods that she could not smell the fear seeping from his head. She was the master, and he was only the apprentice. “One of them is still a recruit, the other was recently promoted away from the city. The third is pregnant, not on duty, and back with her husband two villages over. None of them were eligible for Tanno’s position.”

“I would’ve been quite disappointed if my apprentice wasn’t making deals behind my back. Always play every side for your gain. But remember, should you plot for my position, I will cut you down.” Her voice might have been playful, but she meant every word she uttered. Farron bowed. He had not mastered the art. But his game was a long one, one aiming to inherit, as Nahana had no heirs on her own and it was ensured it would always stay that way.

“Farron.” Her voice grew bitter.

“Yes, mistress?”

“I want the dragon responsible for it. Preferably alive, but their head will do. If you can’t find who did this, prepare a list of dragons we can blame. Prina will want to see blood for that act.” With these words, Nahana finished and returned to her meditation.

“Of course.” He bowed and left.