Chapter 82

Chapter 82
Kate’s POV

I wake up to the sound of the wood breathing. It takes me a few seconds to understand why my bed is empty and the wall of pillows in front of me has collapsed, before noticing that Ashleen’s blanket is gone along with her.

I lift my head and find the thread of the blanket dragged to the balcony door. It disappears under the living curtain of roots that works as a divider. I sit up slowly, trying not to make a sound. Dan isn’t in bed; the pillows hold only the mark of weight and a dark strand of hair stuck in the sheet.

I get up. The floor is warm under my feet, and the glow of the leaves filtered by the ceiling makes light stains dance across the wood. When I push the roots aside, I find Ashleen standing on the natural bench, knees together, the blanket as a cape. She has my little mirror in her hand — Niv’leen’s gift — and tilts her face to see herself, but holds it sideways, as if afraid the surface might swallow her.

“Good morning,” I say softly, so I won’t scare her. “You woke up before everyone else?”

She doesn’t turn right away. She tests one angle, then another, and whispers: “Does it also show places?”

“No,” I reply, moving closer. “It keeps memories when I ask.”

Ashleen tilts her head.

“And have you ever kept a memory in it?”

“Yes. Want me to show you one later?”

“Yes!” She jumps up and hands me the mirror. “Where is he?” she asks, no need to say who.

“He must’ve gone out,” I murmur.

“When I woke up, he was already gone. Does Dan stay awake all night?”

“How would I know if I’m sleeping?”

Ashleen laughs, and before I can say anything else, a shadow stretches across the bedroom doorway. Dan emerges from the hall, messy hair tracing an impossible shape between his horns, one arm raised to rub his forehead, tail dragging slowly in a lazy half-circle. He stops when he sees us, blinking like someone remembering how light works.

“Good morning,” he says, hoarse.

Ashleen straightens the blanket-cape on her shoulders and announces, seriously: “You look sleepy.”

He nods once.

“I am,” he says, then glances at me, like he’s asking for help to exist upright. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“We were already awake,” I say. “I think she wanted to see you sleepy.”

“Oh.” He tilts his head. “Then mission accomplished.”

Ashleen’s face lights up. She takes two steps and pulls on the corner of his pants. “Sit. I’ll fix your hair.”

Dan blinks slowly, looks at me, then at the small hand clutching his clothes. The corner of his mouth threatens a smile. “Oh, will you?”

“Uh-huh.” She points at the horns. “And this too.”

“This,” he repeats, serious, touching the base of one horn. “Has rules.”

“What rules?”

“No hanging things. No hitting. No climbing.”

“And no being pretty?” She frowns. “It looks prettier when you hang things.”

Dan lets out a surrendered sigh. “Fourth rule, little one: exceptions exist.”

I bend to search the chest at the foot of my bed that I hadn’t opened yet, and find a thin strip of fabric that shifts color with the light. I hold it out to Ashleen.

“Want to try?”

She takes it like it’s gold.

Without another thought, Ashleen grabs Dan’s hand and pulls. I know she doesn’t have the strength to move him, but Dan bends forward to follow her until he finally sits on the floor. Ashleen pats his shoulders a few times with an authority she didn’t learn from me and begins to separate his hair with her fingers.

The gesture is strange and beautiful at once: small hands climbing between the curve of his horns and the roots of his hair, the improvised care of someone learning to touch the world with delicacy.

“Are they heavy?” she asks.

“A little,” Dan answers, tilting his head.

“Stay still,” she orders.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, obedient.

I lean against the edge of the bed and just watch. The leaves above us rustle, changing the ribbon’s color from gray to a green almost blue. Ashleen ties a knot, lets go, tries again, and the ribbon matches her stubbornness. She pulls a strand, pins it behind a horn, and tilts her head to judge the result.

“Better,” she declares. “It doesn’t look like a messy horse’s mane anymore.”

“A horse’s mane?!” Dan whips his neck around too fast, genuine disbelief on his face.

“Uh-huh,” she confirms, like she has to inform him. “Now it’s pretty.”

“Now…” His tail taps the floor once, discreetly. Thanks to that, I learn something new about Dan: he does have some sense of vanity.

The curtain of roots vibrates with an impatient buzz, and Niv’leen twirls in, both hands busy with… nothing. He lands on the edge of my bed and opens his arms like he’s stepping onto a stage.

“Who turned my little pests’ royal chamber into an underground beauty salon?” He pretends shock at the ribbon. “Ah-ah! Fabric smuggling detected!”

“It’s not smuggling! It’s a ribbon!” Ashleen argues. The poor thing doesn’t even know what Niv’leen’s talking about.

“Then where’s the paperwork?” He stomps his tiny foot. “Mommy’s stamp? Three one-eyed mosses’ signatures? A tax receipt issued by a properly literate salamander?”

Ashleen blinks, frowning. She truly doesn’t know what he’s talking about, which is the funniest part.

He lands on Dan’s head, exactly where the ribbon ties the hair into a not-so-high ponytail. Then he puffs his chest and judges: “Hm. Score seven. Lacks symmetry. And dramatic shine.”

“No dramatic shine,” Dan decrees.

“No dramatic shine,” Ashleen repeats, loyal to the client.

“Treachery!” Niv’leen presses a hand to his forehead, theatrical. “I shall leave before I’m forced to approve minimalist solutions.” He spins on his heel and storms out just as fast as he came, muttering about hair etiquette in fairy residences.

We’re three again. Ashleen tugs the ribbon a little tighter, tests the firmness with two pats, and steps back.

“There. Now it’s good.”

Dan rises, his tail sliding over the floor with a sound almost like silk. He makes a ridiculous bow, learned who-knows-where.

“Thank you, young little master.”

I’m still surprised by how well he knows how to deal with this girl, almost like he’s already used to talking with children. But if he’s as old as he claims, this can’t be the first time he’s interacted with someone so much younger.

The Mother-tree exhales a warm breeze through the room, stirring Dan’s ribbon and puffing Ashleen’s blanket-cape behind her. The effect makes her laugh in surprise, and I laugh too, because I can’t not laugh when she does.

“Hungry?” I ask, when the laugh fades into a breath of air.

“Yes.” She looks toward the hallway, then at Dan. “Do dragons eat fruit?”

“In extreme conditions,” he replies, too melodious to be serious. “But I can make an effort.”

“Then let’s go,” I say, and hold out my hand. She hands me the blanket-cape so I can fix it on her shoulders, takes my fingers with a naturalness that wasn’t there yesterday, and, before we leave, pats Dan’s ribbon like sealing a new spell.

He goes first, passing by us, clearing the way, his tail sweeping the light stains on the floor. Ashleen and I follow behind, and I think that maybe this is what people call routine.

We find Niv’leen outside, leaning toward our door, and he swears he wasn’t spying, just listening. I tell him there’s no difference, and he argues that by only listening, one cannot spy, because spying depends on eyes. I prefer not to drag that discussion further.

He takes us to a new place, one I might’ve already seen, or passed by in my comings and goings to the Fairy Queen’s throne hall, but Niv’leen says we’re going to a hanging balcony, where the Mother-tree’s resident fairies gather in the morning for their first meal. The thick roots intertwine as we approach, forming a floor, and under them runs a river of light, as if the Mother-tree herself invented a watercourse just to enhance the scene.

Small sprouted-wood tables appear here and there, and on top of them rest bowls carved from hardened petals, filled with things that look like fruit, though each shines or colors itself in ways that defy the definition of fruit.

Being here stirs in me a sense of familiarity, reminding me of the first meal I had in Niv’leen’s cabin, when I tried foods that looked strange but tasted indescribably good.

Ashleen stops midway, the cape still on her shoulders, eyes wide.

“All this is… food?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Some you chew, some you drink, and some dissolve by themselves if you don’t grab them fast enough.”

I think Ashleen took the last part too seriously, because she’s already reaching for the nearest bowl, but Niv’leen intercepts.

“Hold up, little pest. Never stick your hand in without asking. The fruit might be waiting for the right owner.”

“Fruit waits for an owner?” Ashleen wrinkles her nose. “So it’s alive?”

“Alive and cranky, sometimes,” he replies, far too serious. “And nobody wants to see fruit spitting on the plate.”

Dan moves ahead, sits on a thicker root, picks a round fruit glowing in two tones, splits it in half with a claw, and hands one half to Ashleen.

“Well, this one doesn’t spit.”

She takes it, still suspicious. Then she bites fast, and her eyes widen as the pulp shifts color before her, from blue to green.

“It… changed!”

“Oh, I think I remember that one,” I lean closer to her, trying not to laugh at her surprise. “The best part is every bite brings a different taste.”

Ashleen chews slowly, and her face shifts from strangeness to fascination. “It’s sweet… and sour… and… salty?”

Dan bites his half and chews, brows gradually furrowing, as if expecting something to happen. Something that didn't happen.

“To me it’s the same,” he says. “Guess dragons have a less sensitive palate for this type of fruit.”

“Then I’ll taste for you,” she decides, and attacks her half with conviction, which pulls a muffled laugh out of me.

Niv’leen has already landed on a bowl, drinking something like nectar with golden foam. He’s too distracted with that to comment on Dan’s palate, but when I look at my sister again, I catch her swallowing fast, looking up — at the Mother-tree’s distant ceiling — and staying like that for a while. Then, she smiles from ear to ear and says, “Thank you!”

I glance around, searching for a fairy she could be thanking for the fruit. But all the fairies are busy with their own meals, unaware of us, though one leaf above leans slowly, and a drop of dew falls right on Ashleen’s head. She squeaks in surprise, then laughs.

“She answered!”

“Or sneezed,” Dan comments, half distracted, still trying to taste something new.

“It was an answer,” Ashleen argues, arms crossed like she just won a debate.

I watch the two of them, and warmth fills my chest, because what’s before me isn’t a table, nor magical fruits, but the kind of scene that once felt impossible: my sister laughing, mouth full, arguing with Dan over whether or not a tree sneezes.

I sit beside her, and while Ashleen grabs another fruit glowing like liquid glass, I think that maybe moments like this are more precious than miracles. But I can’t stop thinking of the way she looked upward, as if she really had seen something there.

After eating, Ashleen won’t sit still. Her bare feet tap the interlaced floor as if testing the firmness of each root. I watch her, caught between worry and wanting to laugh, because it seems impossible for her to just sit and rest.

“Can I walk on his tail?” she asks suddenly, pointing at Dan with the same naturalness as asking for a spoon.

I choke mid-sip of sparkling nectar.

“What?”

Ashleen is already near him, her eyes shining with expectation. Dan blinks, as if he didn’t quite get it at first. His tail, curled behind, moves in a slow reflex, almost defensive.

“That’s not a toy,” he says, but without harshness.

“I won’t hurt it, I swear,” Ashleen insists. “I just want to see if I can walk without falling.”

Niv’leen lands on Dan’s shoulder, arms crossed.

“If I may, it’d be an excellent balance exercise for the little pest. And if she falls, she’s got her sister to catch her. And you too.”

Dan shoots a sideways look at the fairy, then at me, but says nothing. His tail, however, slowly uncoils, sliding across the floor like a tangible shadow. He stretches it until it forms a nearly straight line between the root where he’s sitting and another just behind.

“Be careful,” he murmurs.

Ashleen squeals in victory, then looks at me, waving her little hands and calling for help to climb. I try to convince her it’s a bad idea, but it feels like a crime to deny her fun after everything I’ve seen her endure. So I obey, holding her under the arms, setting her on the thickest part of Dan’s tail, who has turned his torso back and watches us with worry.

The contrast between Ashleen’s small body and Dan’s dark tail is so great that, for an instant, it really looks like a suspended rope. She takes a step, then another, tongue between teeth in concentration, never letting go of my hands, using them for support.

“One… two… three…” She starts counting each step aloud.

I hold my breath when her foot slips, but I’m quick to grab her hands, returning her balance. And she only laughs, as if danger were part of the fun. Then she keeps walking, now more confident, even daring a clumsy spin that forces me to stretch my arms wide to help. Dan follows her with his eyes, body rigid, as if every fiber was ready to stop a fall.

When Ashleen reaches the end, she jumps to the root and throws her arms up like she just won a race.

“I did it! See? I did it!”

Niv’leen claps. “I hereby declare the tail-rope-swing officially open! Free entry, falls included.”

Ashleen jumps down laughing and runs back to me, hugging my legs without asking. Her weight is light, but the impact makes me step back half a pace and let out a laugh I didn’t know I had stored.

Dan curls his tail back around his feet, protecting it, and lets out a low sigh, maybe of relief. But when I look at him, I notice a different shine in his golden eyes, something that looks like gratification.

With my hands resting on Ashleen’s shoulders, I glance down and smile from the corner of my lips.

“Alright, little pest, now let me ask you a serious question. Did you really hear an answer before?”

“A sneeze, you mean?” Dan teases, and I narrow my eyes at him, while he smiles faintly.

But Ashleen only nods with all the conviction in the world and replies:

“Yes!”