By Zenia deHaven
The rescue mission was going great until the geography quiz.
Though Eris reveled in her unsavory profession of snatching purses, gathering blackmail, and pilfering anything shiny she could get her itchy hands on, the pay was sporadic. She could be rolling in gold one week and then counting out bronze pieces on her landlord’s desk the next. This was one of those weeks.
So when she saw a flyer promising 20,000 gold pieces for rescuing the kidnapped Princess Lucilia, she mounted her definitely-legally-acquired steed and stormed straight to the castle.
Never mind that the princess was captured by a witch. Never mind that the kidnapping occurred five years ago, and leagues of knights attempted to infiltrate the castle and never returned. Never mind that the fortress was rumored to be guarded by a dragon the size of a mountain.
Eris was nothing if not optimistic.
The traps were child’s play. She leapt over a carpet that barely covered a trapdoor. She tiptoed across a hallway with slightly raised tiles that would trigger an onslaught of arrows from the walls.
The vanishing step at the top of the stairs almost got her, but she noticed it flicker just before she stepped on it and leapt across, narrowly avoiding an unintentional free fall.
And then there was the gargoyle.
It stood at the end of the hallway, its squat body covering the door. A permanent scowl creased its face.
“Greetings, traveler,” it said. It unfolded its wings, spreading them across the expanse of the door. “Before you enter, you must pass a test.”
With dread clenching around her heart, all she could manage was a nod of assent. She was the kind of student who sat for exams with nothing but unfounded hope and a dream.
“Excellent,” the gargoyle continued. Its gravelly voice ricocheted along the barren stone walls. “First, what is the capital of Hazshear?”
She blinked. She wasn’t sure what she expected from an animated gargoyle, but a quiz on country capitals was not it.
“Bronace,” she said. She only knew because she was banned from the city after freeing the prized Hazshearean mares from their stables.
“Correct,” the gargoyle said. “Second, what river separates Duskrow and Garnice?”
She fidgeted with her sleeves, her heart thumping in her ears. It wasn’t the Dread Run—that was further south. The Lion’s Tail was too short….
“The Wakashall,” she stammered.
“That’s correct,” the gargoyle said. “Finally, where does Princess Lucilia hail from?”
Eris swallowed a swear. It was somewhere south, but her knowledge of the southern kingdoms was sparse. Southerners tended to hold onto their purses more tightly, and she had no desire to endure the blistering sun for worse profit.
The gargoyle’s toes dug into the ground, carving into it as if it were butter.
“Shroudwick,” she said.
The gargoyle ground its teeth, a symphony of churning stones.
“That’s incorrect.”
It lunged.
Years of sneaking into places where she shouldn’t be had honed her reflexes to a razor point. The gargoyle launched with impressive speed, its hands reaching for her neck. She dropped to the floor. It soared over her head, so close it rustled her hair, before tumbling down the staircase. Its hard body smacked each step with a floor-shuddering thud until it slipped through the false step, slamming the ground like a boulder.
She burst through the door and closed it behind her, securing the iron latch in case the gargoyle followed and demanded to know what the tallest mountain was.
Eris sighed, reprieved by the lack of geography-loving gargoyles, and turned to find a dragon staring back at her.
The castle was large, but even then, she couldn’t fathom how such a massive beast could’ve squeezed into the space. This must have once been a ballroom, with its wide floor and shattered chandeliers coated with dust. The ceiling was destroyed, the edges of the roof crinkled and blackened like charcoal. Columns of crimson sunlight streamed through the gaps, painting the world red.
And lying in the center of it all was a dragon.
It blinked its golden eyes, craning its long neck to loom over her. Her blood turned to ice. Its mouth could fit an entire Eris with room to spare. At full height, it might’ve stretched taller than the castle itself.
At its feet, heaps of gold, jewels, and treasure glittered like a thousand fallen constellations. Eris’s mouth watered, her hands twitching to snatch all she could carry and flee.
“Ah, you succeeded,” an airy voice said.
Eris startled. The voice had come from the dragon’s front leg; A lithe figure draped across the monster’s forearm. The woman had thick, rolling waves of amber hair. Her skin was pale, untouched by the sun. Despite being surrounded by debris, her silver gown was spotless. She observed Eris with a catlike curiosity.
“Princess Lucilia?” Eris asked.
“That’s me,” the other woman said. The dragon chuffed, a low, rumbling sound that filled the room like rolling thunder. Lucilia trailed her hand over the dragon’s forearm and it stilled.
“Easy, Minera,” she said coolly. “We have a guest.”
Eris was beginning to fear that the gargoyle had killed her, and this was the third circle of hell.
“That’s your pet?” she exclaimed.
Lucilia’s lips drew into a hard line. She approached Eris, her long legs making quick work of the space between them. She moved like a person in a dream, as if she hovered above the earth when she walked.
“Minera is my companion,” Lucilia said.
If she kept speaking nonsense, Eris was going to throw this princess over her shoulder and haul her out, pet dragon be damned.
“We need to leave,” Eris seethed.
“Why?” Lucilia asked, cocking her head. Eris tried to ignore how the sunlight caught her hair like an autumn campfire. She wanted to take the other woman’s shoulders and shake her back to her senses. The thought of touching the princess sent a tidal wave of heat into her face, and she hoped the dying light concealed her blush.
“You’re being held hostage by a witch!” she hissed.
Lucilia laughed, the sound like wind chimes singing on a breeze. The dragon snorted, twin columns of gray shooting out of its nostrils.
“The witch has been dead for years,” she said. “She forgot about the false stair.”
Eris’s head began to pound.
“Why haven’t you left?”
“Why would I?” Lucilia asked. She stood so close Eris could’ve counted the freckles splashed across her face. “I’ve been learning from the witch’s spell books. I can make whatever food I want, wake whenever I want, love whoever I want.”
Lucilia needed to take 15 paces back, or Eris’s skin was going to burst into flame. None of the flyers had mentioned her palpable radiance, but even if they had, Eris would never in a hundred lifetimes have fathomed this nymph-like woman before her.
“Why would I return to a place that only values me for my ability to produce heirs?” Lucilia pressed.
Her tone was calm, even if her questions were sharp. It was true, Eris had planned to take the princess, plop her at the king’s door, and accept the appropriately proportioned pile of riches for her troubles.
Eris twirled her knife in her palm. She had no plans to take Lucilia against her will, and even if she did, she doubted she’d make it two feet before the dragon devoured her in a gulp.
“I need the money,” she said, standing up straighter even though the other woman still towered over her. “Not all of us have magic.”
“Will this suffice?” Lucilia gestured to the mounds of treasure behind her. The dragon drew its lips back in a snarl and the princess rolled her eyes. “Oh shush, Minera. You and I both know you have more than enough.”
Eris’s heart sputtered at the offer. This kleptomaniac dragon hoarded more gold than some kingdoms held in their treasuries. Lucilia stepped aside. Avoiding the dragon’s narrowed gaze, Eris shoved several pearl necklaces into her satchel. How a dragon managed to steal cultured pearls was beyond her, but she was not going to question it.
“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t know whether bowing was appropriate for an exiled princess-turned-witch, so she offered a slight incline of her head. Lucilia returned the gesture even more gracefully.
Her hands were on the door handle when Lucilia called, “I never caught your name.”
She turned over her shoulder, absorbing the surreal scene of the princess in her silver gown, the dragon dipping its head next to her, demanding scratches like an overgrown dog.
“It’s Eris.”
“Eris, I would like it if you visited again,” Lucilia said. For the first time, there was a slight waver in her voice, a window into her uncertainty.
“I would like that too,” Eris said, surprising herself. She was even more surprised to realize it was true. “If you tell your gargoyle not to give me another quiz.”
Author Bio
Zenia deHaven (they/them) is the author of short stories and essays. Their works are published in TheFruitslice, As Alive Magazine, SIEVA Magazine, and NoVA Prism. When they’re not writing, they enjoy group exercise classes, video games, and petting their dogs. They live in Virginia with their family.
Instagram: @zeniadehaven_ Linktree: @zeniadehaven
