Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Elowen sat cross-legged near the hearth, her hair unbound, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
Across from her, Midas knelt in his human form, his wings curled close, tail resting still against the floor.
His chest was exposed, the firelight painting golden warmth across the scales that scattered like constellation fragments over his collarbone and shoulders.
His long dark hair fell forward, shadowing his brow as he concentrated.
A deep breath. His tongue pressed awkwardly against the words he had spent hours rehearsing. He had been practicing the human tongue often lately, and had begun to grasp it enough to form full sentences, however simple they may be.
“I…want…to tell you,” he said, slow and careful. “About my things.”
Elowen tilted her head, encouraging. “Your treasures?”
He nodded once, pleased, she understood. “For practice.”
Her smile was soft. “I’d love to hear about them.”
His fingers twitched where they rested on his knee. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He did not speak of the battles. Of the blood-soaked fields or the taste of ash. Not of the other dragons, not yet. Not of the humans with their spears and their fear.
He pointed instead to a flute that looked to be made of bone resting in a pile near her shoulder.
“That,” he said, “was music. From the desert, far away. Wind will play it when no one touch.”
Elowen turned to look at it, eyes wide. “What does it sound like?”
He thought about it for a while, trying to find the words. “Like…” He struggled for the word, frowned, then he pointed to her throat. “Like when you hum.”
Elowen flushed. She lowered her gaze, her smile growing quiet. Midas cocked his head and nodded toward a polished necklace with an emerald near her hand. “Pretty like Elowen.”
She let out a faint laugh. “You are very kind.”
His tail shifted. His claws—duller in this form—curled softly against the floor.
He didn’t know the words to tell her how much she meant.
How much she had changed him. Instead, he reached into a basket he had carried back in his teeth earlier, and pulled something small from it.
It was a small plate painted to resemble the mountain and then glazed over to keep it pristine and shiny.
Elowen accepted it with both hands, examining the artwork. “It’s beautiful.”
Midas tilted his head, eyes bright with firelight. “You are…my mountain.”
She looked up sharply, her flush growing deeper.
His cheeks felt warm too. “I mean…I feel…” He pressed a fist to his chest. “Safe. Safe with Elowen.”
Her breath hitched. “I’m glad you feel safe with me. You make me feel safe too.”
They sat in silence for a while. Not an awkward one, but the kind built from familiarity, from coexisting rhythms. From understanding that not everything needed words. Finally, Midas shifted forward and placed a gentle hand over hers.
“One day,” he said slowly, “I tell you about dragons. Before the humans”
She nodded, wrapping her fingers around his. “And I’ll listen when you’re ready.”
After a while, Midas found the courage to put his thoughts to words.
“Can I teach my words?” he asked, pointing to his throat. “Words of fire.”
Elowen blinked, then smiled at him with softened eyes. “Yes, of course.” Hope bloomed in Midas’ chest, and he pondered for a moment of what he should teach her first.
Then, from his throat, came a sound not meant for human mouths. It was a rolling, guttural resonance that vibrated the very air between them. It echoed faintly against the stone walls. “Means heart.”
“That’s beautiful,” she whispered. He kept his eyes on her, patiently waiting for her to try and mimic him. She opened her mouth, then paused, suddenly nervous. “Midas I don’t think I can make those sounds.”
He repeated it again, slower, then waited for her. “Try?” he asked softly.
Elowen swallowed, and then tried her best to mimic the shape of the word in her throat.
She tried two, three times, but all that came out was a wheezing, hoarse cough.
Her voice rasped and cracked over and over again, but eventually, they both realized that her tongue and throat simply weren’t shaped to speak the language of the dragons.
Midas’ expression was one of complete sorrow.
“Midas…” she said gently.
He lowered his head and closed his eyes. He was not angry, never angry at her, but it was a painful realization. He had so few things left from the age of the dragons, and this was just one more thing he could not share with another soul. It gutted him.
“I’m sorry,” Elowen said, closing the distance between them and holding their hands together.
“I wish I could speak your words, I truly do, but you don’t need to teach me your words to share them with me.
I understand you in different ways. Every time you look at me, or nuzzle me, or bring me food and trinkets, you speak.
It’s like a language we have all to ourselves. Isn’t that beautiful?”
He looked at her, uncertain at first, but then her words began settling in. He simply nodded.
“Yes. Beautiful.”