I then realized the tree trunk the princess was hacking into was covered in dark green scales and shaped like a woman. It wasn’t sap coating the knife.
I sagged, resting my hands on my knees, catching my breath, as Princess Innocent placed her mouth against the fresh wound she’d gouged in the she-dragon and sucked up the oozing blood. With every mouthful, she grew a little larger. The gown she wore tightened, then split along the seams.
After a moment the princess sat back and wiped the bright green blood from her face. She had a woman’s body now, over a foot taller than when she’d started her feast, with magnificent breasts I instantly recognized. Before me was the woman I’d known all these years, her silver hair long and gleaming, her skin pale beneath blood and shredded gown, completely free of pygmy dyes. Innocent looked like Infidel once more.
I smiled at the perfect logic of the magic unfolding before me. Infidel hadn’t been created when a dragon devoured a princess. Infidel had been born when a princess devoured a dragon.
Infidel looked slightly drunk, oblivious to her surroundings as the dragon blood settled into her belly. Yet, as she surveyed the forest with her glazed eyes, her face broke into a giant grin as her gaze reached me. She cried, “Stagger!”
“Infidel!” I answered, throwing my arms open as I hobbled toward her.
She jumped from the corpse and bounded toward me like a sprightly gazelle. I flinched as she reached me, her arms wrapping around me, braced for significant damage to my ribs. However, her hug, while robust, seemed to have only ordinary strength behind it. I bent my face down to gaze at her in wonder, but instantly closed my eyes as she pressed her lips to mine. The green blood still on her cheeks smelled like papaya. Her sticky tongue slid between my teeth. I hugged her back with all my might and kissed her till we were both dizzy.
Not metaphorically dizzy, mind you, but actual stumble-and-collapse-from-lack-of-air dizzy. We fell, landing atop the red cape that lay over the leafy earth like a bedspread. Only the impact of the ground made our lips pull apart. I was on top of her, staring down into her sea-gray eyes and all the words and wisdom and wonder that they contained. Her body beneath mine was hot as a furnace. Where our skin met through our tattered clothing, it was slippery from dragon blood and my own blood and a copious amount of sweat. Our breaths intermingled as we studied each other’s faces and for the span of several heartbeats it felt as if all was right with the universe.
Except, alas, it wasn’t.
“As much as I hate to ruin this moment, the world might come to a fiery end if we don’t go kill Greatshadow’s spirit,” I whispered.
“The world can wait,” she replied, as she placed her hand in my tangled hair and drew my mouth to hers once more.
Fortunately, she’d left the bone-handled knife in the dragon’s blood. For the events which followed, it was useful to be in full, unmuted possession of all my senses, and to have a heart free to pump blood to wherever it was needed.
As we kissed, her gentle fingers slowly pulled away the damaged rags that had once been my shirt. My own fingers slipped into the strained seams of her gown and completed the tearing, freeing her from her silken confinement.
And then…
And then…
And then…
Shall I tell you how she looked, bare beneath me, the body of an angel wearing the grin of a devil, hungry for pleasure? Shall I tell you of the noises that came from deep within her, the guttural growls, the sibilant songs, the barely-voiced moans as my mouth fell against her skin? Shall I tell you how she tasted, all sweetness and salt, of the wine that was her sweat and spit and tears? Or how she smelled, like earth, like ocean, like sunlight, a symphony of aromas where every scent note built to a perfect crescendo?
And shall I tell you how she felt? Do I even possess the vocabulary to describe the smooth, slick landscape of her body, the warm terrain so full of curves and creases, the silken softness overlaying muscle and bone of breathtaking artfulness? Can I possibly find the vocabulary to describe the magic of feeling her heart beating as I pressed my lips against her throat, the steady thump, thump, thump a drum beating out a single message of life, life, life, so elegant and simple it moved me to tears?
No. No, I don’t believe I can tell you of these things, and I don’t believe that I should.
But they happened all the same.
Since I cannot tell you about the unspeaking wonder of the moments that followed my reunion with Infidel, allow me to fill you in on what was occurring back in the real world with Relic and Zetetic. While I wasn’t personally witness to these events, I have since learned enough to reconstruct the moment: Zetetic and Relic had freed the Gloryhammer from where it was partially trapped beneath freshly cooling lava. I had wondered if the Gloryhammer would vanish like Tower’s armor, but apparently it was a far older creation, an enchanted weapon with a history dating back centuries, and Zetetic recounted this history to Relic with his usual enthusiasm for obscure magical lore.
As they spoke, Zetetic and Relic retreated to a perch atop Greatshadow’s skull, which rose like a little island from the lava plane. They amused themselves for a time by pulling possessions out of Tower’s sketchbook, including the Immaculate Attire, which Zetetic used as a seat on the still-hot skull. Several more slices of cake in various flavors were also retrieved, which they devoured with gusto.
As daylight faded they passed the time speculating as to what was happening elsewhere. For instance, Zetetic put forth the theory the fire Greatshadow had started in the monastery must have been brought under control, even though the last bolts from Tower’s armor had finally faded away. Some monks had survived, Zetetic argued, since his heart was still beating.
Relic chuckled lowly in response and said, “You never died.”
“I was hanged,” said Zetetic.
“Yes. But your neck didn’t break. You suffocated, and merely passed out.”
“My neck was pure agony for a week after,” said Zetetic. “It certainly felt broken.”
“No doubt you’d injured some ligaments,” said Relic. “But Father Ver knew the truth. When they hung you, the noose was designed to suffocate you without severing your spine. You passed out from asphyxiation, feeling as if you were dying. When you woke up, you were told of your death, though it had never occurred. No monks have ever had to pray to keep you alive. I snatched the truth from Ivory Blade’s mind.”
“Oh,” said Zetetic, then burst out into raucous laughter.
“You’re relieved you need not fear imminent death?”
Zetetic wiped a tear from his eye. “There’s that. But I also appreciate the irony. How appropriate that I should be ensnared with a simple lie.”
They both sat quietly for a while, listening to the crackle of the stone cooling around them, until Zetetic asked, “How are we going to know if Stagger succeeds?”
“We shall know when the world doesn’t end,” said Relic.
“It’s not ending right now.”
“That we know of,” said Relic.
Zetetic nodded, pondering this. Then he said, “Do you think Stagger ever found the she-dragon or the princess?”
“Let us hope not,” said Relic.
“Why?”
“Because the princess would distract him. He would probably try to protect her from danger, which means he might not do what is needed to slay Greatshadow.”
“But maybe he’ll find the she-dragon,” said Zetetic.
Relic sighed. “In that case, the creature is probably chewing his flesh right now.”
And, in a way, he was right, since as my reunion with Infidel unfolded, I became increasingly decorated with bite marks.