Keaton let out a sigh of relief. “Wish I’d known that hours ago…”
Her ears drooped. “I apologize, my lord, I should have—”
“Hey, no.” He reached for her shoulders, regretting it when she flinched at his touch. A shock of guilt lanced through him and Keaton returned his arms to his sides. “Sorry, I shouldn’t just touch you like that. And I shouldn’t just run my mouth. I was just… complaining about my shitty luck, that’s all.”
She nodded, her bottom lips drawn between her teeth again. Keaton focused on literally anything else to keep from becoming distracted again.
“So anyway, let’s see what survived Lord Havron’s death,” he said, clearing his throat.
Keaton searched the nearest chambers, finding one with a pile of items in the corner, just as she’d said. He approached carefully, uncertain what might have been left behind. As it turned out, the items were both harmless to him and pretty damn useful. A better-looking dagger that wasn’t rusted through, a set of simple (if mismatched) clothes, a waterskin, some dried meat, and a flask that smelled foul when he lifted it to his nose.
“I’m surprised no resources survived,” Keaton said, holding up the clothes.
The shirt and trousers were both threadbare, but they would do for now. Shame there weren’t any boots, though.
“Any resources would have been taken to the storage facility,” the dragonkin said.
“Right, makes sense.” He reached for the hem of his shirt, then thought better of it. “Um, could you maybe… turn around? I just want to change really quick.”
She flushed crimson yet again, though there was something in her eyes that spoke more of interest than embarrassment. At least for a moment.
Probably just wishful thinking…
“Of course, Lord Keaton. You may disrobe in peace.”
She turned, and Keaton shrugged before pulling off the shoddy tunic he’d been wearing. The thing was disgusting, covered in a mix of dirt, sweat, and crusted blood. At least the clothes he was changing into were clean, though they weren’t going to hold up in any kind of scuffle. He’d really need to try and make some armor soon. Maybe the goblins would know how.
As he pulled on the ratty trousers, Keaton swore he could feel eyes on him. Paranoia told him there might be a third-party present, but his ego said it was just the dragonkin looking even though she said she wouldn’t. He opted to believe his ego, the tiniest smirk tugging at his lips, even as a flush spread across his body.
If he reacted to every little thing she did, they were going to have problems. It would be one thing if her actions were intentional, but they clearly weren’t. And considering how she’d been treated by Lord Havron, he didn’t want to cross a line — accidentally or otherwise.
So he just dressed quickly and quietly, opting not to give her a show. With the tunic and trousers conforming to his body despite the lack of a belt, he at least felt slightly more human. Picking up the more functional dagger helped, too, as did the fact that it came with a scabbard. He used some spare rope to tie that about his waist and tested how quickly he could draw it before he was satisfied with his appearance.
“Do you want me to look for another we— ah, right, you said you’re not a fighter,” he amended.
“I apologize, my lord. I can… try to learn, if you insist, but—”
“No.” The word was gentle, his gaze casting toward her. He offered the dragonkin a little time, and she smiled back. “You’re not mine to command, remember? And if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t want you doing it. I’ll keep you safe.”
That same pretty flush colored her cheeks again and Keaton felt a swell of pride. He’d never been this person; had never thought himself suitable for the role of white knight. But with her, it just seemed natural. She’d been used and abused for… gods, who knew how long now. If they were going to share space, then Keaton would do everything in his power to protect her.
“Alright, well. I think I’m as ready as I’m going to be. Let’s go.”
They walked through the tunnels, the pathway slanting gradually upward and then leveling out. Keaton wouldn’t have known they were even close to the entrance — there was no sunlight to be found — except for the fact that the air gradually warmed, becoming fresher and less stagnant. He hadn’t even noticed the cold, even wearing so little, but the heat was a welcome relief. At least until they reached the mouth of the cave.
The air was thick, moisture clinging to every molecule, wrapping around him like a sopping wet blanket that had been left in front of an oven. His skin felt instantly clammy, Keaton’s stomach souring as it always did in the wake of such unpleasant heat.
“Is it always this… stifling?” the dragonkin asked, her face slightly green.
“During the summer, yeah. And the spring. And parts of the fall.”
That was one thing Keaton wouldn’t miss: Laying in a pool of his own sweat, his bedclothes stinking with it. Gods forbid he try to do anything that required even the slightest amount of effort while in that state, too. He’d had to pay for a bath to be brought in once a day, and the inns he’d stayed at knew exactly when to gouge their guests.
Now he didn’t have to worry about it unless he went topside. He wasn’t sure that made up for the lack of basic comforts right now, but eventually his dungeon would surpass the stinking bog Valfast was built atop.
“I don’t understand how humans live like this,” she said with a frown. “Everything is so… wet and disgusting.”
Keaton laughed, then realized something. “Wait, have you never been outside of the dungeon?”
“Not since I was very young. Little more than a hatchling,” she confessed, looking down. “There was never any reason for me to go outside the dungeon.”
“Shit, that’s right. You can’t be away from the crystal.” Dammit. He could kick himself. How had he forgotten? “I’m sorry. Come on, I’ll walk you back—”
“No!” her voice was clear and firm, stopping Keaton in his tracks. Once she realized what she’d done, she shrank in on herself. “Um… I am fine. You needn’t worry, Lord Keaton. The cave is not far enough away to be an issue. I’m just rarely taken anywhere by the lord of the dungeon. There’s never any need.”
“Well I need you here,” Keaton said. “You’re my guide, right?”
She beamed at that, perking up just like he hoped she would. “Right!”
With that settled, the two of them continued through the soggy marshlands. While the ground near the cave was fairly dry, the further away they got, the more Keaton’s bare feet sank into the soft, squishy peat.
Definitely need to find some boots soon. If I don’t die from some weird swamp disease first…
He spotted the cave in the distance, the torchlight creating an eerie haze. It was the kind of thing that might have inspired the tales Keaton was told in the orphanage.
“Best not to wander or wonder, wonder, or the trolls will take you, drag you under, under,” he murmured in the slightest singsong tone.
“What?”
“Ah, didn’t realize that was out loud,” he said with a grin. “Just something they used to sing to us at night. To try and keep kids from wandering out of their beds.”
She shuddered at that, and Keaton couldn’t blame her. Even less so when he heard her reason.
“Trolls are disgusting creatures. I remember very little of my mother, but she told me trolls eat dragonkin young. Whole.”