Perhaps I lost it on Kilican beach, shattered the strand and scattered the shells. Or I carelessly let it fall after the RoK celebration. I've spilled luck before, and not been so annoyed. Nothing lasts forever, but that knowledge doesn't make me less angry with myself. I feel as though there's something I should do, a trick or charm to negate the ill omen. There is no such thing.

There is always forgetting. I can forget that there ever was anything to lose. That's what I've done regarding my family, and I think the plan serves me well. I suffer no nagging discontent when I remember my shirked responsibilities or my mother's smile. No longer do I feel uneasy at the thought of my father's wrath, and I can't even remember the color of my own jealousy. It is a blessing, a gift from Valorn to me, but only one of many.

I also dream with all the wild power of childhood.

...

[COLOR=blue]In a nowhere place, the jade citadel guards itself against time, and little else. Many doorways lead into the ground level, and delicately carven stairs wind towards the upper levels, allowing passage to narrow chambers and vast platforms. Nothing more substantial than spider silk curtains bars any door, not until one reaches the domed chamber crowning the citadel. There, a gate of woven pine boughs is tucked into notches in the floor and ceiling. Each branch is hung with bells in many shades of metal, and a simple rope latch fastens the door to another pine post. One cannot cross from the final stair into the chamber without opening this door.

Still, one can peek at the dragon within, and not disturb a single bell. The coil of her heavy serpentine body fills the room and she scratches her massive head upon the lethal spikes of her tail. One must marvel at her size, and wonder how she managed to squeeze all that ebony bulk into this narrow space. By the bulldog ripple of muscles in her shoulders as she stretches, this is no indolent beast, never mind how she tilts her horned skull downward, golden eyes drinking in the sight of her hoard. The treasure is reflected by those orbs.

One is nearly always drawn to look, either into the dragon's eyes or at the myriad of riches itself. One risks discovery, and delights in the possibility. Perhaps the tiniest silver bell rings, and a golden gaze measures one's soul. Such things can happen in the jade citadel, if only once. So it does.

"I hear your softest breath, and every footstep did betray you," the dragon remarks idly, opening her mouth in a crocodile smile. "Do not think I've been deceived by any clumsy attempts at stealth, thief."

"I'm not," one must protest. "I was only looking."

The laughter of a dragon takes one by surprise, and leaves one momentarily speechless. It's louder than a rock slide, and less subtle. "Looking for what? The Nightspinner's sword? The Tome of Yesterday? My mirror!?" she snarls, twisting suddenly upon her bed of gold coins.

One yelps in sudden terror, a primitive response to the sudden acidic scent of dragon overwhelming the pungent spice of pine. One is hard pressed to dismiss the fear created by a glowering dragon, but manages somehow to respond. "No, nothing like that. No artifacts or trinkets, or slivers of precious metal." A moment's contemplation for a dragon is long enough for one's sweat to become cold. One fears that shivering will ensue.

"Indeed. Why have you come?"

"I've heard tales of dragons." One thinks it's best to prevaricate, to improvise a reason when none neatly presents itself. One cannot imagine why one came to this place, but must pretend.

"And what do they tell of dragons?" The white teeth are longer than a hunting spear, white as bone, and glisten with corrosive saliva.

Remembering vanity, one matches their gaze to the dragons and speaks with every semblance of confidence. "Copper dragon's clever wiles, wyrms of earth and fire with brick dull hides and dimmer minds, and petty silver snakes with wings of gauze and faintly noble intentions. No one speaks of night's own dragon, locked within a green stone tower. I needed to see the black dragon to speak of her shadow scales and iron-dark horns, or to mention the fear that her glorious visage evokes."

"I'm not locked here," intones the dragon irritably, but she can't resist preening like a little bird, lofting and stretching her wings. "But do continue. I find your words have merit."

One is then obliged to wrack one's brain for interesting adjectives and pleasing words, twisting each sentence into a draconic compliment. One must prattle on for a long time. Eventually, when the dragon bids one to open the tree door and enter the chamber, an opportunity to withdraw presents itself, and one must take it. "I am looking for something misplaced, dragon. I must hunt it somewhere else."

"I knew you were looking for something," the dragon returns smugly. "Nonetheless, I found myself diverted by your clumsy attempts at flattery, and will reward you with a boon more valuable than your effort merits. Take that silver bell, and if you should return here and ring it, I will tell you the story of Tsethys Stormserpent. For now, you must leave. I've had quite enough company for this decade. You should go home, before you lose the way."

As one leaves, descending the many stairs, one feels the citadel begin to tremble, shivering in its moorings. The grinding of earth against stone resounds throughout, and one begins to hurry. One escapes out one of the many doorways a couple strides before the shifting building sinks into the ground, and all entrances are swallowed. Lacking windows, the citadel is now effectively sealed. One wanders away, and becoming distracted by the shifting planes of dreams, temporarily misplaces a single bell.[/COLOR]
...

It is the bell I remember upon awakening, and the way the dragon's scales drank the green light of the walls. It's a delicious dream to wake from, and leaves me elated. I settle into the library at Ryndall, read all my old spell scrolls aloud, and then study every one of Annia Sacrata's journals. Hours pass without anything disturbing me, and it's no surprise that I fall asleep right there at the table, and am soon dreaming again.