They were already sweating before they saw me.
Two camels up front—grumpy, overburdened beasts stacked with spice sacks and ivory bundles. Then came the girls: barefoot, naked, shackled together like beads on a string, trudging through the gorge with dust in their mouths and the sun on their backs. A dozen of them, maybe more. All shapes. All shades. All silent. Except for one, who kept coughing like her lungs were rebelling. I liked her.
Then the traders. Two smug bastards in linen robes dyed too bright for this much heat. Four guards, armed and sunburnt, trying to look alert. One ox at the rear, stupid as sin.
And then there was me.
I stepped out onto the path like a goddess descending from petty heaven. Tunic short. Scarf pulled high. Dagger in hand, tapping against my thigh like a naughty thought I wasn't quite saying aloud. The dragon was lounging overhead like a bad omen carved from stone, tail curled around a rock, smoke curling from one nostril. One lazy eye half open. He didn't need to do anything. His presence was enough to make one of the guards go visibly pale.
I let the silence stretch. Let them feel it.
"Well, well, well…" I purred, strolling forward like I was here to inspect the merchandise. "What do we have here? Traders in tender female flesh?"
No one answered, but the ox blinked at me. Idiot.
I sauntered up to the nearest guard, tilted my head, and cupped him full-on through his breeches. He flinched. Oh, sweet blush of shame. I held it long enough for everyone to feel the moment stretch like taffy… then gave a little pat and let go.
"Just proving a point," I said, grinning under the scarf. "You think young women are here for your profit, your pleasure, your convenience. But look at you now. Not so bold when the knife's in my hand."
The girls stared. Dust on their lashes, chains at their feet, eyes wide. They didn't know what to make of me yet. Some looked terrified. Some… not quite. There was a flicker of something else there. Good. That's how it starts.
I turned back to the traders, swishing my hips just because I could. Dagger spinning lazily in one hand.
"So," I said, "what in sweet burning hell shall I do with the likes of you gentlemen?"
The Dragon made a sound somewhere between a sigh and an earthquake.
The camels chewed nothing. The girls didn't blink.
And me?
I was enjoying myself.
They were trembling now. All six of them. The guards gripping their spears like they thought wooden sticks would matter against claws the size of ox yokes. One of the traders had started to sweat through his fancy saffron tunic. The other was mumbling something—either a prayer or a price negotiation with his own gods. Neither was going to help him.
I tilted my head, gave them my best wide-eyed stare, and then looked up over my shoulder.
"Mr. Dragon," I called sweetly, "are you, by chance, in the mood for a little merchant shishkebab today?"
A pause. I twirled the dagger again, tip-first, like I was pondering meat cuts.
"Lightly charred. Crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. Your favorite."
The Dragon let out a slow exhale—hot, smoky, bored. A curl of fire danced between his teeth.
The effect was instant.
The men screamed like tavern whores seeing a tax collector and broke into a mindless sprint. One dropped his sword. Another ran into the camel. The camel kicked him in the shin. I didn't stop grinning as they scrambled up the path, tripping over their own sandals and dignity.
Behind me, the chain gang of girls stood frozen.
Wide eyes.
Slack mouths.
One of them blinked slowly, like she was trying to reboot her whole brain.
I turned to face them, finally pulling down the scarf to show my face. I grinned wide—feral and delighted.
"So," I said, "who wants to come with me?"
Silence.
A long, blinking, dust-heavy kind of silence.
And then it hits me—they don't speak a word I'm saying.
Of course they don't.
I sigh, dramatically. "Wonderful," I mutter, crouching to snatch up the keys one of the fleeing merchants dropped like loose bowels. Bronze. Still warm. I jingle them in the air. No reaction.
Fine.
I walk up to the first girl, squat, and gently lift the chain at her ankle. She flinches. I roll my eyes. "Calm down, darling. I'm not that kind of monster." I jab the key into the lock, twist, and—click. The shackle drops with a satisfying thud.
I move down the line, unlocking each one, links rattling to the ground like broken promises. Still, they don't scatter. They huddle together like a pile of nervous cats. Dusty, naked, slightly sunburnt cats.
"Ugh," I mutter, planting hands on hips. "This won't do."
I strut toward the camels, who look about as impressed with the entire situation as a brothel madam during festival season. I yank open one of the sacks slung across their backs and grin. Clothes. Robes. Tunics. Sashes. Even a few nice wraps in turquoise and gold thread.
"Ohoho. Jackpot."
I start pulling pieces out, holding them up to the girls, turning them this way and that. "No. Too green. Too short. Too ugly. This? This could work." I toss a wrap toward one of the darker-skinned girls—burnt orange to match her undertones. She catches it like I just threw a snake. I move to the next. "Oof, you're a summer palette, aren't you?" A pale blue tunic sails through the air. I go down the line, matching garments with skin, hair, vibes.
The girls start catching on. Dressing. Hesitantly at first. Then faster.
I hop to the other camel and pull open another sack. Heavy. Oh ho ho. Coin bags. I untie one and dip my hand inside. Gold. Real. Not temple tokens or stage coins. My fingers tingle.
I walk back and press one gold piece into the palm of each girl. One by one. No words. Just a look. A nod. The Dragon watches, silent from above. I can feel his smug approval. Or maybe it's indigestion.
And then I clap my hands.
"Now scram. Go. Go, go!"
I shoo them like chickens. Gesture wildly. Make big sweeping arms.
It takes a second.
Then one girl giggles.
Then two more.
And suddenly they run—barefoot, half-dressed, laughing like escaped chaos spirits, gold clutched in their palms, shouting in a dozen different dialects as they vanish down the road, up the hillside, into the dust and freedom.
I dust off my hands.
"Well," I say, looking up at the Dragon, "that felt weirdly productive."
He exhales smoke.
I take that as agreement.
***
The Dragon shifts above, his bulk making the rocks groan. He peers down at the empty road, the discarded chains, the dust trail of giggling girls vanishing into freedom. Then at me.
"I must admit," he rumbles, "I half expected you'd suggest reselling them. Possibly at a markup."
I grin without looking at him. "I thought about it."
He snorts.
"I did!" I call up. "But I was feeling generous today. So don't rub it in."
He doesn't reply. Just makes that little smug exhale, the one that puffs dust off boulders and says he knows me too well.
I glance sideways. "Already mildly regretting it, to be honest. Could've had enough coin for silk sheets and a week's worth of honeyed wine."
"You mean I could've had enough coin," he says, arching an eyebrow ridge.
"Semantics."
He smirks. Bastard. But I can feel the pride beneath it, the tiny flicker of warmth he'll never say aloud. I hate how much I like it.
"Besides," I say, kicking a broken shackle off the path, "we still got plenty of loot. Saffron, ivory, coin, a few silk wraps I'm definitely not sharing. And—"
I pause.
Turn slowly.
Look at the camels.
"…we're eating camel for dinner."
One of the beasts groans. The other blinks slowly, as if contemplating whether spontaneous death would be less humiliating.
The Dragon hums. "I call the hump."
"Deal. I get the liver."
"Why are you like this?"
"Malnutrition and trauma," I chirp, already walking toward the nearest camel with my dagger twirling in hand.
Gods, I love a good day's robbery.