#cimbarinth

The heat added a hazy shimmer to the air like a desert’s mirage. Sweat slithered down her spine and over her cheek, making her feel slippery and off-balance when she needed to be light on her toes. Honestly, half the sweat was from nerves, not just the heat. It didn’t bring much relief, though, warming instantly on her skin and sitting there stagnant instead of evaporating.

She crouched low, defensively, creeping along. She’d always felt a bit like a mole in Vuthos. It was home, but it hadn’t been carved by goliath hands, so the rooms weren’t built to her size. Additions made for the half giants and non-giants were just that—add-ons, afterthoughts, even if they were made with care. The tunnels in its bowels were no different.

Around the bend, light banked like a kindling fire and the tunnel expanded into a leviathan, neverending cavern. Giants built large, but this—

Alcoves wove in and out along the walls like a tunneling serpent, reinforced with stone pillars, but the ceiling, far above, was jagged, like it'd been scooped out with claws. Another wave of heat rolled over her in greeting, carrying the scent of pumice, smoke, metal, and aged parchment.

Cimbarinth’s hoard. Holy shit.

Most attention-grabbing were the mountains of coin, so much that it became its own light source with a low, twinkling glow. Plinths offered manuscripts and tomes, fitted into scroll housings or locked behind glass for protection. Cut and uncut gems were sprinkled everywhere like a handful of spices thrown over a meal, mostly shades of red and yellow—rubies, fire opals, amber, jasper, and of course, garnets. Tools and armour, robes and statues. Vesuria got dizzy taking stock. It wasn’t just wealth in sheer numbers, but knowledge and history.

She couldn’t make heads of tails of the order, if there was one. Some sections were like curated galleries, themed around panoplies of armour or rows of books that belonged together, while others looked completely random to her eyes.

She slunk over to the closest heap of coins. They radiated heat just as much as her mom—like she was the one drawn to their warmth, she the pup. She plucked a single platinum piece from the pile. It didn’t burn, but it was warmer than her skin. She wondered if Cimbarinth’s breath was hot enough to melt it into soup.

She carefully set it at the foot of the pile, hyperaware of any clinks or what could come avalanching if she misplaced something.

She grinned. It was exhilarating standing where she wasn’t supposed to be, laying her sights and fingers on what must’ve been hundreds—maybe a thousand?—years’ worth of collecting. Cimbarinth had never shared his exact age; the best they had was an estimate from the giants.

How many people had stood here or were allowed to stand here? How many others had snuck in and been met with a disgruntled dragon or their death?

How much had he stolen, and how much was gifted to him?

She was tempted to push further in, test herself and get something juicier, but her throat ached and she wanted to succeed, which meant being smart, which the entire mission wasn’t, but she could still be strategic. She’d learned from the City of Brass she couldn’t suffer heat exhaustion—a thing she was half convinced was made up—but its oppressiveness still managed to blur her thoughts.

She crossed to the next mound, more money dotted with weapons and armour. A sword-hilt called to her, studded with jewels and giving off fluttering pulses of magic. She oh-so carefully wrapped the hilt in her fist, then stopped. She released it and stooped to remove a single gold coin by her foot on the pile’s edge.

She turned it. Did dragons keep every item accounted for? How could they miss one coin in an archipelago of riches? For an Order partially founded by a dragon, Cimbarinth withheld a lot of the finer details of his kind. Their focus was more on Desirat and the devils and humanoids that worshipped her.

It was easy to pocket, though she wasn’t sure anyone’d believe her if she told them where it’d come from. Gossip like that would end its way back to Cimbarinth, so it’d have to be her lucky, personal coin.

For a split second she wavered, debated returning it and leaving empty-handed, forget the whole escapade. The coin was a nothing-weight, but she was acutely aware of it, too, like it shone through her clothes for all to see. For all her planning and sneaking and eavesdropping, whenever she tried to focus on the why, it dodged her. There was no fame or glory when it was secret and no monetary gain if she didn’t spend it. Pride, sure, but what else? What was the point? Gods, this was why she drank.

The why didn’t matter, she told herself. It was the doing. Ugly truths were the most elusive. Still, her body refused to release her, like she’d become another belonging in the hoard.

“Vesuria.”

A thrill sparked up her spine. Fight or flight surged in, but she couldn’t outrun Cimbarinth in his lair, nevermind fight.

She turned slowly, palms up and fingers splayed. His voice was thunder, but he was in one of his dozen humanoid forms, a goliath. He was a similar height to her like that, but more wiry, any indication of muscle hidden under robes, his sleeves tucked into one another. His expression was a shade shy of neutral, a slight frown with a furrow between his brows. Disappointment.

“Hey,” she said lamely. More blood rushed to her face, anxiety and shame thrashing inside her. “I, uh, got lost.”

His rutilant eyes—tall, slitted pupils, one of the few tells of his true nature—flicked to her pocket. She plastered on a sheepish grin and, just as slowly as before, scooped out the coin and lowered it to the ground. She patted it before straightening.

His nostrils flared lightly even though the rest of his expression remained intact.

“I’m sorry,” she rushed out, snapping down her head in a rudimentary bow. “I’ll leave.”

“While lost?” he countered calmly.

“I mean, I can go the way I came? I’m sorry, I was just curious.” He was an obstacle between her and the exit, but she strode forward, head still bent, hoping he’d overlook it and step aside. She was young, not not known for wanting anything more than praise and attention and drink—

A full-sized dragon’s paw landed in her path, and then Cimbarinth was in true form, filling the space like its king. Garnet scales glittered as brightly as his gems, golden horns spiralling back and flowing into his craggy spines. She stumbled backwards, finally lifting her chin.

“Okay, I get it,” she said. “You’re mad.” He hadn’t slammed the paw even though the weight of it made a regular step rattle her teeth. His head snaked down to her level, staring her head-on.

“I’m not,” he said. She believed him, but found it hard to surrender the tension in her shoulders. “But I can see that you have lost focus.”

“Focus?” She prickled. “I haven’t ‘lost focus.’ Everyone’s curious even if they don’t say so. I can be curious without losing sight.”

“You believe your lie.” His nose dipped towards the floor, eyes boring into her like awls, his head longer than her body. “Do you think Desirat’s cultists waver in their devotion?”

“They should,” she muttered. “Some have to.”

“Those cases are rare, and lead to a lifetime of unravelling her influence. Their devotion is what makes them so dangerous—and what we do so necessary. We are not responsible solely for ourselves, Vesuria, but all of Exandria. To slip with our devotion puts that in jeopardy.”

“I didn’t ask to be part of it!” Ves defended, sounding petulant to her ears, her voice shrill next to his rumble. She thrust a fist against her chest, above her heart. “I believe in the cause, but I didn’t choose it. Mother did.”

“Then why do you continue to train? You are not required to be part of the Order.”

Rearranged, his words could’ve made ‘The Order doesn’t require you.’ “I don’t—” The heat in her cheeks rose to her eyes, stinging and wet. She wanted a stone or wall to kick, but ground her heels in. “I like it. I do. But I just—that’s not all there is, right? Why is doubt bad? Doesn’t it mean you come back more devoted? You’re telling me you’ve never doubted anything in your whole long life?”

Sweltering air rushed over her from his exhale, fanning out her hair. Thoughtful, not challenging.

“This is a discussion for your mother,” he decided. “Whatever your feelings, they have wrought the same outcome. I cannot let your misdeed go unpunished. I cannot make exceptions on this.”

Vesuria’s axis tilted. She finally understood the source of her tension—she wasn’t scared of Cimbarinth. Never had been. He was her guardian, mentor, the source of her nascent power. He’d never harmed or threatened harm before. He wasn’t the unpredictable flames of a fresh and well-fed fire, but the glowing cinders left in their wake.

She was scared of getting caught. The consequences. Not physical harm, but punishment. Her mother.

She licked her lips and swallowed, barely a drop of moisture left in her mouth.

“So what now, then?” she asked.