Nine-Tenths

Twenty-One

I open my mouth to ask But really?, and stop when I realize he is genuinely miserable about this. "I don't understand," I say gently, instead. "You can explain if you want, or I'll shut up."

"Don't shut up," Dav says immediately. "But, please, you must understand, it's terribly... mortifying. For a dragon to have no purpose..."

I snort. "Your purpose is to stare at me like a thirsty creep. But don't worry, I don't mind it, now."

He makes a distressed whining noise that's entirely inhuman. "Please forgive me. I didn't intend... I simply enjoy watching you serve."

"Okay, explain that." I wave a fry in his direction before popping it in my mouth.

"There is a deep-rooted instinct in the homo daconis," he begins softly. He splays his hand against his chest as if to keep his heart from thudding right through his ribs. "A desire to ah, to use the crude pop culture vernacular, to hoard."

"Yeah," I say, nodding along, because this isn't news to anyone. "Land, wealth, titles. I know."

Dav looks stricken. "You understand, then, that in the colonies, European dragons claimed for themselves overlarge swathes of territories, as if they were utterly unoccupied. And when they were seen to be occupied, but not the way we would do it, it was called 'underutilized' and therefore free for the rescuing from those Indigenous dragons doing it wrong." He makes that hiss-spit noise, and I'm reminded that there must be some interesting architecture in the back of his throat.

Maybe I'll find it with my tongue when I finally get to kiss him properly.

"So, colonizers," I say carefully, wondering if my opinion on this is going to put us at odds. "I'm following so far."

"Thieves," he sneers in agreement, and yeah, whew, okay. We're still on the same page. "Save for what the Empirical dragons so graciously allowed the Indigenous Peoples to retain. Pah." He catches himself, eyes darting around, and he hunches down again.

Interesting. Probably not a topic he's supposed to be having opinions about in public. Not as the beneficiary of those 'thieves'.

"So, what," I say slowly. "You don't, uh, have any place?"

He's going to give himself whiplash, the way he keeps snapping his head up at me. "I most certainly do maintain territory!" he hisses with indignation that, in a human, might have suggested I had said something nasty about his ability to get it up.

"Sorry," I say, hands up, don't shoot. "I'm just trying to understand."

Dav does something I've never seen him do—he looks actively upset, like he's going to cry. His nose scrunches up and his eyes go squidgy. He blinks a few times and his lashes spike.

He's beautiful, I think, watching him struggle. He kissed my hand. I want to return the favor, kiss each digit one by one.

I also don't want to move too fast. He's clearly got some notions of how things are supposed to go. I don't know what they all are, but I can damn well respect the lines he's already drawn.

"I know, and I appreciate that," he says. He heaves another sigh. "You needn't worry. I have both territory and nesting grounds—a small estate—out in Canborough."

Not sure why he thinks I'd be worried he doesn't have territory. Or nesting grounds.

But good for him, I guess?

I wrack my brains and realize his 'estate' is a twenty minute drive from Beanevolence, in the middle of vineyard country. I assumed he lived within walking distance. Why else would he even know Beanevolence exists? But I've never seen a car.

Maybe he flies in. I imagine Dav with big leathery wings protruding from his back, soaring in the mist above Niagara Falls, dancing in and out of the mist plumes. He's being serious with me right now, though, so I cover my grin by taking another big bite of my burger. Half the topping squirts out the bottom.

"Of course, because I manage an estate, it is only right that I have a housekeeper for the house, a manager for the farm, a head vintner for the grapes, and a winemaker for my cellars," Dav goes on softly. "It's all very proper. And so even at home, I have nothing to do."

"And you're not involved in, like, I dunno, local government or BIAs? I thought there's always a dragon on committees and stuff."

"No." He's actually squirming..

"So what does this have to do with you liking how I serve?"

Dav puffs out a breath. He stares out at the street, watching the passersby. He's not avoiding my question, he's trying to figure out how to answer it, so I let him be as I try to shove the pickles back in my bun with mustardy fingers.

Why did Dav ever kiss my hand?

"I am—" he stops, voice crackling, the rims of his eyes red, his face splotchy. "I am unnecessary."

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