The Truth About Crows by Jo Miles

The clink of gold against diamonds woke Artrullaxi the Magnificent from her slumber, and she held statue-still, listening. Someone had intruded on her lair. Another knight with more ambition than sense? Or a thief with a death wish? A shame that her belly was still full from the last one, her limbs heavy with satiety.

Tap-tap-tap.

That was odd. Not the sound of a knight.

It came again. Tap-tap-tap, not loud, but no attempt at stealth, either. Then a sudden sliding clatter, and a vigorous flapping—did this thief have wings?

She cracked one eye open. Her hoard filled the once-grand ballroom, gleaming molten-warm in the light from the high windows. Up on the balcony was a hole in the brightness, a living shadow. Her winged thief, holding an opulent diamond necklace in his claws.

In a single sinuous motion she lunged, her snout coming level with the balcony’s railing. Her forge-hot breath had been known to make brave warriors wet themselves, but the intruder only ruffled his wings and resettled after the rush of air passed. Onyx eyes blinked back at her, unfazed.

“What are you doing with my hoard, little thief?”

“Hoard? Yours? Nothing, nothing.”

“Oh? What’s that you’re holding, then?”

The bird preened, and the necklace glittered with the movement. “Isn’t it pretty? I found this.”

“You stole it. From my hoard.”

“Nope! Finders keepers.”

“Indeed. Because I found that piece.” She loomed closer, an angle that should have sent any half-sensible being scrambling in terror. “I took it from the body of the queen of Mertcia two centuries ago, after I burned down her castle and slayed her retainers. That’s why it’s in my hoard.”

Why was she explaining herself to this creature? If he were human, she’d have eaten him already. But he was barely a nibble, and she wasn’t hungry anyway.

He cocked his head in one direction, then the other. “Okay, okay. But then, I found it.”

“You’re a bold little thing, aren’t you?” And… intriguing. Frustrating, too—with his soot-black feathers, she wondered if one of her kin had set him or his ancestors aflame from pure aggravation, in times past. Somehow, she found herself inclined to amusement instead. “Do you know what happens to people who steal from dragon hoards?”

“People get eaten.”

“Are you not afraid I’ll eat you?” Artrullaxi curled her claws threateningly over the railing, close enough to literally ruffle his feathers. The bird only smirked. Fearless. A dragon-like quality, that. “I see you’re not. Still, I ask again: why risk your tiny life to steal from my hoard?”

“I’m building my hoard. Here, see?”

Artrullaxi raised her head a little higher. In the corner was a pile of what she could only call stuff. A hand mirror, a polished steel gauntlet, a whole collection of cheap gilt jewelry. And yes, also a goblet from her own hoard, and a crown…

The crow fluttered to the pile and arranged the stolen necklace—her necklace—over the crown. Then it hopped onto the pile itself, settling in as if it were a nest.

“See?” he asked, self-satisfied.

“It’s junk,” she muttered.

“It’s pretty,” he corrected. “Just like yours.”

“Like mine?” She huffed out a fetid breath. The gall of this creature …

“That’s where I got the idea. Yours is so nice, I wanted my own.” He paused, then plucked a cheap hand mirror in his beak and dropped it below her nose. “For you. A gift, to say thanks.”

She laughed aloud at that, astonished and delighted. Many humans had tried to placate her with gifts of riches, bankrupting their kingdoms to protect themselves against her. No one had ever, ever made her such a gift as this. Yet it was a clever thing to do, because he had intrigued her. A rare feat, that.

She studied the creature anew. Wings and claws, courage and cleverness, a love of treasure… He was even building his own hoard. She could reach only one conclusion.

“I believed you were a bird, at first, but I was wrong. It’s clear to me now: you’re a dragon.”

“Oh! I like that!” He preened with pleasure.

“Not a very good dragon,” she amended. “But I can help you fix that.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“I will. I’ll teach you to add to it, until it outshines all others of your small feathered kind—on the condition you keep your hoard right here.” It was within her own lair; still part of her hoard, no loss to her pride. He could call it his own, if he wanted.

“Okay!” His head cocked again, eyes bright and eager. “Teach me to breathe fire, too?”

Artrullaxi the Magnificent considered him seriously. “We’ll have to work on that.”