We're camped just on the edge of the ridge. It's past midnight, the fire's low, and I'm squatting barefoot in the dirt, tunic hitched up, hair tied back with a vine, and a stick in my hand like I'm some kind of war general instead of a half-drunk scam artist with a bleeding mosquito bite on my thigh.
"Right," I say, drawing a wobbly circle in the dirt. "Here's the village. Idiots and goats. Over here—" I jab the stick eastward— "is where we set the bait. Something shiny. Something dragony. Something they'll want."
The girl's curled up with the blanket again, wide-eyed and watching like I'm some military prodigy. I draw a crude swoop around the village and jab the stick down hard.
"Then we circle. And bam, we close the trap."
There's a moment of silence. Even the crickets are judging me.
Behind me, I feel the Dragon's eyes on the back of my neck. That smug exasperation is practically radiating off his scales.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" he asks, voice flat.
I glance over my shoulder. "Right. No. Okay. Well—fine. What do you suggest, Scaly von Strategist?"
He exhales through his nose like a disappointed librarian. "First of all, you don't even know what you're dealing with."
He slinks forward, curls around the edge of the fire like a very smug serpent, and starts drawing over my perfectly chaotic plan with one claw. Rude.
"You're not dealing with a normal dragon," he says. "You're dealing with the Aethrafax brothers. One body. Two heads."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. So one can look left and one can look right. Big whoop."
He gives me a look.
"One of them," he says slowly, "is spectacularly stupid. And I mean drools-on-his-own-claw level stupid. The kind of stupid that confuses livestock for chess pieces."
I blink. "Sounds like someone I dated once."
"The other," the Dragon goes on, ignoring me, "is terrifyingly intelligent. Cold. Calculating. Reads ancient strategy scrolls for fun. Would've conquered half the continent by now if not for the fact he's permanently fused to a drooling moron who keeps ruining everything."
I blink again. "So what you're saying is… it's like dating someone with a hot twin growing out of his neck."
The Dragon stares at me.
The girl stifles a giggle.
I grin. "Right. So, we make a plan smart enough to fool the smart one, but dumb enough to lure the dumb one."
The Dragon clears his throat, all casual like he's suggesting a tea blend.
"Well," he says, tracing an X in the dirt over my bait circle, "the best plan is obvious. We use you as bait."
I freeze. Stick still in hand. "Excuse me?"
He nods solemnly. "You're good at it. It's practically your only marketable skill. Flash some skin, flutter your lashes, be all… you. The smart head will be intrigued by your wit—" he doesn't even smirk when he says it, the bastard, "—the stupid one by your thighs. They'll snatch you. Take you to their lair. Once they fall asleep, you use your dagger and stab them. Simple."
I gape at him. "Wait. Wait wait wait. Hold up. That's your plan? That I just… go with them? Into their lair? And wait till they fall asleep?! What if the dumb one just eats me for a midnight snack?"
He waves a claw like that's a minor footnote. "He won't. Probably. Just don't smell like sheep. Or pears. Apparently he's got a thing for pears."
"Oh great!"
He continues, annoyingly unfazed. "You've got your little dagger. That toothpick thing. Should be enough. The brothers share only one heart. Lower chest. Lightly armored. You aim between the ribs. Just jab upward. Wiggle a bit. Nice and fatal."
I am staring at him.
Mouth open. Brain full of absolutely not.
"Wait a minute. Why am I the one risking it all to commit dragon murder? What happened to we? Huh? Where's the 'team' in this suicidal plan?"
He shrugs. "You're smaller. Quieter. Less flammable."
"You're bigger!"
"Exactly. Easier to spot. Harder to hide. Also I bruise easily, and I've got a spinal cramp from the last time I tried anything heroic."
I glare. "Why not this—" I jab my stick at the dirt again, re-scribbling the plan, "—I go in, bat lashes, do my slutty little monologue, and you jump them from behind while they're distracted?"
He rears back like I just suggested he lick a stove. "Oh no no no. No. Absolutely not. Do you have any idea what those freaks did to their last opponent?"
"What?"
"They bit him in half arguing over which side got the heart!"
The girl gasps.
I drop my stick. "This is the worst plan you've ever had."
He looks very pleased with himself. "And yet… somehow… still better than yours."
I groan and flop onto my back in the grass. "I hate you."
"Yes," he says serenely. "But you're alive to hate me. Which is more than I can promise if you deviate from the plan."
I sit up, eyes wild, hair full of leaves and panic.
"Okay okay—hear me out. What if… we don't do the whole 'Saya gets kidnapped and maybe eaten' thing. What if instead… we construct a makeshift catapult."
The Dragon groans. "Here we go."
"No, listen!" I grab the stick again and start furiously drawing loops and levers into the dirt. "We find a big pine tree. Bend it back. Tie a boulder to it. Boom. Instant siege weapon. We just wait till Tweedle-Firebreath and Tweedle-Angry are under it—smack! Surprise boulder to the face."
The girl blinks. "That sounds… hard?"
"Yes, thank you," the Dragon mutters.
I wave them off. "Or—wait! Better. We use the girl."
She stiffens.
"Not like that," I add quickly. "Well. Sort of. Look, she's got nice boobs. Don't pretend you didn't notice."
"I didn't," the Dragon snaps.
"Well I did," I say, pointing. "Those are grade-A bait melons. We just shove her out there in front of their cave. Little sway in the hips, hint of cleavage, moaning about feeling so helpless. While they're distracted—bam! Pine-tree boulder slams down like divine judgement."
The girl is going pale. Dragon is looking like he wants to walk into the sea.
"Fine. Fine," I say, holding up my hands. "What about this: we release a flock of flaming sheep."
There's a long pause.
The Dragon just stares.
The girl whispers, "Do you have… flaming sheep?"
"No," I admit. "But we could make some."
"Dear gods," the Dragon mutters, rubbing his temples.
"No no no, think about it," I say, standing now, animated. "We soak the wool in oil, tie torches to their horns, boom. Chaos. Fire. Baa. The twins come out confused, stumbling, and then you swoop in and blast them while they're too busy dodging flaming livestock!"
The Dragon closes his eyes like he's praying for death.
I cross my arms. "Admit it. Some part of that sounds brilliant."
He exhales through his nose. "The part where you stop talking."
"Rude," I mutter. "Flaming sheep are still on the table."
"Okay okay okay," I say, pacing now, finger in the air like some unhinged prophet. "What if we get them drunk?"
The Dragon doesn't even lift his head. "No."
"Wait!" I spin toward him. "I'm serious. At least the stupid one. We get the villagers to cough up a couple barrels of their finest rotgut—moonshine, plum brandy, fermented turnip piss, whatever they've got rotting in cellars. With any luck, we get one head blind, the other distracted arguing about sobriety ethics."
There's a pause.
The Dragon actually scratches his chin with one long claw, contemplative.
"Hmmm…" he rumbles. "That… might… actually…"
"Yes!" I point at him. "You see it. You see the brilliance."
He nods slowly. "They do have different metabolisms. If the stupid one drinks enough—"
"Exactly!" I cut in. "Stupid gets sloshed. Smart gets annoyed. Tension! Inner conflict! Blind spot for us to exploit!"
The girl starts nodding too. "My uncle once drank our lantern oil and saw God. So. That tracks."
I beam. "And then—"
The Dragon lifts one brow. "Don't—"
"Then we release the flaming sheep."
He facepalms. Full talon across the snout, sighing through his nostrils like a dying kettle.
I throw up my arms. "Oh come on! You liked the flaming sheep idea."
"No. I tolerated it while hoping it would pass like a bad burrito."
I jab a finger in the air. "You can't deny the dramatic potential. Drunken dragon, flaming livestock, seductive bait—you're telling me this doesn't sound like a plan forged by the gods?"
He groans. "Forged by someone drunk on the gods."
I grin.
He mutters something about ulcers and impending doom, but I can see it—he's on board.
Flaming sheep are back on the menu.