The next day, swallowing her pride, Agadart carefully took the time to explain her staggered method of trough cleaning, and the path she would take through the warrens, so that Mistress Seraphinite would know where she was at all times. The headmistress nodded curtly, as if the matter was beneath her, but Agadart felt that it was better to be safe than sorry. The more Mistress Seraphinite treated it as a trivial matter, the more likely it was that the situation would be brushed aside.

By early afternoon she was done, having significantly cut the amount of time necessary to clean. She searched out Mistress Seraphinite and asked if there was something else to keep her busy until the maids left the fort at sundown.

“Possibly.” Mistress Seraphinite looked as if she was seriously considering something for a minute or so before nodding sharply, once. “Yes. Admiral Leonteinparre’s lair.”

Agadart kept her surprise in check. The admiral, as Lord of the Keep and Master of the Fort, was never tended to by dragon maids. He had his own staff, of whom Mistress Seraphinite was considered one, so Agadart was caught off guard.

“It needs cleaning?” Agadart asked, hearing the uncertainty in her own words.

“Yes. It is my duty to do so and try to tend to his needs first, but there was a minor problem in the kitchens,” she said, pausing to rub her temples. Mistress Seraphinite shook her head and pulled herself together. “Such as it is, I need to be in two places at once for the next two hours. If you tend to his lair, that would be of great assistance. If nothing else you have the…hm, the proper breeding to behave like a lady in his presence.” She looked like she had bitten down on a sour berry.

Agadart nodded. “I’m at your disposal,” she said, stating the obvious.

“I’ll show you where.” Mistress Seraphinite took off at a fast clip. Agadart bounced forward to follow, chasing the quick-footed woman through the labyrinthine warrens. Mistress Seraphinite finally took a turn that was new to Agadart, which led to a slightly more refined hallway. Unlike the bare cut rock walls of the rest of the warrens, the hallway to the admiral’s lair was carved to look like the hall of a mansion or other fine house, with columns and wainscot formed out of the rock. It was incongruous to Agadart, but she did not have time to dwell on it as they made a sharp turn into the largest lair she had seen yet.

Even so, the admiral’s lair was not really too much more luxurious than the others she had tended, the roof curving up high, the carved rock simple and unadorned. The nest itself was a bit more appropriate to his station, a pile of heavy carpets and smooth river boulders in the shape of a lumpy bed. It looked charming, but Agadart could not imagine that it would be comfortable for anyone but a dragon.

“As you can see, he does not like hay. Sweep the carpets as best you can and straighten the place up, along with cleaning the water trough. You will find brooms and scrubbers in that cabinet,” she said, pointing to a utilitarian cabinet stuck out of the way in a low-ceilinged corner off to the side of the main space. “If the admiral returns while you are here, keep quiet and finish what you are doing as quickly as possible. Do not engage with him in any fashion. Remember: he is not your equal anymore. You’re just a servant.”

Agadart nodded and the headmistress stomped out quickly. Agadart was not convinced Bertrag actually had a problem in the kitchens, but she was not going to follow that thought up in any way. If the headmistress wanted to use Agadart as a cover for her illicit assignation with a dragon, then Agadart was going to stay out of her way.   

She got to work straightening things up, which was easy enough. Then there was both the trough, although it was bronze and not simple iron, and a man-sized bathing tub. The tub was carved from a block of marble and was currently empty, but Agadart saw that the large tank connected to it had live coals under it for warming the water up, so she suspected the admiral was due to change back into a man in the next day or so.

The trough was the worst of it so she set it to drain while she wiped down the tub, which mostly suffered from dust and dirt from the admiral flying in and out. She had just soaped up the brush to wipe the trough down when she heard the cry of the dragons echoing off the cliffs. She froze solid, realizing that she was not finished and had no way to clean up her work and leave before the admiral himself returned to his lair. Nonetheless she tried, swabbing at the trough frantically as the calls got closer and closer. She had turned on the faucet to rinse out the soap when she heard and felt the draft of the flapping wings as they approached. She stopped and stared at the admiral as he landed on the roost, screeching at the other dragons before turning to stride into the lair. No one could say dragons on the ground were graceful, but the admiral had an air of athleticism that made all of his moves precise and dangerous looking. Agadart held her breath, waiting for him to notice her.

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His dark green hide glistened, shining like glass and reflecting the sunlight coming in through the landing bay. His eyes, as broad as the span of Agadart’s hand and a deep, shifting gold in color, peered at her. He opened his mouth and his long, thin tongue lashed out at the air. She had read that this was part of how they smelled the world around them, like snakes, but it was weird to watch. Such a display would never have been countenanced at court.

He hissed, low and thunderous, shuffling towards her. She dropped the scrub brush and backed up until she ran into one of the small tables set towards the back of the lair for human use. His giant head dipped low and came close to her, and he sniffed at the hem of her trousers, working his way up, thankfully not pausing over her private area as he went. His head was as half as long as she was tall, and his breath on her face was incredibly hot, like a wind out of a furnace. She kept herself resolutely still as he inspected her, but flinched when his tongue whipped out to lick up her neck and face.

“Ew,” she said, instinctively pushing at his nose to shove him back, then freezing in horror at what she had done, hoping she had not infuriated him.

He drew his head back, although his body and wings still blocked her in. Tilting his head, he huffed out a short breath then backed away. He lifted one foreleg and gestured at the trough with his clawed “hand.”

“Oh! Right!” She rushed to finish rinsing it out, then shoved the cork in place and turned the faucet on to fill it up. Distracted by her work, she had not noticed the admiral settling onto his nest. When she stood up straight again and saw him there, she understood more clearly how it could be comfortable for dragons, as he looked very content, almost sleepy, curled up on all the carpets and large stones. His eyes were nearly closed, and he reminded Agadart of a cat trying not to doze off.

“Don’t you look comfy,” she said, unable to help herself, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

He opened one eye, but didn’t move otherwise. It almost looked like he was smiling.

“Your Grace!” Mistress Seraphinite ran in, holding her tunic up as if it were a full dress she needed to keep out of her way. “I’m sorry, I thought—” She stalled, looking at Agadart and then at the admiral. “Is, is it adequate, Your Grace?” she asked, sounding tentative and uncertain for the first time since Agadart had met her.

He opened both eyes fully and nodded, squirming a little on the nest as he settled in.

“Then we’ll be taking our leave,” Mistress Seraphinite said firmly, nodding at Agadart to quickly put up her supplies. They both curtsied as they walked out, and then Agadart was running in order to keep up with the headmistress. Once they were out of the duke’s personal warrens, Mistress Seraphinite stopped and took a deep breath. Agadart stopped behind her and did the same. After a long moment, Mistress Seraphinite turned around.

“Seems he approves of you. He did not push you around when he landed?” She eyed Agadart top to bottom as if inspecting for damage.

“No. Sniffed me, but did not push.” She did not mention the face licking. It felt personal somehow, and not something she wanted to share.

“He has terrible breath as a dragon, all saltpeter and iron,” Bertrag said, wrinkling her face, then looking surprised at what she had said. She glared at Agadart, who bit down on a wayward smile, trying to still her face to blankness. Mistress Seraphinite snarled. “As he has accepted your presence, you can expect to be tending his lair more often. Not every day, mind; and we will be switching out jobs for the maids soon so you get a hand in doing a variety of tasks. But in the future you may be called out at any moment to perform these duties for His Grace.”

“Is he due to change back soon?” Agadart asked while Mistress Seraphinite straightened out her tunic and sleeves.

“Yes, the day after tomorrow I believe. We will beat out the carpets of his nest then, among other things.” She turned and walked off.

Stumbling to catch up, Agadart could not decide how she felt about having met a dragon face-to-face, especially one as august as Duke Raudolf, the Admiral Leonteinparre. It should have been a monumental, life changing moment, she thought, but it had been somewhat anticlimactic. It had felt more like meeting an old friend, someone who was supposed to be a part of her life in a familiar way.

Or maybe she was just too tired from all the hard work to be impressed by anything anymore.