Warm Leridan wind licked the rocks above the sleepy little town below. Dust swirled in lazy spirals as I tied the final knot in my sash—deep red, low-slung, just enough to whisper temptation and scream confidence. My top? Barely there. Two triangles of cloth pretending to preserve modesty. My pants? Silk, sheer, fluttering like sin on a breeze. Anklets jingled. Bracelets clinked. Earrings swung like pendulums counting down to bad decisions. Hair in a thick braid, thick enough to yank. Bare feet, of course—because grip is important when grinding on cobblestones.

  Dragon blinked one golden eye from his shady perch. “And what,” he asked, “in the nine flaming layers of debauchery is this outfit for?”

  “Work,” I said.

  He squinted. “You’re going whoring again.”

  I smirked. “Nope. I’m going ”

  His snort sent a puff of smoke curling. “You mean shaking your various lady bits until men throw coins at your feet?”

  “Exactly,” I beamed. “Temple dancing, actually.”

  “Temple trained, were you?”

  “Top of my class,” I lied without blinking. “Grace of the moon, hips of the harvest goddess, all that stuff.”

  He arched an eyebrow ridge the size of a cart. “You got kicked out for swearing during a ritual, didn’t you?”

  I didn’t answer. Just stepped onto the flattest patch of rock and raised my arms.

  And then I

  Music played in my head, drums and flutes and the gutter rhythm of Seebulba’s alleys. Hips swayed. Anklets sang. My whole body rippled like honey pouring over hot bread. I spun, dipped, dropped to my knees, rolled my shoulders like a temple bell, fingers painting shapes in the air. I undulated. I offered. I seduced. I danced like I was made of sin and silk.

  When I finally stopped, slightly breathless and gloriously smug, the Dragon hadn’t moved. He was just staring.

  “…That,” he said slowly, “was genuinely impressive.”

  “Why thank you.”

  “I didn’t know the human pelvis could do ”

  I winked. “Most humans can’t.”

  He blinked again. “I… might be aroused. I’m not sure if I should be aroused. I’m gay and you’re an abomination.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  “I’m serious. Your spine bent in a way that made me question several moral frameworks.”

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  “Wait till you see the floorwork routine.”

  He groaned and covered his face with a wing. “Just don’t bankrupt the town, please. Or seduce the mayor. Again.”

  “No promises,” I chirped, jingling all the way down the trail.

  ***

  Tavern was thick with heat and sweat and the sour breath of fermented dreams. Oil-lamps flickered low. Shadows danced on the cracked plaster walls like drunken ghosts. A pipe wailed—a reedy, serpentine sound—and a drum followed, steady and raw, like heartbeats filtered through lust.

  Perfect.

  I stepped onto the scuffed floorboards with a sway in my hips and a grin sharp enough to draw blood. The duo in the corner—pipe and drum, one-eyed and no-toothed respectively—nodded at me like we’d rehearsed this. We hadn’t. Didn’t need to. Rhythm is rhythm. I was born to this.

  I moved.

  Gods, I

  Slow at first. Just the hips, just enough to tease. A single jingle from my anklet. Then faster. A spin. A drop. My braid snapped like a whip as I twirled through the haze. Men turned. A few women too. The murmurs fell away. All eyes on me.

  There’s a trick to this.

  You don’t just shake your tits and hope for coins. You pick your marks. That boy by the barrel—young, flushed, clutching a mug like it’s his last hope? He’s got silver and something to prove. That bald brute with knuckles like ham hocks? Gold chain, soft spot for belly dancers. And that sour-faced priest in the corner pretending not to look? the kind who’ll pay extra to feel guilty.

  I gave each of them a taste. A hip roll here. A wink there. Fingers tracing an invisible promise along my thighs. I dipped low in front of the priest—closer, closer—and his hand trembled as he slipped a copper into my waistband.

  I beamed.

  Coins clinked at my feet. Better yet, some made it into my cleavage. One adventurous bastard tucked a silver into the band of my pants, knuckles brushing places that made me want to slap and grind in equal measure.

  I spun away, laughing, leaving perfume and glitter in the air behind me.

  This was it. This was Not chained, not conned, not pretending to be some doomed virgin or divine whore or whatever mask the day demanded. Just Saya, barefoot and radiant, dancing for the gods or the gutter—same thing really.

  The pipe shrieked higher. The drum thundered. I dropped to my knees, arched back, sweat-slick and glowing like a temple flame.

  The room howled with applause.

  And all I could think was:

  ***

  Camp smelled like pine smoke and smug satisfaction. My satisfaction, obviously. I sat cross-legged on the old blanket, bare feet still dusty from the tavern floor, my sash loosened and my top skewed just enough to show the mark where someone had kissed my ribs a little too hard.

  Before me: glory.

  Coins. Real, honest, jingling, greasy, coins. Arranged in tidy little towers—coppers, bronzes, silvers, even a couple of thick Leridan goldpieces sticky with ale and hope. I licked one, out of habit, and stacked it atop the pyramid of its kin. Beautiful.

  The Dragon peered over my shoulder, casting a long shadow across my treasury. “You earned just by shaking your hips?”

  “Indeed,” I said, grinning like a cat with a mouse made of pastry and secrets.

  He huffed, low and slow. “I’m impressed.”

  “Should be.”

  He settled down with a groan like old timbers bending in a storm, curling his tail around himself. “Not bad for a girl kicked out of temple school for inappropriate gyration.”

  “I prefer ” I replied, counting out five bronzes and flicking them into a side pile labeled

  I glanced up at him. “Whoring pays better. Pretending to be a virgin sacrifice for a dragon? better.” I gave him a cheeky wink. “And chaos is fun. You know I love a bit of chaos.”

  He grunted. “Understatement.”

  I held up a silver, turning it in the firelight like a holy relic. “But my dear Dragon…” I kissed the coin. “This is ”

  He watched me stack it. “You’re utterly deranged.”

  “Yes,” I said sweetly, patting my tallest tower like a pet. “But now I can afford new sandals. Ones with bells. Maybe pearls.”

  He snorted and closed his eyes. “Just don’t dance near any cliffs.”

  “Only if they pay extra.”