The weight of the hair and the dress had never bothered her, but she’d spent her life in a marble mausoleum with smooth floors and walls. On the ship, her hair and clothing snagged on rough surfaces, caught on sharp corners, and got trapped in walls that closed too soon. The power conferred on the priestess did not protect her from the mundanity of space travel.
She slipped out of her habit and into her other garment—the simple floor-skimming gown she’d worn as a novice. She could have used assistance with her hair, but as no one was allowed to touch her, she had to take care of it herself. After brushing it out—a process that took nearly an hour—she managed to braid it and then coil it in loops. Her arms ached by the time she finished. If she looked less like a priestess and more like an ordinary woman, well, that couldn’t be helped. Satisfied her simpler attire would make it easier to tour the ship, she exited her private chamber into the communal antechamber of the suite she shared with the acolytes.
Their tails coiled, frills flaring, L’yla and R’nay meditated on the floor, but they leaped to their feet as she entered.
“Priestess!” R’nay gawked until L’yla nudged her with a hard jab, and she snapped her mouth shut and respectfully averted her gaze.
Both bent their heads. “May we serve you, Priestess?” L’yla asked in a deferential tone, but a disapproving sour tinge wafted off her. She had the audacity to judge her? A flame traveled the length of O’ne’s arm to her fingertips. She clenched a fist to prevent herself from releasing it.
From R’nay, she merely smelled confusion.
Representing opposite ends of the spectrum, neither one had progressed much in ten millennia. L’yla remained unduly calculating and no better at masking it, and softhearted R’nay was as naïve and innocent as the day she’d entered the temple.
“I will be indisposed for the remainder of the journey.” Aware of the scrutiny, she forced herself to take measured, slow steps toward the exit.
Twelve guardians in demiforma stood at attention outside. At the temple, they always appeared as full dragons, but the confines of the ship forced them to adopt the more compact form.
As she headed down the corridor, six of them peeled away to follow her.
“No. Remain here.” When she’d gone to the dining hall, they’d accompanied her and waited in the corridor. She couldn’t have them tagging along on the tour, invading her private time with H’ry.
“Priestess, we must go with you.” The guardian’s voice sounded guttural as he didn’t use it much. Spending most of their lives in dragon form, guardians had little opportunity to speak.
His nervousness scented the air with the sweetness of fear, and she almost laughed at the irony. If the guardian tasked with protecting her was scared what she might do, what practical protection could he offer?
“Today you stay here.” She pivoted and marched down the passage, her braided loops slapping her back and buttocks. Oh, how liberating it felt to be free of the heavy gown, the entourage, the responsibility. If not for the burning pressure in her chest, she might just as well be an ordinary dragon again. The lightness of her mood and step increased her awareness of her heavy hair. With a determined hand, she lifted the braids to rest on her shoulder to relieve the weight on her neck. She had two days. It would be enough. It would have to be.
* * * *
The priestess looked different today, her hair looped and coiled around her head, her dress simpler as she strolled beside him, pointing out the spacecraft’s amenities. The operative in him allowed him to retain the information—you never knew what would be useful later—but the man paid more attention to her than the vessel. He listened to the ebb and flow of her melodic voice, watched the play of her expressions, and drank in her appearance with shameless boldness.
“Do you get to choose what you look like?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“My understanding is that you control the shift. You can be full dragon, demiforma, man/woman, or any stage in between.”
“That’s correct.”
“So can you alter your womanly appearance? Decide, I’ll be a redhead today or a blonde, blue eyes or brown, pale skin or dark?”
“No, we are what we are.” She touched her braids. “I used to have the red hair you mentioned, but after I was exalted, it turned white.”
He’d only seen such white-white hair on elderly people, but even braided and coiled, O’ne’s hair sparkled, its glow reminding him of very fine fiber optics. She was knockout gorgeous with flawless, pale skin bordering on translucent, symmetrical features, and large golden eyes. It was as if there was a light within her that glowed. A dragon disguised as a woman disguised as an angel. “Does that happen with every new priestess? That hair changes color?”
“There is no record of it, but previous priestesses never adopted woman form. They remained dragon, either full or demiforma.”
“So you are not omniscient.” He made light with a little chuckle.
“I receive signs in the form of visions and dreams enabling me to see what others cannot, but often the insight I seek remains hidden. I am not omnipotent, either.” She paused and then her mouth quirked with humor. “Although it’s helpful to allow others to believe I am.”
He laughed. After he sobered, he asked in a low voice, “Why do you adopt woman form?”
For a long moment there was silence, and he wondered if he’d overstepped his bounds. On Earth, among humans, to venture into such personal territory
