The Dragon's Claim

I shoved our door open, grinning. “Mother, I got promoted! I'm going to Drakmoor with the caravan. I might even see a dragon rider!”

No answer.

“The pay's better, too,” I added. “A few good runs, and we can finally leave this place.”

I stopped beside the table. Her washing basin was empty, and no wet sheets hung across the room.

“Mother?”

Then I noticed a dark smear on the floor.

Blood.

Someone had tried to wipe it away. The smear thinned toward the bedroom, where a streak remained in the crack between two boards.

“Mother!”

I caught the bedroom door before it struck the wall. She was bent beside the bed, one hand braced on the mattress while she coughed into the other.

Her faded gray blouse hung loose across her back. As she dragged in a breath, her sleeve slipped, exposing purple lines above her wrist.

“Lena.” She straightened too fast and had to sit. “You're home early.”

She pulled her cuff down. Her other hand disappeared into the folds of the blanket, but not before I saw the red soaking through her handkerchief.

“What happened?”

“It's nothing. Let me get you something to—”

I knelt before her and caught her wrist. “Show me.”

She tried to pull her wrist free. I held on.

“Please,” I said.

Her arm went slack. I eased the sleeve back, careful of her skin, and saw that the purple lines continued up her arm.

I'd heard the men at work talking while we unloaded a wagon. A strange sickness in town. Purple marks under the skin, then coughing, then beds people never got out of again.

They'd said the sick died within a year.

“How long?” My voice came out thin. I cleared my throat, but the next words broke anyway. “How long have you had this?”

“A few weeks.” She watched my fingers around her wrist.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Outside, someone called for a child to come in. A cart rattled past our door. Mother sat so still that I could hear the catch in each breath she took.

“I didn't want to burden you,” she said at last. “You already do so much.”

“Burden me?”

Tears dropped onto her sleeve. I gathered both her hands into mine, turning them over so her palms rested against my fingers.

The skin across her knuckles was rough and cracked. One split had opened again, right where her finger bent; even now, she tried to turn that hand so I wouldn't see it.

“You could never be a burden to me. Do you hear me?”

“Darling—”

“Never.”

Mother had raised me alone, washing other people's clothes for a living. At night, her hands were so swollen she had to hold her cup between her palms.

As a child, I'd promised to buy her a house without a washing tub. She'd laughed and asked how we would keep our clothes clean.

I hadn't known the answer then. Now I had wages, a promotion, a chance to make good on it, and she was sitting here hiding blood in our blanket.

“I was going to take you away from here,” I whispered.

Her fingers closed around mine. “I know.”

“We can still go. Once you're better—”

“Lena.” She stroked my thumb. “I don't want your life to be this hard. You've spent enough of it worrying about me.”

“Then let me help.”

“Nobody can cure this.”

“There has to be a way!”

She flinched at my shout. I loosened my grip at once and laid her hands in her lap, ashamed that I'd frightened her when she was the one struggling to breathe.

“I'll ask,” I said, getting up. “Someone will know something.”

I helped her lie back and left a cup of water within reach.

She called my name as I hurried out. If I stayed long enough to hear her tell me not to go, I might sit beside her and cry until neither of us could speak.

The wind struck my wet face outside. I wiped it with my sleeve and ran.

At the first pharmacy, I knocked even though the door was open. The woman behind the counter glanced up from a set of brass scales.

“Purple lines,” I said. “Under the skin. And she's coughing blood. What can I give her?”

The woman lowered the weight in her hand. “I'm sorry.”

“I can pay.”

“There's no treatment.”

At the next shop, I made myself speak slower. Perhaps I'd explained it badly; perhaps the first woman hadn't understood.

The answer was the same.

By the third counter, I was gripping the edge to keep my hands still. Bitter herbs scented the air, and jars crowded the shelves behind the pharmacist, each neatly labeled.

“Anything,” I said. “It doesn't have to work right away.”

He shook his head, then hesitated as I turned toward the door.

“People say the royal family has magic that can cure any disease.”

I stopped. “They can cure it?”

“That's the rumor. I've never seen it myself.”

I stepped aside to let another customer in. My feet wouldn't carry me farther.

The royal family. I'd found no help in the shops. Now I needed it from people whose gates I'd never even been close enough to touch.

Who would let a girl from the slums ask a king to save her mother?

A man's shout rose above the traffic.

“The Dragon's Claim! Hear the king's proclamation!”

People turned toward him. I lifted my head.

“The Dragon's Claim is about to begin! His Majesty has promised to grant the winner one wish!”