A Daughter's Tears

Kindy skulked behind the loose-hinged wooden door of her father's secret room.

Kindy's father, Venn Kindman, hunched over a bowing old table laden with coin. "Can't believe the luck. Every traveler has a pocket full of gold?"

Valtrip rifled through the spoils on the table. Maps or letters rolled about among the coins. "And what are all these papers?"

"Baby dragon in the hills," Kindman said, squinting to read the writing. "The king forbids all travel there."

Valtrip snorted. "Just like you to steal from a baby."

"Calling me a coward?" Kindman slapped his friend's back. "I mean, she can swallow me whole, but I guess you're qualified to point that finger, eh?"

Valtrip pocketed several coins when he thought Kindman wasn't looking. "It's the size of the hoard, not the size of the dragon."

Kindman shrugged off the pilfering and picked Valtrip's pocket. "That's just it, Fall guy," Kindman said, laughing.

Valtrip checked his pocket but just looked confused.

Kindman pointed to the table. "The big dragon left the largest hoard the world has ever known."

"You'll believe anything, won't you?"

"Good thing I got you to watch out for me, Fall guy."

Valtrip nodded and smiled over the treasure. After a few nods, the big man got a sour taste in his mouth and glared at Kindman. "Hey, wait. What?"

"Nevermind all that." Kindman flashed a halfway grin and filled the bag for the guild, then pulled several coins out. "That's where all this comes from. Junior can't track all the burglars."

"What, the king wants the guild to have sole access?"

Kindman filled the bag for Mrs. Kindman, and wiped a tear from his eye. "He wants one of his friends to bag the baby. Big knight of the realm."

The King wants the dragon to munch the local bandits. How could the adults be so dense? Kindy whispered, "Like you, Dad."

Valtrip shook his head at the bag for Mrs. Kindman, then chuckled and tightened his belt. "Like stealing pie from a windowsill."

More like a mouse robbing a trap. Kindy's stomach soured. Nobody just leaves treasure laying around, not like that. She jammed a ball of leaves in the lock on her father's door and retreated further into the shadows.

"Let's go." Kindman held up a silver coin. "The Brewsters bought a barrel of North Mountain. It's got our name on it."

***

Kindy scraped the last bits of label from the potion of cowardice she had filched from her father's treasure room as Valtrip readied his donkey for the expedition, telling herself that Valtrip wouldn't recognize it as she walked up on him. "Folly?"

"Now, Kindy." He couldn't sell the stern voice and cracked a smile. "Haven't I told you to call me Patrick?"

Valtrip wasn't called Folly for nothing. Whatever the ante, he could be counted on to be all in. "I don't like the way Dad always betrays you."

He sniffed and raised his chin. "I take care of myself."

Sure you do, she thought. "I um, I can help." She offered him the potion.

Valtrip looked closely at it. "What have we here?"

"Potion of heroism." She shoved it in Folly's hand. "When things go bad, throw it on Dad. You'll both be fine."

Valtrip eyed the potion, eyes glistening. "I could just take it myself."

"You'd risk being in the front line?" Kindy shook her head. "Daddy can take a baby dragon."

"Listening in, Kindy?" Valtrip waved his finger with a wink and a grin. "Shame.".

Kindy showed her teeth. "Shame I'm not big enough to join you."

Valtrip secreted the potion behind his belt. "So this puts your father at risk, eh?"

"Best chance of victory."

The fat fool, Folly, lowered himself to see her eye to eye, scratched his nose.

He's not buying it? She looked closer; no, he wasn't getting it. Betrayal, that was something Folly understood. Something he trusted. The lie tasted rotten in her mouth–even though the words were true–but her disgust would sell the story. "I'm tired of being a poor brigand's daughter on the outskirts."

Valtrip tousled her hair. "Ain't you just like your father."

"You take that back." Proud as she was, he did have his faults. She faked a glare. "I'm already much better than the old man."

Valtrip laughed and fingered the potion of cowardice, hidden in his secret pocket. "You've got it, alls I can tell."

"Now you do." She shrugged. "Just don't make me have you brought back."

Valtrip shuddered and eyed the spindly, robed figure tending the horses.

Kindy had no idea how Mother had gotten their neighbors to accept the bone puppet as a legitimate resident. She figured they must hope the cursed skeleton would turn on Folly and Kindman. Or perhaps, they did not want to see what undead nastiness Valtrip brought to their tiny hamlet. Mother had schooled her in the ways that hope can hoodwink a person. She eyed Valtrip threateningly.

"Don't you worry." The fat fool winked at Kindy. "If it goes sideways, I'll be sure to slide you your cut."

Kindy choked down the urge to stab Folly at that. She figured she'd already gotten him in the back. "I'll give you the pick of our split." He could have the whole hoard, for all she cared, and be buried with it.

He fist bumped Kindy.

As Valtrip stumbled off to his final mission as group patsy, Kindy turned to the fire.

Out stepped a shadow man. "It isn't rights, sparing him."

"My father's a good man. Well, better than the men he travels with."

"This voids your contracts."

"Tell the king his bandit problem is passed." Kindy sniffed. "Kindman the bandit dies with Valtrip."

"Your patron will not be pleased."

Had she only known her father was a bandit, Kindy would never have bargained with the fey woman at the crossroads–the real 'dragon' in question. "I'm aware."

The spirit offered her the tip of his wand.

Her hand cramped in fear as she reached for it.

"Humanses." The black-veiled spirit grinned. "I so love seeing you renege."

She shook her head and grabbed the point, forcing the dark power into her palms.

As the magic throbbed in her bones, her lungs drowned in cinnamon and her eyes bled rubies.

The spirit grabbed her tears and disappeared before Kindy could even gasp in pain.

"Another episode?" Kindman ran to grab her. "You shouldn't have to pay your mother's debt. I'l--I swear, I will have the curse lifted before you know it."

"Don't go, Daddy." She shivered in both pain and fear. If only she could stop the devil-breathed screaming, Daddy wouldn't be so driven to steal. "You know I hate it when--"

"The last one." Kindman crossed his heart.

"Promise me, no matter what. I can handle my demons." She buried her nose in her father's breastplate. "Just be okay. Daddy? Please, be okay."

"It's not enough." With a silk rag he stole the tears from his daughter's face.

Not the tears! Beneath her fading agony, she masked her frustration. "It's the only thing I want."

He lifted her chin. "Daddy has to go. I don't want you following me."

Dad shimmered as she held back her tears, saved them as best she could.

He turned his back on her.

She had chosen her patron carefully; had promised only living flesh and fealty, kept title to the fire of her lungs, as well as her unborn daughter's tears. Mother had always begged Kindy to learn from her family's mistakes, though in slipping past the pitfalls, Kindy had rushed to the same terrible place her mother had stood. At least her patron faerie had taught her the best of four letter words. Under her breath, she swore, "Siak."

The flames hissed and spit.

The fey dealer's desire to trap the greediest and most violent assured her there would be no--what was the word? Malfeasance? The faerie trickery would be downright amusing next to the heartbreak her mother had unwittingly embraced, selling herself for power. She had to admit, the greedy-dragon myth was the most brazen con she had ever heard. To think a dragon would covet pocket change when they can burn the mountain into gold and bullion into steak?

She had no doubt that the lair contained treasure enough: glamored and enchanted, gilded and golden. Soon enough–fey gods willing–Valtrip would add the contents of his own pack to the hoard. She laughed coldly at the thought.

So many stupid, vicious fools found their end there, laid to rest among the people who dared value the gold in monster's chests above life itself–their neighbors, or even their own. Nobody noticed when dragonslayers returned changed: kinder, nobler, and more generous than the best of their neighbors, their heart turned to gold like the dirt of the mountain. Still, she wished she could travel with her father, personally pull him from the fake-dragon's lair. She didn't want some heroic changeling; she wanted her dad. She pulled out the demon's bottle to catch the tears.

As the precious drops of sorrow fell into the hungry bottle, she felt her mother's ghostly hand on her back.

One day, she would collect enough tears to trade words with her fallen mother. She was glad that her mother's patron–fiend that he was–had kept the woman bound from seeking the white gates. Perhaps Mother had bargained better than Kindy imagined.