“Can’t imagine what that must have been like,” I said sarcastically.
“You can’t,” Yong replied in all seriousness. “My father was very traditional. He treated his children in the old way: as servants and soldiers. If we did well, he gave us a share of the plunder. If we got out of line, he killed us.”
“Us?” I repeated, no longer laughing. “How many of you were there?”
“Fourteen to start,” he said, resuming his weeding. “But by the time I killed my father, White Snake and I were the only ones left. I because I was the eldest and strongest, and my sister because she was a coward who was skilled in bribery.” His eyes narrowed. “Our father was excessively bribable.”
“Sounds like a classy fellow,” I said, fisting the pulled weeds in my hands. “Did you…Did you mourn for any of your siblings?”
“No,” Yong said without missing a beat. “They were all vipers who would gladly have eaten me alive. If my father hadn’t killed them, I would have. It was the only way to be safe. I was foolish enough to let White Snake live, and look how that turned out.”
I shook my head. Man, no wonder my dad had such screwed-up ideas about family. Dragon clans sounded terrible. But at least this explained why he’d been so confused by my reaction to his control. Compared to the way he’d been raised, my dad’s parenting style had been indulgent to a fault.
“So what happened to your village?”
“After I ate my father and became the Great Yong, I made it my stronghold,” he said proudly. “Our current mountain villa stands in the same place, and some of my household are actually descended from those first farmers.”
Considering how crazy loyal his people were, I totally believed that. “So do I have any ancient farmer sisters or brothers?”
“No,” he said. “My consorts have had children before, but you are the only one I’ve claimed as my own.”
“Why?”
He stared at me, and my cheeks heated. I hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, nor had I needed to. He’d told me I was his only child many, many times. But the more I learned about my dad—actually learned from him, not the pro-Yong propaganda my mom had taught me—the more incredible that felt. Yong was famous for his mortals. Or infamous, depending on who you asked. Point was, he’d never made a secret of the fact he vastly preferred human company to his own kind, so it didn’t make sense to me why he’d waited this long to have one of his own. He’d pretended to be a farmer for almost a century! I’d expected he’d have had a whole stone hut full of kids over the years, but apparently that wasn’t the case, so…
“Why?” I asked again. “Why did you decide to make me?”
“Because your mother wanted you,” he said simply. “And I wanted her to be happy.”
I couldn’t believe it. “You did all of this for Mom?”
“Yes,” he said, brows furrowing. “You have to understand. Up until a century or so ago, most human children didn’t survive their first five years. Why should I risk investing myself in something that was so likely to die? Also, I find babies disgusting.”
“You’re really selling it.”
Yong shrugged. “It’s the truth. But with this century’s advances in health care and gene editing, I decided it was finally time to take the risk. I’ve had humans since I can remember, including many treasured consorts, but I’d never had a daughter. I thought it would be a unique experience, something to remember and improve upon over future generations. I didn’t expect to love you.”
The weeds fell from my hands. “What?”
“I know,” he said, scowling at the nettle he was working out of the ground with practiced precision. “It was ludicrous, a dragon growing attached to such a helpless, illogical little thing. It’s caused me more trouble than any other decision of my life. It’s still causing me trouble, but foolish as it was, knowing what I know today, I would still make the same choice.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. No, scratch that, I totally believed I’d caused my father no end of consternation, but the rest of it caught me completely off guard. I’d always known deep down that my father had affection for me, but I’d always assumed it was for a treasure. An object. I hadn’t realized he’d treasured me in the normal way too.
“You love me.”
The sentence came out sounding more like a question, and my father glowered. “Of course I love you. Why else would I put myself through so much suffering for your sake?”
That was a good point, but, “You never said it before!”
“Why should I say it?” he grumped. “I just told you it was a weakness, and who likes to harp on those? I also saw no point in stating the obvious. It’s tedious.”
I supposed it was obvious when he put it like that, but I was still too shocked to speak. All this time, I’d thought my dad had been fighting to possess me or punish me because I didn’t grovel like his other humans did when the truth had been so much simpler. My dad loved me, and he was embarrassed about it.
I could absolutely see why. I was everything a proper dragon should despise: a weak human of unremarkable beauty who couldn’t give him anything. A disobedient human whose magic had always been a grave disappointment. I was what his entire culture said he should cut loose, but he never had. For all my faults and rebellions, he’d never stopped calling me his own. And for the first time I could remember, that didn’t seem like a bad thing.
We weeded in silence for a long time after that. We’d finished the vegetable beds and were moving on to the annuals when Dr. Kowalski
