This story is by Phlimp Timbus and was part of our 2023 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
It was supposed to be an honor. That is what I was told anyways, when the first signs of the changes began to show. I will never forget finding the little diamond shaped scales on my forehead one summer afternoon. I had thought that something had bitten me and been scratching about my hairline for hours until I finally realized the bumps did not feel like the average mosquito bite. After checking a mirror, I found whole clusters of the golden scutes hidden under my dark bangs like a noble’s circlet. I am a dragonspeaker, someone born with drops dragon’s blood in their veins, a revelation that had shocked not only me, but everyone else in my old hamlet.
Having dragon blood in and of itself was not a surprise, no. Although we make up a proportionally small percentage of the population, those of dragon blood are widely regarded for their arcane talent, political wisdom, and their close relations with the great wyrms themselves. What was shocking about the draconic blood was it being in a lowly peasant. All my life I had been taught that what is flowing in my veins was exclusive to the ruling class. Dragonspeaker royal advisors are a mainstay for any nation that wishes to be recognized on the world stage. In my homeland the emperor himself was born of such bloodlines, as well as all those in line for the throne. Back then my excitement had buried any questions as to why I was born with something so rare. I did not care. I was special. I often find myself wondering what I would have done back then if I knew what the cost of being special was.
Word of a peasant child with dragon blood quickly spread to outside my province. For less than two weeks I enjoyed my taste of the little limelight. I was no longer to work in the fields with the rest of the young and able. My family and I were considered small town royalty. Those I once worked the fields with now gave me gifts of wealth and food. Whenever I attempted to help my old friends with the harvest or to give gifts in return I was always denied. “It is beneath your place,” I was told. As soon as I began to grow comfortable with my new status amongst my peers, the retainers arrived. They fed me the promise of my greater future with honeyed words. It was all too easy for them to whisk my parents and I away. No longer were we to languish in secluded obscurity. I was to enter the proper society, the one fit for someone of my blood.
We were taken to what I thought was a palace. The palace, which I later learned to be a mere office of the wider draconic blooded order, was a marvel of art. Built from marble and gold, it was every bit as decadent and beautiful as I imagined the draconic aristocracy to live in. I do not remember what was said to separate me from my parents. Perhaps a grand tour, or maybe some sort of reward that my parents had become too eager and accustomed to receiving. So many lines have been used over the years. It was not until it was too late that I realized my father and mother were no longer in the same room. When I asked where they went, I was told they could come visit me. That was when I learned I was to be sent to an academy. All that talent and wisdom my kind are famous for had to have come from somewhere. Until then I had thought I would wake up with it just like my scales.
My experience up until my education was warm and cozy. Such is ignorance, I suppose. I was soon shipped off to an island where other young dragonspeakers are educated to become those renowned advisors known the world over. The natural, pseudo-divine explanation of why the dragon blooded leadership was so special was so comforting. Naturally being gifted was far more romantic than the reality of decades of training in magic and history classes. Even the wonder and awe-inspiring nature of the drakes whose blood I carry faded, as what I had dreamed of being a rare sight became commonplace. Most often the great wyrms would turn themselves into humans to better traverse the campus. Interactions with them dimmed the glorious light I had held them under, as they could be just as vain and as self-serving as the royals I was being trained to advise.
Over the two decades I spent at the academy, the scales around my temples spread across my body. They grew down my shoulders and back, eventually spreading down the outer sides of my arms and legs, and finally to my digits. My nails turned to claws and backwards curving horns sprouted from my head. Overall, I would say I look rather elegant, if not ostentatious. It is hard not to with gold scales covering half your body. I will admit, however, that even to this day I scare myself when I unwittingly look into a mirror at night. I would think I saw a monster.
It was not until my graduation from the academy did I learn what else is required of dragonspeakers. The surprise discovery of my hidden bloodline was a fluke of sorts. It is practically unheard of for dragonspeakers to be born to non-dragonspeaker parents. If a dragonspeaker has a child with a human, the bloodline is weakened and most often the child is born human. To maintain the bloodline marriages are arranged, and children are mandated. My two human parents giving birth to me had surprised many elders of the order. I would not be surprised if I have several siblings now. A partner has yet to be matched to me, so until then I have been sent to a country I had never heard of to advise a king on how to govern his people. It is here where I learned the other hidden truth of my order.
While we dragonspeakers do advise all levels of world governments, the wellbeing of the governed is lucky to come second. As a part of our education, we were instructed to push and advocate for policies that benefit dragonspeakers and dragons. The title of dragonspeaker is quite fitting in this sense, with us speaking more for dragons than the people we watch over. If I were to prioritize anything else, well, I can easily be replaced. Any misbegotten dream of using my hard-earned gifts have been tainted by the corruption I am forced to spread. I may serve a king, but I am still a pawn. This honor my blood has bestowed upon me brings a sour taste to myself. I used to be happy that I was special, but now I wish more than anything I was the regular human farmer I used to be. I much prefer the warmth of ignorance to the coldness of dragon’s blood.
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