“Wow,” I say. “Props to him for getting in touch with his feelings like that. And the thing with his tears creating thorny vines sounds epic. When I cry, I just get a stuffy nose.” I’m being snarktastic, but Leelah doesn’t seem to notice. “So… if the king is there butasleep,” I emphasize the word, “who’s ruling Medela?”
“The tithe is collected and goes into the king's coffers for his advisors to distribute. He keeps the peace and the sanctity of our borders with his magic, and his soldiers.”
“Ah yes, the Alpha guards. My favorite.”
Leelah is still staring off at the distant tower. “Once a year, at tithe time, the moonflowers bloom on the vines, and when they do, they guide the way to the king’s castle. There is a legend that one day, a beautiful Omega will fight her way up to the palace where he sleeps, and wake him.”
“An Omega? But I thought Omegas were incredibly rare.”
“Yes,” Leelah murmurs. “There may not be any left in the entire kingdom.”
“Well, I guess it sucks to be the king, then. Otherwise, that legend sounds like a lovely reverse Sleeping Beauty type situation.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
“It’s a shame—if this curse does turn out to be as bad as—or a return of—the Red Death, the king would probably have the power to save us.”
I bristle. “Then he should do something. It’s not right that he’s taking tithes and doing nothing to help his people. Someone should go hack down those thorns, and wake him up.”
“Yes,” Leelah intones. “Someone should.” Her eyes return to me, and narrow. “Where did you say you were from again?”
“Far, far away. You might say worlds away. There aren’t many kings left there.” I bite back my commentary on defunct monarchies. Leelah looks suspicious already, and now isn’t the time. “I need to get home to Matron.” I have to ask her if she knows anything about the curse and the cure. She is a healer, after all. “Will you be here tomorrow?”
Leelah looks around and I follow her gaze. People are packing up and leaving the market, their heads bowed and worry lines marring their faces. Across the way, soldiers loom, looking stern as they hurry people along. “I wouldn’t count on it,” she says. “I guess it depends how the curse progresses.”
“The first people to get sick,” I say. “How are they doing now? Have you heard anything?”
She shrugs. “I need to ask around. I’ve been here all morning, as you have.” She thinks for a moment. “On the other hand, that might be good news. I’m pretty sure that, if people had started dying already, I would have found out about it.”
I slide the package of cakes into the pocket of my cloak. “Thanks for these.” Leelah holds out her hand for payment and I drop the coins into her palm. “Stay safe.”
“You too,” she says. “Tell Matron I wish her good health.”
“I will.”
In the short time I was talking to Leelah, the market drained almost empty of people. Those who remain are huddled together, whispering about more people taking ill. The knot of anxiety in my chest grows as I clock the stricken, frightened faces.
I increase my pace, my sense of dread growing with every step. By the time I get home, I don’t care that I’m sweaty. I drop the baskets on the stoop and burst through the front door.
“Ma?” I hold my breath so I can hear her reply.
There is none. She’s not downstairs. But maybe everything’s okay. Maybe she’s just sleeping.
With my heart thudding in my ears, I race up to her bedroom. The door is ajar. Her room is dark and stuffy, the curtains drawn.
“Rose?” she croaks. She sounds bad—even worse than this morning.
With shaking hands, I pull the curtains back to let in some light. Ma is huddled in the center of the bed, under a pile of quilts.
My relief to find her there is instantly dashed when I see the state she’s in. Taking a step closer, I peer at her face and hands.
My heart stops.
Her skin is flushed, her chest rising and falling too rapidly. “Rose,” she whispers, and I take another step towards her. “No, child, stay aw—” She breaks into a wheezing cough, unable to finish her sentence.
When she turns her head to cover her mouth, I see it: the bright scarlet blotch on her otherwise mauve cheekbone. “Oh, fuck.”
