Page 58 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

But he was Lukoi, and all Lukoi knew their way home. The springs might have been home for the first of the exiled, but Sava’s home was a cabin, lovingly drawn in ink, with a smiling man and a snowcat who loved him for who he was, not what he could become.

“I am called Snow-Walker, little one,” Sava told the boy, as he headed to the cabin and away from the springs, “and I will keep you safe.”

* * *

Victor was trying, yet again, to distract himself from his own mind when the door creaked open.

It was only the second day, and Victor had cleaned the entire house, checked the walls for weaknesses, kept snow from piling up around the door, gone through his careful inventory list, carved five small bears and a snow cat out of wood scraps, knitted an aimless, multi-patterned blanket that Speedy was already claiming as his own, and still had time to imagine Sava freezing to death while being eaten by bears. Not that he would—not that Victor didn’t trust him, but the fear was still there, and Victor’s mind was too damn inventive to leave him alone.

He scrambled to his feet when the door opened, revealing Sava framed by thick sheets of snow. Speedy looked up from his bed and started kneading the air with his front paws immediately, but fear lanced through Victor as he staggered to the door. Was Sava hurt? He’d only abandon the test if he was wounded or physically unable to continue, it meant too much otherwise.

“Sava.” Victor helped him close the door, and realized too late that there really was something wrong. There was a lump in Sava’s coat, and Sava’s expression was grim—almost as tense as the moment he’d seen Victor with Ivan years ago, a knife at Victor’s throat.

“I found something,” Sava said, not bothering to take off his boots as he came into the main living area. Speedy jumped down from his bed with a trilling sound, and Sava got to his knees in front of the sunken bed by the fire. His voice was flat, but there was dominance in it, heavy and clear. “I need warm water. Blankets, the ones by the fire.”

Victor took a step back, torn between the instinctive urge to obey and curiosity as Sava took off his coat. When he did, Victor gasped as Sava gently lay a small boy on the floor. The child had reddish brown skin, like Victor, and while his hair had more of a wave than a curl, he looked like any of the children who lived in Victor’s region of Gerakia, where the colleges towered among small rural towns. The boy was unconscious, his chest rising and falling shallowly, and he had a small bag draped over one shoulder.

“Victor,” Sava said. His voice sounded strained.

“Yes. Of course.” He knew what to do to raise someone’s body temperature when they’d been out in the cold too long—it was one of the first things Sava had taught him. He filled a pot with water and set it over a grate on the fire, then gathered up the blankets and furs closest to the fireplace. Sava had already removed the boy’s sodden clothes and was replacing them with a heavy knitted sweater and a pair of Victor’s sleep pants, which were still far too big for the child, but that didn’t matter. Sava wrapped the boy in blankets, and Victor found a towel to dry his hair. The boy shifted slightly, eyes moving under his lids, and Victor looked up at Sava.

“Where did you find him? How?”

“He was in the snow,” Sava said. He was scared, Victor knew—his voice didn’t shake, but it was still too flat, fear chasing away Sava’s usual warmth and quiet humor. “I think the Fox Maiden— No, I won’t say it. He isn’t of the village or the caves, and no ships would brave the waters this time of year.”

“He looks Gerakian,” Victor said, “or Starian, it’s hard to tell.” He touched the boy’s ears, which were freezing, and so he found him a hat. Speedy, sensing their tension, hovered a few feet away, watching them intently. “Can I see his clothes, and his bag?”

Sava nodded. He carried the boy closer to the fire and settled him in the pit he’d made there. Only when the boy was comfortably wrapped up and breathing softly before the fire did Sava take off his boots and outer layers.

Victor picked up the boy’s bag. His clothes were too thin for winter, and his shoes were plain, simple, cobbled together hastily and already coming apart at the sole. Victor opened the bag and took out a slim workbook, labeled in Gerakian.

“Level Six Reading for Visual Learners,” he read, and flipped the cover. “This book belongs to Zeno Holdstreet. Ah.”

“You were speaking in your language again,” Sava said. “I didn’t understand all of it.”

“He’s an orphan,” Victor said. “You don’t have the word street in your name unless it applies to an orphanage. And he’s Gerakian.” He flipped a few pages. “Doesn’t like math. Visual learners means he’s—there’s a word we use when reading is difficult. The letters sometimes don’t look right, so you have to learn to read a different way than other children. He’s doing very well, actually.”

“But why is a Gerakian child in Lukos?” Sava asked. Victor shook his head.

“Maybe it’s like those people who came before, the ones who wanted to see the cave. I don’t know. He’s the only one who knows,” he added, nodding to the boy.

There wasn’t time to look through the rest of the bag. Victor set it down near the fire to dry off and poured warm water into a bowl. He handed it to Sava, who gently took the boy’s hands and set them in the bowl while Victor filled another. The boy’s eyes snapped open, and he jerked, splashing water over Sava’s face.

“Where am I?” he spoke in fluent Gerakian, with the slightest accent hinting that he lived closer to the foothills. “Who are you? Why are you?—”

“Be still,” Sava said in the same language. He spoke slowly, carefully, and the boy’s eyes widened. “You are safe here.”

“Keep your hands in the water,” Victor said. He put the rest of the water into a pot to make tea. “You were in the snow for a while. It can make your fingers and toes freeze. How do you feel? Does your head feel foggy or slow?”

“No? A little.” The boy looked around, then put his hands in the water bowl. “Where am I?”

“In Lukos. Are you from Gerakia? You sound like you’re from the hills, where the philosophers are.” Victor sat on the edge of the pit and smiled at him. “Am I right?”

“Yes! I’m Zeno, I live near the Green River university, it’s the next town over. Are you…Are you Gerakian, too?”

“I’m from a small town a few miles from the Two Sisters, but I’m Lukoi now. Victor. Victor Owl-Eyed.”

The boy practically squawked, making Speedy jump and go scampering for safety behind a chair. “You’re Victor Owl-Eyed? Really? Really? I wished for you!”

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