Page 59 of A Sword of Shadow and Deceit

“Alive, I think.”

“That’s not what I meant, dumbass.”

The voices fade in and out, growing louder one moment and then so quiet that I start to wonder if they’re a figment of my imagination. That would be just the thing, wouldn’t it? Alone for so long, locked in this dark place, and somehow mad with the yearning for something—someone—else to join me.

No one wants to be alone in the dark.

The door to my prison creaks open and a light penetrates the shadows. After so long, the adjustment it takes is painful. Unfortunately for me, even a dim light is too much of a kindness. No, instead, this light is blinding and the only thing that blocks it are the two figures that stand in the doorway.

“Did you know he was here?”

“The Gods knew,” someone else says, but otherwise there’s no answer to the first question that sounds as if it comes from a boy my age.

“Of course they knew, but this facility is only for the God children that don’t present with powers. He obviously—” There’s a grunt as if someone punched the speaker and stopped them from continuing. The only sound after is that of shifting bodies. A shrug? A shake of a head? Perhaps. I blink against the blinding light, trying to see the ones who’ve found me.

A hand hovers in front of my face, waving back and forth. “Hey, can you hear me?” Before I can answer, the boy asks another question. “Can you talk?”

Lifting my head back away from the knees that are drawn up to my scrawny chest, I stare blearily as a third figure joins the first two. The head of the newcomer finally blocks out the worst of the light, leaning between the others’ frames.

My eyes slowly adjust to the light after several seconds and I peer at the ones who’ve discovered me. Sunken eyes but a bright smile. Long neck and even longer, wild hair cast all around his face, the third and final boy before me reaches between the other two and goes onto his knees in front of me.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Can you hear me? Can you talk? What’s wrong with you? Why are you so useless? What’s the point of spawn if they don’t show talent or promise? All of those questions, I’ve been asked. Never before has anyone asked if I was okay, though.

My eyes burn and I dip my head back to my knees as trembling overtakes me. "No.” I choke the word out. “No, I’m not.”

My response is met with silence, long and aching. Finally, the boy’s warmth grows closer and I feel arms close around me. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to be.”

Softness. Kindness. Gentleness. These are not things I know well, but I recognize them instantly. Even if the arms circling me are skinny and young, it doesn’t matter. The fact that someone would let me be not okay, that someone would hug me to their body, sharing their warmth and existence after so long … it brings all of the emotions buried inside to the forefront. It shatters the barrier I’ve built for as long as I’ve been stuck in this hovel of a room.

I cry and I cry hard. The tears come, and yet, the boy never lets go. He merely hugs me tighter, trying to put as much strength in his little arms as he can. As if just by will alone he could keep me from shattering apart. His care is so sweet, so unusual to me, that I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s hugging an already broken person. For fear that he’ll stop if I don’t respond, I find myself hugging him back and burying my face in his shoulder.

After an eternity of tears and sniffling, the boy finally pulls back and I glance away from him to the two still standing sentinel outside the doorway. They’ve turned their bodies to shield me from the light, and for some reason—as the taller of the two peers back—I have a feeling it was also for another reason. One just as kind as the hug I received.

“Are you better now?” the boy in front of me asks as he pulls back and stares down into my face.

I’m not, but I don’t want to disappoint him. I nod. “I-I’m sorry.”

His smile is easy. “Don’t be,” he says, shaking his head.

The two others turn back to us. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but we need to know if we have the right kid,” the taller says. “What’s your name?”

“Th-Theos.” My name is a croak. It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone to talk to besides myself that my voice is nearly nonexistent.

The boys still standing exchange a look. The one in front of me sits back on his heels. “Do you know who your God parent is?”

Something foul fills my mouth with a horrid taste. Bile. My stomach churns and the face of my father is ever present in my mind. I nod and then turn my gaze to the hard floor. It’s covered in dust and grime; the only changes come from the semi-clean scrapes in the dust where trays of food were shoved beneath the door and then retracted on a string.

The tall boy kneels next to the third. “I’m sorry to ask if it brings up bad memories, but we need to know,” he says. “Who is your God parent?”

“Azai.” The name brings with it a host of unwelcome emotions. Vile, cruel emotions. Anger. Hate. Fear.

There’s a brief moment of silence and the first boy, the one with naturally slitted eyes, sighs. “He’s yours then,” he says.

“Whose?” I glance between them, but neither of them answers. Instead, the answer comes from the final boy.

“You’re ours,” he says, green eyes glittering down as he stands over us. Unlike the other two, his face is void of emotion. In fact, he looks almost bored—as if he could be anywhere else in the world and it wouldn’t matter to him. “You’re the one we’ve been looking for. Azai’s called you. We’re going to the Academy now. It’s time to leave this place.”

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