Page 20 of The Goddesses' Gifts

“What’s his name?” I asked through clenched teeth.

He just shrugged. “He’s not old enough to be given one yet.”

My face twisted in disgust. This child, this person, was nobody to them. Nothing. Nameless, faceless in the dark. Even my shitty mother had given me a name …

Rage simmered under my heated skin while vague plans for escape and mischief hardened into deadly resolve. This manipulation on Dulanzo’s part might work for him in the short term, but I would make him regret the day he’d given me such terrible motivation.

I took a pair of deep breaths in an attempt to cool my temper and reminded myself it would be unwise to take things out on the person willing to give me supplies.

“Food,” I said abruptly. “Bring us food, please.” I paused and realized I needed to put my name in his ear before I became nobody as well. It would become the first thing I did upon meeting a new face here. “You can call me Ozanna. Ozanna Black,” I offered. “What’s your name?”

I couldn’t see the details of his face to read his expression, but he paused before answering. “Tugnol.”

Tugnol stepped back into the corridor and shut the door. I heard the click of the lock and the child let out a deep breath, relaxing against me. Perhaps he was young enough to not be so separated from his nature. Or maybe he was just too weak to do more than collapse into the little bit of warmth and shelter I offered him. I rocked from foot to foot as I’d observed some women do, my fingers stroking over the back of his dirty scalp. It felt surprisingly natural after a few heartbeats. There was a sense of familiarity about the boy, which was odd since I couldn’t even see him. It didn’t make sense, so I dismissed the peculiar feeling and shushed him despite his silence. “It’s okay, little one. It’s okay. I have you now. I’ll gut the next asshole that tries that shit on you.”

Was that something one ought to say to a small child? Mother above, how the hell was I going to take care of him here? Small blessing that he wasn’t a fragile infant.

The child wiggled in my grasp and said something I couldn't understand in the sweetest little voice. He leaned back and I loosened my grip to give him space. From the way his body shifted, I thought he might be looking at me. I caught the faint flash of light in his eyes and decided he was examining my face. Gentle little fingers caressed my cheek and tentatively pulled a lock of my damp hair. I must have looked odd to him with my pale skin and dark hair. He spoke again, though it sounded like he was asking a question.

“I’m sorry, little one, I can’t understand you,” I replied despite knowing it was unlikely he could understand me. He repeated himself. “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

With nothing else to offer I simply rubbed his back and started humming a lullaby. It was an ancient tune that the matrons used to sing to the very young children in the Order dormitory. The little fellow sighed and snuggled into my shoulder. I sat down on the bed and just held him, stroking his back, warming his chilled skin while we waited for his clothes.

I couldn’t have been much older than this child when my mother gave me away. So small. So alone. So vulnerable. Gods, I was so damn lucky she’d taken me to the Order. While they didn’t love me, the Order matrons had been kind. At least I’d been fed and educated. Given a purpose I was well suited for, even if it wasn’t one of my choosing. My mother could have just turned me loose on the streets or even sold me. Perhaps her decision to give me to the Order had been made with love after all.

Someone, not Zelfek or Tugnol, returned with more towels and a small brown shirt. I took my stinky little friend directly to the wash basin which I hadn’t bothered to empty yet.

The child squeaked in protest at the temperature when I plopped him in the water. “I know. I’m sorry little one, we’ll get this done quickly.” I set to sudsing up the washcloth and scrubbed him head to toe, then rinsed him under a stream of fresh water. He shivered by the time I got him wrapped in a towel. The shirt they’d left for him was a little large and covered him down to the knee, but it wasn’t warm. We’d have to get cuddled up under the blankets. My shirt reeked from where he’d rested against me earlier, so much that I didn’t want to climb into bed with it on. There was no telling how often I’d get fresh linens and I’d just changed these. So I slid into the one I’d hand rinsed the day before. It was stiff and smelled a little of blood, but it was better than my new smelly shirt.

Little arms wrapped around my neck as I curled around him under the blankets. His shivering tapered off and he eventually started wiggling and chattering to himself. I had hoped he would nap a little bit, but I had no idea what time of day it was or what kind of schedule these elves kept. So when he cupped my cheeks with his hands and tried to maneuver my head to look at my ears, I decided it was just time to get up. I called my light and examined my new friend.

The child had massive garnet eyes and short white hair, like dandelion fluff. His pointed ears didn’t seem to be the same proportion as the adults, much shorter, almost petite. Despite being terribly thin, he was just adorable.

The child spoke and pointed at the gentle glowing orb at the tip of my finger. I opened my mouth to remind him I couldn’t understand, but sighed and shrugged my shoulders instead. He reached toward my pitiful little light with his tiny hands and … took it from me. I blinked.

“How’d you do that?”

He rolled it around in his palm like a pebble and chattered away, as if he were trying to explain what he was doing. Then he cupped it in both hands before lifting it up and offering it to the ceiling. It grew twice its size and the color changed from candle flame to a white blue. Then he hurled it upward, where it hovered. I grinned up at it in wonder.

“I know what to call you,” I said with a broad grin. One of the dormitory matrons sometimes told us a story about a little elf boy that captured the sun for a trickster demon, causing the first winter solstice. Realizing his error, the clever child freed the sun from its cage to bring back spring. His name was … “Oshruli. I will call you Oshruli. I suppose Lobikno can change it if he doesn’t like it, but I have to call you something. Hm?”

Oshruli startled and his face lit at the sound of Lobikno’s name. “Ahba?”

“Lobikno? Is he your Ahba?” Papa, Dada, Ahba … some things were unmistakable despite language barriers, I supposed. Like swearing.

“Ahba!” Oshruli nodded and smiled at me for the first time. He had Lobikno’s rarely seen smile and one dimple, which made me grin back at him.

I placed a palm against my collar bones. “Ozanna.” I repeated it a few times. He finally said it after me, though it was more like Osh-anna, which was fine.

I then tapped his chest and said his name repeatedly. He pronounced it clearly, though he didn’t seem to understand how it related to him.

“Lobikno,” I said.

“Ahba,” he nodded.

“Dulanzo,” I said, twisting my face into an exaggeration of disgust. “Yuck!”

He giggled and made a sound that could have been retching.

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