Page 6 of Ryld's Shadows
Chapter Two
From the time he was a small child, Ryld could remember people staring at him. Some with curiosity, many with revulsion or fear, a very few with pity. All, he was certain, did not know or did not care that he recognized the nuances of the emotions that filled their eyes. What he hadn’t known was why. His coloration was unusual, and he was smaller than any other drow he knew, save for perhaps some of the females. But he was still a drow just like any other, or so he’d believed.
For all that he had not understood why he garnered such interest from other children and adults alike, he had never been invited or encouraged to integrate into any social circles, nor was he the subject of an undue amount of cruelty. Not deliberate cruelty from those uninvolved in his upbringing at least.
Part of the drow maturation process involved a great deal of social positioning, cunning maneuvering and biting treachery. Actually, those carried into adulthood for the drow, just on a more devastating scale. Ryld had been excluded from all of it. If any dared to break from the ranks of agreed ostracism imposed on him, they were swiftly brought back in line by their peers with hissing whispers behind hands or sharp reprimands from adults. The isolation had driven him to despair.
In those years, he could not have conceived a time he would have preferred that isolation. Would never have dreamed he’d longnotto be corralled and directed. Would not have believed for a moment that a series of casual touches and a hand on his arm guiding him would feel so unwelcome and intrusive. By the time he and Cress had exited the subway a few blocks from AURA, Ryld’s skin was crawling and the shifting shadows at the edges of his vision had grown from small spiders to tiny lizards. He ignored them, as well as Cress’ hand pulling him along, and the stares of the people they passed.
At least now he knew the stares were not because of the color of his skin and hair and eyes. The people who lived in this city were used to the strange and unusual. If he had to guess, probably the brightness of his choice of garments against the dusty gray of his skin made them glance his way. Or maybe just the way Cress dragged him along while he was trying to focus on a hundred other more interesting things calling his attention.
Humans had an endless variety of garments. Colors so vivid he could get lost in the dyed fabrics for hours. The textures were every bit as varied, and Ryld spent as much time as he was allowed collecting as many different types as he could. Today he wore a long shirt in a fabric so light it floated and clung with his movements. The fuchsia color almost made his eyes water if he looked at it too intently. The feel of it against his skin had made him want to wear nothing else, but Cress had insisted he must wear trousers of some sort. In order not to ruin the feel of the shirt too badly, he had chosen dark, close-fitting trousers in a fabric that sucked to his lower half like a second skin and could stretch in every direction he moved. He was still not convinced they were named yoga pants because people wore them during the activity, rather than named after the way they stretched just like the people doing the activity itself.
Ryld noticed the way Cress lowered his shoulders and his posture went from leaning forward to more upright, the grip on his arm loosening fractionally as they entered the elevator that would bring them to the floor where Counseling was located. Did he relax because they were in a building filled with people capable ofdealing withRyld if there wasa scene? Or was it because Cress knew he’d soon be rid of Ryld for an afternoon?Probably both.
When Cress first had taken the job as his minder, Ryld had been polite, but encouraged no familiarity. He had already made the mistake twice, believing his minder would become his friend. It was the third one, Thomas, who had told him being his minder was a job, and they were not going to be friends. He was glad Thomas had told him. Now that he knew the social structure, it was easier to stay within it, and he didn’t have to try so hard not to make his minders uncomfortable.
Cress still had hold of his arm as they went through an archway into the reception area. He halted in the center of the room. Two corridors led in opposite directions from this room. The one on the right led to Counseling, but Ryld had learned they must wait until they were told to go down the hallway before doing so.
There were several people already waiting, some standing, some sitting in chairs, some chatting and some tapping on electronic devices.So clever those devices.He coveted them with an intensity rivaling his passion for brightly colored clothing. So far he had not been able to obtain one.
“Ryld. Ryld.”
A loud snap of fingers directly in front of his face made him involuntarily bare his teeth, although he did manage not to snarl. He immediately stopped, forcing his lips closed and focusing on Cress. He had been told humans were unsettled by the pointiness of his eyeteeth for some reason. Not that there were many humans in the room. Were there any at all?
“Ryld! Pay attention. Stay here.”
He stared at Cress, and Cress stared back until Ryld shifted his gaze away.
“Stay,” he said again.
Cress walked away, and Ryld stood where he had been left. Sometimes when he was told to remain in a location it was acceptable for him to move as long as he stayed within a given parameter. However, Cress seemed particularly unsettled today, and Ryld thought it best to stay exactly where placed rather than call after his retreating back to ask where the arbitrary boundary might be.
* * * *
Generally, Hank tried to mind his own business when he was in the AURA building. Crossovers in various states of adjustment, employees doing all sorts of important or mysterious things, cops pelting down a hallway—none of these things were his business.
But it was hard to ignore the little guy in his fuchsia tunic. Impossible, actually, since even out of the corner of his eye, the color beat a tattoo against histerabinheadache.
Not the little guy’s fault. At first, Hank thought he was a kid, maybe a teenage drow, but when he turned his head…No, definitely adult. And the elf with him, his keeper, his prison guard, his…something, was being a complete asshole.
If someone had snapped their fingers in front of Hank’s face like that? Well. He wasn’t a violent person, but it would still have been tempting to bite a couple off.
Now Mr. Fuchsia just stood there, rooted to the spot, like he wasn’t allowed to even take a seat or anything. Some instinct drew Hank up from his own chair despite his headache, and he approached slowly, not wanting to appear threatening.
“Um, hi.”Good. Great opening. “Are you okay? Ryld, was it? Was that guy—do you need help?”
Large blue eyes blinked slowly at him. Not a human shade of blue, more like…cyan or something. From a distance they probably looked all one shade, no iris, no pupil, just a solid blue, but up close Hank could make out a faint darker ring of blue within the blue that suggested an iris, and an even darker point at their center.
“I am okay. Yes, my name is Ryld. I don’t need any help. Thank you. Are you here for counseling?”
All right. Counseling. They wouldn’t let anything bad happen to the little guy—to Ryld—and they’d know if someone was abusing him, right? Hank summoned up a smile. “No. Not today. I’m here to get some calcium supplements.”
Ryld stared at him, unblinking now. He was so still it was almost eerie, then his hands twitched, just a little bit. “Are you an orc?” His blank face became more animated with the question.
Anger prickled at Hank’s spine since he’d just about had all the racist crap he could take in twenty-four hours, but there was something so sincere, so open about the question that Hank wasn’t at all sure Ryld knew what he was saying.
“Um. I’m half-goblin, if that’s what you mean.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You really can’t go around saying that to people. Someone might punch you.”
