Page 9 of The Lost Prince
I stuffed the rag in my pocket and hurried away.
A whistle sounded, shrieking so loudly it even woke the brute on the top bunk. I pushed M through the crowd of boys swelling in the narrow corridor, wanting to put as many other bodies between us and the large bully as I could.
“Form a line and prepare to present yourselves for breakfast.” Vession stood just behind the threshold of our dormitory, flanked by two Fireguards, dark eyes already watching and observing.
Ah, so this was a test of sorts?
The other noble boys flocked together, sending suspicious glances my way. My instincts wanted to plead and bargain for acceptance into their ranks.
And yet …
They held no power here. The stench of fear wafted off these boys with their fine clothing, and I knew instinctively it wouldn’t be worth my time to throw in my lot with them.
These mud boys were unruly. They were uncivilized. They were brutes responsible for the throbbing in my face.
But one of them had been kind to me, even risking his own safety by openly siding with me. What did he have to gain by doing so?
“Come.”
The boys shuffled in a rough line out the door, the Nobles up front, me, M, then the rest of the mud boys. Once we crossed the threshold back into the dining hall, the line split as the boys ran to roughly the same spots they sat at yesterday for our meal.
I hesitated at the entrance, mud boys pushing past me and bumping my shoulder to get to the table as fast as possible.
“Move, runt.”
Hands pushed into my back and I flew forward, smashing face-first into the stone floor.
Or I would have had not thin arms reached out and yanked me back, breaking my fall as the two of us went to the ground in a tangle of gangly limbs. The large boy laughed openly at the two of us on the ground and sat down at his table with a bunch of other mud boys.
Red faced, I stood and tried to brush the dust off my clothes.
M hopped up easily as if getting knocked on his bottom was a routine occurrence.
“B is always like that. Best to stay out of his way.”
Tell him thank you. He saved your face from breaking completely. That’s twice, and all before breakfast.
The words stuck in my dry mouth. Clearing my throat, I held out my hand. “Thanks.”
M stared at my hand suspiciously, so I put it behind my head and smoothed my hair, as if I’d meant to do that the entire time.
“What do I call you?” M asked me.
What do I call you?He didn’t ask my name. Did mud boys have names?
“Zephyr,” I managed, finally remembering my manners.
His eyes lit mischievously. “Zeh-ffer. It’s so long! I like it.”
I supposed it was a long name when compared to ‘B’ or ‘M.’ Did all the mud boys go by letters? Surely, there were more of them than letters in the alphabet. I’d have to ask M later, when all eyes weren’t on us.
“Come on. I can’t believe they’re giving us more food!”
I followed as M bounded down to a half-filled table of mud boys. Hesitating beside it, I realized a choice was being made.
If I sat down with these mud boys, I was all but declaring my allegiance to them, and confirming to the noble boys that I wasn’t one of them.
I hated the thought of proving them right, and I wanted nothing to do with B or any of his ilk.
