The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 26

The moon has waned but the small slivers of leftover light filter in between the bedroom curtains. A cool breeze wafts through the open window and tickles my bare shoulders. I am propped up on one elbow in Will's bed, my fingers rhythmically stroking the scars on his back.

"Your father gave you these." It isn't a question. In the dim light, I feel rather than see the raised welts covering every part of his back from neck to hips.

He lifts his head and repositions himself so he is looking up at me. "I was a difficult kid."

"I have no doubt."

He chuckles softly as he brushes my lips with his thumb.

I wait a beat before pressing further. "What happened?" I want to hear his story in his words.

He sighs, not saying anything for a moment, his eyes searching mine. "Do you really want to hear the sad tale of a spoiled courtier?"

"I have all night."

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, but not up into the grin that I know so well. I see his brow furrow and feel a tug in my chest as I register his nerves.

I place my hand over his, resting them both against my cheek. "What is it?" I whisper.

"I don't want you to think less of me," he says plainly.

I respond by turning my head and kissing his palm, revelling in its warmth against my face as I wait. I know he will speak when he is ready.

Will sighs and arranges himself so that he is looking up at the ceiling. I lie down next to him, cushioned between his arm and torso.

"My father raised me to be the best courtier I could be," he begins, matter of factly. "He wanted me to understand wholeheartedly that there was us and then there was them. Our ancestors were among the first to arrive in the City and we were therefore better, smarter, and more deserving of our station. Commoners were less fortunate underlings meant to serve us."

I can hear the bitterness in his voice and force myself to bite my tongue and listen patiently.

"On some level, I knew it was wrong, but I was punished whenever I raised a question."

At this, he pauses meaningfully and I feel a painful lurch. I lightly touch a particularly gruesome scar peeking around his ribcage. He gives a slight inhale at the contact but remains perfectly still.

"He beat you?"

"After a while, the lesson began to sink in."

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and folds his arms under his head, waiting as I settle myself against his shoulder. From this position, I can hear his heart beating steadily.

"We lived in a big house filled with servants." I lift my head from its reclined position to see him looking at me. "I'm sure you can imagine the way my father treated them."

I wrinkle my nose at the memory of pulling Will's father off the maid.

"I was such a selfish prick then, Kay. I would never hurt anyone; I wasn't as bad as that, but I really believed I was better than the commoners. I was a bully. I demanded that they serve me hand and foot, and when my orders weren't met, I berated them." He runs a hand over his face.

I furrow my brow, trying to imagine passionate, determined Will as a spoiled brat. Try as I might, I can't conjure up the image.

"So, what happened?" I ask.

"I became an ugly, bitter person. My father and I began to argue more frequently and the beatings became worse. It got to a point where we were fighting every day. The idea of being anywhere near my father filled me with such revulsion that I would make excuses to be out of the house whenever I could. I hung around the bars and opium dens, loafing about with my friends and leaving my mother and sister to deal with my father on their own. Eventually, home became so unbearable that I signed up for a term in the King's guard just so I could get away."