Lone Gold, Daring Purple ✓ | Sorcerers, framed, runaway

29: Not alone, gold.

A few hours later, Cypur's escape plan was finalized. The cargo policeships would come in minutes before sunrise. The plan was to steal away with one. Didn't matter what race they were from. Policeship could be hacked and programmed to fly wherever.

"Even to Earth," Marchis said with a teasing grin. Brenda rolled her eyes.

As for the collar that was now making Cypur's skin underneath sweat and itch, a skinny man with blue eyes said he couldn't take it off. What he could do was program it to naturally come off once Cypur left jail atmosphere. It was the way the technology worked. Almost like magick.

At last, Brenda and the skinny man left to go to bed. Cypur's mind buzzed with all the events that happened today. Although he couldn't be sure if it was all in the same day. Time could work differently between Rings as well. He had no idea how long he'd been away from home.

Or how long it's been since my capture. He bit his lip and leaned back on his hands. The rough rock scratched his palm, but not enough to draw blood. Staring at the unhealing scratch marks he wondered if Wescherlie was still free. Who would save a Rauvuren? Making a fist, he knew wherever she was, he would get her free.

And then there was the small matter of Cypur's biological father. If Charmteller really was trying to help, he wasn't doing a good job. The golden magick being suppressed was the worst idea yet. It probably made the magick that much more explosive when it came out. So, all those murders would be Charmteller's fault.

Adopt me out if you don't want me but don't tamper with my magick. Cypur bristled and hugged his knees up to his chin, feeling the warmth of the fire on his face.

Marchis cleared his throat. "What's the legal age for drinks?"

Cypur turned his head, resting his cheek on his knees. "Fourteen. When puberty hits and we start slow-aging. I'm fifteen."

"Ya tried scotch?" Marchis held out a wooden cup. "Have a sniff."

Cypur sat up and sniffed the contents. His head jerked back. The alcohol sprung up his nostrils like a full army attack. "Oh, starlights!" He recoiled and handed the drink back. That was not going in his throat. Marchis laughed.

"He said the same thing. Well, not starlights. That's a Sorcerer thing. Said, fuu-shit. Human slang prob'ly, not all too common in your neck o' the woods, eh?" Marchis tipped the cup back and made a face. "Fuu-shit! Yeah, that's the stuff," he said.

As Marchis sat staring at the fire, he fingered that gem at the end of his chain. Cypur wanted to ask, but then he shoved the thought away. This was a Human, a kind he thought he related to, but he didn't anymore. And whatever problems this Human was going through, being in jail for life, it wasn't something Cypur should be thinking about.

It's not my business. He tried to forget, but the questions of what the gem was and if Marchis had a child and why Marchis was in for life, all sat at the tip of his tongue. It was only a matter of time before one of the questions popped out.

"Hard to believe," Marchis broke the silence, "a nice male like ya ends up here."

Silence hung in the air between them. Cypur rubbed his arms. Unease pitted in his stomach, but the want to defend himself triumphed. "I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't kill anyone," He hissed. "The police," He paused, uncertain if he should even be saying this much to a Human. But what did it matter? Marchis couldn't do anything with it.

With a sigh, he continued. "The police are corrupt. Oppressing us. Can't be who you really are. Sorcerer society is broken because of them."

"The police, eh?" Firelight danced on Marchis' face. He clicked his tongue and patted Cypur on the head. "I stopped believin' in the greats. The gods, spirits, what have ya. But maybe yer the start of something. A change in this old world. Maybe ya will find, say, a ripple made. Maybe you started something new."