Dead Men Tell No Tales || Kit + Ty

Chapter One

Kit heard the men outside before he saw them. He looked for his dad in the darkness of the barn on the city outskirts that they had broken into to sleep in that night, and felt a sense of mild relief. Jonathan Rook was on his knees, in the one corner of the barn where moonlight managed to penetrate the darkness, praying quietly aloud to the Angels.
"Father? What-"
The man jumped, as if he had forgotten his son was there with him. Maybe he had. Johnny didn't seem to care much for his son, Kit thought it was clear. Maybe that's what living on the streets did to a man, but Kit was sure his father blamed him for his mother's disappearance.
"This isn't the time Kit, if there's one time you'll ever shut the fuck up it needs to be now," Johnny hissed as he grabbed his son, digging his nails into his shoulder. Kit winced but didn't make a sound. His father let go, satisfied.
"There's some shit you need to know, okay?" Kit nodded, and Johnny continued.
"You aren't a Rook. Your surname is Herondale, from your mother. Rosemary. Remember the name. Remember her. But you can't tell anyone else that. Take it to the grave. My biggest secret was always you."
The voices outside grew closer. Johnny Rook's hands started shaking, and he grabbed Kit's arms.
"Your name is Christopher Jonathan Herondale. If they find out, they'll kill you. If anyone asks you, forget about your mother and I, say you've been alone for as long as you can remember. Then you'll be safe. You need to go now," He paused, scanning his eyes over his sons face- knowing it would be the last time he saw it, "I can't come with you. I'm sorry. I should've told you sooner, I knew this would happen one day. You're smart. You'll work it all out with time."
Johnny turned from Kit, and lifted a small sack. He placed it in his son's hands. Kit looked down at it, his brow furrowing. Johnny tilted Kit's head up towards him with one of his fingers.
"Look at me Kit. You know where we slept last week? The place near where we found the apple tree? Kit nodded, Johnny continued, "Go there now. Stay there tonight. Tomorrow come back here for the rest of our stuff."
Kit spoke, the first verbal response to any of this news, "How will I survive?"
"Go to Hypatia, the woman who runs the market. She's an old friend of your mother and I, she knows who you are. If you run errands she'll pay you in food or money- and she'll teach you to read and write. Anything else you need you steal. Just like I taught you."
Johnny looked down at his son with sad eyes. He wished he had done better, had been nicer. Most kids would be hysterical in this situation. Kit's eyes were sad and cloudy with tears, but he kept his face blank and void of emotion. Johnny scanned Kit over. He was lanky- tall, but too thin. His cloth shirt was hanging off him, and torn around the wrists. His brown breeches were faded and there were holes in the knees. But he knew his son would be an attractive boy with time, and combining that with his charming attitude and cunning nature- Johnny hoped his boy would survive.
He sighed, and pulled Kit in for a hug. Kit hugged him tight with all the strength he had, as if that was enough to keep Johnny close to him.

The moment was ruined by the footsteps outside being almost directly in front of the door. Kit could understand the voices now- oddly accented, as if the speakers were as old as the hills themselves.
Johnny pushed Kit out the back gate in a hurry. He whispered softly in his ear, "Good luck, son of mine. May the Angels watch down and guide you through this path. Goodbye, until the day we meet again." Johnny pushed Kit away, turned, and hurried back inside.
Kit moved away, hiding behind a bush. Far enough not to be seen, but close enough to hear all. He couldn't leave his father now. He wanted to listen.

"Well, well, well," An unknown voice spoke from inside the barn. "Johnathan Rook. You know, you're pretty hard to track down."
"What the fuck do you want from me, Rider."
Kit's eyes widened. He had heard of them. Despite being nine years old, he knew enough to want to get far, far away from them- people told children stories about the Riders to encourage them to behave.
The Riders of Mannan were not the sort of people you wanted looking for you- they were the most infamous and dangerous assassins of the hidden kingdom- Faerie.
Another voice spoke from inside. "Ah, so you've heard of us?"
"The Riders of Mannan- Karn, Etarlam, Eochaid, Delan, Airmed, Fal, and lastly, Ethna- the lone female." Kit presumed he was pointing at each in turn.
A female voice, Ethna, spoke. "Your knowledge cannot save you, Johnny Rook. Or is it Jack Crow? Or a different name altogether?"
"What does it matter, when you found me in the end."
"You seem so calm for a man who's about to die."
"Rosemary warned me that one day you would come for me too. Though she never told me why."
"The betrothed of the First Heir or any descendent may lay claim to the thrones of Faerie," Ethna hissed.
"I can assure you, I don't fucking want it," Johnny snorted, "Neither did Rosemary."
Another, new, voice spoke up, "You're resigned to your fate, don't worry, you'll join her soon. Oh, how lucky you and Rosemary were never to have a child."
"And why is that?" Johnny asked.
"The child would be killed, just as your beloved was, and as her ancestors were before her. The magic in the blood of the child could never save it without training."
Kit felt himself pale. He scrambled up as quickly and silently as he could, with the knowledge that they would kill him without hesitation.
And he ran.
He ran as fast as he could, pretending he couldn't hear his father's screams and the noises of sword against bone coming from the barn behind him.
He swore to himself, in that moment, that he would train. He would protect himself. Incase the riders ever find him.
He would be ready.
He paused and turned back to the barn once he thought he was a safe distance away, inclining his head towards where he knew his father now lay, before continuing towards the centre of Alicante.
Ave atque vale, Jonathan Rook. Hail and farewell.