Author's Note: Above is the City of Zonah. Lovely, huh?
***
Her throat went dry. "He's... gone?"
The woman lifted her thick shoulders. She was surprisingly stout, given the lockdown. "Haven't seen the boy in a few days."
Carissa raked her fingers through her hair, rumpling her braid. "Where could he have gone?"
"Probably took the money you gave him and left." The mole next to the corner of her mouth bounced as she spoke.
Carissa glanced up, and the woman flinched—probably at the unsightly burn. "No, he didn't. He wouldn't. How long has he been gone?"
She shrugged. "Few days."
"How many?"
The woman harrumphed. "How am I supposed to know, eh? I'm not his mother, am I?"
Carissa clenched her trembling fists at her sides to keep from grabbing the woman by her stained collar and shaking her. "Of course not." She pivoted and marched out of the inn—until a fierce ache ignited her ribs. Then she resigned herself to a less-than-impressive shuffle.
Worry pummeled her chest. Where could Hawke possibly have gone? How was she going to find him? She twirled around. Dirty face, cheeks jutting. Rickety wooden stalls. Stores with fogged and cracked glass panes. And there were streets—everywhere. Main roads gushing past buildings. Alleyways slinking around the corners. Hard dirt paths curling around houses.
How would she ever find him?
Carissa slowed her turning, a ragged sigh tearing past her lips. She'd left after Viltus had. He probably thought she was resting at his house. If she appeared in the healing tower, it was more likely he'd order her back to his house than help her search.
Viltus... Just his name was enough to cause a hot twist of anger in her chest, only to cool moments later, leaving her feeling hollow and gutted. She didn't want to think about him right now.
She straightened her figure as best she could, with pain throbbing through her back and chest. She had an entire city to search, so she might as well start.
***
Carissa swayed as she strode down the fifty-seventh alley she'd checked. The sun had sapped the coolness from the morning.
Her vision blurred and she leaned against a building. Her stomach had shriveled so tightly she wasn't sure she'd be able to eat anything even if she had food. She'd remembered what she'd last eaten—a bitter, watery gruel, sprinkled with a few oats—but when had she last eaten? Yesterday? The day before?
Her head ached as fiercely as her body. She needed water. Her tongue felt like a lump of sand paper in her mouth. She hauled in a breath and shoved off the building.
She turned one more alley. Then another. Each step was becoming torture. She was so exhausted she nearly overlooked a lump of tattered cloth pooled by a building. The folds gently rose and fell with soft breaths.
She stumbled nearer. "Hello?"
No answer.
Perhaps a cat had nestled itself beneath the cloth? She lifted the fabric, and a gasp stuck in her throat. "Hawke?"
His lashes fluttered, but his lids didn't lift.
"Hawke!" She knelt and shook his shoulder. His shirt clung to his bony shoulders by shreds. Bruises flecked his cheeks, his lips were scabbed and swollen, and the darkened skin beneath his eyes had puffed up.
Equal parts scalding rage and cool sympathy surged through her, until she was shaking from their force. She would murder whoever had done this. After tending the boy.
She slipped her skin-and-bone arms beneath him. She managed to lift him two inches before his weight became too much. Her trembling was no longer of emotion but weakness.
When the boy plopped back on the ground, he groaned and opened his eyes. "C–Carissa?"
She stroked his grimy hair back. At least she had enough strength to do that. "I'm here."
She wrapped her arms fully around him, until his rank scent embraced her. He smelled even worse than she did. She swallowed thickly. How long had he been out here?
As soon as she hugged him, he released a burst of sobs. Though his tiny chest heaved with each cry, no tears came. How long had it been since he'd had water? Her head ached, and she knew that if she were hydrated, she'd be crying too.
He sniffed and glanced up at her. "My name's not Hawke."
She blinked. "Pardon?"
He settled back against her. "I thought I'd die without anyone that cared about me knowing my real name."
"What is it?"
"Aleck."
Sorrow pinched her chest, and she hugged him tighter. Until a sharp piercing in her rib forced her to loosen her grip. "Why did you tell me your name was Hawke?"
"Hawke is a noble name, a name worthy of a mighty bird. And—" his throat bobbed "—I didn't want to trust you yet."
"Why?"
His lips pinched, forming a tight seal. Finally, his words escaped. "Last time I trusted someone, it didn't work out so well. They became my friends purely so they could betray me."
His tone had a note of finality too it, and she knew she'd learn no more of the situation. Not yet. She sighed. With his icy grip on his emotions and his past, he seemed far older than he actually was. "How have you become so jaded at six?"
His nostrils flared. "Eight. I'm eight years old."
Perhaps she was wrong about him seeming older... "And what happened, Haw—Aleck?"
His shoulders slumped. "Aleck better suits me anyway. Hawke is a strong name for a strong man." He clenched his tiny fists. "There were only two of them, and I didn't even land a punch."
"Two?" She turned him to face her. "Who?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I was wandering the streets—"
She squinted at him. "Don't you remember what I told you about wandering the streets alone?"
He folded his arms. "I was trying to find employment, Carissa. Honest. I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not."
He shrugged her response off. "Anyhow, they took the money you'd given me. I tried my best to take it back. I thought if I kept trying to go after them and fight them—"
"You pursued them after they took the money? Aleck."
"I couldn't let them just take your money!" He huffed. "So then they decided to beat me until I couldn't rise."
When she found those men, she'd beat them until they couldn't rise. "And you've been here since?"
He squinted and glanced down the alley. "I'm... not sure. I don't remember much of what happened after."
She sighed. "Well, we'd best get you home."
He glanced up at her and winced.
That's right. He didn't have a home. "Viltus is gone now. We'll tend you at his house, and... I'll find somewhere for you to stay. I promise." She struggled to her feet and offered him a hand.
His jaw clenched. "I... I'm not very good at walking. I tried at first."
"I'll help you." She slung his arm around her neck.
Together they staggered forward a dozen steps. Her ribs didn't appreciate the added weight. They flared angrily, frothing with pain and heat. Her breaths came in screeching gasps. Gradually, Aleck seemed to grow heavier and heavier. After a few more steps, he was swaying, barely supporting his own weight.
Hawk—Aleck whimpered from her side. "Carissa. I can't."
His body sagged. She stumbled forward, pain so thick she could hardly think past it. Moisture streamed down her face. She glugged a few mouthfuls of air, but it hardly seemed enough. She crashed to her knees, then slumped against a nearby building.
She held the boy close. Once they were rested, they'd take another few steps. Her chest tightened. She held her breath and shoved her feelings back into the recesses of her heart. If she started sobbing, the ache in her ribs would become unbearable, and they'd be unable to walk for longer still.
One emotion bobbed to the surface, eclipsing the others: Hatred. Its fire gushed through her chest and poured into her mind. Its bitter taste scalded her tongue.
Hatred towards the King for allowing this poverty. Hatred towards Viltus for not loving her. And hatred towards herself, for being too weak to do anything. Her legs were too weak to support Aleck. Her arms were too weak to lift him. And her heart was the weakest of all. It had allowed her to trust where she ought not.
Carissa expelled another ragged breath to calm herself. Once she had tended the boy, she decided she'd be weak no more. She'd do whatever was it took to make up for her weakness.
Whatever it took.
***
Evening cast the buildings in a swirl of gold and shadows. She stumbled the last few steps and slammed her fist against Viltus' door.
It swung open. "Carissa, I've been—" Viltus' gaze shot down to Aleck, and he went deathly silent.
Carissa straightened as much as she could, though fierce pain wracked her body. Aleck had needed her help, and she wouldn't apologize for bringing him.
After a long moment, Viltus swung the door open wider and stepped aside to admit them entrance. Carissa guided the boy to the bed, where he collapsed.
The door rattled shut. Then Viltus' warmth was at her back. "He can't stay."
She whipped around, and the room wobbled like a tipsy drunk.
Viltus grasped her upper arms until she steadied, concern flickering in his gaze. "Maybe you should—"
She shook her head and shoved off of him. "If he leaves, so do I."
Viltus' lips tightened. "I can't afford both of you."
"Then care for him alone."
"He's been surviving on the streets most of his life. You, on the other hand—"
"I'll learn to survive too."
"You'll survive... like that?" He gestured to her body.
She arched her eyebrows. "You mean as a hideous monster?"
Color flushed his cheeks. "I didn't mean—" His sigh rumbled into a growl. "I was referring to how damaged you are. The boy can heal himself."
She shrugged. "I don't plan on living much longer anyhow."
Panic streaked across his expression. "Carissa!"
"You know it's true. Not with the lockdown in a city like Zonah. Despite careful cleaning, it's only a matter of time before I'm invaded with a disease or infection I can't overcome. And wouldn't you rather tend an innocent boy than a hideous monster?"
Viltus squeezed his eyes shut, massaging his forehead with his fingers. "I was upset, Carissa. You're not hideous." He lowered his hands. "We can not keep him, and I refuse to trade you for him."
"You don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice, and I've made mine." Viltus turned his gaze to the tiny, crumpled form on the cot. "Perhaps Garma would house him."
He stepped forward, but Carissa seized the front his cloak. "No, Viltus." She sucked in her pride and anger. "Please. It's just for tonight."
"And then what?"
"I'll find employment and house him elsewhere."
His brows shot up.
"I will. I promise." She gave into the buckling of her knees and fell against him. He wouldn't deny a damsel in distress, would he? She slipped her arms around his neck.
He released a slow breath, and his arms wrapped around her waist—gently, so as not to disturb her whiplashes or her broken rib. "Very well, Carissa. For tonight. But where will you sleep?"
"On the floor like you do, of course."
Viltus pursed his lips but nodded. "If that's how you wish it."
"It is." She used the bench for support as she lowered herself, pain piercing her chest.
Viltus slipped his hands beneath her arms and lowered her the rest of the way. Then he whipped off his robe and tucked it beneath her.
Carissa laid back, her breaths slowing as the pain ebbed. "Could you bring me the basin? I'd like to wash a little."
Viltus nodded and brought the basin to her a moment later, water sloshing beneath its rim. He set it down next to her and handed her a wadded rag. It unraveled a bit more with each use, and it was incredible there were enough threads to hold the cloth together.
She dipped it into the shallow water and scrubbed her face. As she dipped the rag to her neck, she caught Viltus' gaze. "You need something?" Mere days ago, his attention would have flattered, but now it caused her to bristle. She wasn't going to allow him access to her heart again so easily.
"Do you need help?"
"I'm quite alright. Thank you." The words felt stiff on her tongue.
He nodded, inched towards the hearth, and curled onto his side.
When she'd finished with the rag, she dropped it back into the basin and settled against Viltus' cloak. Goosebumps prickled her skin. If only she'd lain down closer to the fire, but moving without Viltus' help would be far too painful.
She forced her eyes shut. The chill dove deeper into her bones—her skin no more insulating her than paper—and the floor was mercilessly hard, even with Viltus' cloak. She eyed Viltus with envy. How did he sleep so peacefully without even a cloak?
She tried using her arms to cushion her head, but one was gashed and the other burnt. She shifted, trying to position herself so the floor didn't press so hard against her wounded back or broken rib. She sealed her lips as she moved, lest a gasp or whimper escape. Each second was sheer agony. It seemed she'd pushed herself too far in one day.
There was a sigh, a rustle of clothing, and then Viltus rose. He knelt by her side.
With the dying firelight, she couldn't even see the glimmer of his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
He snorted. "Well, you weren't very quiet, Carissa. The boy must be tired indeed to sleep through your restlessness." He slipped his arms under her, and though his movements were slow, pain shuddered through her.
He set her in front of the hearth, tucked his robe beneath her, and settled beside her. She was comfortably tucked into the crook of his arm, her head resting beneath his shoulder. He was a good deal more comfortable than the floor.
"Better?" His whisper warmed her cheek.
"Much."
His actions tempted her heart to love him as she once had, but she knew better. She might as well enjoy the peace between them while it lasted, for tomorrow she would investigate two different ways to escape her predicament.
And Viltus wouldn't like either.