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Nur gets to his feet. He towers over the boy, but far from being cowed, the human’s grin seems to widen.
“Good luck.” Irvin nods as they leave.
The human boyRhys darts through the camp and Nur does his best to keep up. Shapes and lights spin around him in a storm of activity. A canvas tent flaps in the wind; a dog runs across path with an eager yap; someone stumbles into him.
“Sorry,” the offender says easily, offering him a smile.
Nur can only stare.
In the early days of the King’s reign the Court teemed with demons—beasts snapping at the other’s heels. Nur lived on a knife-edge back then, scars multiplying by the day. It’s difficult to remember he’s not back in that time. His pulse throbs. The noise and chaos batters his mind. It’s not until a hand gently shakes his arm that Nur realizes he’s been standing still for several minutes.
“Are you alright?” the boy asks.
He shakes himself. “I’m unused to being in company.”
The boy laughs as if his worry is that easy to melt away. “I grew up packed shoulder to shoulder in avilla familiaon the riverbank. It’s the opposite for me. Hell, the number of people in this caravan is less than the number of kids on my floor. You’ll get used to it. Everyone adapts to camp fast.”
He urges Nur forward. The hand on his elbow is the least violent touch Nur has known since he last saw Vasia. He lets himself be guided, silent, until they reach the big fire at the center of camp.
A metal pit has been set into the ground, the blaze already roaring. Several tin pots sit around the edge of the pit. The boy shows him to a bench next to the fire.
“You stay here. I’ll get you some boots.” Rhys looks him up and down, frowning. “You must’ve been in the wastes a long time. You’re covered in dust.”
Nur is torn between incredulous amusement and despair. He’s got horns and teeth, for Hell’s sake, doesn’t the boy notice?
Around the fire, humans gather in handfuls. They barely take notice of him as he sits. Not so long ago he was a deadly weapon, feared and hated by all except the King. A thing of nightmares. Demons cowered when he entered a room. It’s beyond strange to hardly be spared a glance.
He turns his gaze to the fire, dazed, but the searing heat of the flame sinks in and shakes loose a sudden fear in his breast.I killed one of them. He gets to his feet with a start, hemmed in. He should go. He should get his dues from the angel and leave?—
Then Rhys is at his elbow again. “Sit, come on. I got some treats. I told you, you’ll get used to it.”
He maneuvers Nur onto the bench. Nur is stronger than ten humans; he could send the boy flying with hardly a twitch.
He lets himself be steered.
“I should find the angel,” he tries, and Rhys’s hand tightens on his arm.
“You’ll want to taste this. It’s a seed ball.” Rhys opens his palm to show Nur two squished lumps that smell faintly sweet.
“A what?”
“It’s made of seeds, spices, and sugar.” Rhys grins. “We’re rationed at a couple per week. I went and grabbed mine early. If you’ve been in the wastes a while, this’ll be real nice.”
Nur’s lip curls back of its own accord—disgust or panic, he doesn’t know. “I don’t eat—I can’t eat that.”
Rhys’s grin fades. “Oh. Well, that’s fine. There’ll be dinner later, if hot mash is more your speed.”
“I don’t eat your food,” Nur says, feeling his scars pull as his expression twists. His stomach squeezes painfully.
A slow, comprehending frown descends on Rhys’s brow.
He looks Nur up and down again, this time more slowly.
That’s right.
From his bare feet to his clawed fingers to the scars on his face all the way up to his horns, he’s Hell-made.
Rhys’s eyes finish their trip and his eyes land on Nur’s mouth, which burns where he gnawed at it. Saliva has pooled on his tongue at the sight of all these bare, healthy human throats with strong pulses. He swallows.
