More questions danced on my tongue, but shouts and loud banging rang out from the other building. The soldiers had discovered the frozen door.
Worry flooded the boy’s eyes as he looked toward the sound.
Tyrin rushed to my side.
“We are leaving,” I said to the boy. “You may join us if you wish to leave this place.”
“I’m sure as hell not staying.” He dropped to his knees,removed the mittens from the nearest guard, and pulled them on. Expression still wary, he followed us out of the building, wincing in pain at every step.
We made it to the tree line before the metal door exploded outward and flew a dozen feet, slamming into the opposite building.
Guards spilled out, and the boy spun, ripping off his mittens and flinging out his hands. Lightning shot through the air and into the chests of two of the four remaining guards. I froze the air around the other two, encasing them in ice.
The boy swayed, then crumpled, his power spent. I caught him before he could hit the ground. His pulse fluttered weakly beneath my fingers, and his breathing was shallow and ragged.
Tyrin scooped up the discarded mittens and forced them back onto the boy’s hands. “We need to make haste, m’lord,” he said.
I threw the boy over my shoulder, and we ran.
A LITTLE SPARK WON'T HURT
Arioch
The boy woke with a start when I lowered him onto the floor at the portal station.
His fearful gaze snapped to mine, and he shuffled backward, hitting the wall with an oomph.
“Steady.” I showed him my empty hands. “We are not here to hurt you.”
His gaze shot from me to Tyrin at the terminal. “Who are you?”
“Lord Arioch Scylla, but you can call me Arioch.”
My húskarl had long ago abandoned his surname and title, so he offered only what he could. “Tyrin.”
“What are you doing here?” The boy shook his head. “Why save me?”
“As for your first question, we are searching for something.”
The boy’s scrutiny only increased. “The machine?”
“No. We are searching for an artifact that was stolen from my home.”
“Okay. But why’d you save me? Wait.” He perked up. “Did my nansend you?”
“No one sent us, but when we heard your cries, we had to intervene. Children should be cherished and protected. Not tortured.”
“I’m sixteen.”
He spoke as though his age somehow invalidated my concern, when it did precisely the opposite. “Yes. A child. What they were doing to you is unconscionable.” I assessed his gaunt frame. “When did you last eat?”
He frowned and shook his head. “I dunno. What exactly do you want from me?”
“Want?” Shaking my head, I looked to Tyrin, but he appeared as confused as I felt. “I am the lord of a manor. I want for nothing.”
When his expression remained unconvinced, I retrieved a rasher of salted meat from my pack and offered it to him. He lifted it to his nose, sniffed, and gave me a wary look even as his stomach growled in response.
His distrust was understandable; however, I could count his ribs through his filthy, tattered tunic. The boy needed calories. Plucking the meat from his hand, I took a bite and handed it back.
