by E E Rawls
Aken reached out to touch the bunny’s ears. “She must’ve loved you very much.”
“Yep. The only person who ever did. This was the first thing she made for me. And the necklace is just something she used to wear a lot, because her hair was bright red and it made the color stand out... I guess she was proud of it.” She chuckled. “Maybe I should be, too.”
Aken nodded, “Red hair is awesome.” His lips hesitated a fraction, as if searching for the appropriate words, before asking: “Do you have many memories of her?”
Memories. Cyrus swallowed to keep her voice even. “I remember her hair—my hand reaching out to touch it. It was long, and I think I mistook it for spaghetti once and tried to eat it.”
“Pfft—” Aken laughed into the edge of the bed. His reaction made her chuckle, too.
She failed to mention the other memory she had of Mother, though—a memory or a dream. Of red hair, a woman running, overwhelming fear, desperation, white trees standing around like ghosts, a dark underground tunnel...and then screams...
She shook off the shiver running up her limbs, pushing the images out of mind. It had to be just a nightmare, she kept telling herself. Not a memory. Those images had no basis in reality.
Why was she telling Aken any of this, anyway? He was annoying. Somehow he’d made her drop her guard a little, and now she was sharing past stories like an old lady.
“It’s been a long day, and I’m tired,” she said, dropping the hint for him to leave. Aken nodded and picked at his fingernails, not seeming to understand. “I’m going to bed,” she said more forcefully.
He looked up, realization dawning, and got to his feet. “Oh, okay. Um, goodnight then.”
She closed the door behind him, and exhaled.
Pajamas and a spare shirt were on the bed. She thanked whoever they were from; it’d be nice to sleep in something clean.
Her heart pounded as she changed and sank beneath the covers of a new bed. Moonbeams played through the window.
Her mind stirred restlessly. A new world, a new life and disguise, could she really do this?
She must have dozed off eventually, because a rapid knock on the door woke her at the break of dawn.
Chapter 13
The rapid knock on Cyrus’s door was followed by someone bursting into the room without waiting for an answer.
“Wake up, Cy! It’s almost breakfast time, and we’re gonna have a special one.” Mischief twinkled in Aken’s eye.
Cyrus sat up, startled awake before recognizing it was him. She checked the time on the cat clock, and her mouth yawned in protest. Then the realization hit that a boy was in her room while she was in pajamas. “Eep!” she squeaked and drew the bed covers up to her chest—not that there was much to hide.
“What?” Aken tilted his head at a curious angle, and she flinched. “Wow,” he pointed, “You have the worst case of morning hair I’ve ever seen! Is that a bird’s nest?”
She threw a pillow at him, then pressed her palms around her head, smashing down the wild hair strands. A mischievous grin was inching up Aken’s face; she didn’t like it. “What do you mean by special breakfast?” she asked.
Minutes later found them sneaking outside along Draevensett’s stone façade, warmed by the dawn, coming up against the kitchen quarters. Aken took the lead, ducking under windows and letting grass muffle their steps.
“What special breakfast? Is there a picnic out here?” Cyrus was asking.
Aken halted below one window so fast that she bumped into him. “Aha!” he exclaimed quietly and peeked over the sill—careful not to let more than his eyes and nose show.
Wondering what he could be up to, she followed his gaze and spotted a pie: steaming, gold and delicious on a small table within arm’s reach.
“Operation: Snatch Breakfast, now commencing.”
“Are you seriously planning to take that pie? That’s stealing, you troublemaker!”
“Pie? No way, buddy.” Aken shook his head with a serious frown. “I’m aiming for the mega prize. The Tray of Golden Heaven, itself.”
“Huh?” Looking again, she saw another tray: wide and stacked high with swirls of dough and cinnamon and icing, cooling on a countertop not far away. She exclaimed.
“Raiding food from the school I live at isn’t stealing. They’ve got plenty.”
“Is too! What are those things, anyway?”
“Cinnamon rolls. How can you not know that?” Aken was already over the sill and sneeking across the kitchen floor, crawling on knees and forearms toward the Tray of Golden Heaven.
The staff inside were preoccupied with hurrying about the network of kitchen rooms, preparing the day’s meals. That is, all except for one woman: heavy-set ,with a stern, piggish face and poodle-hair sticking out from under a large chef’s hat. She strutted about the labyrinth kitchen, surveying progress—and she was headed their way. Cyrus waited for Aken to get caught and punished.
The head chef lumbered toward the large tray. Cyrus watched between her fingers, as Aken flattened his body against the floor and managed to squeeze underneath a counter table just in time before the woman arrived.
“Mm-hm.” The woman’s beady eyes scanned, evaluating the cinnamon rolls’ golden hue, breathing in the scent. Cyrus kept low outside the window, then craned up just enough to see Aken pull something long out of his pocket: a clay snake.
The snake darted across the floor. It was swiftly followed by a shriek that rang through the entire complex.
The head chef screamed and danced—yelping and leaping about the floor, doing anything she could to get away from the slithering snake as it wiggled after her ankles. The staff scrambled left and right, trying to catch it.
In one quick motion Aken got to his feet and snatched up the tray, balancing it on a shoulder. He leaped over the windowsill as graceful as an anteleer, and tossed a look back at the head chef, giving her a wink.
The woman’s cheeks burned fierce red, a steel carving knife in her hand above a now chopped-up clay snake. “YOU AGAIN.”
“Whoops. Time to leave! Hop on, Cy!” Aken tossed a clay swallow into the air, and she watched as it grew big enough to seat two. He smoothly hopped aboard its back. The woman came charging out the window like a maddened bull, somehow managing to fit her bulky form through the gap. Without time to think, Cyrus got onto the swallow.
Before the woman could grab them, they were airborne, and Cyrus clung to Aken’s chest from behind. The head chef below stomped and waved vein-popping fists in a tirade.
“Whoo, was that fun or what?” Aken’s chest shook with laughter against her arms, as his knees steered the swallow away—the Tray of Golden Heaven held securely in his hands.
“No! You’re terrible!” She wanted to slap the back of his head.
Landing the bird in a thick copse, underneath a willow far back in the school grounds, he set the tray on the grass. Cyrus’s empty stomach growled as delicious aromas wafted up and the inviting sight of golden dough became overwhelming. “If you don’t eat now, there won’t be anything until lunch,” said Aken, and he dug into the cinnamon rolls, stuffing one at a time into his mouth.
Cyrus gave in and sampled one. The doughy sweetness and cinnamon made her heart flutter. Cinnamon rolls, this was one vempar dessert she could get used to. “Don’t expect me to raid kitchens with you, ever. Or I’ll turn you in myself,” she warned. He flashed a grin covered in icing.
Afterwards, a pond in the copse made for a place to wash away the evidence—or try to. Her stomach was nauseous, not used to so much sweetness in the morning.
“Good breakfast, huh?” Aken said and patted his bulging stomach.
“Shut up. Should I dare ask what you do for lunch?” She groaned.
He looked at her and laughed, falling over onto his side and unable to get back up. A breeze rustled the tray, empty of all but stray crumbs.
THE STOMACH ACHE MUST have put her to sleep, because when her eyelids opened, a narrow face with glasses fil
led her vision.
Dr. Zushil’s judgmental gaze bore down on both her and Aken as they lay on the crumb-littered ground.
Aken leaped up to run.
“You’re not getting away this time, you miscreant!” said Zushil. “For dragging new student Cyrus along in your unspeakable acts, raiding the kitchens again, youuu,” he waggled a finger, “you shall pay! Rotten little—”
Before he finished the sentence, Aken threw the tray smack in his face.
“Guh!” Zushil’s hands flung up to shield his nose, and Aken grabbed Cyrus’s hand, pulling her with him into a run out of the copse.
Zushil shouted and chased after them across the school field.
After a while of running, someone called out from up ahead, and Cyrus saw Master Nephryte waving them over. Looking back, as angry bull Zushil was gaining on them, Aken sped up and leaped into the safety zone that was behind the Master.
They ducked low. The Master, perplexed at first, must have caught on to the situation from the icing bejeweling Aken’s shirt, because he frowned deeply.
“Th-tha-that BRAT!” Zushil came to a panting halt before them, and she and Aken peeked out from behind the Master’s tall waist. The doctor pointed a quaking finger, “He massacred the school’s weekly supply of cinnamon rolls! Whole wonderful, beautiful rolls gone—wasted.” Zushil’s arm shook, head ready to explode off his shoulders.
“They weren’t wasted. I made sure to cherish every moment I had with them,” Aken argued from around the Master’s hip. Master Nephryte tilted his neck and gave him a look: a Not-another-word-out-of you look.
Aken shrunk like a wilted weed.
“Control him,” Zushil demanded. “I won’t take much more of this, Master Nephryte, and neither will anyone else! If he is uncontrollable, then I say do what needs to be done. Scourgebloods never did deserve to live among us.”
Aken stared at the ground bitterly. Why did they call him Scourgeblood? Nothing was worse than feeling unwanted, a piece of trash to get rid of, exactly how hometown humans had made her feel. Is this what Aken was facing here?
Master Nephryte shifted so that he stood between her and Aken, placing a hand each on one of their shoulders. “Aken-Shou and Cyrus are my dear students. I will not take kindly to any threats against them.” He gave each a brief fond look. “They belong here. Aken-Shou deserves to live the life Lord God has given him.”
Aken lifted his head, jaw slack.
The doctor took a step back and waved his palms in defense. “Threat? No, no, no. I only meant...erm...”
“I’ll see to it that Aken-Shou is taught better behavior.” The hand on Aken’s shoulder squeezed, making the boy cringe. “Although I can make no guarantees it will work,” Master Nephryte admitted. “His ignorance puts all blonds to shame.”
Aken’s cringe morphed into a glare.
Zushi departed, muttering to himself, while the Master headed them both back to the school.
At the front paved path, the Master halted and faced them. He leaned forward ominously, hands on hips, hair sweeping across his collar in the spring breeze. “Allow me to take a guess,” he said, “A repeat of my lecture won’t change a thing inside that thick pudding-head of yours?”
Aken looked away, jaw set, hands fidgeting behind his back. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “But it’s not like anybody expects good from me, anyway.”
Master Nephryte regarded him for a moment, then shook his head. “So, you want to prove them right?”
Aken’s face heated. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then go use that stubbornness of yours and prove them wrong—prove their fears and doubts about you are mistaken, as they see you become a hard-working and self-controlled Draev.”
Aken shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sounds like a pain in the behind.”
The Master rolled his eyes, and turned to Cyrus.
From a pocket, he took out a cashcard—an alternative to paper-and-coin. He held it out for her. “I just finished an early city patrol shift and was coming to lend you this. Since most of my students are orphans, I take it upon myself to provide for them what parents or guardians normally would. Go buy yourself a new wardrobe, school supplies, and any other items you need. Show me I can trust you and that you’re not a troublemaker, like this one. And do make sure Aken-Shou doesn’t use it.” His gaze darted pointedly at the boy.
Aken pouted, crossing both arms sulkily. “It wasn’t my fault last time it exceeded the cashcard limit or whatever. Like I even know what that means.”
The Master held in a sigh.
“Thank you, Master Nephryte,” she said, graciously taking it, aglow that she could finally get some decent clothes that didn’t look like she’d ran half-a-day through woods in.
The Master waved them away. “Be back here by noon for Ability practice. Harlow will be getting a mission at some point today, so be ready. Mission grades are important.” As they headed away, he added: “And no getting into mischief, Aken-Shou! There will be an apology essay waiting for you to write, and you will assist the head baker in the kitchens.”
“Fine, fine!” Run-skipping down the path, Aken twisted around to stick out his tongue before they vanished out the gate. The cotton pixit yapped at them.
Exasperation lined Nephryte’s face. “That boy...”
Chapter 14
Bright sunshine kissed the picturesque city stones as Aken led the way into Downtown’s lively district. They hopped aboard the back of a passing tram and rode into Main Street, where shops lined both sides up and down the length of the river Noncello. Fanciful arched bridges connected the sides.
Aken hopped off and she quickly followed. “I hope you’re not planning on us being friends,” she said. Aken’s feet stumbled. “I don’t need friends who enjoy causing trouble for others.”
“What? Wait,” Aken waved his hands. “The whole breakfast thing was a mistake—I admit it. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m addicted to cinnamon rolls and sweets and every unhealthy thing. Some days I just can’t control myself.” He pleaded, but she remained stoic. “I won’t get you into trouble again—promise! Please, can’t we be friends?”
She stared at him while he fidgeted uncomfortably, then said, “No more troublemaking.”
He nodded vigorously.
She huffed and walked on. Cyrus noticed that in most parts of the city, rivulets flowed in place of gutters, where rainwater gathered. Minnows swam in their mild currents, and she leaned over a low stone rail to watch for a minute. It was peaceful, as were the trees lining the walk, each ringed in delicate metal fences. Vines climbed up several wallfaces. Stone grotesques of strange creatures and griffins perched at the corners of roofs, as if eyeing the citizens.
Two bikes and a motor carriage rolled past; the engine had a musty scent like wet rock. “Oilpowder engines,” Aken waved steam puffs aside. “At least it fades fast.”
“Smells like a field of flowers to me,” she murmured. In Elvenstone, you could detect the compost that burned alongside oilpowder in engines. But here they must be adding some sort of fragrance to neutralize the odor. Aken gave her a questioning look. “Compared to farm villages, I mean—they smell much worse,” she reworded quickly.
He gave her a funny look, then a child crying for ice cream distracted him. She readjusted her fingerless gloves and turned in place, surveying the shop windows and pedestrians.
Another fancy motor carriage steered past, bearing some aristocrat. Workers on a five-wheel contraption, called a rumbler, delivered goods and produce to shops. Most vempars who walked about wore an array of fashion foreign to her—waistcoats, lace shirts, shoulder-pad jackets... But the younger ones had a more modern flare, almost a mix of human-style. Her nerves bristled when one of them passed by her. She kept feeling like they were eyeing her from behind, searching for her locked up secrets, though she was probably just being paranoid.
Mother had been one of them, once. She felt only warmth when thinking of her.
&nbs
p; ‘I can conquer the fear.’ She set her jaw.
Aken’s hand tugged hers. She winced at the small twinge of pain it sent to her wrist. Her hands had been feeling better lately, and she hoped it would last.
Aken steered her into a shop, Fashion Sense Pro. Small on the outside, but one step inside and the store became extensive rows of hangers and brimming shelves, a section each for different ages and styles. There were beautiful ladies dresses to the right, but Aken navigated her opposite into the boys clothing.
“Lykale! Figures you’d be here. Can you help Cy out with a new wardrobe?” Aken found the older Harlow boy there shopping.
Lykale adjusted his glasses and peered down at Cyrus. “Normally, I’d refuse. But what this redhead is wearing goes beyond criminal fashion offense. I’m not living in the same dorm as that.” He gestured to all of her.
“Gee, thanks,” she muttered.
Lykale scanned through the rows, picking out possible items that would match her petite frame. “Just as long as nothing’s skin-tight—I can’t stand skin-tight,” she added.
A shelf of plaid shirts and angular-cut vests caught her eye, very similar to some human designs. She pointed them out to Aken.
“Well, just because we don’t like humans, doesn’t mean we don’t like their fashion. I may hate them, but I gotta admit they have a sweet sense of style.” Aken held one up. “They’re so futuristic! Old-timers hate it, but teens are loving it.”
The words I may hate them circled her ears like little stabbing daggers.
In the changing room, Aken wanted to try on things for fun, and she had to slam the door in his face before he could come in with her.
“Okay, yer shy, I ged it—you don have t’ kill my nose wid de door. I’ll go in de other one.” He rubbed his nose. “Just trying t’ be economical n’ save space.”
In the end, she ended up with good casual and dress shirts, jackets, legwear, a cap, human-like sneakers and leather boots. Also a suit and top hat—which Lykale said were required for formal occasions. It was much better than shopping with prissy Heily; she even got to try on outrageous getups just for laughs. If she’d done that with them, Narcissa would’ve exploded like a cork out a bottle and Heily fallen in a faint. It was good to be free of them—and a part of her felt guilty for feeling that way.