You would think I would be able to do something. You would think that.
I'm Rosalia Therese Ventrella, the dreaded scheming villainess. Except for the heroine, anyone who dares to cross me can expect a swift end. The utter ruined downfall of everything they ever loved or touched. I'll destroy your wealth. I'll drag your reputation to the gutters. I'll have you so publically flogged and privatelly tortured to the point you'll be begging for the sweet release of death. Once you're my target I won't let go, not even when you can no longer beg underneath my dainty feet.
I am the villainess. I am a bad end boss. I am three years old and I'm about to fall asleep. Again. I've been poisoned with something, again.
"You said she was cured?!! How could this happen?"
Surprisingly it's not grampa but uncle Geoff that roars.
He and Gable keep silent as they inspect between a soundly sleeping Lukas and I. A flickering of Gable's green flame snapped between his fingers. A press into of large strong hands into Lukas' chest, a beat of something pressed into him. Their faces perfectly serious, that's how bad it is. The other child doesn't even let out a single snore, his face an angelic cherub in his stillness. His sleep. He looks like a painting and scarily beautiful like that.
I don't like it.
But Lukas won't wake up not because he's dead but because of whatever Amar did to him. A sleeping drought, I hear Gable mutter quietly in the close space he shares with Grampa.
"They both are, but it will take time. They did ingest a deadly test concoction, some lingering effects are expected. Half a dish could kill a normal adult." patiently explains the hood.
A part of me roars at the sight of him. Standing there like he's innocent, some calming physician to the anxious parents. He stands there like he's not the criminal behind all this and more. A psychopath with a pandering smile, hidden in plain sight at the scene of the crime, directing everyone into his play.
It won't work. It can't. Grampa and Gable are here, they can't be so stupid to fall for this.
"No...idiot, trouble. Amar's in trouble....poison. He's been... poisoned." I choke out, the effects of whatever I've been poisoned with slowing encroaching control over my body.
There's no pain though, none of that numbing or burning poison.
It feels as if I'm softly being buried. Fall leaves. Fresh snow. A gentle approach of sleep weighing down on my mind like a cozy blanket. Lingering sweet, bitter and saltiness still echo in my mouth. I should have spat it out before it melted all down.
I've been roofied. Another form of sleeping drought. Cursed brat roofied me with candy.
I've worked at a bar for how many years? Never in my life have I been dosed. Never! But here I am, struggling to spit out whatever coherent information I can before I go under. I'll kill him. Right after I save everyone's stupid asses, I'll kill him till he's dead and then I'll kill him some more.
But first, there's this villain to take care of. Hoody Darius whatever. He needs to go down and Amar needs help the most out of all of us. I've watched enough cliche Kdramas to know what sudden nosebleeds mean.
"Help...him...he's...poisoned."
Is it too much to ask for grampa to just act? He doesn't need to understand it all, just go attack or something. Proceed with the chop chop already.
"Where is the other child?" Gable speaks up, solemn and frigid.
"Why he's resting. Anemia I'm afraid, I have others looking after him. In his panic, Amar lost too much blood trying to save those poor innocent children. The amazing part is that it worked, it staved off the effect long enough until I arrived. His blood worked wonderfuly, just as the rumors say."
Lying. Such a liar.
The problem, however, isn't a villain lying. It's the fact that no one is doing anything about it. What rumors? Why are we still standing around. Why is his stupid hoody head still attached to his body?! Violence isn't the answer my butt, this is a fantasy world with a noble system. Grampa is a damn overwhelming hero that goes around killing and smashing in the name of peace. This is Ventrella lands. The Ventrella genes in me says violence all the way.
"Why....poison. He's getting poisoned!" I grit out, fighting off the grips of sleep by my stubbornness alone.
"It looks like the children are very much still disoriented. Frightened understandably. They don't understand things or that these are not areas for play. It's partly my fault, for being careless about my pupils. I had no idea Vincent and Amar would bring these two here. There are too many dangerous things about."
Why are we still giving him the space to speak, to lie? Why isn't anyone reacting to Amar getting poisoned?! Long termed poisoned? That's a pretty big deal to oh say anyone with common sense.
Even in the horribly tense and suspicious pause, hoody stays rather calm, playing subservient in front of grampa's gaze. There is a tremble however when faced with Gable, as if he were an unexpected surprise that hoody wasn't prepared for.
Well surprise, time to die.
"There's a reason why this training course isn't popular. I understand the fear. It's not for everyone, not everyone can handle it. Yet those boys are all aware and consenting to the sacrifice of science. It's terrifying and painful yes, and thus very brave of them. Especially one as young as that child, yes even if his constitution is blessedly favorable. To take a little bit of poison over the course of time in order to grow an immunity, it's a worthy sacrifice. Even if it's carefully controlled under my supervision, I of all people understand the risks."
Hoody sighs as he explains, holding out his own arm. The peeks of flesh between leather gloves and his layers of clothes show sallow skin tight on the bone. Even in his red huff of anger uncle Geoff is mostly calm at the news. Grampa and Gable don't even blink at the revelation.
As if this much is nothing. As if they already knew.
They already know.
I get it now. The crazy experiments on himself too. A little bit of poison over a long period of time. It builds resistance, or it's supposed to. He experiments with poisons and everyone lets him. He doses his students....and people just let him.
It's approved, this shit is on the damn curriculum.
If I wasn't so sick of the taste of blood, I'd cough some up right now. Fucking shit. I knew there were some messed up standards in this world but this is really something else.
Everyone knew.
I claw into grampa's chest, as far as I can reach. If I could I would draw blood. My vision going darker and darker in red.
"You ...let him..." I can only softly growl, getting all the more tired by the minute.
It's not only the drugs that sure to be in my system. Even in my shaking rage, it feels too damn safe in grampa's arms. Too safe. I can't allow myself to get comfortable, I can't fall asleep. Not in this situation.
"It's truly a miracle. For raw blood to be that effective. The possibilities are endless, imagine the cures we could create. From undiscovered anti-venoms to unimaginable beneficial applications. I've truly never seen such potential, such blood, and still so young. It's a more than mere magic, it's a miracle." Darius keeps going, getting more excited as he speaks.
I hope it's the villain's incriminating speech so we can just chop chop already.
A low rumbling growl vibrates from Grampa's chest, his entire body on edge. It seems he feels the same way I do. His head, however, is turned sharply to concentrate fully on Gable rather than the speaker. It's Gable's presence alone that keeps grampa in check, in line. It's Gable permission, when he so signals it, that allows him to attack.
When did that happen? It's Gable but...when did the hero take orders from others?
"How long," asks Gable, face as cold as ice. "How long have you been playing with that child's blood?"
"Why, you all have the entirely wrong idea. As a scholar, everything must be carefully controlled and verified. Why I have always taken samples of my students' blood, for their own safety if not for the validity of the research. A controlled sample to track their condition over time. Standard procedure at this point."
My tongue feels heavy as I let out a whimper and whine. Don't believe him, don't believe these lies.
There's no need to play dumb when I literally am. Physically, I can't will myself to speak more than a few broken words at a time. No need to promise anyone shit.
Green lighting ripples, from either grampa or Gable I can't tell. It crackles more than a few objects in the next room as it makes its natural way out.
"How long have you stuck your veins in and bought out medics here?"
Gable's voice is gravel and ice. It's the opposite of my grampa's comforting rumble. That feels like the purring of a too-large dog, intimidating at first but now something I have unconsciously come to find familar. Familar and safe. There's no safer place than here with gramps, as tense as he is.
But it's not me that needs this safety, this protection. It's not me that gets to keep it. That's an issue to bottle up for another time though- because the child in the most immediate danger is not my sister.
"Why whatever do you mean? In this field, it's quite necessary to work with medics and healers. "
"I mean..." Gable grinds at his teeth, "when did you infect them with your poison? Hmm did you buy them out? Replace them with some of your own? I see that much. That...that was not the system I set up. That is not the procedure."
"No. No I don't suppose it is. By all means of respect sir Gable, you're a respected senior. My respected senior. But you've been gone too long, you're behind on the current times. Behind and not in the picture. You no longer spearhead the scientific community, there are other means of potions making. More effective ones."
"Effective. Poisoning children is your proposal? Poisoning children and using their blood is the new standard here?!"
"Again, you're entirely misunderstanding. The students know what they're ingesting and their dosage. This was an accidental case with innocent children who don't know any better. It is a regretful case that brings up the issue of safety and protection. Thus I propose- to isolate this department and its dutiful students and subjects. Prevent something like what has so risked the well being of the young lady of this fine land."
Everything is getting increasingly heavier. The words being spat out back and forth only partially make it through to my sluggish brain. I see first hand now how getting drugged is a horrible ordeal. My comprehensions slows, so does the world. I think I hear my own heartbeat lulling, soft as a little bird's.
"To isolate?" Gable's tone comes out cruelly mocking, a trace of laughter in the air. "Get to the point Darius, what do you truely want?"
"...I see I can only continue to plead until this misunderstanding is cleared."
"Do drop the farce. Now answer, what do you want."
"...It's too dangerous. The world, this place, it's all too dangerous for the boy. Don't think people don't speak, that they don't know. Not the fledglings or the young blood, but people know. Let me protect him. He will be treasured here, by my side."
"Treasured? Here? Yes I can quite see that, treasured as a human pancea. What is it that you've done with him? How much, how long did he have to ingest to get his blood to this state?! This wasn't the dosage we approved! Not for Amar, not for anyone!"
Pale hands grip into the dried blood on Lukas' front. As if he wanted to rip off the red-dyed stains but was conflicted. Torn between what to feel, what to think.
"You've grown soft oh esteemed one. Old and irrelevant, so quick to twists things in your hypocritical ways. That's the thing with you royals, but this is not about you. It's about the boy. The dosage is nothing special, nor anything you can prove from bloodstains alone. It does not harm him so much as it is uncomfortable for anyone."
There's a grip on grampa's arm. Gable using it as a support, reminding grampa that it's not time to act while holding himself back. In this distance, I can smell his herbal soaps, can feel how grampa relaxes where he touches yet shadowing Gable with his presence. It might be the confusion of the certainly drugged candy but...right now it feels like Gable is shaking from where he's pressed.
If Gable is the one who keeps grampa in check then....grampa is the one who gives Gable strength. Even in silence, no....especially because he's being silent. I see it now, how he supports Gable. How his presence gives Gable the same go-ahead to say and do as he likes. It's the same that my father does for me. The same that grampa grants me. Somehow...even if he doesn't say it....someone like Gable... relies on grampa too huh?
What a strange relationship.
Ah... there's too much I still don't understand.
"In front of the council, my request is not unreasonable. In fact...it might give them some peace of mind. The boy is more than special, and thus a special case. Give him to me and I can make him something more than a bad memory, a dreaded fear to come. I can make him a savior."
"By killing him slowly rather than instantly?"
Hoody lets out a horrid laugh at Gable's accusation, as if truly amused. It makes make squirm. It makes my innards crawl.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
"He won't die of all things. My my, you truly have gotten soft, and conservative. Just like them. The effects of aging I suppose, can't be helped. As I said before, the portions and dosage are all carefully controlled. This much can't really do anything to those who are trained...."
I use up the last of my remaining strength to wiggle and moan, loosening my bag into the space between me and grampa's chest.
"...grampa...bag...in...bag."
Check the bag, please look in the bag.
It's there, the poisoned dish is in there. I don't know if you can test it. I don't know how much it will help but it's something. I don't know what more I can do. I'm really too small and helpless. Even back then, even when I was considered an adult. I can't do anything on my own. So please, take care of this. Before I go to sleep for real. Please be a hero, if not for my sake then for kids like Amar.
"Besides..." spieled hoody, his sickening laughter growing slurred and distant in my head " what's the problem with feeding a bit of poison to the poison taster's son?"
"You..."
A lot. A lot is wrong. But there's nothing more I can do.
Everything is distorted, muffled, and I'm buried up to my head. Like a true child, even though I don't want to, I have to go to sleep now. I just...want to do all that I can. I want to wake up to something good.
It's your turn grampa. Do your thing.
Good night now.
--------
-----
---
-
---
-----
---------
The children are asleep.
All is not well but the children are asleep. They're recovering, not in any pain, from a mixture of their own resilience and the numbing medication running through both their systems. Medication already coursing through their blood before any of them arrived.
The kids were cured. From whatever they took, whatever they unknowingly ingested. They were cured, recovering and weak yes, but cured. Only time and sleep could do the rest.
A man too tall for the sofa curls into himself, onto that little space. His hair, long, so long now, was tied up uncomfortably. He could feel it poking, irritatingly on the side of his head. But he can't bring himself to move, to care.
A hum or magic and improvised machinery bubbling and clanking softly in the background. By now the fire was dying, only the low burning glow of embers remained.
It was enough.
Enough for him to blink away the tears and sleep crusting his eyes.
Enough to highlight the august profile of another, sitting on the floor silently. His broad strong back, dressed only in thin soft linens, leaning against the cushions where Gable lay curled up. If Gable could curl further, perhaps unnaturally like a cat's, then he could bury these tired eyes in the crook of muscle and warm flesh. In a soft tangle of unkept burnished brown hair, warm and as intoxicating as the finest of beers or ales.
"Ronald?"
He exhales the breath he doesn't know he was even holding. The tiredness in his heart, his body makes him see things. It makes him confused over what is real, what is fear, and what is only a memory.
"Hmm." Ronald nodded, eyes still closed. A stick of rolled and toasted leaves burning like a floating firefly rested against full slightly chewed up lips. The low light highlighting strong enticing features in the way romantic tales makes everything hazy and all the more beautiful. Too beautiful to be a reality. At the sound of his name whispered in the mostly silent night, he turns his shoulder around to face the resting man on the sofa seat. When long unfairly dark lashes finally lift to unveil pools of brown, Gable feels drunk. He feels like he can't breathe all over again.
"...You're here?"
Gable can't feel his own hand without the pins and needles, it had gone numb from where it had laid underneath his head. But he reaches it out anyways, like a phantom limb.
Like a wild dream from his youth, a larger hand meets him halfway, interlacing fingers with ease. It's nothing like he's dreamed of though- darker, stronger, just as burnt as his own and so much older. His own hand looks unfamiliar, the length, the age.
"Hey you. You fell asleep for a bit there. You can rest some more, the tests are still running." Ron says slowly, stubbing out the smoke stick.
"You're still here..." repeats Gable.
He's still half asleep, not comprehending the meaning behind those words. He's still marveling at the sight in front of him, so close. He doesn't even want to blink, in case it's a dream. In case he wakes up and he's all alone again.
"Of course I am. The tests aren't done yet with the shitload of stuff mixed in that pot Rosalia snuck but I don't think it's any less than the amount needed to kill a herd of black horned rhinos...hey...what wrong? Gabe? Gable, you're crying."
Of course he is Gable thinks to himself. Because of all people, Ron is still here. Golden boy, hero extraordinaire, Ronald Ventrella is sitting here in front of him. More gorgeous than a dream, aged finer than any wine and lit in a halo of embers. It's all so surreal but so nice. How could he not cry?
It's slowly catching up to Gable, the events of the day, of his waking life for the past few decades. He's not sleepy anymore, but still oh so tired. He's not young anymore, they're not carefree children anymore, and Ron is still here by his side.
"Are you tired of me yet?" breathes out Gable, the usual filter of his inner being and his mouth weak.
Like when they were young, like it was a sweetly cruel joke, Ron pressed a gentle kiss to his still ensnared hand. The small contact burns like the end of a light flame, shocking just as much electricity through him as when he was still called a prince.
No, it's better. Because unlike those times, there's no ceremony, no one watching and no need to do so. Unlike those times, melting lips linger and leave only to press hotter on the inside of his pale veined wrist. Right at the pulse point.
"Never." whispers at his pulse.
"You have to be...I fucked up again."
"No you didn't Gable."
"I did...I'm the one that ordered the silence, the secrecy. I'm the one who allowed Darius and his research in all those years ago. I'm the one who kept that child so hidden to this point. I should have never interfered, I should have never....I set this up. All of it. "
"You didn't mean this. You didn't mean for this to happen. It's the game of politics and if you fucked up then I'm lost. Worse than the damned. Just blame it all on me. It's my fault ok, they're my troops. They're my final say and my fault it became this way. Just put it all on me."
When Ronald blinks, Gable can feel those lashes flutter and tickle more than just the palm of his hand. It feels like forgiveness he does not deserve. But is that not what blessings and mercy are for?
Gable admits that he is not a religious man. Spiritual maybe but not religious. He does not think there are gods or goddesses who control their world. Not when nature and its patterned laws exist. Not with people, and all their sins and cycles. But if there's anything to believe in, there's this man in front of him. Ronald is so unreal, so much a fantasy that Gable knows there's no way anyone, especially himself, could have ever dreamed him up.
"We should have done it your way. Then this never would have happened. No one would have..."
"Mmm, I like the sound of that but no, that's not how it would have played out. Your organization made the troops possible, made it last into something more than just my raid teams. I couldn't have done anything without you Gable."
"You fool....don't be so ridiculous."
"I'm sorry. Don't cry. I never know what to do when you cry."
Gable shakes his head in this half smushed position, further loosening his own hair. He must look like a mad man, bedraggled and unclean. His eyes feel hotter than the embers in the fireplace and puffier than a fluffed chick. He's a mess and he's very much fine with fucking up his own life. He can do that with excellency but he refuses to drag anyone down with him.
That's the problem with heroes though, they dive down to save you, whether you want them to or not. They shine like the god damn sun and reach where you don't want them to. Like god damn weeds.
"Tell me you're tired of me already." he can't help but whimper.
"Never."
"Tell me you're bored of me already."
"Never."
There's a weed in his life, gripped with roots far too deep in his heart.
There's a weed that crash-landed into his life, like a falling star he saw when he was a mere boy.
A weed that overtook his garden, his soul and he doesn't want to remember what it's like to breathe without Ronald. Try as he might to run, petty as he is to fight it, there's a weed that bloomed all over. It's impossible to escape, to get rid of. It's the most glorious thing that's ever happened to any man, living or dead.
The weed climbs, strong stems, lush leaves and blood filled veins all about. It crawls from his study floor to right on top of him. Trapping him entirely from above and all around.
Ronald is looking down at him with those dark eyes, cradling his head and still pouring tears. He's already an old man at this point. Old, withered and god damn irrelevant if he ever mattered as a person at all. A fucking mess. Yet someone like Ronald is still gazing down as if he were a precious treasure, worthy of such gentleness. Something hard to do for a man as strong and impulsive and Ronald.
"Do you still think I'm going to throw you away?" Ronald gripes, soft still in the night.
A drop of wetness falls to hit Gable straight in the face.
It's unfair. Too unfair. A face like that is unfair. Even when clouded with fat tears himself, Ronald is too bright and beautiful.
Gable is filled with stormy frustrations and too much crashing. He's come to care too much for strangers that were never meant to enter his once perfectly planned life. He's come to fuck it all up and somehow weld it all together again. He's not living the life he was ever meant for, never saw for himself.
"Do you still think that?" pleads Ronald.
It makes a part of Gable want to laugh. Because that once was all he wanted at some point, Ronald begging to him. Maybe on his knees though. Not this, not in comfort, not when he was so broken and worn.
"Tell me the truth Ron, are you bored of me yet?"
Asking would have hurt his pride, if there was any left that is, after all this time with someone like Ronald. There's nothing left with Ron, never was.
"No, no. Never. I hate that the thought ever crosses your mind."
"Are you tired of me yet?"
"Never."
"If I'm cold to you? Harsh to you? If I can't ever give you what you want?"
" You're never too cold, never too harsh, you've already given me everything I ever wanted."
"And if I run away again?"
"Then I'll find you again."
He's being stubborn again. Gable can be so much more stubborn than most people gave him credit for. Even more so than Ronald at times. He's stubborn and holds because he doesn't deserve any of this and he knows it.
"If I can't be in your life? If I want you to leave me alone forever? If I leave tomorrow and you never see a lick of me again? "
"Then I thank my lucky stars we had this. I lived this far with you, and I'll live the rest of this life knowing you're safe. You're ok. I'll break and stay broken and I'll thank this world every day that it was you who did it."
The sofa is uncomfortable, his legs dangle awkwardly and there's just not enough space for one let alone two grown men. They'll make do, Gable has no choice. There was never any room and here Ron is anyways. Still here when he should have been long gone.
"Ronald. Shut the fuck up."
"Only if you shut those thoughts Gable."
"Shut up."
"You're tired, not guilty."
"Shut up. I'll think tomorrow. We fix it all again tomorrow."
"Should I move? Let you go to bed?"
"Shut up."
"Can I hold you?"
"Shut up now."
Quiet is all he can deal with right now. Gable's almost desperate pull is all the answer, all the permission that Ronald needs. He comes crashing down on the man laying down beneath him, like a star, a sun, the very burning disaster he is. He is warm and crushing Gable with the full press of his body. Of arms and legs intertwined, the press of chest and chest and finally, finally Gable can breathe.
Fuck the young and stupid him, this right here was better than any dream. Fucking mess and all.
--------
-----
---
-
---
-----
--------
"Amma, I'm tired. It hurts and I'm tired of this."
"That's why you must eat. "
"But amma, I'm so tired of it."
"Eat my dear one, it will ease the pain you feel. It would soak it all away."
The child remains stubborn, turning away from the spoon and hiding his face in a nearby embroidered cushion. The rug they're sprawled on is as soft and plush as the detailed weaving pattern on it exquisite. Soft enough for any child to roll and thrash about without any harm.
"My sweet boy, are you not my darling child? I know how tired you are, that's why today I added something different."
"I'm tired of rice and milk, I'm tired of rice pudding. Even if you add more things I'm too tired." comes the muffled cries.
The mother knows even behind the pillow how her baby must be pouting. It is only with her, in the safety of their veiled quarters and private gardens that she allows him to act as such. Only here can she spoil him.
When she shakes her head, the dangling earrings and jewels chime like bells. They jingle beautifully when she playfully tickles at his soft little sides.
"It is so hot today, had your temper gone up with it my love? There there amma knows, it's hot and your stomach hurts. You've done so well and now you must eat or the pain won't go away soon. To counter the heat, I've added fresh pomegranates and honey pressed longans. "
"Pommes! But what are longans amma?"
The boy turns around to curiously climb up on his mother's lap, careful not to catch the delicate cloth of her skirts or wraps on anything. The pain still hurt not only in his tummy but it was bearable enough today. Some days it would hurt so awful he couldn't move or would have to throw up for hours. There were less and less of those days though. He was getting better at the tests.
Seeing that the child was finally willing, the mother gestured for her servant to hand back the colorful bowl while another brought down a delicate tray with a strange jar.
"Longans are a small shelled fruit from far east of here. Amma would eat them fresh in her homeland, but to bring them here we can only keep them in honey and syrups. Drying them loses the pull of the meat."
With a clean graceful hand that jingled with delicate layers of bangles and rings, the mother picks up the sweet jar up to her baby's face, allowing him to curiously sniff. Then picks a peeled and deseeded fruit from the sticky honey, popping in into between her delicately painted lips with great fondness at the familiar taste. If one chewed at the flesh, the preserved juice came out, allowing one to taste the original delicacy with the additional sweetness of the honey.
Without a word, she held up another longan fruit to the boy's mouth, to which he readily bit.
"Mmm! It's so good!"
At the child's returned appetite, the entire room breathed a sigh in relief. Though there were many servants ready to attend and serve, a mother's joy was to hand feed her baby.
Though it was a hot summer's day, it wasn't too unpleasant. Not with the green lush garden terrace right outside shading them further from the heat. Nor the sparkling water fountain splashing, cooling the air and running in irrigated streams.
Even though the child had just aired out his complaints on the food, the rice pudding was cool and pleasing to his scratchy throat. It wasn't that it tasted bad, on the contrary, it was one of the most delicious things he ever ate. He was just so tired of it when he had to eat it every time he finished a round of testing or took another painful bite to his soft arm.
Sometimes it was hairy insects with too many tiny squirming legs. Sometimes the bugs would have hard shells and sharp stingers. A few times there would be snakes or other things with long sharp fangs. But he had to be good and not cry or else amma would be sad. She was already very sad every time, if he cried too then that would be worse.
A lot of the other mamas cried.
A lot of them wouldn't ever stop crying during the tests, sometimes they cried much harder after. Usually, that meant their baby failed.
Amma didn't like telling him but he knew what it meant when you didn't pass. You went to sleep. Depending on the test other things would happen but if you didn't wake up that was it. No more pain, no more food, just sleep forever.
He knows it's called death and being dead. That's what the funny eunuchs or serving ladies would say. Even though he was his amma's baby he wasn't really a baby anymore. He could talk lots and his older sisters and brother Parviz told him he was almost three. That wasn't a baby anymore?
But there were no more babies younger than him, not since his last sister 'died'.
It was a little sad, how they couldn't play anymore.
When he was done with the pudding, his tummy really did feel better and his amma let him drink down some mint and herb chai. It felt tingly on his tongue but in the good way. Not the bad way. He could tell the difference for a long time now.
Sometimes his amma was like magic, she always knew what to do. When she sang him a song then it really was magic. He was going to ask her for one when the water fountains rushed with rain and more water.
Oh.
He knew what that meant. Soon more funny eunuch men would knock on their door and do all that bowing and reading. Then amma had to go away and wouldn't sleep with him that night and he wouldn't see her till at least noon the next day. Sometimes he had to be the one to go away and he would sleep with his aunties or governess. They were alright but he liked his amma best.
It was still so early, he didn't want amma to leave him yet. There were lots of things to do, lessons to learn and birds and plants to see outside. But he liked being with amma best, especially when it hurt.
As he knew would happen, a line of eunuchs and more servants came. Today they carried a lot of fun new things, the 'rewards'. The jewelry and money things bored him but they looked sparkly and pretty on amma and all their servants would get really excited on seeing them.
"Rain will bless your gardens this evening." bowed the chief black eunuch before his amma.
The boy didn't get why they said it like that. His abbi wasn't the rain or anything but that's what a lot of the servants said when abbi came to visit.
He had strange feelings about abbi. Sometimes he liked him, especially when abbi praised him or gave him yummy things and cool toys. Abbi gets a lot of things from all around the world and when he feels like it, he gives some to amma or the aunties. He knew that was important but when abbi came that meant less play time with amma.
"Caspara, take my boy to the second lady. My sweetest treasure, you must behave well for your auntie alright?"
"Okay amma."
He liked 2nd auntie because she wasn't grumpy or scary as the first mothers. He knows it's because auntie was mother to his sister Daana and not any of his brothers. It's okay because big sister Daana taught him lots of things and was fun to play with.
Before his governess could take him out of his amma's arms, the sounds of wind instruments blare like a baby elephant's trumpet. The servants' bows, some to their knees with the heads low, not daring to look up.
"There is no rush, let him stay a while so I may see him. I only have so many healthy sons."
"Husband?! You've...come so soon. Please forgive this humble servant for not adequately preparing for your arrival."
"Stand Aishwarya, I do not demand a favored wife of mine to kneel in her own rooms."
Abbi is in a good mood today. To let him stay and play. But he can't get too happy because amma always warns him. Even as she bows, amma is warning him without speaking. It's in how she holds him, in how many jingles her bells make. Amma makes him count and learn all their codes but it's okay because he can count very high and remember lots.
His abbi is in a really good mood today because he picks him up with a strong laugh and hugs. Sometimes abbi hugs are nice, his arms feel strong and good. His hands feel nice when they're not tight around his throat.
"I see you have tasted the delicacies I've granted."
"Yes husband, we are so thankful for your blessings."
"If you like them nightingale, that is all that matters. Present three more vats to my esteemed wife Aishwarya. My youngest has done so well lately, yes. I have high hopes."
He won't say anything but okays and thanks. If abbi asks him a question then he has to answer but as simply as possible, because that's what amma taught him. He has to do it if he wants to keep safe and abbi happy. If the answers aren't nice then he has to lie.
The better the lies, the happier abba is and amma will be. He's very good at lying.
"A reward then, my littlest son. What would you like for a reward?"
He wants to stop eating things that make him hurt. He wants to stop getting bitten of things that sting and burn and makes his body turn purple or throw up so much that blood comes out. He wants amma to stop shaking and crying when she thinks he is asleep. He wants amma to stop crying for abbi when he doesn't come or when the strange aunties or mothers come to fight. Amma always wins but it's annoying. He wants a lot of things. He wants to play with his brothers and sisters freely. He wants no more dead ones.
"Festival! I want to go to the festival abbi. There's lots of strange sweets there?"
Smile. That's the best way to tell a lie. To sell it, so taught his amma. It almost always works and he's getting better at reading when.
It works again because abbi lifts him high and agrees. They'll all go out as a family to the next festival. That's fun too so he'll take it. He'll take a festival and loads of new sweets that abbi grants. Today there are cookies shaped like stars and whirlpools. The cookies are better than the coins and better yet, they don't hurt after he eats them.
But it is so hot today still. It feels heavy and hazy, like a dream in the afternoon.
He likes sleeping and dreaming, it feels good. It doesn't hurt as much. But if it's a day like this, he doesn't mind being awake.
Awake
Wake up
Wake up
"Wake up, sssshhh wake up Amar,"
A boy opens his eyes.
The air is cold, not hot, and the floor is that of a moldy stone dungeon with no rugs, gardens or even a cushion. Everything smells bad and wrong. Everything hurts, from his stomach to the burning blood still stuck in his throat. For a split second, he considered tearing out the tongue of whoever was dumb enough to wake him when he was in this much pain. He's a lot grumpier when hurting. A lot less controlled.
But it was just Yuna, right on time if the moonlight peeking through the bars was right.
"Fucking shit, not the chains."
"It's fine." he croaks, his voice sounding like a dying frog.
It's not fine but it's easier to lie. It will be fine enough soon.
"Shit just let me break that-"
"It's fine. Chains stay on, they have to."
"Can you even move like that?! Shit-"
"Sssshhh...there's only so much time. Vincent can only distract dummy Darius for so long."
"Shit, yeah yeah I got what you asked for." hissed the older boy, sliding the little packages through the secret gaps that Vincent left.
The cage looked convincing but there were holes. So many holes. The chains themselves wouldn't be too hard to unlock. Amar figured that he could probably slip out the arm ones without unlocking a thing but it's the one on his neck that was troublesome.
Oh yeah, that's what got Yuna so mad? He knew the older boy was bad with chains of all kinds, magical and common.
"It's fine. It looks worse than it really is. " Amar assured, rummaging through the packs.
After checking the tools in the right place does he search for something to eat and drink. Can't ride out poison on an empty stomach, he knows that the hard way.
"Try saying that when you're not shaking like a damn leaf you crazy brat."
"It's just cold in here...and my body isn't immune to this one yet."
"Shit that's not...just eat. There's no more plain rice left, some kitchens went crazy on them."
"Oh...okay."
Rice worked best but he'll take what he can get. Whatever helped absorb and purge, he had the herbs and the half cooked antidote Vincent made. His body will handle the rest or he'll just die here. That simple. It was just another test. So far he's passed them all.
There was rice though, cut into neat squares and baked with custard.
"The crazy rice cakes, they're loaded with them. Georgie seriously told me they ran out of white rice?! They're not exactly what you asked for but it will still work. Right?"
"It's fine. Thanks...go quickly, stay safe." he tells the concerned Yuna, but there's no time for concern. Just escape.
Yuna's not supposed to be here. No one is. Not with the annoying case or whatever it was called. The case Vincent's master Darius cooked up just to keep him. Adults were so strange with their desires, he doesn't get it and he doesn't have to.
It won't matter soon, not with Darius and Damia. They were really annoying, even if they gave him poison just like he wanted. They kept making him eat too much though, it really hurt. The blood thing was also weird. But the world was weird.
His amma lied about this place.
It's not his mother's, this cake. He can get pudding somewhere, can try making it, but it won't ever taste like that again. In any way she made it. It won't taste the same without her and she's one of the dead now too. He's accepted that for a long time now.
Too dry, the antidote diffusing water Vincent made tastes beany and bitter. Everything is wrong.
It's still sweet though. The cake is still sweet and tasty, the bits of lemon and currants refreshing his too tired senses from his current reality. They won't be so bad when he has to throw it up later.
For some reason though, this taste makes him feel like crying.
Must have been the dream.
-----