You Don't Just Throw Away a Kid

Morgan

Natalia never appeared.

I remained at our designated meeting place, a solitary figure waiting while the last vestiges of sunlight bled from the sky, leaving behind a bruised, twilight canvas. A sliver of desperate hope compelled me to give her until the morning. I fashioned a modest, cleverly disguised camp for myself, clinging to the fragile notion that she might yet find me in the deepening gloom. But I waited through the entirety of the following day, and the silence in the woods remained unbroken by her arrival. The conclusion was as unavoidable as it was grim: she was with the King. With Fire. A frustrated groan tore from my throat, a sound swallowed by the indifferent wilderness, and I began to pace, the forest floor absorbing the force of my agitation.

What was the right course of action? The question tormented me. Natalia was not only my dearest friend but also my younger sister, yet I had given her my word that I would press on without her if we were separated. How could I abandon her to that devil? Conversely, any attempt to rescue her from the King’s grasp would be a suicide mission, and my death would surely shatter Natalia. The thought of leaving her in the clutches of a man as violent and erratic as Viktor turned my stomach. Still, the prophecy that loomed over him was her shield; he would never truly kill her. Besides, Natalia possessed a peculiar, tenacious gift for wearing down even the hardest of hearts, for making herself a favorite. She had done it to me, years ago, when we were just children.

Should I stay? Or should I go?

The choice was torn from my hands when the distinct sound of palace guards crashing through the undergrowth reached my ears. My heart hammered against my ribs as I dove for cover, melting into the shadows. By some grace, they thundered past without noticing me. It was a clear sign. I could not afford to wait a moment longer. I would have to place my faith in the prophecy’s power to keep her from death. I would have to trust in her own unbreakable spirit and innate charm to win over her captor and ultimately outlast him. In that instant, as I turned to flee into the woods, I despised myself, seeing nothing but a coward. Our plan had unraveled into a catastrophic failure, leaving me with nowhere to go—I could neither stay nor return.

Natalia

The man who had disturbed the quiet of our room proved to be of little consequence. His only purpose was to ignite the single torch mounted on the wall and to ascertain if we were awake. He was followed, however, by a second man, one who announced his intention to “check my back.” The words were a flimsy pretext, a transparent excuse for the strange man to put his hands on me. When his arm reached out, I reacted instinctively, swinging my own and dragging my fingernails down the length of his face. A moment later, I admired my handiwork in the flickering torchlight: five distinct, angry red lines. Beside me, Jace looked on with an expression of what seemed to be immense pride. I hoped it would scar.

Stunned and instantly furious, the man struck me, a sharp, forceful slap across the face. The sting was startling, but I merely stared back at him, my eyes blazing with a silent rage that refused to be extinguished. And then, a strange thing happened. The anger in the man’s face seemed to evaporate, replaced by a sudden, bleak pallor. He took a stumbling step back, turned, and fled the room. It was bizarre. What could have frightened him so profoundly? I raised a hand to my cheek, the skin already tender. It would undoubtedly bruise.

My greatest concern, however, was for Jace. The men had come for me, not for him. He was just a small boy caught in the crossfire of a conflict he couldn't possibly understand.

I think, perhaps, that naming him Jace had sealed my fate to his. Years ago, I had decided that if I ever had a son, I would call him Jace. Those dormant maternal impulses must have been what drove me to protect him back at the bakery. I hadn’t known I possessed such a strange, fierce, and protective feeling until that moment.

My thoughts drifted to Morgan. Was she safe? I sent a silent prayer into the darkness, hoping she had escaped some dreadful end. Our plan to flee the city had been born of desperation, not careful thought. In hindsight, given the destitution that plagued the common folk, it was more than likely we would have been apprehended and robbed by highwaymen. Still, I knew she was resourceful, and she packed a powerful punch, but I couldn't quell the worry that gnawed at me.

I hadn’t wasted time dwelling on the possibility of being rescued. My mind was already at work, observing the routines of our captors, trying to formulate a new strategy for escape. The last thing I expected was for the door to burst open a little over an hour later, revealing King Viktor, his face a mask of glacial fury. He was not alone; he dragged behind him a man who was desperately pleading for his life.

Viktor’s cold gaze fell upon me, then shifted to the darkening bruise on my cheek. Without uttering a single word, he turned his attention to the terrified man he held captive. With a sickeningly sharp crack that echoed in the small room, he shattered the man’s neck. I flinched violently. Though I had been conditioned to Viktor’s volatile outbursts over a lifetime, the casual indifference with which he had just extinguished a life was still profoundly terrifying to witness.

An iron grip seized my arm as he tried to haul me from the bed. The abrupt motion sent a jolt of agony through my injured back, and a cry of pain escaped my lips, but Viktor, consumed by his own rage, seemed not to notice or care. A small shadow in the King’s thundering wake, Jace scrambled off the bed and trailed after us. Viktor remained oblivious to his presence, a small mercy for which I was deeply grateful.

I was all but thrown into a waiting carriage after being marched from the small building. Viktor didn't bother waiting for a driver, wrenching the door open himself. He followed me inside, and I held the door just long enough for Jace to scurry in before it was slammed shut. It was only then, in the cramped confines of the carriage, that Viktor finally saw the filthy child.

“He is not coming with us,” he stated, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“Yes, he is.”

“No. He isn’t,” Viktor repeated. “He is a dirty rodent from the streets. Put him back where he belongs.”

“And where would that be?” I challenged, my voice trembling with a burgeoning rage. I dared him to answer. I had no intention of abandoning Jace, and I would not let Viktor harm him. As if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Jace clambered onto my lap and clung to me, pressing his face into my chest to hide from the frightening man seated across from us.

“On the streets,” he said, the words like shards of ice. I was stunned by the man’s audacity. I felt Jace tremble against me as I bit back the torrent of insults that screamed through my mind.

“He’s not going back to the streets,” I snapped, my voice sharp with defiance.

“After the stunt you pulled, brat, you are in no position to defy me.”

“Well, I am anyway, you imbecile.” This time, his hand connected with my other cheek. The hypocrisy was staggering. He had just murdered a man for leaving a bruise on my face, and now he was giving me another one himself.

“Do not talk back to me, girl. That rat is going back.”

“I have seen what becomes of children on those streets. Jace cannot return there.”

“Then I will kill the boy myself,” he vowed.

“Over my dead body,” I retorted, pulling the small child into a tighter embrace. Viktor moved, drawing a dagger from his belt. A cold numbness washed over me, but my resolve did not waver. As he raised the gleaming blade to slice Jace’s throat, I spun around, shielding the child completely with my own body. I braced myself for the searing pain of the steel, but it never came. The cold metal stopped, a hair's breadth from my skin.

“Very well,” Viktor growled, his voice thick with frustration. “Keep the rat. But I will give my guards their orders. If they ever find him without you, they are to kill him in the most agonizing manner they can devise.”

“Then I suppose I’m going to need a rope?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Or perhaps I can use the chain you had me on when you tethered me to your chair like a common dog.”

He slapped me again, then grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back until tears sprang to my eyes. I registered with a grim sense of gratitude that at least he hadn't broken any bones this time. For the remainder of the journey, a stifling stillness filled the carriage. Jace shook, Viktor brooded, and I seethed. My fury was a shield, muffling the persistent, searing agony in my back, the throb in my cheeks, and the pounding in my head. I had won the battle today, but I knew the war was still a long, long way from being over.