An hour later, Skye trudged down a backstreet, wearing an assortment of torn rags that failed to warm him. With his hair damp, he shivered and sneezed, a long line of mucus jumping from his nose. It was almost midnight, and he still hadn’t found shelter.

  What’s worse, a storm raged above because that was precisely what he needed to make his life more miserable. The ceiling was designed by stonemasons, peppered with holes to allow rainwater in to wash the city. His efforts at remaining dry failed as howling winds fought him for his rags. Mud clung to his feet as he ran, heading for the last place that might help him.

  Panting, he stopped across from the Medhars’ house. Pyrpphires glowed inside, warm red through the windows. He remembered the nights he’d spent with everyone here. Their gathering around dinner, followed by tea and roasted chestnuts in the living room. Afterwards, he’d usually have a warm bath, then chat with Rierana before going to sleep in his soft bed, looking forward to tomorrow.

  Rain splashed his face bringing him back to reality. Trembling, he stared up at the house, wondering how the Medhars would react if a stranger in soaked rags knocked on their door at midnight.

  It was a foolish idea no matter how he turned it over in his mind. No one in that house shared his nostalgia or feelings. He turned to leave when something slammed behind.

  Overhead, Rierana peeked from her window, struggling against the winds to close her shutters. The rain quickly plastered her hair to her face, and she had to spit it out of her mouth. Watching from below, Skye felt guilty for smiling, wishing he could help her. When she finally succeeded and disappeared, he was left standing under the rain. Alone.

  His chest ached. Come tomorrow, he’d be terribly sick, and he won’t be able to search for food or medicine. Stupidly, he walked toward the Medhars’ door and raised a hand towards the knocker.

  He took a deep breath and steeled himself, raising the heavy metal ring with cold, shaky fingers. The Medhars were the nicest family in Troqua. Even if they didn’t remember him, they’d still accept and shelter him against tonight’s storm.

  Exhaling, he knocked.

  Dressed in her pink night robe, Mrs. Jella answered the door, eyes tired, belly rounder than ever. The last time he’d seen her she was crying and begging for help after he’d terrified her in the middle of the night.

  She had looked after him for months while he recovered, cleaning, and cooking, and caring for all his needs, and he’d rewarded her by leaving the family to go into the Deeps. What right did he have to come begging for charity now?

  “I…” he started. Seconds passed and he couldn’t find the words to greet her, to apologize, to introduce himself, or to who knows what he was supposed to say. He stared dumbly, opening, and closing his mouth like a thoughtless fish.

  “I have nowhere else to go,” he eventually said.

  She smiled kindly. “It’s alright, come inside. You’ll get sick standing in the rain.” She stepped aside, letting him in.

  It was like he’d entered heaven. The air was warm, smelling of late-night coffee. The storm’s screams silenced as she closed the door.

  “Wait here; don’t get water all over my floor. I’ll get you a towel,” she said as she climbed the stairs.

  Looking up, Skye remembered the many times he’d ran up and down this staircase with Rierana and Lyonel. Those days felt like an eternity ago, although he’d only been gone for two nights.

  Now that he was here again, he never wanted to leave. But he still didn’t know how he’d persuade the Medhars to let him stay. Perhaps he could claim he’d lost his parents recently and had heard that Dr. Stenser was a kind man who’d help him.

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  Jella returned with a smile and a towel, leading him to the bathroom. He dried off, changed into clean clothes she’d provided, and finally managed to introduce himself. But before he could say anything meaningful, his stomach growled, and so she escorted him to the kitchen.

  Under the light of photrine lanterns, Skye sat at the dining table while Jella worked in the adjoining kitchen. Humming, she retrieved some eggs and butter from the icebox, where icy blue cryobies hissed mist into the air. Then she sparked the stove’s coiled pyrpphires till they hissed with heat, gleaming red.

  Skye’s leg bounced as his plan eluded him still. Feeling foolish for coming unprepared, he considered activating his curse and leaving, then returning when he was ready. But he’d just dried himself, and the storm could last the whole night.

  “Come on!” Rierana’s voice came from outside. “You haven’t eaten all day!”

  Skye turned left and right, searching for a place to hide. He was not ready to meet her again. His heart beat fast, and he knew he’d choke up like he did yesterday.

  “I’m not hungry and it’s too late for food!” Dr. Stenser complained. He stepped into the kitchen, being nudged along by Rierana, both of them in their pajamas. “Oh, we have a guest.”

  Rierana peeked from behind her father, her brown curls bouncing.

  With cold sweat running down the side of his face, Skye raised a hand and said “H-hello.”

  A moment later, Stenser sat across Skye, wearing his synthetic smile. Skye looked at anything but him. Stenser’s eyes held the same cold suspicion as every constable who’d kicked Skye out.

  Skye stole glances at the doctor’s face. Particularly at the bruise under his right eye, the cut on his cheek, and the bandage on his left forearm. The doctor looked like he’d been to one of those hidden arenas in the Coals District where people went to drink, bet, and fight. Which was strange because Stenser hated all of those things.

  “Which district are you from?” Stenser asked.

  Behind, dishes clinked, and a knife thudded against the cutting board as the ladies prepared a meal.

  “Aquanturine.” Skye looked away, feeling guilty for lying.

  The doctor squinted. “Do your parents know you left home?”

  There was no need to lie about this one. “I don’t know my parents,” Skye said, then winced. He’d just ruined the ‘dead parents’ story he’d been building in his head.

  “I see.” The doctor nodded. “What did you do back at Aquanturine?”

  “I-I…“ Skye stuttered. ‘I worked as a prospector in the Deeps’ he meant to say, but he knew the doctor hated this risky profession. And since he didn’t want to lie anymore, he said nothing.

  “You have purple spots on your neck and face,” the doctor said, pointing. “And your arms are covered in little scars. Is everything alright back home?”

  Skye pulled on his collar then threw his hands under the table. The discoloration must be from the recent beatings he’d received, and the old wounds came from climbing in the Deeps. He didn’t offer an excuse for either.

  “Stop interrogating the boy,” Mrs. Jella intervened. She tapped her husband’s shoulder as she walked to the storage room. “Come, I need your help.” She pulled on his hand till he obliged.

  The storage room nearby seemed to turn into a courtroom, and the faint whispers of the trial drifted to Skye’s ear. He only caught a few words, like ‘dangerous’, and ‘leave’ which dug a pit in his stomach. They didn’t trust him, and he’d given them no reason to. He had to present his case before they made their decision, and he had to make it convincing. But the idea of lying to the Medhars, to abuse their kindness, left a knot in his throat.

  Chasing the bell with his eyes, he wondered whether he should spare himself the misery and run away.

  Rierana blobbed on the chair across him. “You’re not from Aquanturine,” she accused.

  Skye flinched, his bell vanishing. “What makes you say that?”

  “You don’t smell like fish. Everyone I’ve met from Aquanturine smells like fish,” Rierana said. “You chose a bad time to lie to my dad. He isn’t in a great mood tonight.”

  With a clink, Mrs. Jella closed the door behind and returned carrying only a pair of onions.

  Stenser followed, settling into his chair. “You can stay the night. But tomorrow, we’ll find you a better place because my clinic is usually full, and I need all the rooms.”

  Curtly, Skye thanked the doctor.

  The scrambled eggs were warm, the tomatoes juicy, but he tasted none of it. Judgement had been passed, and he was too much of a coward to offer his defense.

  Thunder struck outside, and the teapot whistled. Onions crunched in the doctor’s mouth, while glassware clinked and water sloshed in the sink. Skye’s fingers tapped at the table.

  He couldn’t accept this decision. He needed more than one day to get his bearings, and prepare a proper plan.

  In a fury of resolve, he stood and went to the second-to-last cupboard by the window to retrieve the tea, cinnamon, and sugar jars. Then he brought a spoon from the cutlery drawer and four teacups from the side cabinet as well. Carefully, he prepared the tea as the bewildered Medhars watched.

  There was no going back now. This was his objection to their verdict.

  Rierana raised an eyebrow, twirling her forefinger. “How did you know where everything was?”

  “I have been living in this house for months,” he said, pouring tea for everyone. “Please have a seat, I have a story to tell.”

  **********