Page 43 of The Night Prince 2

Running into a bunch of feral Kindreth children was never exactly good. They might want to make their names by taking down someone they believed was weaker than them. But were human children the same? He wasn’t sure.

They were mostly younger than Gemma, maybe around eight to ten. There was an especially small girl who was holding a worn, ragged and stained children’s book. She was holding it behind her back and swinging back and forth. Her little pink and white dress moved with her. She looked up at his old, wrinkled face as if… well, as if it was miraculous.

So perhaps not an evil group of vagrants, he thought.

“You’re a… a grandma?” the little girl asked shyly.

A slightly older boy rolled his eyes. “Of course, she is! Don’t you see the wrinkles and gray hair? You act like you’ve never seen an old person before!”

The little girl blinked rapidly, tears forming in her eyes. “Oh… I’ve never had a grandma.”

Of course, she hasn’t, Rhalyf realized. Her own probably died before or during the war. She might not even have parents. Like Declan and Finley… Finley, who claimed that he didn’t really care that his parents were gone. There’s a story there.

“Would you read me a story?” She thrust the story book towards him.

The book was rather dilapidated with a cover that was half ripped off and it looked like stains on every page along with a lot of grubby fingerprints. Clearly, it was a very beloved object, but Rhalyf had no desire to touch it. It looked decidedly sticky.

The boy who had spoken up earlier, snarled, “You’re such a baby! Want to hear a story? Please!”

The girl’s lower lip wobbled. “No, I’m not a baby! I just… just… the story…”

“My friends need to go shopping. I’m supposed to–” Here Rhalyf broke off as the older boy taunted the little girl again

“She’s busy! See? She doesn’t want to read you a stupid story! You’re so dumb!” the boy continued.

Tears were definitely welling in the girl’s eyes now. And he saw Finley about to step forward and likely shoo the children away. Clearly, the young man thought he would want nothing to do with the little street urchins. And, normally, he wouldn’t. After all, he wasn’t here for them. He didn’t care about them. They were here today and gone tomorrow. Hardly useful to any of his plans unless they could be employed as spies… But then he saw the slowly dying look of happiness in her eyes as he didn’t move or respond. He blinked as his throat suddenly felt tight.

“I’m sorry. I just thought… the story,” the little girl mumbled as she lowered the book.

“Ach! Don’t cry, wee one, I can read you the one story,” Rhalyf found himself saying. “What’s one story after all?”

What am I doing? I have no time for this. Truly, I should be making my way back to the palace and getting information out of Finley on the way.

But he took the tender object from the girl and cast around for a place out of the flow of traffic to read the picture book out loud to her. He would speed through it. There were hardly any words at all. And yes, it was sticky. Very sticky.

He turned his head and caught sight of Gemma. She was beaming at him like he’d performed something far more impressive with this than his transformation spell. She had her hands clasped together just beneath her chin. But it was Finley’s expression that stopped him for a moment. It was curiously blank. It was as if he’d stunned the young man and caused his entire thought processes to screech to a halt.

“Where shall we sit down and read this?” he wondered out loud.

“I know! I know!” Another of the children–a boy with what looked like mud rubbed into his hair–said as he jumped up and down, pointing rapidly down the snaking lane. “This way! This way!”

Rhalyf wondered if the urchins were taking them into a trap as the girl grasped his free hand and gently tugged him along with her. She smiled up at him shyly. Then another of the mites grasped hold of the other side of him. Actually, a few of them had hold of his skirt. Finley and Gemma followed after them silently.

The children took them to a broken down bench with a see-saw in front of it, which also looked rather sharp and poky. The children urged him to sit on the bench and, to his surprise, all of them crowded around him, even the boy who had called it all “stupid” a while back.

“Will you do voices, Gran?” the little girl asked. She was snuggled in his lap, resting her head against his sagging bosom.

“Ah…”

“Oh, you must do voices!” someone begged.

“Please, Gran!” Another added.

“Yes, yes, voices it is!” he promised and opened the first page of the dog eared book.

He started to read out loud. It was about a hungry caterpillar, which seemed to him to read like an allegory for drugs, which allowed himself to truly get involved in the story. The children were laughing and shouting and begging for him to keep going. By the end of it, even he was a little sorry to finish the last few words. The kids groaned that it was over and asked him to read it again and again.

“I cannot today. But… how about this,” he found himself offering, “I’ll come back again and read any books you like. And we can eat caramel corn, too.”

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