I tap him twice on the leg with a paw, delicately pointing out that he had not come close at all. He had been closer to cooking himself. And then who would tend to me? A terrible oversight on his part, really. “Mrow.”
He sighs again. “Now it’s just so far. It’s all slipping away from me. What am I supposed to do between now and the next season’s start? Half the Ashram thinks I’m a damn monster after what happened with Nitham.” The smile from earlier returns and now grows into something crooked—cunning.
But I recognize it as the fake smile many humans adopt when masking a hurt.
“Maybe I should let them think that. Brahm knows Nitham will try to get back at me twice as hard for anything I’ve done to him. But they might avoid me if I start letting more people think I’m some kind of monster, hm?” The grin he holds is a hollow thing. A disguise worn by someone who in truth is rather lonely and puts on the kind man’s face to not worry others.
I know it, because I have been where Ari has, and he was the one to pull me from that. I have not forgotten, and I will not let him forget. But first, the damnable candle taking his attention.
I move around his leg and approach the third flame in the room.
“Shola—hsst—no! Stay away from that. You remember what happened last time—”
I do indeed, but all the same, my paw darts and I snuff the flame from existence. Its heat pricks my skin and I wince. The audacity of fire lets you know just how much Brahm had a hand in shaping it. Rude. Inconsiderately bright. Harmful. And always giving off that unpleasant smoke. I voice my disdain, and moment’s pain, to Ari. “Maow!”
He grinds a palm to his forehead and uses his other hand to slide the candle away. “Brahm’s tits, cat. What did you think would happen?” A heavy sigh leaves Ari, and he reaches out with both hands to take my palm in his grip.
What I thought would have happened was that you would leave the candle be and give yourself a moment’s break. Brahm knows you needed it. I tell him this, though he doesn’t have the ears or skill to hear me. “Mrrp.”
“Yes-yes, you’ll be fine, Shola.” His fingers gently rub my skin, though he is utterly blind to the fact that I am not hurt. Only irritated. What else could I be when dealing with a boy so thick? Even so, I love him for the kindness he offers.
It is what made me accept him as my ward. The one to watch over. If only he was a better Listener.
But working on your human takes time, and I must better learn to be patient.
I catch his eyes darting back to the snuffed candle, and their desire is plain enough for me to see. He wishes to rekindle it and resume his practice.
I lunge, my paw striking the waxen-stick, sending it skittering along the floor.
There are times for patience, and then those moments when you must simply bat your problem away.
Ari shuts his eyes and rubs a few fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Brahm’s. Blood. Shola.” He rises and makes his way toward the door. “Maybe we’ll both be less moody after a bite, hm?”
The first sensible thing he’s said. “Mrrrl.”
“Of course, your majesty. A double portion of meat. How could I forget?” He laughs to himself and slips out of the room, leaving me to myself for a time.
I lose track of how long it has been since Ari has left, but the pains in my stomach let me know it has been quite the while. Long enough that any other lesser animal, which is to say, all of them, would have perished from starvation.
The door opens and he moves through it—a tray rests in his grip. “Back. Miss me?” He gives me a smile that should mollify most of my displeasure.
It does not.
A cat can be kept many things, but never hungry. “Mrrr.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks for asking how it was, by the way. Everyone’s looking through me rather than at me.” His shoulders slump and he soon follows, sinking to the ground. “It’s like no one can stomach seeing my face after what happened at the festival. I didn’t even see Aram or Radi in Clanks.”
He folds a piece of flat bread and mops it through a thin pool a color close to my own fur. Tiny peas float through its surface, though he avoids picking them before taking his bite.
“What if they changed their minds about being my friends? What if—”
I bump my head firmly into one of his legs, taking his attention from the bothersome thoughts. Besides, there are more important things to focus on. I inform him of this as I eye one of the drumsticks resting in a sauce of spinach and butter.
“What—oh.” Ari grins and rubs a hand against my head. “Here.” His fingers take a piece of the chicken, tearing a lump free. He is quick to ensure it has little of the green filth stuck to its meat, and more of the butter instead.
Sometimes he is much smarter than he looks. I take the piece and set to work, sharing the pleasurable meal and silence together. My company buoys him as he frets over his other friends. But it is the least I can do: letting him know that no matter what, he will never be truly alone.
We eat in continued peace before he gets to his feet and unlatches the window resting above his bed. “All right, out you go. I’m taking this back to Clanks, hm?” He gives the tray a little wave.
“Mrrmp.”
He blinks, then realizes his error. “Right. Sorry, distracted.”
I’ll say.
Ari drops the tray and takes me in both his hands, raising me to the window before easing me out. “Don’t stay out too long with your business, ji? It’s cold, and the snow’s getting heavier.”
I weathered worse winters before you took me into your home, Ari. “Marow.”
“And don’t lick any snow—I swear, cat. You were stuck wincing half the day last time.”
Nonsense. An utter lie. And I was simply showing my displeasure at how horrendous snow happened to be. “Mrrl.” He does not listen to my reasoning and instead places me on a cushion of soft winter’s ice.
“I’ll be back soon.” Ari leaves as soon as that, and I set off to do my business. Though, I don’t imagine any human has an understanding of what that might really entail.
The place known as the Rookery has many secrets all its own. Forgotten paths laid into its stone and along its height. The perfect place for birds to perch and be ignored by the many human eyes too dull to see anything they are not concerned with. But it is the perfect place for a cat.
There are ledges and ways for the quick of foot to reach the Ashram grounds, even with the snow and ice. It isn’t long before I am astride the courtyard, then just as soon, the city of Ghal.
Streets I know well. Just as much as the cruelty they can carry.
I keep to shadowed paths under buildings’ heights, all ensuring the wrong stares do not find me. Not all people have Ari’s heart.
Snow crunches underfoot and I move with all the grace and speed I can muster. I reach the cornerstone of the structure closest to me. The sound of footsteps loudens, and I peer around the edge to see who draws close.
She is nothing more than a child. Younger than Ari by a good handful of years if I am any judge of humans. And I happen to be a masterful one. Her hair is bird’s nest tangle and done no favors by the sharp cold today. Stress has dulled the blackness of each strand and a hollowness hangs in her eyes. It is one I have known too.
The emptiness that comes with hunger.
And loneliness.
All the weight and sorrow of an orphan. Like I once was.
She brings a thumb to her mouth, biting at the skin around her fingernail. Then, catching herself in the nervous act, she stops. Her gaze flits to the warmth of a stone pit and the fire that burns within it. Then, just as quick, she turns to watch a man turn a thin mass of dough that is still cooking atop a metal sheet. The girl thumbs the collar of her robes, the color of which has come to be a gray only found in things that have given up their original shade to time and stress. The clothes carry more lines of thread and patches than any child’s ever should.