I waited for the lecture, the punishment that was no doubt in store. I sat on my cot until Alon sunk so low past the horizon that I could see him being swallowed up. All the while, there were no footsteps that ascended up to my room.

Hunger from not eating all day almost broke me to leave the room, but I wasn't going out there until Alastair made his appearance.

He never did.

Eventually, I drifted off again, my stomach howling like a rabid dog with my brain as its frothing mouth.

Alastair's veiny hands shook my shoulder, roughly. "Salem, wake up. Come on, now."

Blearily, I cracked one eye and glared at him. The darkness in the room, told me how late it was. "Finallyy decided to seee me?" I burbled.

"Get up." Alastair moved out of my line of vision.

I debated whether or not to ignore him, but then I heard the creak of my dresser drawer. I rolled over, sat up and opened both eyes to get hit in the face with two folded sets of trousers and shirts.

"Pack one and put on the other." Alastair left the room.

I pulled the clothing off of my head and hissed. What was this? What was he doing? There had been no moral speech, just a blunt command.

The sky outside had faint tinges of gray and pale streaks of blue that said it was morning. Obnoxiously early morning.

I groaned and again contemplated going back to bed, but if I didn't do as he said, Alastair would be back.

My clothes from the day before were a wrinkled mess since I'd slept in them. I didn't change, but did stuff the outfits into a bag before slinging it over my shoulder and descending the stairs.

Alastair wasn't in any of the rooms. I found him outside, hooking his two horses up to his wagon.

"Where are we going?" I went over to the dappled mare, who snorted at me, turning her head, her tail swishing dramatically. Animals didn't like me either. I flicked her ear.

"Away," Alastair said. "We need to get out for a while, I think." He heaved up a large trunk that I knew had to be filled with his books, and placed them down in the back and pulled a mottled tarp over it. He climbed aboard and took a seat.

'Away.' A stone sunk low in my stomach. Why? Had Vonet died in the night? Were his parents going to send the peacekeepers after us?

Alastair tapped the wooden bench he sat on to get my attention. I closed my eyes tight and bowed my head. I was a bit more compliant when I was tired, that was all. The old man knew me too well. That's why he did this. I could refuse. I could shout and scream, waking up those that lived at least a mile out.

I raised my head again, opened my eyes, and rolled them for Alastair to see before I swung myself up and dropped my sack in the back with his trunk.

Alastair flicked the reins and steered the horses around and up the path, into the sleepy city. Very little bustle was roused at this hour. Occasional flickers of movement from the homeless, were all I saw. But I did realize something.

"We're heading to the castle," I stated. We'd reached the main road that led right up to the enormous estate.

Alastair bobbed his head.

I wrapped my arms around myself as the cold bitter air of the morning cut through my rumpled shirt.

We entered the main courtyard where everything had gone down yesterday. I refused to look at the place Travis had been lying when I'd seen him last.

The carriage turned and we trotted around, away from the front doors to a side entrance where the infirmary was. My fingers curled tight around my arms, nails sharper than the icy breeze that I swear had dropped another few notches.

Alastair pulled on the reins, and the horses stopped. He climbed down, reached back into the cart, and pulled out a basket, porting several bottles filled with varying colored liquids. The 'retired' alchemist placed it in front of the door and topped it with a letter.

With that done, he turned around and mounted back on. Not a word was shared between us as he turned the horses about and headed away from the castle, into the quiet city.

He was alive. Travis Vonet was alive. Alastair was leaving his concoctions in case they were needed, because we were leaving.

With this information, I'd have assumed he was going to force me to go in there to see him. He would make me apologize and look at the welts and bruises that I'd inflicted. Then he'd ask how I felt about it all afterward. I would no doubt laugh and deem it a true pleasure to behold my fine work. Alastair would hang his head, take us back, and send me to my room for the rest of the day. He'd bring me meals when needed, where we wouldn't say anything.

My punishments had been getting quieter and quieter. I shouldn't have bothered waiting for him the day before.

However, taking us away was a new one. It had been a relatively silent trip thus far, and it remained so. We left the upper ring of Emrin, leaving behind the upperclassman, merchants, and the wretched nobles.

We entered the middle-ground area where there was a bit more farmland. It was nothing like what the western kingdom of Evocatus was like, at least as I was told. We had decent crops and farmland, usually beyond Emrin's border, which was the direction they were headed. We passed through the lower slums and the sun was finally over the crest of the hills. It was still low, but it finally reached a time that was sane to be awake.

The great wall of the big city came into view, and Alastair kept us on the path, leading to the large gates. I glanced over at him while he kept his gaze forward. I'd left the capital of Adderghast only twice in my life. The first time, I'd been young and had been trying to run away. The second time had been a tedious trip with Alastair to gather herbs for some of his 'legal' potions. He hadn't left me alone the entire time, afraid of me crushing some of the rare plants.

Both times, leaving had not been enjoyable for one glaring reason.

Two tents on either side of the gate, two men in long off-white cloaks standing in the center of the road, each holding a dark wooden staff. The taller of the two held up a hand as we approached.

"State your name and purpose for leaving Emrin," the brisk voice shot out beneath the hood of the peacekeeper.

"I am Alastair Gunheld of Emrin. I am taking a leave to visit some family that are out of the city," Alastair replied.

I didn't say anything. Alastair didn't have any family.

"You are the practiced alchemist, Alastair Gunheld." The peacekeeper's tone somehow got colder.

"I no longer practice," Alastair explained. "I only give my talents when asked to by the proper authorities."

The shorter of the two whispered something to the other and the larger one nodded. "Very well. Do you have your papers?"

Alastair reached up his sleeve and pulled out two thick, folded packets that were our registration forms, and handed them to the man who passed them to the smaller one. "While we confirm, step down from your cart. Each of you, step inside." He gestured to each side of the walkway to their two tents.

We both leapt down and separated to our designated areas. I glanced behind me, and saw the shorter man pull out an enormous book, the registry that had all the information of everyone coming and going recorded in it. The taller one paced over to our carriage to begin his search.

I turned and ducked into the flap of the tent, letting it fall shut behind me. Another peacekeeper sat waiting for me. He stood as I entered and said one word. "Strip."

I'd fought it the first time. I'd tried to sneak past the hooded cult, but I'd been caught and whipped hard for that. They'd torn off my clothes until I was buck-naked and didn't give them back.

I complied to the man's demand and removed my clothes myself, not wanting to be found hiding in the Southerland's corn field by their sixteen-year-old daughter, who snorted like an old warthog at the sight of me and had gone off to go tell the rest of her family of swine.

I raised my arms out to either side and displayed my completely nude body to the stranger.

Hands slid down my skin and I was so tempted to bite the eerily smooth fingers that tugged my hair up and peered through the short strands to my scalp; that yanked my arms higher to check the pits; that prodded sharply along each rib.

He hovered briefly over the stretched dark scar across my chest. It was longer and more nasty than any other I had. A jagged, jerky purple line, over my heart. It had never faded away or gone white, even though it was the oldest I owned. It was the only mark from the storm of Feraway. Alastair told me it was a miracle that that was the only thing I'd gotten from that devastation. But it wasn't the mark that mattered to the peacekeepers. He moved on, down to my legs, spread them and gave no regard for anything down there.

After checking the bottoms of my feet that I almost kicked him with, the man was finally satisfied and allowed me to put my clothes back on.

Their paranoia was ludicrous and exasperating. They honestly believed a Chaos child could be in their precious town? They checked you going in, and they checked you going out. It was redundant and pointless.

According to Goat, Chaos had been quiet for over a decade. The evil fate, as he was referred, hadn't caused any terrible havoc since he destroyed Feraway. Most theories implied that he was in a temporarily dormant state. They believed he was in a passive sleep that prevented him from using full-force. There were others that thought the other, more order-bound fates had locked him away completely, but most weren't that optimistic.

Storms and minor disasters occurred but nothing major since my hometown had been obliterated.

I had no memory of it. I had only been a baby when Alastair had found me among the rubble.

Many people did assume I was one of the dark fate's chosen, since I was one of Feraway's only survivors, but I didn't have the mark. Chaos's eye didn't blemish my body like his children that phenomenally lived through one of his rages. All I had was the darkened flesh that had only been the fault of an unfortunate accident.

They say that Chaos children were monsters too. They were wretched beasts, cursed by Lord Chaos to be his physical hands of destruction. Peacekeeper's primary function was to get rid of his children and protect us from their wrath.

It was too perfect. The description was me to a fault. I wasn't one of them, though. Like many others, however, I'd asked the question: why, of all people, didn't he choose me?

I pushed out of the tent again, rubbing absently at the line over my beating heart, and saw Alastair, tying the cord of his belt back around his waist.

"You are clear to leave." The peacekeeper who was in charge gave a nod, and the two of them pushed the enormous doors open.

We finally left Emrin, passing another set of tents, but we wouldn't have to go through the ordeal again until we returned.

It was more forested along this way, but we kept to the path. There remained a strict hush between us as we continued on. My exhaustion made me slump down. Without a word, I climbed back onto the tarp behind us and laid down. Alastair didn't stop me, so I allowed myself to drift off again.

I awoke to the heat of the day, creating a dampness of sweat rolling down my forehead. Light from the noon sun blared into my eyes as it flashed between the cracked canopy of leaves above us.

My stomach was tight and gave an awful yowl. I turned my head to see the back of Alastair's head. He didn't react to it. I looked back up at the intertwining branches and stretched my hands up behind my head, banging my already bruised knuckles on the old man's chest of books. I cursed, but that didn't draw his attention either.

We must have been traveling for over half a day, judging from the position of Alon and the boiling temperature. Alastair had to have been hungry too.

I shuffled my feet, kicking off the tarp that added more unnecessary warmth. I'd never been this far outside of Emrin since I was a baby. Where in the world were we going?

I thought of something. I'd thought of it earlier, but hadn't fully considered it until that moment. Was Alastair taking me somewhere to leave me? Had he finally had enough? Almost killing someone had been the last straw. He was taking me out here to abandon me... He'd told me to pack my clothes. Sure he'd grabbed a chest that I'd assumed were filled with his books, but maybe instead it had some food and necessities he planned on dropping me off with out of pity.

Even though the day was hot, my hands got very cold.

It made sense.

As the thought reoccurred, Alastair pulled back on the reins, slowing the horses to a halt.

I sat up and blinked in surprise at the cottage before us. "Where are we?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"We're visiting some old friends of mine," Alastair descended down and untied the horses to hook them off to the side of the house.

I glanced around and saw no other buildings in sight. We weren't in any village or town that I knew of. It must be on the outskirts somewhere. Rows of evenly spaced trees went down for as far as the eye could see. It was an orchard, but I didn't see any fruit.

Alastair returned and heaved down the large chest and marched over to the front door. I saddled my sack over my shoulder and followed. The old man kicked the door gently, since his hands weren't free, and it quickly swung open for us to see a pair of two elderly women.

I always called Alastair old because of his pearly white beard and thin, gangly body, but these ladies were ancient. Wrinkles on every inch of their face, age spots covered shaking hands that traveled up bone arms with saggy skin. With wire hair and semi-toothless grins, they greeted us.

"Alastair!" The first crone's voice quavered, but she flung her arms around his neck and nearly toppled him backwards with his trunk.

"Easy, Hannah," Alastair smiled. "Let me get in first."

"Let him go." The other woman, who was stouter than the other, and was missing even more teeth, put her hands on her hips. "It's my turn."

I would have loved to see Alastair bested by the old bags, but they let him put down his box to properly greet them.

After the disgusting displays of affection were done between the three of them, the shorter one pulled back and looked Alastair up and down. "It looks like someone's starting to catch up with us, Hannah. You've got quite a few more wrinkles, Ali."

I snorted as Alastair's shoulders slumped. "As they say, time is a wretched thief," he grumbled. Then he turned to me and plucked my pack from me and tossed it inside.

"Wha—?" I started to speak, but the alchemist shook his head.

"Now that we're here, you can get to work. Sera, would you be so kind as to bring me one of your amica baskets?" Alastair smiled at the fat one in such a filthy sweet way that my stomach twisted.

She nodded. "Oh, absolutely!" Then she hobbled into the house to fetch one of these baskets.

Hannah, the skeleton, tilted her head. "What will you have the boy do, Ali?"

Ali? I shuddered.

"I know things aren't easy for the two of you anymore, especially tending to all this land," he replied. "I brought the boy to take care of things for you. He's young and strong, perfectly built for manual labor."

"Excuse me?!" I exclaimed.

Sera returned way too quickly for the old reanimated corpse that she probably was. "Here we are!" She sang and pulled out an enormous woven basket that went taller than my waist, with only two handles to hold on the sides.

Alastair passed the monstrosity to me. "You will gather all ripe, well rounded, non-bruised amicas, filling this basket completely before you are allowed to enter this house."

I gaped at him. "You must be joking. It's blazing hot out here. I haven't had food or water since yesterday afternoon."

"Then you better get to work." Alastair nodded and was about to shut the door in my face, but plump, old Sera stopped him.

"Wait, Ali," she gestured to the corner of the porch. "Don already brought us amicas today."

Where the crone pointed sat three baskets, identical to the one in my hands, filled with the sweet, oblong, turquoise fruit.

Alastair stared. "Don?" He asked, blinking in surprise.

"You know," Sera grinned toothily. "Hannah's husband."

Hannah smiled dreamily. "He's such a good man. I really don't deserve him."

Alastair looked at the old woman sympathetically. "Hannah, Don is dead. Don't you remember?"

Sera snorted.

Hannah patted Alastair's shoulder. "Of course, dear. I may be old, but I'm not that far gone."

"It's his ghost," Sera put it simply.

I almost busted up, but I bit my tongue.

"His ghost," Alastair repeated slowly.

Hannah nodded. "Yes! Isn't it wonderful? He must have looked down on us and knew we were struggling with the harvest-work, because soon we didn't have to harvest anymore. Big bushels of amicas started appearing on our porch in the mornings a few months back, after I threw out my hip. And then Sera had the great idea to put out the baskets and soon they were filled. Sadly, we've never caught him at it, but I know it's my Donny." Hannah giggled.

"See, Ali?" I cut in. "There's no need for me to do it. If I go out and gather more, there will be too much. They'll rot before they get the chance to be eaten."

Alastair flashed me a glare, but then the stupid lady kept talking.

"Actually," Hannah tapped a bony finger to her pointy chin. "When amicas get old, they make excellent pie and fruit bread. The people always love it when I sell my pastries at the market and the more there are, the more money we get!" She clapped her hands, delightedly.

Alastair smiled at me. I wanted to throw the basket at his smug face. "You heard her, Salem. Go out and don't come back until that basket is full. One bruise and you go back out and start all over."

"But—" The door slammed in my face. I grit my teeth and chucked the large weave at the door. Turning tail, I marched down the steps and into the front lawn area. About twenty feet off the grass, trees were everywhere. I rotated around and stared at the dirt path that we'd come up on.

I could run. I'd tried before, but now I didn't have to face the peacekeepers, now that I wasn't in a big city. I could steal some of the hags' fruits and finally live out on my own.

A horse was probably a good idea. I made my way to the side where Alastair had tied up the animals. They peacefully chewed the cud from the trough in front of them, not paying me much attention. I went over to Nox, the dark gray bronco, and ran my hand on the leather, binding him to the poll. A sigil pressed into the material, like a brand. It was a diamond with a horizontal line running through it. I wasn't surprised. Alastair had put a lock mark on the rope. I couldn't untie it without the key sigil, which I had no idea what it looked like because Alastair knew me too well.

I paced around the house, looking for a pump. My mouth was bone dry, and sweat had already flattened my shortened hair to my head. Alastair honestly expected me to work out in this heat? I could get heatstroke. I could die. He probably wanted that.

I pressed my hand against the stonework on the backside of the cottage, breathing in the ghastly air.

I could always go by foot. I could follow the path until I found decent civilization...but that meant peacekeepers. The hooded cult even rode their black steeds out into nowheresville like this every once in a while. No matter what, I couldn't really avoid them. I could try to stay in the woods, live in the wild. But there were vicious animals and the Chaos children to worry about. Of course, either might take one look at me and think I was one of them anyway.

I dragged my fingers around the corner of the house, until I was at the front again, staring down the rows of trees.

I honestly had no idea where I was anyway. Alon was at his peak, and it was the only way I knew my directions. I'd fallen asleep, so I didn't know the turns we'd taken.

The basket had bounced off the door and had rolled down the steps where it rested sideways on the grass.

Bitterly, I stomped over to it and scooped it up. It would take hours to fill the thing. Amicas, while generally delicious, were small and only a few good ones grew on the trees anyway. I'd be going up and down a lot of trees without a stinking ladder.

One advantage was that under the trees there was less direct sunlight attacking me. However, for every advantage there was a disadvantage. The first tree I came to, where I could see the plump, cyan, heart-shaped fruit hanging from its branches, had no holding place for me to climb. I couldn't shimmy up the prickly trunk. I circled the thing and found no way to get myself up there and had no other option, but to move on.

When I found one that was climbable, I grasped the low branch and pulled, causing several slivers to bite into my finger tips. I slipped and fell at the sting. These trees were awful. I bit the pads of my hand and spat out the bits of wood. A few blood drops welled up from the deeper cuts. I stared down at my hand and got a distasteful flash of them covered in red that didn't come from me. I tore that thought away and wiped them clean on my pants.

I took the edge of my shirt and ripped a sizable piece of cloth from the clothing and placed it where I put my hands. It helped reduce the splinter count, and I was finally able to heave myself up, hooking the handle of the basket on the toe of my boot, bringing it with me.

Angling myself around the twisted limbs of the tree was difficult and I tore a few more gashes into my clothes, but I managed to get eight pieces of ripe, round fruit. They rolled loosely around at the bottom, not even filling the first level. They were too small and the basket was too big.

Angrily, I plucked the biggest of the hearts and bit into it, sending a sweet explosion of juice across my taste-buds. I moaned greedily and sucked the fruit dry in less than a minute. The food was tantalizing, the liquid inside, quenching the burning in my throat. I tossed the core and stared at the seven remaining. I pulled a face, my stomach still whining. The slightly shriveled fruit, attached to the tree was an option. I reached out and grabbed the closest one to me and tried it. It was only a little bruised, but the flavor was vastly different. There was hardly any juice and the flavor was sour to the point it made my lips pucker. I spat out the bit and flung the useless husk to the ground.

I carefully clambered down and moved on. I had to fill this ridiculous thing before I could get some real food or water, and that wouldn't happen if I ate all of the good ones. The thought of gathering them all and then running off with them for myself, occurred again, but this thing didn't have straps to sling over my back. Once it was full, it was going to be heavy and I'd have to drag it along with me, which was too big of a pain.

After squirming down my fourth tree. The first layer was finally covered. This was going to kill me. Sweat rolled down from my forehead, threatening to drip into my eyes. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and thought resentfully of Alastair, no doubt using one of his cooling sigils to freshen the interior of the little house. The three old death bags were no doubt sitting around a table, digging into chilled amica pie, laughing at their new slave boy.

This was a new method of punishment that Alastair had resorted to. He had this belief in the power of words. He used to sit me down and talk about how people had feelings. I had feelings that must understand their pain that I caused. Somehow hurting them hurt me more. But those morality speeches had grown more and more sparse over the past year or so. He shut me in my room instead, probably hoping I'd reflect on my actions and see the error of my ways. He'd shaved my head. He'd taken away meals before. He'd stuck me in front of others to apologize, only to have me scoff before saying something more offensive. But that was the biggest action he'd tried to make me do.

It didn't matter what he said. It didn't matter what he did to me. It didn't matter what he made me do.

He could never change me.

I wiped away the moisture that had quickly accumulated in my eyes. The heat had even gotten to them. Shoving them away, I continued deeper into the orchard trees, discovering many of them with no usable fruit at all, appearing already to have been harvested.

Obviously, it was the lady's husband ghost. I snickered.

The empty trees were getting progressively more annoying. I had managed to fill most of the basket finally, not enough for Alastair, I was sure. But I had to scrape to get anything after that point. I climbed up one of them, to see if I'd missed any, and saw that some of the longer branches had even been trimmed back, showing proper care to the tree. This was far too in the orchard for the crones, and there was no way they could cut back some of these nasty, prickly limbs.

So, who was really doing all this?

I found two decent amicas and descended back down to my basket, and heaved it along, passing tree after tree, the irritating prickle, sizzling dangerously along my skin. My jaw clenched as I glared up at the taunting leaves, swaying harmlessly above. Even the bad fruit had been removed. What was this game?

My back was killing me, my arms were sore, sweat soaked through my shirt and continued to slip down my face. My fingers itched and stung, my throat, again, felt as though claws were raking down it as my stomach roared.

I caved again and stole another heart from the basket, ripping into it, relishing the flavor. Once it was done I chucked it behind me and hauled the heavy basket forward. Glancing up at the next empty tree almost made me scream. Angrily, I took my torn cloth and wrapped the two pieces I now had around my palms and climbed up, determined to find something.

One measly fruit, shrunken and pitiful. I pitched it as hard as I could. I didn't even get the pleasure of seeing it smash into the trunk of the neighboring tree. It vanished into its dark green leaves, where plump, round turquoise objects were sprinkled throughout its boughs'. My eyes widened and I hastened to get out of the tree I was in. I slid, painfully against the nettled limbs and landed hard on my feet, crumpling as my ankle popped.

I swore and shoved myself up. The foot hurt, but not enough to stop me from getting over to the promised land. I scooped up my basket and banked for the fully bloomed amica tree.

But something brought me up short. I stumbled and nearly dropped my gathered fruit to gawk at the sight before me.

A pair of war-torn boots and a barefoot boy sleeping next to them, right in the shade of my saving grace.

I approached slowly and stared at the fairy boy that had to be roughly around my age. He wasn't literally Fae, of which I had seen only on two separate occasions, slipping between people in the Emrin streets. They were technically Fetins and hated being called Fae by anyone but each other. They had light, flowy blond hair that tended to defy gravity and sway around their raised petite heads. They're skin looked papery thin and almost transparent on their elfin bodies that always looked like they were dancing gracefully rather than walking. They had their weird ability to vanish into their surroundings if they wanted to, but they didn't like leaving Fet, generally. They were a cold, isolated people that would occasionally get hired by others as spies.

The sleeping boy wasn't like them, but he probably had some Fae blood in his heritage. He was slight and pale, with fluffy white-blond hair like the downy of a duckling. His face was soft and at ease, breathing in deeply and then back out. He'd wrapped himself in a thick, rich, red scarf that was way too long, since several layers were curled around his neck. It rested right under the boy's bottom lip, like a blanket of a child that had just been tucked in by his mother.

My fingers tightened around the handles of the basket as my fury lashed its tail. Who did this kid think he was? He was sleeping while I practically killed myself, slaving away for people who wouldn't even remember it tomorrow.

The creature made a soft cooing noise that almost made me puke, and he rolled onto his side, resting his tiny hands underneath his head.

I adjusted the basket in my arms and kicked him none too gently, right in the stomach.

He made out a gasp of surprise and curled inward at the blow but didn't open his eyes.

"I know you're awake, snot!" I snarled, glaring at the runt, who was maybe a little smaller than myself. "You don't belong here, now get out."

A small smile tugged the corner of the boy's mouth, that made the beast in my stomach flip. "You don't live here either," he murmured quietly enough that it could have been a sound on the wind.

My nails dug into my palms, around the handles. I had the sudden urge to dump the basket over this rat's head, but that meant I would have to fill it again. I restrained. "Do the old bats know you're here?"

"If they do, they haven't given me any signs." He kept speaking with his eyes shut as if he planned to return to his nap once I left and that this was merely a formality.

My boiling blood steamed. "They know I'm here. I am Salem Chronus, an honored guest in their household, so I have authority over intrepid trespassers."

That smug grin kept getting wider and wider as his eyes remained closed. "How privileged you must feel doing work for them. Yes, as their servant, you must have quite the authority."

How did he—? "You wanna' fight, mouse?" I challenged.

"That really wouldn't be fair to you." His crooked smile twisted my roiling insides further.

I laughed. "I could smash you under my boot like a—"

His eyes flashed open and the words stuck in my throat. While this little tripe's hair and skin were pale and soft, his eyes were scary sharp. They were the bluest blue I'd ever seen. Fractures of light crackled behind them as he smirked at me. "Like a what?" He prompted.

I shook myself. "Like a bug," I finished.

He arched an eyebrow. "Well then, what are you waiting for?"

My toes curled in my boots. If he wanted to see what I could do, I'd make sure those creepy eyes got the best view.

I lifted my foot about to fulfill my promise when the kid's leg shot out and kicked my raised knee back, knocking me forward. The basket flew over his head. Bright sea-colored fruit rolled in all directions as I about face-planted into the boy's chest. But he rolled and raised his leg again, so that his knee caught me right in the abdomen. The breath in my lungs vanished as I landed haphazardly on my side. The kid easily spun himself on top, half straddling me as he pushed me onto my back. One of my legs bent at an awkward angle behind me, with one of my arms pinned by my own spine. His knee jabbed into my good leg, preventing any movement, and he pressed my free arm beside my head.

I'd never been beaten outright so quickly by someone my own age before. I struggled to return my lost air and free myself from my contortioned hold, but all I could do was glare up at the grinning albino beast.

"I was expecting so much more," He laughed, making my fingers twitch under his grip. "That wasn't any fun at all."

I waited for him to take his free hand to swing at me, give me what I deserved. But no knuckles crashed into my face.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" I shouted right as he said: "It's time for you to yield."

"Pardon?" I stared at him.

"Yield, admit your defeat. I won. You lost," He chuckled again. "Very quickly I might add. It was so sad. You could have at least put down your basket."

I scoffed. "I never yield to anyone. And I'd never in a hundred years yield to you." I tried again to wiggle out of his grasp, but I couldn't get either leg free. And the arm at my back made a faint popping sound as it nearly dislocated from my shoulder. I groaned and tried to twist my wrist free from his rigid fingers. If I could slip out fast enough to grab that scarf around his neck I could strangle him enough to get the rest of the way free and get the upper hand on the cretin.

"In a proper duel, in a sword fight, one must yield or be killed," he spouted off, turning his head and glancing around. "But clearly this wasn't a proper anything. However you must have a penalty if you don't play by some type of rules."

"Play?!" I trembled from the throbbing aches in my limbs.

The boy ignored me, thinking.

I worked my tongue and gathered as much spit as I could before spatting it up in his face.

With satisfaction, I watched him flinch as the spray hit him across the cheek. He looked down again, those blue spheres narrowing their ascetic beam on me. I swallowed. Then that terrible smile where the corner of his bottom lip dipped a little further down from the other, grew onto his face.

"Fine, you want to play it that way," he whispered. "For not yielding I will not kill you. Instead I will kiss you."

I blinked dumbly. "Huh?" Was all I got to say before his face lowered itself toward mine. He brought his lips together and suddenly the heat from him was too much. I arched my back, trying to free my arm, but his knee slid up and stabbed into my hip. "Hey! Hold on!"

He kept coming. I turned my head away so the pig couldn't go for my mouth, but with his free hand he pinched my chin and forced me to turn upward again.

I watched in horror as he moved his own jaw around, allowing drool to build up around his lips, about to make this a very slobbery, revolting display. I thrashed as much as I could, but whatever kind of death pin he had me in was unbreakable.

His scorching breath flooded into my nostrils, the sweet scent of amicas was as deadly as boria poison. Saliva oozed out, stretching down, threatening to break the thin thread of spittle to splatter onto my face. My heart thudded hard in my chest as I did my best to wrangle myself out, but his knee and hand pressed down harder, making me whine.

"Pl—" I stopped myself before I begged. This was not happening.

I humiliate.

I damage.

I always win.

But that day, under the amica tree, I was the one about to be completely humiliated, destroyed in a matter of seconds by a complete stranger, with a messed up smile and wicked eyes, unlike anything I'd ever seen.

At mere inches away, the spit practically making contact, two words I'd never uttered in my life, escaped me in a pathetic scream, before I could stop them. "I YIELD!"

And the spell broke. The blond boy shot up, slurping up the saliva with a wretchedly wet sound, and rolled off of me, laughing his fluffy head off. "See? Now that was more fun." He wiped at his watering eyes.

"Disgusting vermin," I growled under my breath, desperately wanting to tackle him again, but his quick movements, invisible strength, and his horrendous threat stopped me. "This really is some sort of sick game to you." I pushed myself up and made my way over to the fallen basket.

I glared down at my trembling hands and almost lobbed the fallen fruit back in, but I knew the consequences from Alastair wouldn't be worth it

"Well, what exactly was it to you?" He asked casually and I grit my teeth.

"An expulsion!" I snarled.

He was leering at me. I didn't have to see it to know it was true. "Well it was an unsuccessful expulsion then. You failed."

I whirled, my hand clenching around the amica I was about to hurl at his face, but my nails squelched through the skin and juice spurted out all over my fingers.

He snorted as the goo streamed down my arm, staining my shirt.

"Shut up!" I chucked it, and he caught it easily.

Brushing the tail of his scarf over his shoulder, he bit into the broken heart fruit and made a pleased grunt. He waved at me as the dark juice dripped down his chin. "Thank you very much."

I spun around again and replaced what I could salvage back into my basket in bitter, quavering silence. A fair amount of the amicas were too bruised to bring back, however there were more that had remained safely inside their holding than I'd expected. When I was done, there was just the top fourth to fill. I glanced up and figured that I'd be able to fill the stupid thing with what was up in this one tree.

"Do you need any help?"

I jumped at the rat's voice. It wasn't teasing. "Are you honestly offering to help me?" I hissed. Without sparing him a glance, I reached up and hauled myself upward, letting the nettles sting my palms this time without any reaction to the pain.

"I did sort of ruin some of your amicas."

"I was the one who decided to fight you while holding the dumb basket." My foot nearly slipped from its hold as I realized what I was saying. I scrambled and caught myself, my ears burning hot.

"That's true," Blue boy conceded. "But this whole thing was a mess on both sides."

"Who are you?" I shook my head and unbuttoned my shirt and slipped the ragged, stained, sweat-soaked rag off me. Plucking the ripe, juicy fruit from their vines, I carefully wrapped them inside the worn cloth, since I knew there was no saving it at that point. "You're some homeless loafer, taking advantage of helpless old ladies. But you speak about fairness to make yourself sound ethical."

Blue chuckled and my eyes traitorously peeked down to him, picking at the grass absently, but then his hand came up and tugged the dark red scarf up over his chin. He snuggled himself into it, even in the blasphemous heat.

"It sounds like you've already decided the answer to your own question. I'm a no good, low-life. As for my ethics, they come from my admiration of knights and their moral code. They have a high-standing of belief and balance. It's good to have a set of morals to follow."

The way this kid talked told me he hadn't grown up on the streets. He had clear education. Good education. "Well, I'm not one of those people. I don't have any kind of code or moral conduct," I muttered.

Blue leaned back on his hands and he turned his head up so that those inhuman eyes flashed at mine, right as he gave that twisted grin that had to be a genetic defect. "And you had the gall to call me vermin."

I gave myself a shake and quickly continued on, picking and placing carefully into my shirt. "I thought you were going to help me," I snapped, distractedly.

"Well, that depends on you," Blue said. "You have to say the magic word."

I huffed. "You said you felt bad about bruising my amicas, so you offered to help."

"But you did kick me in the stomach and try to smash my beautiful face, so my actions were understandable."

I ground my teeth against each other. "Then why offer to help at all?"

"Because I will help, but you have to give a little too. You owe me. Remember most people live by a code." He laid himself back down.

"Well, remember that I don't live by any kind of code!"

Blue shrugged and put his hands under his head. He closed his eyes. "Whatever you say, Salem."

I almost dropped the amica in my hand. I blinked furiously and wrapped the fruit up. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Why do you think I would tell you?"

"You just said mine."

"You told it to me. I didn't force you to. You did that all on your own."

I glared down at him. "What about your precious code? It's give and take isn't it? Balance?"

"You don't live by it," Blue yawned.

I wanted to strangle him again. I hated everyone, so everyone aggravated me, but this boy was different. Maybe it was the way he spoke, so casual and light. Even after everything I'd said and done to him, he didn't act angry or even annoyed. He wasn't scared, clearly. Within most introductions of me meeting others, it usually led to them being furious enough to kill me or horrified enough to believe I would kill them, for example: Travis Vonet, who was up for debate of whether I'd actually killed him.

"Why are you being so secretive?" I asked.

"I'm a runaway. My name in the hands of codeless heathen is probably not the best idea."

A runaway. That explained the good speech. He hadn't grown up on the streets.

"Why?" I asked.

Blue was quiet for a long while. I stiffened and looked down to see him lying peacefully, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady.

Now was the perfect chance to get him back. I could leap down and pound him. I could dump all the amicas over his head and find another tree.

I pinched the corners of my ruined shirt, so as not to spill any of them and climbed further up to continue gathering my fruit in silence.

A slightly slurred voice from below murmured, "Why does a man burn his house down?"

I stared at the bundle in my arms, not replying, understanding the question as his answer. And I didn't have anything to retort to that.

It was an ancient expression. Historians believed the saying came from when the perdido plague terrorized all six of the known continents at the time. It was before Venth's discovery, yet the immigration carried the haunting question over about when a man's family got sick with the deadly illness that blotched the skin and sucked away all moisture from the body. He had to burn down the place with them inside to stop it from spreading.

Because he has no other choice.

Nothing was said after Blue's last statement. I went on picking until my shirt could contain no more. I tied it off and shimmied down, releasing the lowest branch, and landed as lightly as I could, several feet away from the snoozing boy. I eased the fruit into the basket, finally filling it to the brim before I scooped it back into my arms. It caused me to stagger under its full weight and my contused ankle. Then I marched back in the direction I'd come, pausing when I found myself beside Blue.

His slim hand rose and fell slowly as it rested on the scarf that blanketed down his chest. Did he honestly trust me not to do something to him? He needed to learn who I was, that I was not someone to be trifled with. I was the monster of Emrin, the living phantom from old Feraway, the devil's spawn, the one the dark fate, Lord Chaos, should have chosen.

I gingerly placed the basket down and crept closer to him. It was the perfect time to choke him with his own absurd scarf that wrapped itself so easily around his throat. I could actually smash his face with my boot while he slept.

A small gasp from Blue made me jerk back. His face scrunched up for a moment before softening again. He turned onto his side, like he'd done when I'd found him initially and settled again.

I didn't know anything about this boy and normally that wouldn't bother me at all. As long as everyone knew who I was and stayed clear, that was alright with me. I didn't like to get to know people, it only made me hate them more, but this...this fluffy haired freak was...

My eyes slid away from Blue and onto the dilapidated shoes I'd seen first. They were so old and patched that they had to be his only pair. He was a runaway after all. They had to be all he had.

That would work. That would be his punishment.

Swiftly, I scooped up the boots and ran back to my basket. I lifted it up, using it to press the worn leather against my chest. Then I hurried away, going as fast as I could with the heavy basket of amicas and the pair of the tattered shoes.