By the end of a week, William was coherent enough to speak,
but he still couldn’t stand without help. He wound up sequestered in a wooden
rocking chair set into a far corner of the kitchen. Gloria, one of Sithe’s
girls who'd grown old enough to work alongside the matron, made sure
that he was well-fed and watered.
Which was a pleasant way of saying she absolutely spoiled him.
Sithe, Cell, Vincent and Sythius all came into the kitchen
one day, as the sun was settling down to sleep, and sat down; Sithe, Cell, and
Vincent in chairs, Sythius on the floor. The giant was too big for the
furniture, and even if he’d been able to fit in any of it, it would have done
nothing for his weight. Master Sil’nathin—the name of his coven, evidently,
and the most complex word he seemed able to speak—was a small infinitude of pure,
wrought-iron muscle, too big and too massive to be real.
He was carving again: a day-gold flower.
“William,” Sithe said gently, and the boy looked at her with
half-lidded eyes that betrayed his lingering sickness. “What happened? What do
you remember?”
William blinked owlishly. Eventually, he said, “... The master gave me a mission. A special mission. One that I—absolutely ... could
not fail.” A beat of silence. He eyed his audience, each individually, for
emphasis. “I failed.”
Vincent winced, grimaced, then heaved a sigh and ran his
hands through his hair. “It’s an initiation rite,” he said. “Each member of
Akar’s flock has to recruit someone new. The more children a member can bring
in, the more ... prodigious they are.”
“You tried to recruit Vincent,” Sithe guessed.
William nodded. “I thought ... well. I thought it was
perfect. I mean, Vincent—he’s smart, quick, good with his hands. He can lie his
way out of, or into, just about
anything. Who better for a thieves’ guild? But ... it was stupid.” He smiled
at his friend. “I should’ve known better. You’re crooked, just like any of us
dirt-streaks. But you aren’t broke.”
Vincent smirked. “Give me a bit too much credit, Will.”
* * *
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