While Sithe and Vincent watched Sythius play with the children, Cell guided William gently outside, smiling like a kindly old
governess. He gestured grandly to the scene unfolding before them. “This is one
after my heart,” Cell said, and brandished one of the giant’s carvings. He
placed it into William’s hands.
William looked incredulous, looking at the crude gift and
then up at its creator, who had actually begun to neigh and shake his head in a
disturbingly accurate mimicry of a horse. He looked ready to drop onto all
fours and gallop. “That man saved my
life?” William asked, with a curl in his lip.
Cell laughed. “You sound incredulous. I suppose I don’t
blame you. He doesn’t look very dangerous, does he? Surely not the sort of man
who could kill a master assassin like your Uncle Scratch.”
William nodded slowly, dumbly.
Cell bent down and picked up a chunk of loose cobble from
the path leading back to the building. Hefting it in one hand, he watched
Sythius play for a while, calculating, then reeled back and pitched it toward
the giant with a strength and precision that defied imagining.
Sythius Sil’nathin’s attention was focused entirely on a
pair of boys, laughing and singing an old trail song while they clapped and
slapped their knees. The stone sailed directly for little Ollie’s head, and
considering the strength of Cell’s throw, it was destined to split the poor
girl’s skull in twain.
Sithe’s left hand twitched, and her eyes widened—not in
fear, but in anger. Cell had a hand on the pouch he wore about his neck.
But they needn’t have worried. As William gasped, Sythius
whirled on a heel, his own amber gaze blazing with a predator’s intensity, and
crushed the impromptu projectile in one huge fist. His lips were pulled back,
revealing teeth that looked alarmingly sharp.
Cell held up both hands slowly, and began to applaud. “Well
done, friend!” he called.
* * *
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