“Do you understand what I’m asking you?”
One look at Sythius’s face was enough for anyone to realize
that he didn’t understand anything. His big face was slack, his amber eyes
clouded and confused, and he fidgeted like a little boy who didn’t know what he’d
done to get put in a corner. Sithe half-expected him to ask her if he could go
out to play now.
She was surprised when he shook his head.
Sithe tried again: “... My boys, and my girls, used to
live with other people,” she said. She saw a pile of wooden soldier toys lying
on the floor. Likely left over from one of David’s mock campaigns. She stood
from her chair and picked up a few of them.
She held up a female soldier. “Pretend this is me,” she
said, and set the toy down on the table.
Then she took three more and set them down, with a bit of
distance between them and the other toy. “These are parents,” she said, lifting
up two of the toys and shaking them a bit, feeling like she was trying to train
a puppy.
The big lummox was paying
attention, though.
“This is their child,” Sithe said, lifting up the last toy.
“Parents take care of their children,” Sithe said. This,
Sythius seemed to understand. His face grew determined, and he nodded. “They
protect their children.” Another nod. “But if they die—” Sithe knocked over the
two dolls, leaving the “child” standing “—who takes care of the children?”
Sythius’s face brightened, and he pointed enthusiastically
at the remaining doll. “You,” he said, in his low rumble, and Sithe realized
that this man might just be smarter than he looked. Perhaps he simply had
trouble articulating.
Sithe nodded. “That’s right. Me.”
Sythius grinned his unsettling little grin.
“So,” Sithe said, righting the parent dolls. “Usually, if a
child’s parents die, that is a terrible, tragic thing. But sometimes, that’s
not true. William’s ... parents didn’t take care of him.” She almost said guardians, but figured it best to keep
things simple. Sythius looked concerned. “The man who hurt William, the man you
killed, was his parent.”
Sythius’s face screwed up into something predatory.
Something terrifying.
“What do we do,” Sithe dared, “with parents who treat their
children like that? What do we do with parents who hurt their children?”
Sythius was a long time in answering, and when he did it
wasn’t with words.
* * *
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