* * *

We stop when the night is at its darkest. The stars are brighter than I have ever seen them. It would feel magical if I wasn’t a prisoner. But I was a prisoner, so enjoying the view seemed wrong. But- they are so beautiful. I feel myself begin to smile. Here, broken and violated, was a boy who could still smile at the stars. Pathetic.

When I realize I am fully smiling, I immediately look around to see if anyone had seen my weak moment. Thankfully, I saw no one. Everyone was either sleeping or looking down. The night is cold and bitter. I begin shivering, so I curl my knees to my chest. The contact of my legs to my chest cause a slight yelp from my mouth. Malikah’s eyes shoot up. She growls at me as if she is angered that I woke her from her pleasant sleep. I shrugged at her, and she turns away. I feel the coldness of it more than the coldness of the night.

To feel hatred at so young seems impossible. And yet, here she is, hate seeping from her very existence. Though, I recognize the rage. I had experienced it when I was younger. And now. I was angry. So ruthlessly angry. I would pick fights just to punch someone. I would hurt myself. I would- I would look up at the stars. It was a delicately mad thing I did. I would just- I just couldn’t help it. For some odd reason, the stars made my anger boil into nothing. It was a trance. They would make me feel lonely. The loneliest. And yet, it wasn’t a bad type of loneliness. It was a hopeful lonely: a loneliness that promised an end.

I look back at Malikah. She is small. So very small. She now sits facing me. Her eyes are draped with thick eyelashes. Her lips are tight and slightly curved downwards. I hadn’t noticed before, but her long black dress is ripped in many places. Kayon fashion is unlike any other. The weather is too hot to dress as modestly as Linove. Or Arkine, for that matter. But Malikah wore a loose-fitting black dress with no sleeves. It was made of cloth. It meant that she was a Kayon slave. The young slaves wore only black and had to wear more modest clothing. But she was a born Kayon. Or, she certainly looks that way. Her hair is inky black, as well as her eyes. To be a Kayon born slave meant she was born out of wedlock. She had been living a life sentence for a crime she did not commit, nor did she have the choice. I frown at her. She hisses. I wanted to say sorry. It is a dumb thing to want to do. I have nothing to do with her or her issues. She would probably say as such. But I feel the pain of the loneliness she must feel. To assume someone is lonely is perhaps wrong and naïve. But she is just a child. So I speak.

“Are slaves treated well in Kayon? The ones born Kayonese?”

She is taken aback. She glances at the other women in the cage. Asleep.

"It is an honor to be a slave." Her voice is near whisper. 

I want to tell her that she doesn't have to lie anymore. But perhaps she actually believes it.

“I’m- I’m sorry your life is not your own. I know how that- “

"Shut up."

She is fuming. I had assumed her situation and based on her reaction, correctly.

“I am not a stranger to anger. I have felt it my whole life. Were you treated well?”

She doesn't answer right away. But as a lonely person does, as a child who has only known slavery and is finally given the chance, she responds.

"Treatment is based on how you behave. I behaved. Most of the time. I was not always smart, but I was younger. I learned how to serve well and so I was treated as such."

Service. It made me sick. She spoke like an adult. As if her childhood was over.

“How old are you?”

"I do not know. Fourteen?"

It wasn’t completely strange that she doesn't know her age. Her parents were probably killed after she was found. I nod. She looks as if she has never spoken to anyone. She doesn't know what to say next.

"How old are you?"

It was a simple question that she probably doesn't even care to know the answer to. She is struggling to converse. I didn’t want her to stop trying because she would go back to hating and hate consumes you and turns you into something ugly. I would know.

“Twenty-two.”

"You look younger than that. Do you lie to me?"

“I- I do not. I just look young.” 

She nods, but I can tell she isn't convinced.

There is a loud bang that startles both of us. A guard had slammed the tip of his sword against the brass of the cage. He tells us to be quiet. We obliged. I don't sleep after that, I just lean against the cold metal and stare at the stars.

The night was quiet with stirs of soldiers and prisoners. I try to think about nothing. It doesn't work. I try to forgive myself for going with the Linovian soldiers instead of bolting. I try to tell myself that I was injured and damaged, and I wouldn't have made it even a few feet. It was true, but it doesn't feel true. So, I let that join the list of reasons why I hate myself. 

The morning comes slowly. Before the sun has fully risen, we begin to move again. My eyes are heavy on my face, and I end up falling asleep for a few hours. I am jolted awake by a Kayon woman slamming into me. The wagon had hit a rock that sent her into my lap. She blushes hard. She is probably around my age. I grunt at the pain of her elbow hitting my chest. She mumbles a quick sorry and straightens herself out. On the horizon, the view changes from grasslands to city. The air is less thick, and there is a welcomed breeze that caresses my bruises. There is excitement among the soldiers. They have reached home. I can't even imagine what that feels like. They can go home to their families and friends. If it were a different time, I would smile at their unfamiliar joy. But it doesn't feel like the time to be happy for my enemies.

The wagons now glide against the smooth ground. It must be tar. Arkine doesn't have tar- only concrete and stone. But Linove had tar. And then I see the dreaded kingdom. 

Linove's borders are lined with brass walls. It is an odd sight. I have never seen so much brass. The air is filled with a sweet metallic scent that makes my nose twitch. The Kayons also seemed to be bothered by it. The soldiers were not. They even sniffed it in — their brass home. The gates open after a soldier yells a command. We enter a city of buildings and alleyways. It isn't ugly, but it isn't— it isn't welcoming. It is too cold- too distant. People dressed in cloth of all shades run past us. They wave at the soldiers with great admiration. They don't notice us. Us. Me and the Kayons. I am now the same as them: a prisoner far from home. I wonder where we are going. To the capital most likely. Linove is so large that the capital could still be days away. But I am not sure where we actually are. Dule, the capital, is not in the middle of Linove. It is closer to Kayon than Haltur. We might actually be in it. 

I look over to see Malikah in tears. She is petrified. I crawl to her and hold her in my arms. She allows it. She had hated me. She might still. But now she is just a child in a foreign land. She welcomes the embrace. She sniffles and her tears fall onto my chest causing a stinging sensation where the freshly carved sun is. I take in a sharp breath. She thankfully doesn't seem to notice. But despite the pain, I still hold her. I do it because I can. I can do that. I can be helpful to someone, if not to myself.

"I'm sorry, golden boy, I was not kind to you." She says it in between broken cries. I hold her tighter.

"It's okay. My name is Auriel. I am not the golden boy. I never was."

She doesn't say anything to that. She just remains against me with her hand now around my waist, squeezing me as tight as a young child could. The other Kayon women show no emotion. Strong. They needed to show strength. That was the Kayon way. But I am no Kayon. I allow myself to think about how a Linovian would handle being captured. I can't seem to imagine it.

They are a cultured kind. There isn't a Linovian "look," or at least not as distinct as the Kayonese. The Kayon women stick out like a laser here. I blend in. Somewhat. My hair is curlier than a typical Linovian. But there were always exceptions. I think about the girl hanging on to me. She probably has heard stories of Linove. The witches. Linove was the most magic-based kingdom in Cronad. The other lands had magic, but they do not rely on it as heavily as Linove does. Magic-it was something the boys in The House liked to discuss. What power would you want? I would always say invisibility. They called me lame. But to be able to hide in plain sight sounded more than ideal to me. Especially now.

Malikah's cries extinguish in small sniffs, but she still holds on to me. We reach another brass gate, and the doors open. Now I know where we are. Dule. The capital. We are going into the heart of Linove.

"The King awaits your reports and bounty."