The child is wrapped in a wrinkled blanket torn from the bottom along with a missing left leg. probably in the belly of a demon by now. The crest of the house of Sir Arnault, a renounced warlock is evident on the fabric, marked by a blue egg which looks like a planet with two vipers stemming from it and coiling around each other in space. 

A famous family of warlocks murdered in one of the courts of wolves. If the presence of sorcerers here was not enough evidence of a conspiracy, a family of infamous warlocks being invited to a private royal party and then killed in cold blood is definitely going to light up fireworks. This is enough gunpowder to ignite the civil war that has long been itching beneath the ground to explode and swallow the world as a whole.  

The infant stops crying as it folds in my arms, rubbing a tiny nose against the broach on my breast pocket, two leaves falling diagonally etched on it, and opens its eyes wide in shock at the rash the iron clad mark of my clan gives it. 

Ash mauve. that is the colour of its eyes. The colour of devils in the eyes of a child definitely belonging to the so-called saints.  

I pick the kid up instinctively and wrap what is left of the leg in a makeshift bandage with my horrendous orange bowtie. Emire makes a deep gloating sound. It’s her way of expressing astonishment. 

"I manage to drag you out of the house after decades and the first thing you do is poke around for trouble?" she asks. I don't know whether it’s a question or a warning. I'm not sure she knows either. But just because this child survived despite being buried beneath all those heavy blokes, it doesn’t mean it’ll continue to be so lucky “Put that thing back before I stop asking nicely” she adds. 

"We are taking it" I announce and retreat my steps back to the entrance. In a few moments someone might wander in and soon after the place would be flooded with a lot of spectators and a few mourners. 

"Zacharia!” she grabs me by my arm, full name with eight letters used as a threat. Her nails sink in my skin “Look around you fool. It must be a child of warlocks. No, it is a child of warlocks"  

I shake off her grip "So?" 

"So? If you think for a goddamn second you can raise one of their kind- " 

"I'm not raising anything" I cut her off "I'll drop it off to a suitable place and never interfere again" 

She closes the door behind us as we exit, to prevent wile things from raiding the resting creatures and dismembering their bodies further. "Not interfering? You seem rather an expert at that" She snaps 

I throw my hands in the air "No one asked you to force this stupid event on me. I guess you're more of an expert at keeping to yourself than I am" 

The sound of indistinct chattering and footsteps heavy with curiosity closing in, forces us to shut up. Some bastards are late to everything. Even to their own death. 

Not like I'm any different.

Emire waves her finger in my direction "For the last time, leave it here. They will send her back. Her people will take better care of her"  

I have seen mortal men take care of things before. I have seen their filthy ways and self-fulfilling laws. How could I of all people leave an innocent soul among them with my own hands. For a moment I see a flash of emerald in the terrified ash mauve of its eyes. For a moment I see my Glenn.  

Then I see nothing when the child slaps my chin. It doesn’t hurt but it’s humiliating in its own way. 

I clutch the kid tighter, closer to my heart.  

"No" I say firmly 

In a swift jump, Emire lands on a diverging trunk of one of the trees "Okay. Then go ahead. I'm in no mood of becoming a traitor and a widower in one day" she says, and flees. out of sight. out of way. I make myself scarce too.  

Once the smell of dry spices and hot curry hits my nose, I stop in an empty dark alley of the marketplace. 

Out of harm's way, I wrap the child in my cloak. It was not meant to come back home unscathed. The cloak, I mean. Not that day. Not any day for that matter. I always had my suspicions of the damn cloak being cursed. Every single time I have worn it, something awful has happened. 

I gaze at the child. "Help me find a home for you quickly. Don't be my new awful, okay?" I ask. It smiles viciously before falling in deep slumber. I want to think the smile implies a yes. 

I have a funny feeling I’ll end up profoundly and spectacularly wrong.