You’re My Flame

Chapter 3

Chersinia collapsed on her couch the moment she stepped through her door.

She lived in a worn-out old cabin, secluded deep in a forest far from the village, hidden so well that only those who’d been there before could locate it. The dilapidated shack was made entirely of wood, and mice had gnawed holes through the ceiling. Because of this, water dripped in when it rained, and during heavy storms, the floor often resembled a small lake. She had planned to use her hard-earned casino cash to replace the old roof, but…

She felt heat rising within her again. If they did not pay her within the promised week, she vowed to burn it all to the ground.

“Um…”

A tiny voice made Chersinia turn her head. Ah, right. My collateral. The boy stood shivering in a corner. She had completely forgotten about him amid the chaos.

“What is it?” she snapped.

“Wh-why did you bring me here…?”

“Because you’re my collateral.”

It was the truth. It wasn’t like she was completely lacking compassion, but 90 percent of her reason for taking him was the money.

“I see.” The boy hung his head to hide his crestfallen expression.

Watching him, she felt a twinge of guilt, but what could she do? She needed the money.

She kept her eye on him as he fiddled with his fingers and nails. His black hair looked so unkempt and gnarled that it would break whatever comb one tried to run through it. And then, there was his sickly pale skin and the dark bruises around his mouth…

Silently, she sighed at his abused appearance. Child abuse was a serious crime. She couldn’t just look at him in that state, so she got up from the sofa.

I should apply some ointment. If she gave him consistent treatment as long as he was with her, his wounds might heal some.

With every step she took across the wooden floor, the floorboards creaked ominously, as if they might give way at any moment. Not a single part of this house was sound.

Maybe I should just move. Once she got the money, it might be wiser to find a new place than to try to repair her current one. Her next home wouldn’t have to be made of rickety wood but rather constructed solidly of marble.

She pulled open a small drawer in a chest next to the door. Inside was a first aid kit and a bottle of disinfectant she had recently refilled. Retrieving the heavy kit, Chersinia returned to her bed and sat down.

Closely watching her every move, the boy flinched and trembled. His heightened sensitivity hinted at the kind of life he had endured.

“Let’s fix you up.” Chersinia tore off a chunk of cotton gauze, rolling it in her hands.

“I-I’m fine.”

Paying no heed to his trembling young voice, she patted the space beside her on the bed. “Come here.”

The boy remained frozen like a statue, not moving an inch. He was more stubborn than she thought.

“I’ll count to three.” Chersinia’s stern voice made the boy’s face blanch, but she began to count regardless. “One…”

He fidgeted as if he didn’t know what he ought to do.

“Two…”

By now, he had lifted his hand to his mouth and was nervously biting his thumbnail.

“Three.” The number fell ruthlessly from her lips.

At the last possible second, the boy darted to stand before her, hands neatly folded as if he were about to be punished.

Chersinia frowned, displeased. He wasn’t being scolded, and his frightened behavior irritated her. “Sit next to me,” she ordered.

“I-I’m fine standing.”

“Sit.”

“Okay.” Squeaking out a response, the boy quickly perched on the edge of the bed. He sat so precariously that a slight push might have tipped him off, but she ignored his annoyingly flighty behavior.

Chersinia soaked a cotton swab in the disinfectant. The boy, clearly nervous, shifted his eyes to the side as she quietly dabbed the damped cotton on his bruised face.

The boy grimaced at the sting but showed no other reaction, not even a small whimper. He squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip, and held his breath as if making a sound was forbidden.

Feeling sorry for him, Chersinia hurriedly treated his wounds. Fortunately, the bruises on his legs and torso were lighter and didn’t require her to apply medicinal ointment.

“T-thank you…” said the boy, gasping to refill his lungs after having held his breath so long.

“It’s nothing,” she said, putting away the disinfectant and ointment.

As she carried the box back to its place, the boy softly asked, “What should I call you?”

She turned around to look at him. “Chersinia.”

“Chersinia?”

“Yes, and what’s your name?”

The boy’s shoulders slumped, and a disheartened expression crossed his face.

What’s this, now? Chersinia thought, wondering if she’d misspoken. But no matter how much she thought about it, she couldn’t find anything at fault. Why is he acting like this?

The boy stayed silent and studied his idly twitching toes.

Just as her frustration was about to turn into anger, his calm voice tugged at her heartstrings. “I don’t have a name.”

Ah. I did say something wrong. She felt a pang of guilt.

She had to wonder what his role in the story was supposed to be. Was he nameless because he was just a minor character, meant to show that slavery existed in this world? It seemed like a reasonable possibility. At the beginning of the novel, the female protagonist was nearly sold into slavery herself to fund her father’s gambling addiction.

Chersinia looked at the boy sympathetically and asked another question. “How old are you?” Her voice trembled slightly, secretly fearful of another unexpected answer.

“Nineteen.”

“What, seriously?! Oh, sorry…” She quickly apologized for her inadvertent shock. The boy looked no older than sixteen at most. He only just reached her shoulders, and his skinny arms and legs looked like they might snap if handled too roughly.

Most strikingly, he had an unbroken, youthful voice. How could a nineteen-year-old young man retain a pre-pubescent voice like this? His skin was also as smooth as porcelain and looked as if it had never seen a razor.

“Yes… I’m nineteen.”

“Huh…” Chersinia let out a small groan. He was only a year younger than her. The realization knocked her flat.

Her bewilderment quickly morphed into pity. He must have been really starved. It was the same feeling she got when she saw children from war-torn nations on television.

A surge of desire to help him welled within her. As well as treating his wounds, she’d try to get him to put some weight on while she had him.

She remembered the soup she made that morning. She would offer him some to ease his conscience. “Are you hungry?”

He shook his head. But with perfect timing, his stomach gurgled loudly, resonating through the quiet room. “Ah, um… I’m not really…” He blushed bright red like an apple.

Chersinia chuckled softly. “There’s some soup left. Let’s have that.”

She headed to the kitchen. There was no money to buy new groceries yet, so they would have to make do with what was left in the house. Thankfully, she had enough food to last about a week.

“No, really, I’m fine!” he said quickly, jumping forward and spreading his arms in front of Chersinia. “I’m really not hungry. I mean it!”

“If we don’t eat it today, it will go bad. So really, you’d be doing me a favor,” she said nonchalantly. Of course, it was a blatant lie, but she was sure he’d insist on not eating otherwise.

Chersinia nudged him to the side gently, and his underweight body easily shifted. Since he made no further fuss, it seemed he was done with his melodramatic refusals.

She lifted the cover of the wood-burning stove in the corner of the kitchen. The logs she’d added that morning had burned down to gray ashes. She added a few more logs from the pile stacked by the stove and also threw in some dry twigs she kept on hand for kindling.

A little trick should be fine, right? Naturally, she had no matches, since she always lit fires with magic. Having yet to display her powers in front of anyone else, though, she was a bit worried.

Yeah, just a small flame should be okay. She concentrated heat at her fingertips and reached into the stove. Having only recently entered the mage’s body, she was still somewhat clumsy at creating fire. Fortunately, she managed to produce a flame on the first try.

Whoosh.

A flame sparked in her hand and flew into the stove, instantly igniting the kindling. Seconds later, the logs began to burn, and soon the stove radiated with an intense heat. The wood cracked and popped. Listening to the comforting sound, Chersinia closed the stove’s lid.

She straightened from her hunched position to find the boy with his mouth agape, eyes sparkling with amazement. “Wow… Are you a mage?”

“Well, something like that,” she answered nonchalantly, as if it were no big deal. However, she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. It was the first time she’d used magic in front of someone else, and she felt a bit embarrassed.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Chersinia settled into a chair. The soup would take some time to boil.

“That’s so cool! I’ve never seen a mage before.” The boy scurried over and stood next to her. He had been so reluctant to come to her when asked, but now his eyes were full of curiosity.

“I’m the only one in this empire, so keep it a secret.”

“Of course. I don’t have anyone to tell anyway.”

Chersinia nodded and shifted her gaze to look out the window. The trees, shaken by the breeze, dropped their seeds. Summer was approaching, and the cool breeze now carried a bit of warmth.

“Um…” As the boy spoke, her eyes shifted to his twitching lips. “Aren’t you lonely here being by yourself?”

At his question, she tilted her head.