“Good. Old Gaius threw in a couple extra logs for free.”
“The old softy.” She mumbled. “I bet the snow’s going to be real pretty this year. Hopefully, it won’t stay warm like last winter.”
“I prefer the warmth,” Asher said. “I’m not much for the cold.”
“But snow’s so pretty, like a blanket over the world. You loved it when you were younger.”
Mom’s eyes drifted away, staring at the far wall. Staring at something else. After a minute, Asher cleared his throat. “I’m cooking. Do you have any requests?”
Her eyes slowly shifted back to his face. “Think you can make my famous potato stew?”
“Not half as well, but I can try.”
Mom chuckled. “Be careful. Point the knife away from you.”
“I know, Mom.”
“And take care with the fire. Get your father to do it.” She insisted. “Don’t burn yourself.”
“I won’t, Mom,” Asher said with slight annoyance as he left the room, quietly closing her door.
Father had not budged from his spot at the table. Approaching him tentatively, Asher waved a hand to grab his attention. “Mom said you should light the fire.”
“You do it.” Father spat, returning to his drink.
Asher flinched. Why had he bothered asking?
Only the quiet sounds of chopping and boiling water filled the house. Trying to remember Mom’s recipe, Asher poured everything into a pot and set it over the fire. He watched the flickering flames, warming his hands before the stillness drove him mad.
“I’m going out for a bit,” He announced.
“Be careful,” Father responded wearily.
A response? What a surprise. Pulling the door open, Asher wandered outside, though he wasn’t sure where he wanted to go. The air in the house was stifling, and he wanted nothing more than to escape it—to pretend everything was still normal.
Maybe an adventure would raise his spirits. Clodia was a vast place. Ancient, too. Mom had said all kinds of danger lurked in its alleys and underpasses, and Asher imagined that meant secrets did, too.
Spinning in a circle, Asher decided to roam north. North took him out of these slums and back towards their old neighborhood.
Step by step, the muddy roads turned back into cobblestones, though dirt smudged between the unkempt cracks, and the stone buildings were patched in places with rough wooden boards.
A man turned the corner ahead of him, dressed in a luxurious coat of dark blue velvet, his shoes polished black, and a feathered cap upon his neatly groomed hair. A rich man in a place like this? What was he doing here?
Asher eyed the fashion hungrily as he touched his hole-ridden coat. He tailed the man, spotting a small pouch at his belt. Surely someone with wealth wouldn’t miss mere coins?
It was wrong, but. ..
Holding his breath, Asher reached for the pouch, hand trembling. Once he stood only a foot behind the rich man, he grabbed the bag, loosening it from the man’s belt. Throat closing and breath stopping, Asher froze in the street, though he should have run.
The rich man halted and slowly turned. Pleasant sea-blue irises, pupilless, gazed down at Asher. “Almost.” He said.
“Almost what?” Asher said, tucking the pouch behind his back.
The man raised his eyebrows. “That wasn’t a half-bad lie. You’re. . .” He looked Asher up and down. “What, ten?”
“Eleven,” Asher answered quietly.
“Too young to be thieving.” The rich man effortlessly grabbed Asher’s arm and extracted his coin purse. “But you snuck up on me rather well. I’m impressed.”
