He gave her the edge of his thumb, and she gummed it furiously. His heart broke. “Where’s your mother, little one?”
She obviously had no answers. She merely pulled desperately at his thumb, her entire body squirming.
Venn cut a look around and spotted a mussed bedroll nearby, along with a dust-covered pack. There was no sign of anyone, though. He moved to the pack, and when he took back his thumb so he could riffle inside, the infant cut out a fractured wail.
“Shh,” he soothed, rocking her a bit. “Let’s see what we can find here.”
There wasn’t much; some hard jerky and a handful of nuts. Nothing for a newborn.
A twig snapped behind him.
Venn clutched the babe to his chest with one broad hand as he whirled, his free hand diving for his blade. He didn’t draw it, though.
A boy—probably only seven or eight—stood across the small clearing. He clutched a small bundle of wet cloth in one hand, and a dagger too large for his hand in the other. He was Devendran, with sunburnt skin and brown hair, and though terror was in his eyes, so was anger. “Put down my sister, or I’ll gut you.”
Venn lifted his free hand slowly. “Easy, there. I mean no harm. I heard her crying, and I wanted to help.”
“She’s fine,” the boy snapped. “Put her down.”
Venn hesitated, but the girl was crying anyway. Setting her down wouldn’t make that worse, and if it would make the boy feel better . . .
He swaddled the blanket around the infant as best he could before he crouched, lying her gently on the bedroll. Then he stretched slowly to his feet and took two long steps back.
He kept his hands visible, his eyes on the boy. “I’m not going to hurt either of you. You have my word.”
“Good,” the boy said, still aiming his blade in Venn’s direction. He was easing his way toward his sister, who was fully squalling now. “Because my father is right behind me, and he’s a lot bigger than you. You should go before he comes.”
Suspicion prickled the back of Venn’s neck. The state of the infant, the fear clearly etched on the boy’s face . . . None of that indicated a parent in the vicinity.
“I’m glad he’s right behind you,” he finally said. “I’d like to meet him.”
The boy blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected that, and the reaction convinced Venn that he’d been lying.
The child clearly wanted to hide that, though. His eyebrows slammed down. “You don’t understand. He’s going tokillyou.”
“Finn!”
Venn’s eyes widened as a second child—this one a small girl of maybe four—dashed into the clearing. Her cheeks were pink as she eyed her older brother. “Sorry I left her. I was hungry. Look what I found!” She held out a fistful of slightly smashed red berries.
The boy—Finn—dropped the wet cloths to the ground and snatched his little sister’s hand, yanking her behind him.
The girl yelped and stumbled.
Venn winced and quickly lifted both hands, palms out. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt any of you. You can let her go.”
Finn glared at him. “Go away. Now! Our father will be here any moment.”
“Really?” the young girl gasped, her eyes wide. “Da’s back?”
The boy ground his teeth, his fingers flexing on the leather handle of his knife.
The infant’s cries were getting stronger—as if she knew they were there, and that made her all the more angry that no one was tending her.
Venn sank into a crouch, his hands still raised, the careful distance between him and the children maintained. With their eyes nearly level now, he spoke again, keeping his voice soft as he eyed Finn. “I know you don’t know me, but I have sisters, too. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt them—just like I know you won’t let anyone hurt yours. You’re taking care of them by yourself, aren’t you?”
The boy said nothing. His fingers clenched, both on the knife and on his sister’s arm.
Venn tipped his head to the sopping cloths on the ground. “Those are for your baby sister, right? You were washing them for her.”
