Huh. He has some wicked logic. “You’ve got a point. Lead the way.”
He glances over his shoulder every once in a while as he talks. “I usually wake up Feylin when I can’t sleep, but since I ran into you, you and I can play.”
I skirt around a steel knight holding an ax. “And does he play with you?”
“Usually.” Feylin gets up in the middle of the night to play chess? First he moves my room, and now I learn that he sacrifices sleep for his young cousin. My original opinion of him asan arrogant fae is slowly burning to ash. “I looked for him last night, but…”
He doesn’t finish and he doesn’t have to. Shame warms my cheeks. “You ran into the books and knocked them over?”
“I wasn’t looking where I was going. Some weird noises came from Feylin’s office and they scared me.”
Please don’t let him say they sounded like rutting animals. “I’m sure it was nothing.”
“Yeah, Feylin said he had a stomachache.”
“Something of his certainly ached,” I mutter.
“Here we are.” Ryals opens a door and flips on a light. This room is a child’s dream. A tent that looks like it’s covered in spun gold sits in the middle of the floor, surrounded by toys—old ones like Etch A Sketches and new electronics.
Ryals climbs onto a chair and nods to a chess board in front of him. When I step toward the doorway, my toe hits an invisible barrier.
“I can’t come in.”
He frowns, and for the first time I notice his silvery eyes. The hue matches the flecks in Feylin’s. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t be too far away from your cousin. There’s magic tying us together.”
“Okay.” He gets off the chair, takes the pieces off the board and stores them in a box and then he hauls the board and box over. He settles both on the floor between us and lowers himself into a sitting position.
I mimic him and sit cross-legged on a thickly padded rug as he pulls the pieces from the box. Up close, they shine under the light and look like they’re made of polished marble.
“I always play black,” he tells me as he carefully settles each piece on its square. “Is that okay?”
“Sure. That’s fine.” We silently make opening moves, neither of us talking until I ask, “Are your parents here, too?”Are there any more relatives hiding in the woodwork?
He shakes his head. “No, they’re gone.”
Even though he keeps his gaze firmly secured to the board, there’s no missing the sadness filling his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Ryals hitches a shoulder to his ear. “It’s okay. It’s why I can’t sleep. Sometimes I dream about them.”
He’s quiet after that, and I’m not sure if I should ask, but my conscience tells me it’s okay. “What do you dream?”
His brow narrows and the weight of the world seems to settle on this young boy’s shoulders as he replies, “I dream that there’s food to eat, and that they get up out of bed.”
My gods. I don’t expect him to say that. I barely croak out, “I’m sorry that they passed away.”
He shakes his head. “They’re not dead. They take pills and then they go to sleep.”
My entire body sags as I realize his parents are druggies. That’s why there wasn’t any food in the house. They spent it all on getting high.
I plaster on a wide smile. “Well, Ryals, there’s plenty to eat here in the castle. I’m sure Feylin feeds you very well.”
He nods. “I’m glad that I’m here.” Then he glances up at me. “I think I’m going to like you.”
Tears just about spill from my eyes. “I think I’m going to like you, too.”
“But we can’t tell Feylin we met,” he whispers. “We’re not supposed to.”
