Page 95 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

If everyone fears him, then staying near him means safety. The bullies won’t touch anyone near the shadow boy.

So I start following him.

Not obviously. I’m not stupid. But I position myself near him during meals, during training, during the rare free hours we get. It’s close enough to be under his protection, far enough that he can’t call me on it.

He never acknowledges me or even looks directly at me. But he never sends me away either.

For three months, we exist in that strange orbit. Him tolerating my presence, me using him as a shield.

The bullies stop cornering me or waiting for me in dark corridors. They see me near Shade and decide I’m not worth the risk.

For the first time since arriving at the guild, I can breathe.

Then comes the candy incident.

I find it in the trash behind the kitchens. A small wrapped piece of chocolate, probably dropped by one of the instructors. It’s dented, half-melted from sitting in the sun, but it’s real chocolate.

I haven’t tasted chocolate in a long time.

I should eat it immediately and shove it in my mouth and swallow before anyone sees. But I’m twelve and stupid. I want to let it melt on my tongue and savor it slowly.

I slip it into my pocket to eat it later in my bunk after lights out.

Others see.

Word spreads through the compound.

The half-breed has chocolate.

They come for me after lights out. It’s not just the usual bullies but everyone. Older students come first, looking for easy prey and entertainment before curfew. Trainers follow after them because some of the instructors think watching children fight over scraps is funny. Even younger kids join in eventually, desperate to prove they belong by hurting somebody weaker than themselves.

They drag me from my bunk into the courtyard. The night is cold and I’m surrounded by at least thirty bodies. It’s too many to count in the darkness.

I fight back like an animal. I claw and bite and kick wherever I can. One boy takes my elbow to his throat and makes choking sounds. Another gets my nails across his face and blood wells up immediately.

But there are too many.

A fist catches me in the stomach. I double over, gasping. Someone kicks my legs out from under me. I go down hard and then they’re on me like wolves on a kill.

Pain explodes across my ribs from their fists and boots. I curl into a ball, trying to protect my head. Blood fills my mouth. Someone is laughing. Then the pressure lifts.

I look up through swelling eyes to see Shade standing over me. He’s thrown back three attackers already and he’s reaching for a fourth.

It should stop them. Shade’s presence, his reputation. But the chocolate makes these young assassins stupid. They attack him too.

We fight side by side through the night. They keep coming, wave after wave. Some give up after Shade breaks their arms or ribs. Others come back for more, desperate for a prize.

We fight until sunrise.

The chocolate is crushed underfoot in the first five minutes of fighting, ground into the dirt by boots and bodies. Only the wrapper remains, trampled and torn.

By the time the first light touches the courtyard walls, the ground is littered with groaning bodies. My knuckles are split and my ribs scream with every breath. Shade and I stand back-to-back in the center of it all. Both of us bleeding from a dozen wounds. Exhausted but alive.

That’s when the Arbiter comes.

Rowan Shepherd, the Nightingale’s old partner and the only reason Shade hasn’t been killed or sold after his mother’s capture. He enters the courtyard and takes in the scene with a blank face. His gaze moves across broken bodies scattered everywhere, then to Shade and me barely standing, then finally to the torn chocolate wrapper blowing across dirt.

Then he sighs.