The God's Game

The sigil of twin Forvers

Author warns, yet again.

Take care! Even this author is concerned for what she wrote. Disturbing imagery ahead!!

"The entire Verlice- Huxley force is after you."

"Yes"

"They know you are here."

"Yes"

Wolfram nodded thoughtfully and tossed another branch into the cackling fire.

"And we are throwing a slumber party." he remarked, voice oozing with sarcasm, like honey off a particularly sassy spoon. "Makes perfect sense."

"Anyone would run away." River crouched dangerously close to the fire; eyes glued on the dancing flame. "That's why we are not."

The youngster had spent the last hour or so staring at the flames with deep concentration, his crystal blue eyes glowing like a burning ocean. He didn't want to move his eyes from their cozy posture because he liked the pleasant sting it gave him. The constant dull ache made the gears in his head turn faster, somehow, enabling him to think with clarity.

With his head propped on River's lap, Raven was soundly dozing off. The king pitched a hissy fit and yelled that he wanted to keep the awful task of dressing on, even though Wolfram begrudgingly agreed to heal his injuries. Now, with his hands tucked behind his chin and a soft snore, the exhausted man lay curled up on the ground, peacefully asleep.

Val and Aithan kept an eye outside in case another battalion of soldiers attacked. River felt heavy guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach, clawing at his lungs. He loathed inconveniencing them in this way, so he was determined to devise a well thought out plan for their future expedition, even if it meant roasting his eyeballs or staying up all night.

With a trace of frustration, Wolfram took River by the nape of his neck and yanked him back. "Didn't your mama tell you not to stare at open fires?"

"Mama died before she could say hello." River deadpanned. However, a tinge of bitterness seethed into his voice; like it always did whenever he mentioned his mother.

Blinking away the persistent bright spots in his vision, River chuckled at Wolfram's scolding glare; the mirth not reaching his reddened eyes.

"Not amusing. Noted." He put his hand up defensively, before the elder could give him an earful about disrespecting the deceased.

Wolfram's expression softened slightly, though the tense lines between his brows remained. He regarded his friend with genuine concern etched onto the corners of his lips.

Wolfram scooted closer to the fire and rested his head on the younger boy's shoulder. River's body felt incredibly fragile, as if it might crumble apart like a bamboo puppet under the weight of his skull. He was even slightly swaying in harmony with how Raven's chest was rising and falling, looking completely spaced out.

"Don't go to Queensend." Wolfram poked River's cheek, to snap him out of his stupor. He winced at how his finger hit the hardness of teeth rather than the expected softness of flesh. "Riv, promise me you won't."

River jabbed a dry twig into the fire, shooting tiny sparks into the cool night air. For a minute, they glowed brightly like fireflies before fading to ashes. River inhaled Aithan's bold earthy scent clinging to Wolfram's skin. He was soaked in that smell, like he was wrapped in a never-ending loving embrace.

River felt a pang of hot jealousy sinking into his heart like a sharp, poisoned needle.

He smelled like smoke, grass, and blood—the sickening blend of recent violence. He had smelled like mold that clung to East Wing walls, he had smelled like dust and decay. He carried the scent of old wrinkly blueprints with him. Sometimes of fresh laundry or oil that he used to keep blades from dulling.