Flame and Spade (A DreamNotFound Story)

Chapter 7

Fury clouded Clay's eyes and mind as he stumbled down the cold cobble steps to his room. How dare George? How could he? Clay's fists shook with rage, his whole body trembling and teeth chattering.

By the time he had reached his bedchamber, however, it had ebbed into a dull, aching pain in his chest. Sinking down onto his bed, Clay took his head into his hands. The fact that he had so eagerly waited at George's door, heart pounding, palms sweaty, made it worse. Clay had never expected George to betray him so smoothly - the shy, sweet boy who had so easily opened up to Clay seemed nowhere in sight.

A shiver ran down his back at the steely glare George's father had fixed on him - and of course the words spoken just after. Clay claimed fervently to himself that the King was wrong - but then what explained how he could hear his heartbeat whenever he talked to George, how his stomach twisted into fluttering knots when he thought of George, how he couldn't bear George to be mad at him?

Clay was perplexed; the sense of calm and nervousness he felt around George almost overshadowed the pain and sadness George had put him through. It was too much for one boy to handle, Clay thought, as he pulled on some loose fitting pajama pants, shrugged off his shirt and crawled into bed.

Hugging his knees close to his chest, Clay mulled over the day and the day ahead. Though pain still shrouded him, he couldn't help but feel excited thinking of the ceremonial visit to the Overworld tomorrow. He would see his home village tomorrow, all decorated and shining, his friends and neighbors...Clay signed happily.

The sense of community he felt in the small hamlet outshone the fact he didn't have any parents by far. He had Darryl, and the Elders, and they were more than enough. His mind wandered back over to the walk to the Portal. As tradition stands, the procession will be seated on Striders, George at the lead, followed closely by Clay and farther behind the King, Queen, and the other Nether Royalty.

That meant he would have to watch George from behind - though it wasn't bad, watching George's soft, downy hair, his slim shoulders, narrow back and fat a - Ugh!  Clay hit himself over the head with a pillow, cursing his stupid mind for thinking of such things. He turned over, settling down for bed.

I'm mad at George, he betrayed me, brought me straight to his Father to ridicule and make fun of me. I hate George, remember? He reminded his traitorous brain, groaning again and shrinking down into his blankets. The very last thing he thought of when sleep finally claimed him was the strange purpling mark that had been wrapped around George's throat, and how he tried to stop his father; maybe it wasn't his fault after all...

. . .

"Thank god for this shit" George muttered at he spread more cream over his neck. He had spent ages picking out his outfit today - and he wouldn't have this nasty bruise on his neck, courtesy of his father, ruin it. Over the years, the castle Healers had developed the perfect cream; it soothed aches, fixed any pain, and completely vanished any bruises or marks.

He had used it liberally over the years - and thanks to it none but he and the Healers knew of his father's abuse. George hummed as it sunk in and started to work its magic, then crossed over to his closet. Taking a small leather satchel, he packed it of a few apples, a loaf of crusty bread, a candle and a box of matches. He always managed to sneak away in the Overworld and explore, at least for an hour or so.

He never got far, but it was still pleasant to sit in a field and enjoy the feeling of the sun on his face and the faint glimmer of warmth. Slinging it over his shoulder, he gave one last appreciative twirl in the mirror and left, making for the foyer.

. . .

"Dream!"

Clay purposely ignored George and the fluttering of his heart. He tried to banish the thought of George's outfit - but it was hard. George had slowly walked down the main stairs, making every head in that damn foyer turn.