a high-pitched voice inquired. “Because from my vantage, that dramatic entry of yours had all the grace and style of a sea lion flopping about on a beach.”
Finn sat on a ledge out of the worst of the filth, bright red coat buttoned up around his skinny frame, the stub of a candle clutched in one hand. Both his trousers and his boots had holes in them, and Killian wondered where the last pair he’d given him had walked off to. Finn’s dark hair was a cap of wild curls that was badly in need of a wash, as was the tawny skin of his face, which was dulled with a film of dirt. But his brown eyes were bright with good humor, none of the city’s plight ever seeming to touch him.
Climbing to his feet, Killian curbed the urge to rub his bruised backside and instead pulled the tea towel from between his teeth, handing it over. “Here. Should be still warm.”
Finn accepted the gift, holding the tart, which was miraculously still intact, up to the candlelight. “This is a thing of beauty, my lord. A true thing of beauty.” Then he took a bite, his eyes rolling up with delight as he slowly chewed. “Fit for a king.”
“A princess, at any rate.” Killian picked up the sack before the food inside got wet. “It was intended for her table.”
“Speaking of Her Highness’s table, what are you doing here so early? Dinner not up to your lofty standards?”
Killian snorted. “Didn’t care for the company.”
“Why would you when those with the true charm and wit are waiting for you in our fair city’s under-kingdom?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Killian gave a last upward glance, noting the shadows moving overhead. “Shall we?”
Together, they made their way through the maze of tunnels making up the sewer system, Finn’s nonstop prattle echoing off the walls as he regaled Killian with his various escapades. Killian wasn’t exactly certain how old Finn was, for the answer seemed to depend on who was doing the asking. He’d told Esme he was ten while staring up at her with wide, innocent eyes, but he’d told Killian that he was sixteen. Killian’s best guess was somewhere in the middle. Finn’s mother had been Gamdeshian, his father a Mudamorian sailor, and he’d told Killian that he’d been born in Revat, the capital of Gamdesh, providing enough detail about the city that it was likely the truth.
When his mother had died, his father had brought him back to Mudaire, where they had lived until the start of the war. Finn’s father had been conscripted and marched off to join the battle, leaving Finn with a distant relative who wanted nothing to do with another mouth to feed. Finn hadn’t heard from his father since.
A story all too common these days.
“Home sweet home,” Finn declared, and they stepped into a small chamber off the side of the main tunnel. At the center was a sewer grate that allowed in a fair bit of moonlight, and it reflected off the dozens of faces of the children huddled together in the small space. At the sight of him, their expressions brightened, some of them smiling and saying his name.
“A feast!” Finn shouted. “A feast for my subjects!”
The children extracted themselves from their nest of filthy blankets, forming a line as they’d been taught to do. Killian stepped back as Finn carefully dispersed the food, noting the ragged coughs and crusted eyes on several of them. Grand Master Quindor opened the healing temple for two hours each day to treat the public, but most of these children feared to come out of the tunnels, and it wasn’t the deimos that terrified them during the days.
There was a tiny girl in the line with long black hair tied in a loose braid. Finn handed her a piece of roasted beef, but she was coughing and shivering so hard, she could barely chew. Shrugging off his torn coat, Killian wrapped it around her shoulders, the fabric covering her from her neck to her bare feet.
“My lord, I’ll get your fine coat dirty,” she said, looking up at him. The moonlight caught in her upturned eyes. A northern girl.
“Don’t you worry about that,” he said. “The Princess gave me this coat, and you see, I’ve already ruined it.” He ran a finger along the split seam. “She’ll be angry if she sees it, so perhaps you might help me hide the evidence.”