Still regarding everything with caution, Ninian shrugged off the cloak and obeyed.
Laoise hung it by the door, and, giving Ninian another smile, trotted up the stairs. The girl, Ciara, was staring at him. “What?” Ninian demanded, sitting a safe distance from the fireplace.
“You don’ look like much,” she said bluntly, scrubbing a finger under her nose.
Ninian frowned. “Neither do you.”
She hmphed and followed her mother up the stairs.
Ninian let his eyes relax as he looked into the fire, listening to the ceiling creak. The warmth felt nice.
The building itself looked nicer than the tenement Ninian had found, if rather weathered, and as he looked around, he noticed that Laoise had an array of metal cooking ware hanging over the hearth and a couple of painted wooden bowls on the mantle shelf. A rug hung over the doorway, held aside by a nail, which surely helped to keep the heat in; on the ceiling, bundles of greens hung beside the occasional dried meat. Hooks on the wall held clothing and cloaks, and there was a little crate underneath them full of scarves, gloves, and hats. Laoise was definitely more well-off than Ninian would have expected anyone to be in this part of town—or in much of the Maze.
“Hey.”
Startled, Ninian was on his feet faster than he could inhale.
Ciara looked surprised, and the tray in her hands rattled. “You are quick, though.”
Exhaling, Ninian lowered himself to a cross-legged seat. “I didn’t hear you.”
The girl shrugged, crossing to the fireplace and setting the tray on the floor. “Bread and stew. That’s beef.”
“Beef?” The soup smelled heavenly. “I haven’t had…”
Laoise laughed behind him, and Ninian jumped again. The woman leaned against the wall and slid to a seat inside the fireplace’s circle of light. “Please, enjoy. There’s more if you want it.”
Ninian had picked up the spoon, but he paused, with it hovering over the stew’s steaming surface. “Why are you doing this?”
The woman looked confused. “What do you mean?”
Using the spoon, Ninian poked at the bread and gestured around the cozy flat. “This. Letting me in. Giving me beef.”
“I told you,” Laoise said with a sigh, holding out her arm. Her daughter scampered under it. “I don’t like t’see a child in your situation.”
“I’m not the only one in my situation,” Ninian said, narrowing his eyes. “Why don’t you help the others too?”
“I do,” she said. “When I can.”
Tentatively, Ninian took a bite. He hadn’t thought he could still be hungry after the stolen feast earlier that morning, but evidently, hunger was just a part of him now. He shivered as warmth filled his core.
He swallowed and looked around the room again. “Does anyone else, um… live with you?”
Laoise shook her head. “Nah. My man left us years ago.”
“Oh.” Ninian knew he should feel sorry, but instead, he felt a weight off his chest as if he’d been holding his breath without knowing it. “My condolences, I guess.”
Laoise shrugged. “It was no great loss.”
Ciara tugged her mother’s sleeve. “Can I have some stew, Mamaí?”
“You already ate, Ra. But there’s a spot more upstairs.”
Grinning, the little girl ducked out from under Laoise’s arm and darted up the stairs.
Laoise smiled tiredly at Ninian. “She’s six,” she said. “A bit of a handful.” She tipped her head back against the wall. “I do worry about her, y’know? It’s dangerous out there. Well, you know that. You look too young to be all alone.”
Ninian gave a clipped laugh. “No such thing as too young.”
“What do you mean?”
The stew steamed, and Ninian took another bite to avoid meeting her gaze. “Alone is better than lots of things,” he said around the mouthful. “And I can handle myself.”
“You did handle yourself very well out there, didn’t you?” She looked thoughtful.
Ninian swallowed and didn’t reply.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
The bread was dark and rich, and Ninian tore off a piece, almost dunking in his stew before he remembered his proper manners. “My mum taught me when I was younger.”
“Your mum? Taught you that?”
Ninian nodded.
Laoise scrutinized him. “You looked like you were dancing.” A smile creased her face again. “It was something to see.”
Ninian twisted his spoon in his fingers so his knuckles cracked. “Dancing and fighting aren’t so different.” His mother had worked so hard to raise a noble child. “Mum taught me lots of things.”
Laoise licked her lips. “Well, I won’t ask where she is now.”
The last joint of Ninian’s little finger let out a pop. “Good.”
A few quiet moments later, Ciara came skipping back in, stew on her upper lip and bread in her hand. She nestled herself back under her mother’s arm and resumed her scrutiny of Ninian. “You,” she announced, “look like you’re ’boutta die.”
Ninian scowled at her. “Why, thank you.”
Laoise cringed at her daughter’s words, then shrugged in Ninian’s direction. “You do look… a little tired.”
“Your eyes have so much gray under them I thought it was dirt,” Ciara clarified.
“Ciara,” Laoise scolded. She turned her attention back to Ninian, who was brushing under his eyes to make sure it wasn’t dirt. “Truly, though, when is the last time you slept?”
“Last night,” he answered, a little prickly.
Laoise frowned, and he could tell her mother’s intuition was about to pull apart his words. “For how long?”
“I don’t know.” He crossed his arms. “I don’t need to sleep.”
The sympathy in Laoise’s face deepened. “Everyone needs to sleep.”
“Fine,” Ninian snapped, more sharply than he’d meant to. “I can’t sleep.” He looked away, feeling childish for losing his patience. “Happy?”
He heard Laoise’s sigh without looking up. “No. Of course that doesn’t make me happy.”
Ninian chewed his lip as Laoise fell silent.
“Listen,” Laoise said after a few breaths. “I know it’s a little early, but… I’ll get some blankets. Why don’t you just try and close your eyes for a little while?”
“It…” Ninian let out a little breath. “It won’t work.”
“Just try,” Laoise said. “Come now. Finish up your food, and I’ll make you a bed.”
A pang darted through Ninian’s chest. He’d forgotten how it felt to be mothered.
It was nice.
Looking down into his bowl, he let out a long, deep breath. He might be safe here—Laoise didn’t seem particularly frightening, Ciara was just a child, and there was nobody else with them. There was rowan over the door and a fire in the hearth. He should consider himself lucky.
Slowly, he nodded, never breaking eye contact with his stew. “All right.”
✽ ✽ ✽