What if he found his siblings the same way?
His vision was blurred, whether from weariness or tears, he didn’t know and didn’t care. Calling his brother and sister’s names every time he could manage enough breath, Zoper started backtracking, checking alleyways and side streets along the route they would have taken to get home. Multiple people shouted out of windows or doorways for him to be quiet. He just staggered on, voice cracking with each yell, weakness dragging at every muscle in his body. “Jakkit…Yaila! Jakkit!”
“Zoper?”
He jerked his head toward the raspy, familiar voice and mustered a fresh burst of energy to sprint into the dark alley it had come from. Yaila’s pale face appeared, tear streaked. A flood of relief brought him to his knees, enveloping both of them in a tight embrace. Yaila cried something he didn’t hear before burying her face in his shoulder. Even Jakkit hugged him back. Zoper couldn’t bring himself to let go of them. So he held them close, one of the curse words commonly used by his coworkers slipping off his tongue. When he spoke, his voice was wobbly. “What happened? You two had me scared to death!” He repeated the curse word again, as if it would somehow calm his frazzled nerves and cure the weariness in his body. “Why didn’t you come home?”
Jakkit leaned back, against the building wall behind them. His voice was just as wobbly. “We were on our way…some men stopped us…thieves. Thought we’d have money.” He gulped. “They left when they found out we didn’t, but Yaila sprained her ankle badly, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”
Zoper grimaced, setting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Jakkit had never been healthy—he lost his breath easily, couldn’t lift anything heavy, didn’t have the energy that most boys did. It wasn’t his fault. But it was easy to imagine that it upset him that he, as a thirteen-year-old boy, wasn’t able to carry his little sister. “It’s not your fault, Jak.” He rubbed his temples, wincing at the throbbing ache that was building there. “It’s my fault.” If he’d gotten them new clothes, that were those of lower class rather than upper or nobility, they wouldn’t be mistaken as wealthy by thieves. But it was that very reason that he hadn’t—they weren’t wealthy, so it hadn’t made any sense to not use the clothing they already owned, even if they no longer belonged to the class that it did.
He gently pulled Yaila back so he could look at her. “Sprained your ankle, huh, little bird? Well,” he kissed the top of her head, “it’s a good thing birds use their wings. Let’s get out of this alley, shall we?”
Blackness crowded his vision, legs wavering, the second he stood up with Yaila in his arms. Jakkit must have noticed, because he got up too and gripped Zoper’s arm as if to steady him. “You don’t look to be in great shape yourself. And where are we going to go? The gate will be closed. No one’s allowed to leave the city after sunset.”
All too true. Well, they could use one of the other entrances, but technically that was rather illegal, so probably not a brilliant plan. There were inns around…not any that would take three kids without a cent among them, however. It was awfully cold to spend the night outside, not to mention hardly safe—Aydimor had its fair share of criminals. Otherwise…
Otherwise, there was an obvious solution, if not an ideal one. He’d been keeping himself and his siblings away from the castle for months, but this was different. He couldn’t keep his siblings, cold and hungry, on the streets all night. Not when there was such a better alternative. His father’s words replayed in his mind…but hadn’t he also implored Zoper to take care of his siblings? Surely their father wouldn’t prefer them cold and hungry on the streets. “Do you know,” he brushed back a lock of Yaila’s wispy blond hair, “we have an uncle in the city, who has quite the respectable establishment. What do you say we spend the night with him?”
Yaila was already smiling and nodding her approval. Jakkit quirked an eyebrow. “Sure he’d take us?”
Zoper nodded decidedly. “Of course. Are we even thinking of the same man? Come on, Jak, if he knew we were out here he’d likely have us escorted to the castle by the royal guard.”
His brother only shrugged.
They set out, moving deeper into the city. The farther in they went, the nicer their surroundings became, from houses to mansions, from dirt paths and alleyways to cobblestone streets. This was the part of Aydimor he was familiar with from his childhood. Their family had always lived in their cozy home outside the city, but as a child, he’d attended one of the best upper class schools, shopped and dined at all the nicest stores and restaurants, and visited his uncle and other nobility in and around the castle. He’d never spent time in the poorer parts of the city, let alone stepped foot in a sawmill. Until being an orphan had lowered him and his siblings to the status of lower class.
Unfortunately for his tired body, the castle was at the very back of the city. There was nothing to do but trudge on. Jakkit must have been tired also, or grouchy, as he lagged several paces behind for the entire trip. Zoper looked back frequently to make sure he was alright, and asked Yaila how she was doing occasionally, but he didn’t have it in him to try and have a conversation.
As they reached the main gate of the towering castle, Yaila had fallen asleep in his arms, Jakkit was trailing him with head down, not even looking where he was going, and Zoper felt certain that as soon as he let himself stop and sit down, it would be some time before he could get back up.
“Hold.” One of the sentries at the gate stopped them. “Name and business?”
“Zoper Veserron, we’re here to see our uncle.”
“Uncle?” A confused pause. “Oh. Veserron. Oh, um, okay, go ahead, or I mean, I’ll escort you.”
“Thanks,” was all he managed. If he hadn’t been so tired, he might have been amused. As it was, they silently followed the guard into the castle, through the courtyard, through halls full of life-size statues and portraits of nobles or historically significant individuals. To a set of double doors with golden knobs. The man knocked, then spoke to the closed door. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, your uh, your nephews and niece to see—”
The door flung open, the guard barely having time to dodge it. “Well I’ll be!” In the doorway, Kaydor Veserron, king of Zentyre. Or, just Uncle Kaydor. He smiled broadly. “Look who finally decided to visit me. But,” now he frowned, scrutinizing their battered state, “what happened? Is everything alright?”
“Well, no.” Zoper found the smile he’d lost an hour ago. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, of course we would have let you know ahead of time, except—”
“The day you have to apologize for barging in is the day I’m no longer fit to be your uncle. Come, come in!” Kaydor practically dragged him into the room, which happened to be the throne room. “Yaila, dear, what’s the matter? Are you alright?”
Eyes puffy from her nap, Yaila gave a timid smile. “I hurt my ankle.”
“Oh,” Kaydor took her hand to kiss it, “we’ll just have to get that fixed up, won’t we? You there,” he addressed the soldier standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Have three bedchambers prepared for my nephews and niece. Send a medic to her room.”