Page 105 of The Moon Blessed King
Still, the sad feeling lingered as he watched the only family he ever knew slip away, pursuing the lives that they deserve to live, because he knew he couldn’t join them. His place is here.
Alest bites his lip. He ducks his head and curls his shoulders forward as he walks outside. Just for a little while, he wants to breathe fresh air. He descends the palace steps and strolls through the city. There are so many beautiful things to see. The architecture isdetailed, each pillar engraved and each home a unique dedication to art and beauty. He goes from building to building and just looks at all of them. He doesn’t need to enter or draw attention to himself – he simply wants to be a normal person for a few minutes, not bothered by the complications of his office.
He walks for hours, losing himself in the city. He breathes in the smells of food being cooked in the inns, he basks in the sound of children playing, and he takes in the passing discussions of people going about their lives. No one pays him any mind. He doesn’t wear a crown here; he left it back in Soleb, and he sees no reason to make a second. His clothing is finely made and embroidered with stars but looks no different than that of any other nobleman in the city.
One of his hands goes to his right cheek. No one knows. There is no scar. He is just the same as everyone else. And the Reapers who went out into the world did so without scars of their own.
A clatter behind an inn draws his attention. He lets his hand drop and he meanders towards it, watching a pale and dusty cat clamber up on top of a woodpile so it can peer into the windows. Its fur is ragged, and its skin is showing in some places. There is a notch in one ear. Its tail is kinked at the tip. It looks at him, and he thinks it is the ugliest cat he has ever seen.
He smiles at it. ‘Hello,’ he murmurs. It yowls at him. Its front paws are bulbous and strange, extended with extra toes, and one curls just like a thumb. He takes a step towards the creature, half expecting it to run away. It doesn’t. It yowls again, then adjusts its position on the windows so all four paws are balancing precariously on a slender strip of stone.
Slowly, Alest removes his right glove. It meows louder as he stands in front of it. Very slowly, Alest reaches forward.I don’t want to hurt it, he thinks. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, can feel his breath stuttering to a halt as he extends his hand. His fingers stretch, and his knuckles creak with uncertainty. The cat tilts its head up. It sniffs the air beneath Alest’s palm. This close, Alest can see it’smissing a couple of whiskers, how there’s a gap in its lip and a tooth is gone.Poor thing, he thinks.
Then it arches its neck a little higher and rubs its head against Alest’s palm.
Alest cannot breathe. The cat does it again, this time insistently. It meows at him for good measure, just to get its point across, and Alest’s fingers bend behind its ear. They move back and forth, rubbing and massaging at the soft fur behind the cat’s head. It makes a noise, half meow and half purr, and then it leaps. It lands on his chest, and he catches it in his arms. It rubs its face against his. Its ears flick through the tears sliding down his cheeks and he sighs. And all the while, this cat’s life still beats within it.
Feel better, little one, he wills. The precious dear’s tail rights itself. The horde of fleas all through the cat’s fur fall dead. Fresh whiskers grow. The scars heal. It purrs louder and louder, snuggling up under his chin as he turns and carries it from the alley. He laughs, holding it close, nuzzling its too-soft fur and marvelling at how it feels against his skin. He plays with its limbs, its paws. He presses down on its little pads and watches in open fascination as claws snap out at the slightest pressure.
He pauses.
He recognizes those claws.
‘No,’ he murmurs, holding the cat back just enough to look at it properly. White fur, streaked just enough to make it good at camouflage. From its size he presumed it was an adult cat, but when he looks closer, he realizes the error. This cat isn’t an adult. It’s young. Very young. And it is very, very small compared to what it will be.
A barbed tongue reaches out and licks his fingers.Mine, it determines.
Mine, he agrees.
Curling the cat against his chest, he laughs. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs again. He holds it to him, and it plays with the ties of his surcoat, the edges of his hair. It headbutts his chin and bestows uponhim a devotion that he only hopes he can continue to deserve. Its strange little paws with their thumb-like appendages dig into his shoulders in a fierce embrace.You’re alive, he thinks.You’re real, you’re alive, and so am I.
He doesn’t care who sees him now. He hurries into the palace and ducks around people who almost certainly will want to find him. He avoids everybody who has questions to ask him or another law to discuss. He rushes until he finds the room Elician and Morsen are working in, and when he opens the door, he finds Elician immediately. His husband looks up at him, blinking once and then scrambling to his feet.
‘Cat—’ he breathes out, mouth floundering after that one word. His eyes are going from the cat in Alest’s arms to Alest’s face. Then he starts laughing. He rounds the table and runs towards him.
‘Her name is Sunny,’ Alest declares, bare palm steadying the cat’s back. ‘And she’s anightcat.’
‘No!’ Elician bends down to look, eyes wide and expression awash with boyish delight. Morsen comes around too, inspecting the creature with an academic curiosity. ‘Gods above,’ Elician murmurs. ‘Where did youfindit?’
‘Her!’ Alest replies. ‘Her name is Sunny,’ he repeats.
‘Sunny, where did you find her?’
‘In an alley.’
‘Of course you did,’ Elician says. ‘She’s so young. Where are her parents?’
‘I didn’t sense or hear anything else. She’s so soft, Elician.’ Elician smiles and kisses his cheek and whispers how happy he is right into the shell of his ear. Warm tingles crawl down Alest’s spine. ‘Can she come with us to the Blessedsafe?’
‘Who am I to leave my cat behind?’ Elician teases. He reaches for Sunny, and she bites him immediately. ‘Fuck,’ Elician curses, recoiling even as Alest pulls the near-mythic creature away from Elician’spoor hand. Then Elician starts cackling, the bloody wound already on the mend. ‘I knew I’d see a nightcat one day,’ he proclaimed.
‘And now you’re the first person in a thousand years to be maimed by one,’ Morsen says dryly. ‘Be grateful it’s still young.’
‘Plenty of time for her to get used to me, isn’t that right, Sunny?’ Elician tries to pet her again and gets a hand scored with cuts as a result.
‘You deserve it,’ Alest decides as he strokes his nightcat’s fur. Sunny nuzzles him under his chin. It’s so soft, so sweet, so perfectly tender and gentle. It feels beyond anything he could have imagined. He loves it. He closes his eyes and leans into the sensation of warm, living fur against his skin.
He leans into his husband too when Elician places a hand on his shoulder blade, avoiding Sunny’s piercing glare, and kisses the top of Alest’s head. ‘I’m glad you tried to touch her on your own,’ he whispers. Glad that Alest has finally breached the space between him and another creature and let himself believe that he will not bring them harm.
