2410 Crescin 01, Reshpe

Cyrdel revelled in the way their soles scratched against the cobblestones. It was the only way to distract himself from staring at Ravalee every second that passes between them. And she was expectedly bright today, with her orange bow tying the upper half of her hair and her rust-colored dress hanging limp to her knees. Her hazelnut brown eyes scanned the same shops and huts with the same spark in them.

He tucked his hands behind him as they walked in comfortable silence. The Crafting District sped by them in its usual activity, lost in their own world. Warm breeze tickled his face and the back of his neck but today wasn't as obnoxious as the days when the rain took too long to pour. He glanced up at the sky. It was brighter than any of the days he had been out with Ravalee. The absence of clouds shielding the morning sunlight was enough to tell him it wouldn't rain anytime soon.

Had the universe conspired to help him have a good day with a friend? It sure felt like it.

"So, where do you want to go?" Cyrdel asked aloud despite the raging current of his thoughts. He had bartered on the losing side with his father just to get one day out of the palace without thinking of his tutors or being forced to attend court proceedings. "We could try out the haagen place next time. Or the beeo one."

Or we could just go to the sarkerpan place you've wanted to try out. Ravalee signed as a response. Cyrdel raised an eyebrow, watching her tell him about the time she caught him staring at the way it was prepared by the brownies in one of the dining huts they passed by. It's almost a wonder how fast Ravalee and Airene learned and developed the language of signs. He even ended up being tutored on some gestures they came up with when Cyrdel would go home during the night. Most days, Cyrdel would come up with more words to sign, even prod around with syntax and grammar, and he would get Airene and Ravalee's input on what to revise.

The signs revolved around the use of both hands and some parts of the body like the face, chest, elbows, and shoulders and, just recently, Cyrdel had thought about giving each letter in the Keijula koset its own gesture. It'd help Ravalee in spelling out words they couldn't come up with gestures in the meantime. It's a problem they kept running into throughout the years.

Eventually, though, it became easier to communicate with the signs. Cyrdel sometimes used it himself when he didn't want anyone within their vicinity to have any context of what they're saying. It's fun to confuse the passing merchants or the shop owners that way.

His world swayed when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to Ravalee who glanced up and waved her hand around her face. It's a sign for, spacing out? Or you're not paying attention. He gave her an apologetic smile before shedding Ravalee's hand off his shoulder. "Sorry," he said. "Had some thoughts in my mind. Too many of them, in fact."

Ravalee raised an eyebrow. Her hands moved to sign, Inventing, again? Or was it your parents' demands?

"More of the latter," Cyrdel blew a breath. He didn't tell Ravalee anything beyond having arguments with his parents about pursuing a business in inventing. She didn't know the parents he was talking about were the King and Queen of the territory they were standing on, Alkara. "But I'll figure it out. I'm sorry for being distracted when I should be spending time with you."

Ravalee shook her head. It makes sense to speak about your problems, she said. That's what friends are for.

Cyrdel nodded. Why was his insides squirming at that word? Friends. It's what he thought of Ravalee ever since she followed him that day to apologize. It was nice to know she thought of him the same way too. What would happen if they went further than that? He shook his head. That's not going to happen. He was perfectly happy with what they shared right now. It's more than enough.

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling in his gut, pushing him to get closer, to do things to make Ravalee laugh and smile. It brought some weird but comforting vibes in his system whenever he saw her do that. Did that mean anything?

Probably not.

Something whipped past Cyrdel. He turned too late to see it slam into Ravalee, throwing her backwards. Without thinking, he rushed to her side and crouched down. "You alright? What happened?"

Ravalee nodded as an answer to his first question and pointed to her side to answer the next. Cyrdel's gaze landed on a boy not past seven kneeling beside Ravalee. Mist clouded his honey-colored eyes until it spilled into tears running down his cheeks. In a short while, the tears turned into full-blown, terrified wails. Cyrdel bit back the curse thick on his tongue. Dear Nira. What would they do with this one?

He shot up and looked around, scanning the vicinity for any signs of a person looking for their child. A noure neighed and clopped across the street, blocking most of Cyrdel's view. He turned around and studied the people bustling in their own business behind them. No one gave the wailing boy as much as a sideways glance, muttering among themselves. Most probably it was about the boy being hard in the head and straying from his parents.

A flash of orange caught Cyrdel's attention. He looked down to find Ravalee pressing her fingers to the boy's temples, rocking him back and forth. A bright, orange light shone at two tips of her fingers in each hand, emitting an eerie calmness in the air. Cyrdel's throat constricted. Thyminka magic. Ravalee said she wasn't one so what was this?

The boy stilled, tears drying from his eyes. He stared at Ravalee with wide eyes and a curious look. Ravalee stood up and turned to Cyrdel, enough of a cue for him to take over. Cyrdel swallowed his trepidation and crouched in front of the boy. "When did you last see your guardian, hmm?" he asked as gently as he could. They couldn't afford to have the boy crying again.

The boy sniffed but described the features of his mother who went with him in the streets as well as the last place they had been before they got separated. It took some time, but Cyrdel and Ravalee were able to reconcile the boy to his mother who insisted on repaying their kindness with a cold cup of deispen.

As soon as their frames became mere dots in the horizon, Cyrdel took Ravalee by the wrist and led her straight back to her hut. Airene didn't ask a question when they barged in a hurry through the front door and when Cyrdel told her to lock it. He sat Ravalee down on the couch and faced her aunt who towered over him with crossed arms and a stern frown.

"What's all this?" Airene asked, her voice flat and clipped.

Cyrdel ran a hand over his face with a sigh, disturbing the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His hair stung his palms when he flicked it away from his forehead. "Ravalee performed thyminka magic outside," he reported. "That's why we had to hurry."

A series of expressions passed across Airene's face until it settled on the most prominent: worry. "What do you mean thyminka magic?" she whirled to her niece who flinched at the attention. "What did you do?"

Ravalee signed hastily, forgoing all the grammar rules Cyrdel had come up with. Her words came up as boy crying calm down with magic need do it so magic come. She snapped her fingers at having thought of the word and proceeded to sign i-n-s-t-i-n-c-t. The look she gave them asked if they understood it.

Airene turned to Cyrdel. "And can you be certain it was thyminka magic?"

"Yeah," Cyrdel answered. "It glowed orange and calmed the boy down. I know a trail when I see one."

Ravalee stood up and paced between them, looking at both of them in expectation. What are you talking about? She signed. What did I do wrong?

Airene sighed and sank to the couch herself. "It's not inherently wrong, dear," she said. Her tone was trying so hard to be gentle and failing at it. "Just that you just placed us in a very tricky situation."

Ravalee whipped to Cyrdel, confusion twisting her features. Cyrdel didn't want to admit it, but it really was a touchy one. "Thyminkais are forced to serve in the Temples," he said. "For life."

Silence hung in the air, filling every nook and crevice of the circular hut. Ravalee turned to Airene for some sort of confirmation and the woman only leaned her head back against the couch's backrest. "I promised Airese I would protect her but now this," Cyrdel heard Airene mutter under her breath.

Airese? Was that Airene's sister? Oh. Maybe she's Ravalee's real mother. If so, where was she?

Before Cyrdel could ponder on it more, Airene shot up from the couch and gripped him on the shoulder—too fast for his eyes to follow. "You have to help me," she said, almost giving Cyrdel the notion that she was begging. "I can't have Ravalee away from my sight and we can't leave Alkara. You've got to be able to do something."

Ravalee tore Cyrdel away from her aunt's grip. Anger flashed in her features and burned in her eyes. Why are you asking him? She demanded. He couldn't do anything about it! We'll figure out a way. We have to.

And as soon as she delivered her piece, she pushed past her aunt and disappeared to the kitchen. Airene looked away from her niece slamming and banging pots in preparing dinner. She met Cyrdel's gaze again.

"How did you know I could help?" Cyrdel asked in a low voice, keeping careful watch of Ravalee's turned back. Thanks to the clatter of metal pans and wooden ladles, their conversation was barely audible.

Airene blew an amused scoff. "I knew you were the Crown Prince a long time ago."

Cyrdel rubbed the back of his neck. "Since the beginning?"

The woman rolled her shoulders. "About the second or third time you made it here," she said. "You didn't make it that hard to guess with the stories you tell."

Oh.

"So, will you help us or not?" Airene's voice made Cyrdel look up to meet her beige eyes once more.

He didn't know what he could do as the Crown Prince but he sure as hell would like to try. Ravalee needed her aunt and from the looks of it, her aunt needed her too. The Temples' ruling about forcing all Thyminkais for servitude was stupid at its finest. People should be free to choose what they want to do with their lives regardless of the magic they're born with.

Cyrdel wasn't given that chance when he was born into the Royal family but he wouldn't give up without a fight to help Ravalee have a different path. So, with a heavy heart and a constricting throat, Cyrdel nodded at Airene. "I'll see what I can do," he declared.

The door to his father's office flew open, spitting out Cyrdel. The King's private room was located all the way to the opposite wing but that didn't stop Cyrdel from walking all the way from the Crafting District towards the place where the one person who could help him resided this late at night.

His father's mop of sand brown hair snapped up the moment Cyrdel slammed the door shut behind him. "Would it kill you to knock?" the King snapped before looking down at the document he was reading again. "And please, I've had enough of your tantrums over the week. I would have you redo your entrance but I'm too tired for that now. What do you want?"

"You need to change the ruling," Cyrdel blurted, his chest heaving both from the effort of half-walking and half-running back to the palace and from the stress clogging his nerves at the notion of talking to his father about things he had avoided for the longest time.

The King's gaze was flat. "Care to elaborate?"

Cyrdel wiped the sweat dripping from the side of his face with his sleeve. He caught his father wincing in disgust at that action. Tch. It's just sweat, witch. "The Temple forces thyminkais to serve their whole life," he said, taking huge gulps of air to catch his breath. "We need to change it."

"You must have learned nothing from your lessons, given that you always miss them," the King said, plucking a quill from the nearest jar of ink on his desk. Cyrdel had begun to notice the mountains of parchment piled on equal sides of the desk. They were enough to shield the view of his father from someone coming through the door. "The Temple of Memory and Recollection are autonomous institutions apart from the Court of Varis and the Royal House. Do you know what that means?"

Cyrdel racked his brain to find the most acceptable answer but the King beat him to it. "It means that the Court of Varis nor the Royal House couldn't do anything with how the Temple runs inside our borders," he clicked his tongue. "Besides, why do you care? It's not like you're interested in matters like this. You should just go and invent in your dingy little cave."

Cyrdel's fists balled without his permission. "It shouldn't even be the case," he seethed. Why was he so angry at things, by the way? "People should be free to choose their own path."

The King's expression looked bored. "Was that for you or for the thyminkais?" he asked. Then, without waiting for Cyrdel's answer, he waved his hand in the air—a clear sign of dismissal. "Run along if you know better than to waste my time. If you really want to pick on that issue, take it to the Court of Varis, instead."

Cyrdel gritted his teeth, leveling his gaze on the King who had already lost interest in the conversation. "Oh, I will," he hissed. "Trust me on that."

Without waiting for his father's approval or any reaction from him, Cyrdel turned on his heels and marched off. A new mission was gurgling at the back of his mind.