This Timmy was new and offered a bright hopeful smile. As he aged, he would grow silent, sullen. But for now, Darith still saw the gleam of hero worship in the boy's eyes.

I can't rescue him. He couldn't change a damn thing about Timmy's life for the next handful of years. Darith averted his gaze from the hope in the boy that he couldn't answer.

Timmy lowered his eyes and shuffled his feet, making Darith distinctly uncomfortable. He did not come here to witness a child in pain, and floundered for any vaguely adequate words to give the shirtless child.

"It doesn't last forever," Darith said.

He handed the boy a large fold of bills. He almost cautioned the boy to split it with the master of the house, but that was a lesson Timmy needed to learn on his own. I hope he's saving the money. He could have a future, get out of this, but I can't live his life for him.

It wasn't enough. The last Timmy had been found strangled on a hotel-room floor. The only comfort Darith had was that his father had been at home the night before the body was found. His father might pay to sleep with the boys, but he hadn't killed any. The hotel staff never spoke of who occupied the room though they must have known. It had been a few days before the kid's eleventh birthday.

"Thank you," Timmy said softly.

Poor kid. How did he come to this? How does any child? The parents, it's always the parents. There should be some sort of restrictions to parenthood.

"Don't thank me. Follow the rules. Never cheat the boss, and get out of this place and live your life."

Darith turned and left the ally. Eyes bore into his back as he went. It wasn't enough. Money solved nothing, but it was all he had.

No one looked at him when he reached the shops, and on the main road, he avoided eye contact. He brushed his fingers over his pants as if he could wipe the stench of the ally, the slime of existence from him.

A pounding ache taunted his temples.

He was relieved to reach the black town-car. The driver sat on the hood smoking, but on seeing Darith, dropped the burning, drug-laced paper, opened the back door and moved into the driver's seat. Darith pretended he hadn't seen the drugs. The guy was a good driver, and his mother would never tolerate such a thing.

Darith slid into the backseat. He closed the door, blocking out the town and encasing himself in the expensive interior. The silence of the cab soothed the fresh pounding in his head. He let the driver know he was ready to depart.

As they drove, Darith glanced at the tinted glass which obscured the driver's view of him. Unsanctioned magic was more illegal than the drugs he pretended not to see. No one would keep that secret for him if he got caught.

Still once outside of town, with only the long stretch of tree lined road leading to the Cortanis estate, the pounding in Darith's head demanded he take the risk of exposure.

Darith lifted his fingers, a pale glow forming. Placing the finger at one temple and sweeping it to the other, he let the power trickle from his fingers and loosen the pain in his head. The steady beat of pain slowed, dimmed into a dull ache. A sigh escaped his lips.

The encounter of his afternoon had spoiled his mood, and when the car pulled into the Cortanis estate he welcomed the known pitfalls of his parents' home.

At the edge of the estate stood the huge bunker where all the fresh grown exports for the region were kept. Several trucks had parked outside the huge structure, unloading their goods and the foreman stood just outside of the huge metal door marking off what was delivered and from who. Quickly the building was out of site, hidden from the main estate by a line of trees, as if even seeing the working folk was disgraceful.

Out the window, his father sat on a lounge chair in front of the pool- heated, some modern conveniences were not looked down on even on Yahal. A glimmer of red hair and white flesh from the water alerted him that their house guest, Marim, was out there with his father. He smiled thinking of her gliding through the water until he realized that it was his father sitting there watching her.

Sick Letcher. Darith lifted his hand to tap on the glass but never made the motion. He didn't need to stop the car. Marim didn't need his protection as she had when she was younger. Being the daughter of the count's best friend should be protection enough.

Darith had puzzled over the two men's friendship since he was old enough to understand the difference between the Chief of Police and the count. The only possible conclusion was that Berrick was a complete moron who had managed to be fooled for upwards of twenty years by the count's empty charm.

Both men shared the same staunch old-fashioned, anti-tech values and had chosen to return to Yahal after attending a university on another world. But many people on Yahal held those same values. Her father could do better, keep her away from here.

Darith bit his knuckles as they drove by the pool. If she'd still been a child, if he had been, he'd go out to her but things were different. Marim was one of the only pure things in his life. He wanted her to continue to see him as her white knight, not see the slick poisonous secrets. How selfish his reasons really were for helping her or how wicked the soil he sprang from. It wasn't too much to ask for one person in all the world to believe in him.

And Father wouldn't hurt her.

The car stopped at the end of the drive, and Darith got out in front of the stone façade of his parent's mansion. His mother stood in the doorway, back stiff as a wooden board, her gray hair pulled into a severe bun. Despite the severe hair, dour expression and lack of any discernible cosmetics, the countess remained an attractive woman. Darith had inherited her sharp, strong features and pale blue eyes. Though his hair was still a healthy black, not faded and tortured to gray by years dealing with the friendly, social, voluble and utterly adored count.

"Mother," Darith said, stepping up and kissing her cheek.

"Walk with me. The evening air is pleasant and we must speak."

Darith took her arm, which was as stiff and unyielding as her back. They ambled back down the drive next to fragrance-free roses in exotic tones.

"You stink of village girl," the countess said.

Darith laughed and patted his mother's arm.

"Will this require paying a family off?"

"No, by the God's Mother. I don't want a bastard child any more than you do."

"The time has come to put aside these childish encounters."

"And marry little Marim? She's all of sixteen. With how you've felt about the family in the past I counted on you to support me. She has the body of a boy. I know Father enjoys it, but I have no desire to bed children."

The countess gave his cheek a sharp slap. Her cheeks moved as if to smile but her mouth never twitched. His father's activities were a closely kept secret and not to be spoken in the open air. However the countess seemed to take a vicious joy in hearing her husband judged. After she reclaimed his arm, they started walking again.

"You needn't choose her, though the merger is what your father wants. Her mother was a moron, but I have no issue with the girl's family. I only wish she weren't such a fool herself. You'd think her mother's death would have lent her some wisdom."

An image of Marim's small cherub mouth smiling came to Darith. Such warmth. What would it be like to kiss those lips? No point in wondering. I'd only hurt her. I can't ever let it happen.

"I never fail to be amazed at your tact, Mother dear."

"Yes, my kindness is matched only by yours. Never-the-less the girls all seem to like you. Cecelia Birch sends you love letters and Taria Midland twitters every time your name is mentioned. You have the face of an angel, boy. Perhaps you should choose a bride before your personality gets in the way and you are left with only dregs. Marim may wind up your only option."

"Maybe I want a girl who likes my personality."

"We all have our dreams. I wanted to be an opera singer."

"Get on with the point, Mother. Why did you ask me out here?"

"Eliza's ball is in three days—"

"I'm not going to that farce."

"You are taking Marim. Her father is away, and she needs an escort."

"No."

"Don't say no to me, Boy. That girl's life has been rotten and the least you can do is allow her to attend the party of the season while her idiot father is doing gods know what." His mother paused then drove on. "And if you desire a bride who likes you for who you are, that little ball of fluff is your best gamble. She's been sweet on you since she first came to stay at our house after the deaths in her family."

Darith remembered that. He remembered Chief Trehar sobbing over his wife's coffin. He'd looked over at his mother who had this little smirk on her face. Like she was just barely holding back an 'I told you so.' Everyone knew she'd never liked Polly Trehar, a plain simple woman who only wanted to see the good of things. The countess had often wondered aloud if the woman didn't have some mental deficiency and continually stated that Polly's trusting nature would get her in trouble. Anyone else would have regretted their comments, staring at Polly's husband in tears beside her coffin. Not the countess.

So Darith had done the only thing he could do to prove to himself he wasn't his mother. He'd walked over to Marim, ten years old at the time, shaking with silent tears in her seat, and he'd sat next to her and held her. He'd held her for hours as she cried, and when she stopped crying, he brought her outside away from the black draped room and helped her pick a bouquet of flowers for her mother. He'd promised her that day he'd protect her. A simple vow to make, it hadn't been simple to keep but so far he'd kept it.

Marim could do better. Implications that she agreed with their fathers only complicated things. The idea of telling her this, hurting her feelings shredded his insides.

He might not be willing to marry her to indulge her whims but he could take her to a party, no matter how insipid.

Darith patted his mother's arm. "I'll take her."

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