I Eat Monster and Gain Powers

Chapter 53: If he’s not welcome then neither am I

Freya crossed the room first, dropping into the chair nearest the door like her legs had finally decided they were done holding her up. Alaric stayed standing, arms folded, jaw set in a hard line that hadn’t eased since he’d walked through it.

”He was furious,” Freya said, choosing each word with the same careful weight she always gave the language, though there was less patience in it tonight, more exhaustion pressing at the edges. ”The City Lord. The church, the, the bodies, all of it. He kept saying, scandal. Over and over. Scandal.”

”He wanted blood,” Alaric said, flatter, blunter. ”Somebody’s. Didn’t much care whose at first.”

Mikaela’s arms had crossed tight over her chest. ”Whose.”

”Yours.” Alaric looked at her, then at Eto across the room, who hadn’t moved from where he stood, watching the exchange with the particular stillness of a man reading faces instead of words. ”His too. He wanted you both arrested. Made an example of. A, a demon walking his streets in an old woman’s skin for who knows how long, dozens of bodies under a church nobody thought to check, and he needed somebody standing in front of it so the whole city didn’t start asking why none of his own people caught it first.”

”He actually wanted us arrested,” Mikaela said, voice gone flat and cold. ”After we’re the reason any of those children are still breathing.”

”I know.” Alaric’s jaw worked. ”I know. The Knight Commander argued him down. Took most of the night, honestly, going back and forth, but he got there eventually. Pointed out you saved the children. Stopped the creature. Exposed eighty years of, of whatever the hell that thing was doing under his city. Said arresting the people who did that would make him look worse, not better, and that argument landed harder than anything about justice did, if I’m honest.”

Freya nodded, slow. ”So. No arrest.”

”No arrest.” A pause, and something almost like relief crossed Alaric’s tired face. ”Better than that, actually. City Lord’s agreed to expedite a permanent residence permit. For Eto.” He glanced over. ”He can be a proper adventurer now. Official. Not just some, some stray the knights dragged in off the road.”

Mikaela’s head turned sharp toward Eto, and whatever had been sitting heavy in her chest cracked into something brighter as she crossed the room fast, dropping into rapid Keth in front of him. ”Eto. You hear that? Residence permit. You can join the Guild now, properly, no one can throw you out or question what you’re doing here anymore.”

This copy came from the author’s publication page without permission; readers support the writer by reading the chapter there.

Eto’s brow furrowed, working through it, and then something shifted behind his eyes, understanding landing slow but sure. ”Real,” he said, not quite a question. ”Mine. Stay.”

”Yours. Stay.” Mikaela smiled, tired but real. ”You did it.”

He didn’t smile, not exactly, but something in his shoulders eased that hadn’t eased in a long time, a small nod of his head that carried more weight than the gesture should’ve.

”There’s more,” Freya said, and something in her tone pulled the moment back down before it could settle. ”The orphanage. City Lord’s ordered a new one built. Better. Not in the, the slums, somewhere proper. The children, Lyra, the other caretakers, they’ll move there once it’s done.”

”That’s good,” Mikaela said slowly, watching Freya’s face, catching whatever was still sitting unsaid behind her eyes. ”Isn’t it.”

Freya didn’t answer right away, and Alaric was the one who finally said it.

”Finn’s not going back.”

The room went very quiet.

Nora’s head came up from where she’d stayed bent over Finn’s hand this whole time, eyes sharp and sudden. ”What.”

”He’s not allowed back to the orphanage,” Alaric said, gentler now, though it didn’t soften the words much. ”City Lord’s decision. Knight Commander agreed with him on this one.”

”Why not.” Nora’s voice had gone thin, dangerous. ”He didn’t do anything, it wasn’t him, it was, it was that thing inside him, he didn’t choose any of it.”

”Freya told them,” Alaric said. ”Everything. The Feyra. The fragment. That the boy underneath was fighting it the whole time, that he’s a victim in this same as the others.” He shook his head, slow, frustrated. ”Didn’t matter. They can’t be sure it’s really gone. Can’t risk it coming back while he’s surrounded by a room full of other children who can’t defend themselves if it does.”

”He’s a danger,” Freya said, quiet, hating the words even as she said them. ”That’s how they see it. A risk. Not, not safe. Not welcome.”

”Then I’m not going back either.”

Every head in the room turned.

Nora had stood up from her chair without anyone noticing, Finn’s hand still gripped tight in hers, her whole body drawn up rigid and furious in a way that made her look older than she was, older than the tears standing bright in her eyes should have allowed.

”Nora,” Mikaela started, careful. ”You should think about this. That place, whatever it turns into, that’s your home. Your future. You’d be giving up a lot.”

”I don’t care.”

”Nora.” Freya’s voice was soft now, pleading almost. ”You don’t have to decide this tonight. There’s time to think it through, to, to talk to someone, figure out what’s actually best for—”

”I said I don’t care.” Her voice cracked down the middle, raw and shaking, and she didn’t try to hide it. ”He’s my family. He’s all I have. I’m not leaving him in some, some dungeon or wherever they’re planning to dump him just because he’s inconvenient now. If he’s not welcome then neither am I.”

Nobody had an answer for that. Not one that would’ve landed, anyway, and the silence that followed sat heavy and unresolved in the small room, Finn’s small chest still rising and falling in that slow uneven rhythm it had kept for two days straight now.

Then his fingers twitched in Nora’s hand.

Everyone froze.

His eyes moved beneath closed lids, slow at first, then faster, and a sound came up out of his throat, rough, dry, barely more than a rasp.

”What’s,” he managed, voice cracked from disuse, eyes fluttering open into thin slits against the lamplight. ”What’s going on.”