Chapter 66: Ageisha Boy

"No, Night but with a ’K’."

The Miwa tapped one finger against his cheek, thinking.

"Kay?"

"K as in a letter in their human alphabet."

"Oh..."

His head tilted toward the child.

The little boy sat tucked against his side, clutching the stuffed rabbit the Miwa had retrieved for him moments ago. His blue eyes followed every movement with the same quiet fear they had shown since the time he was spotted from the cage.

The Miwa smiled.

"Tuk, you must teach me of their language. And we’re taking this child with us."

A huge snarl escaped the U’Kan.

It was low, but enough to vibrate through the room.

He didn’t bother hiding his displeasure.

"And why is that?"

The Miwa didn’t answer immediately.

He was limping around the cage, one hand occasionally pressing against the small of his back as he searched for the lock. His swollen stomach had begun to make even simple movements difficult, but that did little to stop him from investigating every inch of the cage.

"Help me find the key."

Tuk folded his enormous arms.

"Why?"

The Miwa looked over his shoulder.

"Because I want the child."

That answer somehow made Tuk even more irritated but it didn’t irritate him as much as seeing his beloved in discomfort over a measly thing.

His rings flickered.

"Guards!"

The command echoed through the chamber. Several Oroths immediately entered.

Tuk pointed toward the cage.

"Free the one with the blue eyes."

The guards bowed and did as they were instructed.

The lock clicked and the cage door opened.

The child immediately shrank backward.

The Miwa crouched before him.

"It’s alright."

He extended his hand.

The boy stared at it.

Then at the Miwa.

Then at Tuk.

Slowly, cautiously, he stepped forward.

The Miwa took his hand.

His fingers were so tiny against the Miwa’s that the contrast almost looked ridiculous.

Tuk watched.

Something unpleasant stirred inside him.

He told himself it was annoyance.

Nothing more.

Keeping a human child as a pet was the last thing he needed right now.

The boy was weak.

Fragile.

He would probably a loud brat.

He couldn’t speak their language at all, couldn’t understand Vashki customs and needed someone watching him every moment of the day.

He was a burden.

A human burden.

But seeing the way his beloved beamed at him, Tuk knew he had no choice. Perhaps keeping the human child pet would ease the loathing Vae’Thira claimed he had for him.

Perhaps having something small to care for would soften his heart for him. Perhaps, eventually, Thira would look at Tuk the way he looked at the child right now and just like back then.

Tuk swallowed the thought.

"Fine." The Miwa’s face brightened.

"You can keep him."

His expression immediately hardened.

"He’s not a pet."

Tuk stared at him.

Then at the child.

Then back at him.

What else could he possibly be?

He wanted to ask.

He genuinely did but he feared he might set off another explosive argument.

His beloved might have seemed docile to outsiders, but Tuk knew better.

Vae’Thira was extremely feisty.

And Tuk loved that more than anything.

. . .

. .

.

For the first few days, it was easy enough.

Tuk watched from a distance while Thira taught the child words.

The Miwa would point toward objects around their quarters.

"Wall."

The child would try to repeat it but fail horribly but instead of being annoyed.

Thira smiled.

"Good boy."

Tuk sat nearby.

Silent.

Then came another word.

"Hand."

The boy tried again, repeated it and still failed.

Thira laughed at his misery.

A soft, beautiful sound.

Tuk’s fingers curled against his knee.

He remembered when that laugh had once belonged to him.

Weeks passed.

The child learned quickly.

Too quickly.

Tuk began teaching Thira the human language while Thira taught the child Vashki words in return.

Their days became filled with lessons.

Human words.

Vashki words.

Names for objects.

Names for food.

Names for the stars.

And always, the child was there.

Always.

If Thira ate, the child sat beside him.

If Thira slept, the child slept nearby.

If Thira walked through the palace, the boy followed.

Even when Tuk entered the room, the child often remained curled against Thira.

At first, Tuk ignored it.

Then he began noticing it.

Then he began counting.

How many times Thira smiled at the boy.

How often he touched his head.

How often he’s called his human name.

How often the child’s laughter filled rooms that used to belong to Tuk.

The jealousy came quietly.

Then it became impossible to ignore.

One evening, Tuk entered their quarters carrying food.

Thira was sitting on the floor.

The human child was asleep against his glowing stomach.

Thira’s hand rested gently over the boy’s hair.

Tuk had stopped. The food in his hands suddenly felt unnecessary.

"He should be in his own quarters. I made them for him for a reason."

Thira didn’t look up.

"He’s frightened."

"Frightened of what? He has guards."

"He doesn’t want the guards."

Tuk stared.

"He wants to be with you?"

Thira finally looked at him.

His expression soft.

"Yes."

That single word hurt more than Tuk expected.

He turned away.

Weeks later, the child had earned his place beside Thira completely.

The Miwa even gave him a name.

Khae’el.

His light.

Tuk heard it for the first time while standing outside the room.

"Come here, Khae’el."

The boy ran toward Thira.

Thira opened his arms and the child climbed into them.

"That’s my light."

Tuk stopped walking.

His rings had dimmed to almost nothing.

His chest tightened.

His light?

The words repeated inside his head.

If the human child was his light... What was Tuk?

He had been there first.

He had loved Thira longer.

He had crossed worlds for him.

He had given him everything he could.

And yet this human child had arrived with nothing and somehow received what Tuk had spent years begging for.

Thira’s attention.

His smile.

His patience.

His affection.

And so Tuk’Aon began to hate the child.

He hated how small he was.

He hated his blue eyes.

He hated the way Thira’s face changed whenever those eyes looked at him.

He hated the human words Thira learned for him.

Most of all, he hated the name.

Khae’el.

His light.

Tuk would never admit it.

Not even to himself, but every time Thira called the boy that name, something inside the U’Kan twisted.

The day of the birth drew closer.

Thira’s belly had now climbed lower, making his movements slower and his temper shorter.

Naturally, the father of the child should have spent this time beside the Miwa.

As’La should have been the one helping him.

The one feeding him.

The one soothing him through the discomfort.

The one resting beside him at night.

But Tuk had killed As’La.

He had tried substituting but every attempt Tuk made to care for him ended badly.

A hand on his shoulder became an argument. An offer of food became an insult. An attempt to even sleep beside him ended with Thira leaving the room and sleeping somewhere else.

Eventually, Tuk stopped trying.

Because there was only one person Vae’Thira would allow close.

Khae’el.

The human child.

Thira would let him sit beside him when his stomach hurt. He would let the child hold his hand and touch his belly when he felt the child growing in him ’kick’.

He would let him sleep against his chest.

Sometimes, when the pain became unbearable, Thira would whisper the child’s name.

"Khae’el..."

And the boy would immediately come running.

Tuk watched it all.

He watched the human child become more important to Thira with every passing day.

And every day, the hatred grew.

It was no longer simply small jealousy.

It was something colder.