“Roy, we need to get you home.” Viola tugged on the unscathed part of his left hand, avoiding the bruise on his wrist. She struggled to get through to him as he circled in his mind like leaves down a drain.


    The trees crawled away from him. He was standing behind himself. The birds were silent. An intangible ringing dominated his ears. He couldn’t catch his breath. His stomach ached. The snowy earth took on a violent blue hue as his mouth became soaked with saliva. Viola was calling for him, but despite his greatest efforts, he couldn’t open his mouth to speak. She tried to reach out to the wandering boy. He walked back and forth, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He couldn’t stop looking at his hands.


    “I’m not a mage.” Roy said, “I don’t know what that was.”


    “It was an accident.” Viola said.


    “It was on purpose.” Roy said, “I wanted to hurt him. I burned him!”


    “Roy, he would’ve killed you!” Viola said, “I want to go home. Father needs to know what happened.”


    “Viola, no. If he learns about this-”


    “He was Dragonguard, Roy! He lived with mages for years! If anyone will know how to help you it’s him!”


    “What if he can’t? I’ve seen people disappear over this!”


    “You won’t disappear.” Viola said, “Please, listen to me.”


    Viola put her arms around his waist. She could feel him trembling violently through his tunic. The muscles on his sides shivered, his stomach so tight she felt the quivering muscle.


    “My father will know what to do, but first we need to go home.”


    Viola raised her hands to his upper back. His breathing, once erratic and unstable, became a bit more rhythmic. His shoulders softened, but his heart continued to race. He didn’t want to put his arms around her; he didn’t want to burn her, too. Roy closed his eyes as the searing magma in his heart began to cool. Viola’s embrace only tightened. Her head brushed against Roy’s jaw. His hands still sat at his sides. He didn’t want to burn her.


    “Let’s go.” Viola slowly slid her hands away, but suddenly she felt Roy’s on her back. His elbows rested beside her ribs, his hands between her shoulder blades. His forehead stopped on her shoulder.


    …


    Arthur scanned the fine details of the blade. The forge became his only source of light as night fell on Mossglen. He shook his head in frustration as he tried to pull the imperfections from it. A voice roused him from his work. His skin jumped at the sight of his little girl, her linen dress ripped and covered in splotches of mud.


    “What the fuck?” Arthur dropped the blade. It sizzled into the ground, bent as it soaked in the impurities of the wet earth beneath it. He cursed, putting his hands on both of Viola’s shoulders as he scanned her for injuries.


    “By Anlun, what the hell happened to you?” Arthur asked. He looked at Roy, flames illuminating the bruises on the boy''s neck. Red bags accentuated bloodshot eyes.


    “Sam attacked Roy at the lake.” Viola said as Arthur tugged on her arms, checking for wounds, “He tried to kill him.”


    “What?” Arthur looked at Roy.


    “I’m sorry.” Roy said.


    “Get inside. You’re telling me what happened.” Arthur said sharply.


    …


    Arthur sat quietly, his face twisted in thought. Viola lay in her bed. She lay awake as the boy sat with Arthur and a crackling fire. Arthur walked over to the teapot, pouring the yarrow-stained water into a cup.


    Roy nodded. A cup was placed in front of him. His brows raised.


    “This is yours.” Roy said stubbornly.


    “Why did Sam attack you?” Arthur asked.


    “He pushed Viola. I pushed him back.” Roy said, “It got out of hand.”


    “Obviously.” Arthur said, “You feel dizzy at all? Lightheaded?”


    “No.” Roy’s lips lifted, “He… kicked me.”


    “I could tell by how you waddled over here. I’m more concerned about the head on your shoulders. A good stranglehold can kill you even after a battle.” Arthur looked at the marks on Roy’s neck. Bruises had begun to form on either side, just below the jaw. He held Roy’s head with two fingers as he inspected the intricate web of veins, “Just neck and dick, then?”


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.Roy looked over at Viola. She stared at him from the bed.


    “Yeah.” Roy said quietly. Arthur’s chair creaked as he stood up, looking into the flames. He sniffed, then walked towards his bed.


    “Job’s nearly done. I’ll let you run light tomorrow. Viola, can you work?”


    “Yes.” Viola pulled her blankets over herself.


    “Good.”


    Roy lay staring at the rafters. Thoughts danced around in his head as they always did. A deep gnarled root grew deep down in his soul, lingering in a place he didn’t recognize. He heard Arthur begin to snore, signaling the right time to escape the house. He got out of his bedroll, glimpsing over at Viola as she slept like a newborn lamb. His shadow crept across the beds as he crossed the still-roaring fire.


    Roy stepped out into the cold night. His boots crunched into ice as he quietly latched the door shut. He wandered far from the faint glow of the sleeping forge, into a small clearing behind Arthur’s home.


    He knew the parlor tricks; cards, dice, hares harvested from hats. But the real, tangible magic? Affluent nobles and brothers of Anlun had that gift, not worthless orphans of uncertain birth. Who would teach him? Who would believe him?


    Roy blinked away the thought. He had to stay focused. He became fiercely aware of the presence of his own hands. He felt a sense of disconnection as he flexed his fingers. He could feel every muscle.


    These hands were someone else’s. Thoughts stuck to Roy like moss.


    This is the power of princes, preachers, and kings.


    Not orphans.


    Roy balled his hands into fists. The noise wouldn’t stop. His chest was burning. Roy swallowed, breathing heavily. His stomach churned like it was full of worms.


    There had to be a trick, a trigger to make his hands burn again.


    Roy held out his left hand, trying to channel whatever he was feeling. He could feel the burning intensify when he straightened his arm.


    Warmth crept into his fingertips from his palm. It grew hotter. Roy stared in a mix of horror and intrigue as his veins glowed like gold in the sun. Small flames crept from his pores like stone aqueducts overflowing with molten gold. It wasn’t long before Roy’s entire hand was engulfed. The flames grew higher, then shifted from red to a vibrant orange. Roy stared at the back of his hand. He could see a tree of life sprouting from his wrist up into his fingers.


    Roy waved his hand, trying to scare away the flames. He blew on them. The flames from his body refused to die. Roy quickly shoved his hand into the snow, burying it with the other. The cold seeped into his clothes. When he removed his extinguished hand, the flames were born anew.


    Roy started to feel dizzy. His eyes blurred, it felt like magma was being poured into his ears. He started to panic as the flames finally licked at his tunic, spreading to his forearm.


    Roy tried to will the flames back into him. He felt the heat leave his fingertips, but it lingered at his forearm. Flames erupted on his sleeves, creeping up his arm. Roy patted violently at the flames, but they perked back up like cockroaches. Roy threw his right side into the snow, his arm hissing and whining as the flames began to die down.


    Roy felt a nauseating lump in his throat. The flames slowly receded as Roy inhaled sharply through his mouth. He coughed violently, blackened saliva spewed from his mouth, followed by whatever remained of the dinner he ate.


    When Roy was finished he looked at his once fire-infested hand. There were no burns. Roy sat on his knees, panting. Tears streamed down his face. He reached up to wipe the vomit from his mouth, but instead, he found the thick grit of soot coating his trembling fingertips.