Streamers of pastel pink and yellow caught the light, reflecting it at unflattering angles.

Music played, filling the room, soft and mellowing.

The teenagers milled amongst each other rather uncertainly. Some dared to dance, but few touched their partners and most were paralysed by the eagle-sharp gazes of menacing teachers. There was little activity throughout the room, except in a few small pockets of the same sex.

The atmosphere changed imperceptibly as a lone boy slipped into the room.

He was tall and seemed to be made up entirely of long, awkward legs. Like all the other boys in the room, he wore a neat black suit and tie. He made stammering apologies to a teacher, small white hands darting about nervously as he spoke. When his inaudible apology had concluded, the teacher waved him away with an impatient gesture and he drifted to the other side of the room, brushing through the crowds with meek, nervous apologies.

Nearly falling over his long, coltish legs, the boy finally seated himself by one of the huge windows. He put small hands in his lap and sat watching nervously, legs crossing and uncrossing. He fidgeted with his hands, lifting one to straighten his tie, then went back to his lap, then up again to brush through soft, downy hair of a pale creamy-brown colour, putting it in complete disarray.

“Hallo there,” a girl murmured, slipping down to sit next to him, spreading a pale blue skirt out with a dry smile on painted lips.

The boy’s head jerked up, dark brown eyes wide in his pale face. He swallowed, nervously and audibly.

“I know Stonebridge goes through all three forms, but aren’t you a bit young to be at this kind of mixed dance?”

“N-n-no,” he stammered softly, voice startlingly low and husky.

The girl gaped at him silently for a minute before clasping his hands. “You sound just like a movie star! How old are you?!” she exclaimed.

“I-I-I’m in second form. A-a-a third year.”

“You’re fifteen?!”

“A-a-almost. Next month.”

She whistled. “You are young.” She held a hand out. “I’m in third form, a second year inmate here at Rosethorn. Amelia Phale.”

“Second child of the Count and Countess of Endburg.”

Amelia stared at the boy sharply. “How did you know that?”

He gave an awkward shrug, taking her hand gently. “I’m Erasmus,” he whispered, changing the subject.

She snorted with amusement. “Your name’s Erasmus?”

“A-ah, Adonis Dyna Erasmus,” he expanded, running trembling fingers through his short hair.

“Bad luck, dear boy.” She gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

He shrugged again, ducking his head slightly, watching as things began to pick up amongst the other students. A few were still clinging stubbornly to their corners, protected within their groups, but their eyes were roaming wistfully. Most, however, were beginning to chat eagerly with complete strangers, or dance together, becoming quite friendly, even a bit intimate with their partners. He watched in continued silence as the girl beside him grew increasingly agitated with each passing second.

“Do you do any sports?” she asked abruptly, breaking the silence.

“I-I-I do track. Th-h-hat’s about all I’m allowed to do. Stonebridge is h-h-h-horribly strict about some things.”

“Yes, I suppose they would be worried about ones like you getting hurt in rougher sorts of sports.”

Erasmus nodded, faintly, eyes wandering across the dancing students.

“Do you know who that is?” Amelia asked suddenly, pointing over Erasmus’ head at one of the few boys still lounging in the safety of a corner.

Erasmus looked at the quiet, serious looking older boy with the soft, short black hair, narrow blue eyes, and thin nose. He nodded again, scratching at his ankle.

Amelia made an irritated noise that sounded rather like a snort. “Who is he then?”

“Oh . . .” Erasmus blinked in surprise, scratching his knee. “Lord Ethan Roberts of Baltimore.”

“Baltimore? Isn’t that down south somewhere?”

“Y-y-yes.” Erasmus pulled one leg up, hugging it to his chest.

“Why isn’t Lord Ethan dancing with anyone?”

Erasmus tried to scratch at the base of his foot through his shoe, without any success. “H-h-h-he’s engaged to someone back in Baltimore. T-t-they’re going to get married once he graduates from Stonebridge. T-t-they’re very much in l-l-love. H-h-h-h-he’s very loyal and faithful to her.”

“Really?” Amelia made a noise that was definitely a snort. “Why’s a stick in the mud like that bother to come to things like these then? Honestly, showing up here dressed like such a high and mighty prat, and not paying anyone else a bit of attention because he has a fiancée. Men!” She rolled her eyes and stood up in a flutter of skirts. “I’m going to go and give him a right good talking to.” A vengeful, menacing light gleamed in her eyes before she glanced down at Erasmus. “It’s probably best for you if you stay here, laddy. Wouldn’t want a little thing like you being caught in the crossfire.”
,p> “C-c-c-c-crossfire?” Erasmus squeaked slightly.

“Mmhm!” Amelia nodded firmly and stalked across the dance floor, avoiding couples that were practically glued together easily. She strode up to Lord Ethan and began snapping at him in a thoroughly irritated way, jabbing her finger in the front of his chest.

Erasmus sighed, turning around and carefully thumbing the window latch open, giving it a gentle nudge with his head, watching it swing open and stay there for several minutes, cool night air wisping in, smelling of damp grass. He looked fretfully over his shoulder before carefully slipping out of the window and down to the rain touched grass below. The lazy music and the soft murmur of voices were still audible. Quietly, he walked away from the building, trying not to trip over his own feet or get tangled up in his own legs.

The moon was soft, a silvery little sliver of light in the sky, offering little light for Erasmus’ impromptu night stroll. Carefully, he folded his legs beneath him as he sat underneath one of the gnarled, ancient trees that littered the area like dandelions. He stroked a root with small, soft fingers before curling up, pillowing his pale cheek on the rough bark, sighing softly. He twisted his fingers in the grass, pulling up damp blades and nibbling on them without thinking. His tongue darted out, licking a drop of water from the tip of a blade before putting it between his lips, suckling on it thoughtfully.

Erasmus yawned, putting one arm under his head before shutting his eyes, waiting for the dance to end so he could go back to Stonebridge and curl into the safety of his own bed.

“So, do you think it was an accident?”

“What else could it have been? It’s not like they went around offending people or making major decisions or stirring up negative emotions or anything like that . . .”

“But the land. There aren’t many pieces of land this big on the entire continent that haven’t been divided up amongst heirs or sold to pay off debts or destroyed somehow. But Faeren . . . Faeren’s still as pure as it was six hundred years ago. Untouched by time, the landscape still in a state of natural beauty, exquisite, magical. Perfection.”

“So you’re suggesting someone who wants to start a big tourist industry in Faeren killed them off?”

“No!”

“Well then, what else?”

“Well . . . there is the child.”

“Come off it. He’s six years old, for God’s sake! Six! Six year olds do not go about killing their parents for . . .”

“Land and wealth.”

“Right. Six year olds do not go about killing their parents for immense amounts of land and money. Especially not a six-year-old of that family. They were grazers. Herbivores. I doubt one of them could find it in their heart to swat at a fly if it was in danger of sucking them dry of blood.”

“Okay, so we can rule out the boy, I’ll give you that. But, well, surely you must find it vaguely suspicious. Out there, like that . . .”

“There could be any number of reasonable explanations for such things.”

“Very well . . . So we’ll say it’s an accident.”

“Quite right.”

“And the child? Technically now he’s . . .”

“That’s a very upsetting thought. The only thing to do is to send him out of the way after the funeral. We can take care of things for him here. I’m sure there are schools and things that would take him in.”

“Yes . . . And, well, quite frankly, he does unnerve me. You heard what they said about the Duke . . .”

“The ex-Duke.” “The former Duke sounds much less . . . crude. Those rumours were totally ridiculous at any rate. Someone just begging for a treason charge as far as I’m concerned. If I ever find out where they started . . .”

“Er, yes, well . . . um, the boy, right?”

“Just . . . find some decent school that’s willing to keep him year round. Far away from here.”

“To protect him from more accidents, eh?”

“Eh.”

“What’s wrong with Mama and Papa?”

“We’ve been over this, your Grace . . . Now is not the time.”

“Is one of these people here going to be my new Papa?”

“Your Grace, please be quiet . . .”

“But . . .”

“Hush.”

“Papa . . .”

“Oh, God, don’t start crying . . .”

“Maybe it’s a bad idea to send him away. He’s so young after all . . . And that display during the funeral . . .”

“Just another sign that he needs to be sent off. Things are going to be hectic enough. We don’t need to babysit and be under the command of a liege-lord who still has stuffed animals.”

“We could get him a nurse . . .”

“A woman! Hardly! The child’s nature makes him weak enough as it is. Give a woman leave to raise him and who knows how he’ll turn out. He needs a strong male influence.”

“We aren’t enough of one?”

“We’re supposed to be taking care of things until his Grace is of age. He obviously requires a great deal of attention. Let people trained in this sort of thing take care of it.”

“But isn’t an all-boy’s school rather rough? He’s such a tiny little thing . . .”

“I’m worried about him too. He’s sweet but Faeren needs a strong Duke who isn’t dependent on others . . .”

“Dorian . . .”

“What?”

“Why’s your hand there?”

“Sorry! Don’t know what I was thinking . . .”

“We have to get this boy out of here now.”

“Well, your, um, Grace . . .”

“You can call him Erasmus. We’d really rather that attention was not drawn to him because of his position.”

“I see . . . Well, Erasmus, we hope you’ll be happy here at Stonebridge.”

“This is the man who’ll be taking care of you for the next few years, your Grace.”

“Is he my new Papa?”

“No. We’ve been over this many times already, your Grace. You don’t get a new father.”

“Is he going to be like you and Uncle Dorian?”

“Sort of . . .”

“When do I get to go home?”

“This is going to be your home for a while, all right, your - um, Erasmus. That’s not too bad, is it?”

“When do I get to go home, Uncle?”

“When you’re older, your Grace.”

“How much older?”

“Much, much older. When you’re quite a big lad.”

“What if I never get big?”

“Please, your Grace. That should not be a problem.”

Erasmus opened his eyes slowly. He sneezed softly and sat up, stretching his hands behind his head, hitting the trunk of the tree. A few drops of rain ran slowly along the contours of his face, one clinging obstinately to the tip of his nose. He sneezed again, standing carefully with the support of the tree. Ungainly long legs wobbled slightly, prickly pins and needles causing most of the flesh below his waist to vibrate in an oddly numb way. He pushed himself away from the tree, nearly tripping over his still-sleeping legs in the process, catching his balance just before falling onto the wet grass.

Silently, Erasmus crept back to the building, pulling himself back in through the window awkwardly, dripping faintly on the painfully glossy floor. The lights were startlingly bright and there was no music. He put a small finger in his ear, swirling it about slightly. He removed it and the absence of music continued. There was also a noticeable lack of members of the opposite sex.

Eyes darting about fretfully, the boy quickly slid in at the back of the group his schoolmates made. An eagle sharp glower paused over him as he crept past the teacher, the picture of meekness, despite his damp clothes. The man scowled faintly for a minute, then let his gaze pass over Erasmus as though the boy were invisible.

The Stonebridge students were lead, grumbling and quietly cursing, out of Rosethorn, and into the buses that had brought them to the girls’ school.

Softly, Erasmus crept to the back seat of one of the buses, trying to make his legs fit into the small space between his knees and the back of the seat in front of him, without much success. Sighing softly, he lay his head against the window, watching the raindrops glistening on the plexiglass.

“Shove over, grazer,” a tired voice snarled near Erasmus’ ear, and a lean body fell gracefully into what space the boy’s awkwardly splayed legs had left on the seat, and a good deal of space that hadn’t been left.

“S-s-s-s-sorry . . .”

The older student growled sulkily, putting his chin in his hands, turning his head when a pair of sharp, bespectacled, teacher’s eyes fell on his form. “Bloody profs.”

A few exhausted students made half-hearted hushing noises, one glancing fretfully toward the front of the bus where the teacher stood, irritably looking out the window as they drove back to Stonebridge.

“I don’t care,” Erasmus’ sulky seat mate grumbled. “I was having a nice time. We never get to have a nice time.”

“You should have snuck off, Whick,” a tawny, muscular youth in the seat across from them mumbled, smothering a yawn. He twisted his body about with feline grace before lying down, curling up with his head resting in the lap of a foggy-eyed boy with black skin.

“I’ve got about five black marks already, this month alone. I don’t need any more, thank you. I don’t think anyone does.”

“I dunno, I saw Finnigan and Myers bugger off together about an hour into it.”

“They probably went to do some kind of damage to those girls’ dorms,” Whick growled sullenly, scratching on the back of the seat, carving letters into the plastic with his nail.

“Well . . . maybe. But Klassen left with a brunette who looked like a hawk or something. And Roberts left too.”

Whick snorted in disbelief, shifting in his seat, casually elbowing Erasmus in order to free up more space in the seat. “Lord High and Mighty Ethan Roberts? What, was it past his bed time? Does he need to have nap time ever few hours to keep up his beautiful complexion?”

“He left with some Rosethorn girl. She was yelling at him like the world was ending for a while there, then I got a bit distracted . . .” The tawny haired feline boy yawned again, snuggling closer to his by now dozing seat mate’s leg, draping one arm around his knees. “Next I looked, they were kissing like it was a movie or something and she looked like her bra was falling off. Now, the teacher’s are having fits ‘cause he didn’t show up to catch a bus.”

“I’ll believe it when I see the pregnant tart banging on his dorm with a screaming half-blood babe demanding money,” Whick snorted.

The conversation lulled into a silence filled with unspoken thoughts. The tawny boy fell asleep, longish hair tickling the inside of the black boy’s thigh. Whick’s head nodded once or twice and when the bus was back at Stonebridge, he got down along with everyone else without making a peep.

Erasmus trailed behind them, hands in his pockets, walking slowly so as not to step on anyone’s heels. He watched the other boy’s curiously. They all looked exhausted, like they’d spent the night using up more energy than they were accustomed to. He didn’t mind. They were quiet, and he liked it when people were quiet.

Smothering a tiny yawn, he found those silent, sleepy dorm mates of his which had chosen to, or been ordered to, attend the dance at Rosethorn, following them back to the dorm without a peep. The younger students, or those who had been lucky to remain at the school, were fast asleep when they all shuffled in. Most flopped onto their beds without bothering to take their shoes off, and fell asleep on the spot.

The bed nearest the door and washroom accepted Erasmus’ weight with a gentle, familiar creak. Quietly, he took off his clothes, struggling into his nightshirt. He had to undo the buttons at the cuffs and all the way down the front to get it on. Growth spurts were an annoyance, requiring him to sooner or later go to the school seamstress to get new things made.

Snuggling beneath the blankets, Erasmus shut his eyes. Perhaps with this growth spurt he’d be big enough to go home.