Justice by Rhiannon Paille Page A

arms to warm them up. As he let out a breath he could see it like smoke in the air. He shivered, aimlessly ambling through the rows, pretending not to feel the farewell ceremony.
    Part of him wanted to make a grand entrance, end the way they thought of him as useless and stupid. If he appeared, they might believe he was smart, but if he disrupted their grieving, they would only be angered by his presence. He picked a frozen apple off a tree and stared at it. It was a deep blood red. It made him think of the battle. He drew a deep breath and blinked. The apple turned to a bruised purple color, like an eggplant. He sighed. He wanted it to be a brilliant violet hue, like the one he had seen in Kaliel’s eyes, but instead it was murky.
    He rested his shoulder against the trunk of a tree next to him, then pressed his back against its coldness, sinking to the ground. His thoughts were muddled. He couldn’t just say goodbye to Kaliel and forget she had existed. He spent fourteen summers with her; there were too many good memories for them to be wasted. He closed his eyes and thought back to one of his earliest memories of her.
    He had been sitting on the steps to the porch, carving out a wooden toy with his paring knife. He wasn’t paying attention to the others, they all looked the same to him—hairy feorns, pale elvens, glass-like fae—and none of them wanted to speak with him because of how knavish he was. He barely noticed it when Kaliel hopped up on the steps and sat down.
    “You never talk to anyone,” she had said.
    Pux looked at her with a grimace. “No, I’m busy. Go bother someone else.”
    She rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her chin with her hands. “I don’t even know your name. The others say you’re mute.”
    “They know I can speak.” Pux had only seen nine summers at the time, and by the size of her, she looked like she had seen five. He was later surprised she was only two summers younger than him.
    Kaliel raised an eyebrow. “Which is why I’m here,” she chirped.
    Pux shook his head. “I’m not that good at it.”
    She shrugged. “You seem fine.”
    Pux stood and began walking through the tall grass in the meadow. He could walk and carve at the same time and wasn’t much for speculation. He hoped she wouldn’t follow, but she did, and it annoyed him. He stopped when he was in the middle of the meadow and turned to face her. “What do you want?”
    Kaliel poked her toe into the ground and gave him an awkward look. “I always lose,” she said. The other kinfolk were known for their games, but they never invited Pux because he never played the game right.
    Pux stopped carving, a spurious frown crossing his face. “I have no idea how to win.” He shrugged.
    Kaliel smiled. “I’m not interested in winning. I just thought since you don’t play, you might not be keeping score.” She inspected the bruises littering her arms and Pux sighed.
    “I could teach you how to carve.”
    Kaliel frowned again. “Desaunius won’t let me touch a knife.”
    He smiled and laughed. “You’re that clumsy?”
    Kaliel glanced at him hesitantly. “Most of these bruises weren’t from the games.”
    “Oh.”
    “Big roots …”
    Pux laughed out loud.
    “I should have known you were just like them.” Kaliel sighed and stalked towards the House of Kin. Pux thought she looked cute in her ivory maiden’s gown. She carefully paced through the tall grass, like she didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of him.
    He stopped laughing. “Pux!” he called. He followed her, and she stopped, turning to face him.
    “What?”
    “Pux is my name.”
    “Oh.”
    “What’s your name?”
    Kaliel grimaced. He hadn’t even paid enough attention to know who she was and he began to realize how segregated he was from everyone else. “Kaliel.”
    They continued back to the porch. He sat down and continued carving while she watched. It turned out to be a deer, and she loved it.
    Pux sighed as he