Teen Ink

Epilogue

There were frightened murmurs all throughout the crowded room. People prattled nervously, asking around for loved ones or trying to rid the front of their mind of recent events. Some paced uneasily, others shifted on their feet, but most were sitting on the cold floor, a few consoling one another. Two men stood at the front of the front of the room, resolutely standing tall. Serenity was vital in times of panic.
The taller man on the right, clothed in black from head to toe, including slick sunglasses, held a small baby in his arms. A long-haired, unnaturally skinny white cat with red stripes balanced on his shoulder. Much to the man’s disliking, the cat kept trying to turn the bundle into a bed, occasionally pawing at the blanket or stepping down onto his sleeping figure. The tot shifted and started to whimper quietly. The man started to rock the baby, gently shushing and cooing. Despite his efforts to calm him, the baby began to wail. A bedraggled man at the other end of the room stood up suddenly. “That thing is going to be the death of us! This is no place for a baby,” he hissed, walking toward the man. The broken sole of his shoe clacked loudly on the stone floor with ever other step.
“Do not come any closer, sir,” the man said evenly.
“Or you’ll what?” the second man growled, then turned toward the other figure at the head of the room, “Lord Xicara, please, if this brat is not silenced, they will find us. The monsters who murdered the king are still out there!”
“Stand down,” Cadmus Xicara commanded, waving him off, “I will not turn Logan or the child away.”
“But, my lord – ”
“This is hardly a situation for kowtowing and sucking up,” Logan said, shifting his hold on the baby.
“Indeed,” Lord Xicara said, “Just sit down, sir, we’ll all be out of here as soon as they give the signal.”
The man looked uncertain, but he went back to his seat, grumbling. Logan readjusted the blanket covering the little boy, smiling reassuringly at the sniveling babe. Several minutes passed before a young woman raised her head. She was wrapped in the torn coat of her husband, her clothes tattered and burned by the fires. “Excuse me, sir?” she called quietly. He looked up at her and arched an eyebrow in question.
“You have a very cute baby,” she said.
“Thank you, ma’am, but he’s not mine.”
“Oh? Did you know the parents?”
“One of them. His father was a great friend of mine. I’d imagine you would know him. Most people did,” Logan said quietly, lightly rocking back and forth.
“Who would that be? Someone famous?”
“Yes. He died today, in the explosion.”
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” the woman said, frowning, “Just who was it?”
The cat cleared his throat and stretched out on Logan’s shoulder, kneading his collar bone. He looked over at the woman with glowing violet eyes and purred, “Why, he was the target, madam. James Dehowla. Hopefully, this young boy will one day be your king.”