From somewhere deep in the palace came another cry of “The king!” Rae, cramming as much food as she could into her pockets, filling the bowl with all that it could hold, gently took hold of the boy, now gnawing on the peacock bones.

“We have to go,” she said.

He did not hesitate—he left the bones. Again, slipping her arm about him, she hurried with him out of the room.

Stomach now too full, it seemed harder to move than before: Rae felt light-headed and queasy. But the boy had new energy, and sensing her sudden weakness, he put his arm about her, nearly carrying her now down the corridor. Whether he had understood a single thing she had said to him or not, it didn’t matter: The door was open. Wind was moving through the hallway; a patch of sky was before them. The boy needed no more encouragement than this. By the time they reached the door, he was practically running, and Rae, bumped and propelled along, was rushed into open air and glittering, blinding sunlight.

LIX

NO-LONGER-A-NO-LONGER-A-BOY-BOY-KING

What was he?

Had he been torn apart? Crumbled away?

Something, at least, felt different.

He smiled. He felt light, unencumbered—lighter than he could ever remember feeling. Perhaps as a boy he had felt this way. Yes, a boy. He felt like a boy in the morning, waiting to hear his mother’s footsteps on the stair, the sun warm on his skin, full of anticipation and hope. He felt like he could skip, even hop, so full of joy was he.

It was dark now. No matter. He would skip and hop through the dark.

He made his way through the halls. How grand everything seemed. The corridors seemed wider, the ceilings higher: Everything seemed more palatial, yet he wasn’t so much impressed by this new sense of grandeur as amused. He chuckled, a kind of soft croaking. How had he never noticed how funny this palace was?

He skipped and hopped and hopped and skipped through the dark, down one corridor, up the next, captivated by the slappy sound of his feet as they hit the cool marble. He felt cool all over. It was delightful feeling so cool.

Slap, slap, slap. He chortled and chuckled his way through the halls.

As he turned a corner, a shadow passed over him—something snarling and hairy and monstrous—and for a moment, he jumped, squeaking, terrified, all his limbs and fingers and toes splayed out in alarm, but the snarling thing did not notice him. It raced on, leaving a slavering trail.

Hee. The terror now passed, he giggled, a kind of ribbiting. The trail of slaver was silly. He followed it, splashing in it—slippy-slap, slippy-slap—all along the wet marble. Now he was cool and wet—even more delightful.

Slippy-slap—ah! Something else was running past, something with a whirling, wide hem and bare feet almost stepping on him. Startled, he vaulted away from the feet, careening into the wall. Oh! The oracle-apprentice! Where was she going? He watched her run along the slavering trail. How funny to see her move in this way! He giggled, hearing her toes plap along the damp floor just as his did.