"Eirrick, sweet boy,” his mother coos, offering him her embrace.
I remember the name, but the face before us hardly matches it.
I remember more too. Eirrick was her eldest, and I shudder to think of the state of his younger brother. He’s only younger by a year or two, but two years might as well be decades considering the suffering these boys have likely endured.
With what little strength he has in him, Eirrick recoils from the gentle tenor of his mother. His bony limbs scrape like nails against the floor as he clambers back.
"Eirrick, it’s me," Fox says, voice quivering like a rippling brook. "It's your mother. I'm here. I'm going to get you out of this...this place."
Recognition slams into him. He throws his arms around the mother he hasn't seen in months, the mother he's likely called out for hundreds of times, and sobs tear out of him as he buries his face in her shoulder.
WhenFox's arms envelop him, I have the distinct feeling that she's never letting go again. Not if her remaining fingers are snapped off. Not if her arms are hacked from her body. She'll still cling to him, and likely tear out the throats of anyone who dares to separate them again.
Rubbing his back, she turns to me. Both of us notice the thick, heavy chain around his neck at the same time. She looks at me as if I have the answer for that, but no one told me we'd find him in chains. I suppose I should've known though. Like my father would ever let his prisoners roam freely. He likes having control too much for that.
It’s because of that need for control that I already know we won’t find a key anywhere in this room.
I shake my head at my aunt, but she waves it off. “Check over there. That table looks…busy. See if you can find anything long and thin for me to pick the locks with.”
I cross the room as I’m told and head for the table with an assortment of gleaming metal instruments that I’m sure have sliced and punctured his skin in numerous places. Quickly, before my aunt can see them, before they can carve through her heart any more than the sight of this room already has, I slide my body between her and the table so she can’t see them.
It seems the kind thing to do, but she snaps at me. “Move so I can see.”
My lips part, ready to protest, but who am I to decide what she can or can’t handle? She’s already endured far more than I ever have in my lifetime.
I step aside and her sharp eyes roll over the instruments.
"That one. Bring it here." She points to a thin metal rod that's sharp enough on one end to skewer an eyeball clean from the socket, and I oblige her eagerly.
She makes quick use of the weapon. Even missing half of her fingers has no hindrance on the skillful way with which she slides the thin tip into the locking mechanism and begins her work.
"Hold still," she whispers into Eirrick's ear. "Try to be quiet so I can listen for the sound. Just like I taught you."
To my surprise, the child who can't be any older than twelve stops whimpering instantly. I try not thinking about whether he's always been able to understand the severity of situations such as these, or if his obedience is something that’s been trained into him since his capture.
When the lock makes a noise that I can’t hear, he looks up to his mother. "That?"
Pride flashes in her eyes when she nods at him, and then she calls back to me, "I need something for the second chamber. Something thin, long enough to fit inside. Is there anything over there that could fit?"
Time is running out quickly.
We still need to find the second room and likely pick the lock of yet another chained boy we find there.
My eyes devour the small table again, but as they scan the small knives and curved blades, they don’t find anything matching the description she’s given.
"Nothing," I tell her.
I feel pathetic. Useless. Here I am, a powerful prince who can't even save a child in need.
In a moment of defeat, I reach up to stroke my mother’s amulet around my neck. The last piece of her in this realm.
When I give the heirloom a squeeze, my thumb pricks on a decorative rod that extends from the bottom of the garnet. It’s thin. It just might be long enough to work.
"What about this?" Unclasping the chain from behind my neck, I hand the relic to Fox.
She snatches it from my grasp. “It's perfect!"
Fox wedges it into the lock and within seconds the metal cuff around Eirrick's neck is unhinged. He lunges from his chains, crashing into his mother with another aching sob.
