Page 50 of A Winter Redemption

Did I ever look like that? Did I ever look that young? Did I ever look so scared?

But of course, the answer was yes.

The children didn’t touch the food Mila had given them. No doubt their fear was stronger than their hunger.

He watched as Sero and Aryn approached them, carefully as if worried their presence might scare the children. They sat down. He could see in their eyes the need to care for these children, raise them, love them, and protect them.

Something cracked inside Ketho.

What might his childhood have been like if he’d had someone to care for, raise, love, and protect him? His vision blurred.

Ketho stumbled to the door. He shoved it open and half fell out. The wind gusted around him. Snow hit his face. He tilted his head back and inhaled deep lungfuls of fresh, cold air. His skin broke out in goosebumps, and the chill ripped through him.

“Ketho, are you all right?” Jarne asked from behind him. A warm hand pressed against his shoulder.

Ketho jumped. “Sorry. I just… I was just taken aback.”

“By the children?” Jarne asked.

Ketho turned towards him, trying to get hold of himself. He smiled, a painful jerk of muscles.

Jarne frowned.

“It is nice what you did for them.” Ketho’s lips and face felt numb. “What Sero and Aryn are doing for them. It’s good. It’s good.” He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop himself from shaking. “It’s good.” He tried to smile again.

“Ketho, what’s wrong?” Jarne reached out and gripped Ketho’s arms, worry clear on his face.

“I just…” He stared at the cabin, taking deep, painful breaths. Ketho couldn’t explain why this hit so hard. Why the sight of the children wrecked him.

But of course, Ketho knew why.

“I grew up in an orphanage,” he blurted.

Jarne’s eyes widened.

“I was young. My earliest memories are of that place.” A muscle by his eye twitched. “But my older brother was with me. He told me about our family.” Ketho shivered. “My brother and I had different mothers. His mother left. Mine died from a mysterious illness, which may have been nymph sickness.” He laughed.

“What about your father?”

“A drunk. And one day he just drunkenly toppled over into a river and drowned.” Ketho blinked rapidly. He nodded. “It’s good those children aren’t there anymore. Orphanages are terrible places.”

“Are they?” Jarne asked. “I mean, I didn’t think they were nice to grow up in.”

“They are horrible. But you wouldn’t know that.” Ketho took a breath, feeling light-headed. He needed to keep breathing. “If any of your lot came to visit, they’d bring out the best-behaved children. Put them in nicer clothes. Not nice clothes, just nicer than the rags we usually wore.”

Ketho had never spoken of this to anyone. But the words kept tumbling out. Like vomit that had been sitting in his stomach for years.

“They taught us to sing a few songs. They gave us a few lines to say about how grateful we were to the bastards who ran the place. Then we thanked the rich lot who donated money to them.”

“Shit,” Jarne said.

“We worked all day for scraps of food,” Ketho said. “The adults beat you if you didn’t work hard enough.” He laughed. “Since I was sick all the time, that happened pretty regularly. My brother and I ran away. My brother’s idea. Thought it’d be better than the orphanage.”

“I take it it wasn’t,” Jarne said.

“No.” His hands tightened.Stop shivering!“It wasn’t. At least we’d been out of the rain and wind in the orphanage. At least the food had been there. It had been meagre, and sometimes bigger children had stolen it, but it had been regular enough.” Ketho closed his eyes. “And I didn’t have to steal. I hated stealing. I was so scared of being caught.”

Jarne squeezed his arms.