Street Rat – A Thicker Than Water Story

This story takes place a couple of years before the events of the novel, and follows Ryder, one of my male protagonists. Enjoy his emotional pain, hehehe.

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How did I end up here?

I peer around the corner, only to duck back as a pair of guards passes. The question is more existential than immediate. I know how I got here, what roads I followed and how long it took me, but how did I end up here? As in here in this life that I built from the ground up after everything I ever knew was ripped away?

I step out of the alleyway I’ve been sculking in like a criminal, which some would say I was. Sometimes the unethical way is the only way to survive when you’re on your own. Sometimes you can lose your way in the labyrinth of life, and that small misstep has radical ramifications that will affect your life forever. 

I duck my head as another guard passes. Security seems much too tight for being this far from the castle. Is there a delegate from another country here? Or some sort of public event I hadn’t heard about?

Half of me wants to find out, but the parcel currently shoved under my shirt can’t wait. I carefully wind through the streets, avoiding the unusual amount of soldiers patrolling the streets. Most of them are too busy looking for threats to notice a dark hooded figure slipping past them anyway. Security loosens as I get to the outer districts of the city, and I can walk normally again. I hate scurrying through the shadows like a rodent. Something about it makes me feel as shifty and dirty as the animals whose domain I invade. It hurts my pride to think I am below most people’s notice. A nobody. A beggar. A street rat. 

I shake my head, trying to clear away the dark thoughts. I think the thought of dozens of guards patrolling the streets for one royal’s safety has brought back memories that are better left untouched. Sure, I still don’t have anywhere near the status I once did, but I’m better off than I once was. I have a place to stay and food to eat, and am quickly making a name for myself as the most reliable, and more importantly discreet, courier in the city. 

I’m not nobody.

I drop the package off at the destination outlined by the client and head back into the heart of the city. Since I have nothing else to do, I decided to find out why the guards are on such high alert. I’m less careful now, since I no longer have cargo that may be questioned or searched. I still keep my face down and take the roads less travelled, not wanting to draw any attention. After several minutes, I emerge into a small crowd of people. I carefully push forward, trying not to jostle anyone too hard. Over the small sea of heads in front of me, I see more people. The sun glints off mental helmets, buckles, and blades as a formal possession marches down the street. 

It’s a traditional march on the way to the transport hub to greet an important visitor of some kind. Whoever it was must be important to deserve such a greeting. Probably a ruling head of state, like the Emperor of Chana, or the Queen of Carr. 

My heart beats faster as the end of the procession gets closer. My head tells me to not get my hopes up, to walk away now before I reopen old wounds; but my heart wants to stay. To see him. 

And suddenly, he’s there. Mother’s dark hair, Father’s amber eyes, his expression always oh-so serious, just like King Magnus’.

Prince Ty of Brandr. The orphan boy who will one day be King. 

Before I can look away, our eyes meet, and I’m frozen in the moment. It’s like looking in a mirror. The face, the eyes, everything is so similar that if it weren’t for our different hair colours, we would be almost identical. 

I almost expect his eyes to light up, for recognition to flash across his face. Almost. 

But there’s nothing. He just looks away and continues down the road. 

I step backwards into the crowd, my heart sinking to my toes and shattering on rock hard reality. He didn’t recognize me. Not at all. 

I run a finger down my scar, which is burning like it’s five minutes old instead of five years.

My finger slides down the ridge from my brow to my chin, a tic I picked up while the wound was healing all those years ago. 

Of course he didn’t recognise you, idiot! You don’t look anything like him anymore! Just grow up and forget already.

But I can’t forget. I can’t forget the tragedy that happened that night. I can’t forget the world-altering effect it had. I can’t forget the blood, the lies, the betrayal. 

Most of all, I can’t forget him. Even if he forgot, I will always remember. 

We will always be brothers.