The Stableboy's shadow (BL)

Chapter 8

When I woke up, I was in a familiar disposition. In a cage at the back of a cart, with a Nully cuff on my wrist. I had woken up like that more time than I wished to admit, but I had always managed to get out. I had lockpicks hidden in my trousers, at a place no decent man wanted to search, and would get out without anyone noticing. This time, even though I felt the roughness of my tools against my skin, I didn't want to move an inch.

I leaned my head to the vibrating iron cuff, feeling its effect on my whole body. The way it numbed me even more was weirdly comforting and I looked around the place.

It was morning now, and I was at the edge of town, displayed like a fair animal waiting to be gutted, as my captors were recovering from their injuries –and celebration-- at the inn. There was only one guy guarding me, and I recognized him as Otto, the second man that had entered the shed, by the shape of his body and the location of his wound on the side of his head. I would usually crack jokes, keep it light as I knew I would get out soon enough, but I didn't have the heart for it, so I leaned back on the bars and feigned being asleep.

I didn't see Percevin all day.

It's not like I hadn't been betrayed before. I had. Plenty of times. I had gotten used to always be careful around people, because I knew they could turn on me in a matter of seconds. I expected it. I hadn't trust anybody in a long time. To be honest, the only people I did were long gone.

I hadn't expected it from Percy. At all. I didn't know why. It's not like I trusted him; well, I did, in a way, but not completely. I'm pretty sure it was the same for him. You kind of have to trust the person you're travelling with to not stab you in the back while you sleep. I hadn't wanted him to like me either. Of course not. Nobody could. It was rather I had hoped that we could at least tolerate each other and talk. I'm a talkative person that always travels alone, and for the first time, though in horrible circumstances, I had someone tied to my waist for three months. Three fucking months. That's a long time to be awkward with someone.

But I guess it a was too much to ask. His decision surprised me. It hurt me. I couldn't come to term with the fact that he could do such a thing. Not him. Not the innocent and ignorant boy I somewhat knew.

Come to think of it, it was probably for these reason that he sold me out. He didn't know any better.

He had only seen a tiny parcel of what my power could do. Heck, I had been careful around him. The lies the magical community would spread about the dangers of shadowmasters, the inescapable darkness they suffered, was indeed truly terrifying. What they don't say is that they keep us out there on purpose.

My old master had taught me that, the magical congregation and some part of the government, had laws about the control of any type of magical masters. They were not allowed to arrest someone based on their abilities alone, hence how the brand had come in handy. They used it to track us as soon as we used our power on something other than ourselves, because that meant the caster had mastered their form of magic. Most of us would learn how to avoid triggering it, but sometimes we have no choice. Like when I used shadows around my dagger to seal the wraithdog, I had triggered the mark.

They would then send shadow-haters groups to force Shadowmasters to act out and use their power to escape, and would then legitimate the arrest. It would also give them a reason to charge exuberant amount of money in taxes and protective spells they assured would keep your people safe from the dark ones. It didn't do shit.

And second of all, no Shadowmaster could be kept "in captivity". Most of their subjects died from their magic during the first tests. Now they'd let themselves die, rather than let the fuckin' mages study them. They couldn't keep the children they tagged and raise them into power because there was no one to train them and they would just slowly die to their magic.