The earth was shaking, and the air was full of the smell of iron and ozone. She could feel his hands on her, felt the mingled shame and desire his touch kindled in her, raised her lips to meet his as he broke apart, torn to pieces like ash on a wind that reeked of sulfur and suffering.

Rose woke with a start to find herself in an unfamiliar bed. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, shoulders shaking as she struggled not to weep.

"Mama?"

She swiped at her cheeks, lit a candle by the bedside. Gold eyes watched her from the darkness, and she felt a small hand grab at her skirt.

"Hush, Thorn," she whispered, lifting her son into her lap. "It's alright."

He touched her wet cheeks with one dark hand, stuck his fingers in his mouth speculatively. She smiled and smoothed his unruly black hair, hugging him tightly. He squirmed, uncomfortable, and squinted up at her, wrinkling his nose.

"No, Mama," he said sternly, and then, "No! No, don't tickle me!"

"What do you say, Thorn?" she asked, tickling his feet, caught his ankle as he kicked her. "No, no kicking! You're a big boy now, you know what to say."

"Nooooooo!"

"Say 'please', Thorn."

"NOOOOOO!"

He twisted in her grip, and the vase next to the bed shattered in a burst of blue light, splattering them with dingy water and old petals. Thorn blinked, startled, and Rose gave him a stern look.

"And now what do you say?"

"Sorry, Mama."

"Good boy." She kissed his nose, and he made a face at her.

"Oh, good, Rose, you're awake."

She pulled the blanket over her nightgown, flushing.

"Florian, what on earth? I'm not properly dressed."

"Oops, sorry." He averted his gaze, grinned down at Thorn. "Heeey, little guy."

Thorn stared at him, gold gaze deeply suspicious.

"I think I've got a sweet here somewhere." Florian dug in a pocket, handed him a sucker. "Here you go, buddy."

Thorn stared up at him, looked at the sweet with confusion, and then suddenly smiled and banged it against the wall.

"Imma kill it!" he cried happily.

"Thorn, go run and play," Rose said. "Florian and I have to talk."

"Okay!" he said, far too readily, raced into the hall.

"Stay in the villa!" she shouted after his back. "I don't want a repeat of what happened yesterday, do you hear me?"

"What happened yesterday?" Florian asked curiously.

"Turn around," Rose ordered him.

He complied with a shrug. She sighed, pulling on a heavy brocade robe.

"He got outside somehow, and then he somehow managed to get into the sheep pens of our neighbor- what's his name?"

"Senator Vulgarius?"

"Yes, that's the one. I heard screaming, came out to find him clinging to a ram by his teeth. The thing bucked him over the wall, and scared me to death, and he just popped up giggling- and then he tried to run back in!" She pulled her tangled hair into a hasty braid. "I don't know what to do with him some days"

"Did he do that?" Florian asked, nodding to the shattered vase.

"Yes. With magic, actually."

"Ooh. That's not good."

"No, it's not. Not after what happened during the Cataclysm. If anybody else, besides you and me knew what he could do, I'm afraid it would be a regular witch hunt."

"We won't let that happen." The elf stared at the shattered vase, a strange hunger flitting across his narrow face. "He's far too valuable."

"He can't stay here forever," Rose said sadly.

"Of course he can!" Florian flung an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, Marius and me'll take care of everything. Oh, and speaking of Marius, he wants to talk with you about our plans for the anti-magic shield over the capitol.

"Oh, Marius?" Her hand went to her hair. "He's here?"

"He just arrived. You said you had some expertise on anti-spells, right?"

"My father was a wizard," Rose said tersely. "Of course I know how magic works. I might not be able to use it, but I can certainly understand it. Just let me get dressed, and I'll join him. Oh, and keep Thorn out of his way, will you?"

"Gotcha." Florian gave her a sly wink. "Don't want the kid getting underfoot when you're alone with your, uh, 'gentleman caller', right?"

"It's nothing like that," Rose snapped, cheeks growing hot. "I just...I haven't told him about Thorn's father yet. That's a conversation that might be more than a little awkward, and I'm just not ready to have it yet."

"Eh, suit yourself."

"Go ahead and let Marius know I'm on my way."

The elf shrugged and slouched away. Rose sighed and pulled on an Empire-style dress, slung a cloak over her back to cover her bare shoulders. She paused, adjusting her braid in the mirror. The shield, in theory, would dampen the magic of anything or anyone within its boundaries. Perhaps with it, she might be able to control her son's abilities- keep him safe.

Above all, she didn't want him to end up like his father- snatched away to some dark dimension, trapped in a place she'd been unable to contact despite years of trying. She paused in the midst of applying a smidge of lip paint, trying not to remember, her shoulders slumped.

"I miss you, love" she whispered. "I miss you so much."

She sat like that for a moment, then straightened her back and schooled her expression into neutrality.

"Right," she said sharply. "That's enough. I have work to do."

She left the room without a glance back, shoulders squared, ready for the task of building a new world. Behind her, in the glass, there was a flicker of darkness, fast as a heartbeat, gone like a thought.

"Hey. Hey, kiddo." Florian crouched down in the yard next to the small hooded figure. "Whatcha doing?"

Thorn didn't look up, industriously pushing a stick into an anthill. Tiny black bodies scrambled frantically in the dirt. He bit his tongue in concentration, trying to squash them with the end of the twig, scowling.

"Come on, kid, you know your mom doesn't want you out here. Let's go back in, okay?"

Thorn licked the end of the stick thoughtfully. Florian scowled.

"Son of one of the greatest magic users in history and you're sitting here in the dirt eating bugs. That's just great." He stood, scuffing petulantly at a pebble. "And meanwhile, I want to help rebuild the world, and I can't even light a candle."

The anthill burst into flames. Thorn clapped his hands, grinning.

"Did you do that? Ugh, you little brat." Florian frowned at the top of his head, suddenly seized by an almost insatiable desire to push the kid into the flames. "Bet you're gonna turn out just like your daddy. Nothing but glorified thug who uses magic like it's a damn club. Bloody primitive."

Thorn turned and gave him a confused look. Florian sighed and flung himself down next to the boy.

"I bet you don't even understand what I'm saying, do you?"

The kid poked him in the side with the stick and growled. Florian stared at him coolly.

"Your mom might be pretty smart, but she sure has shit taste in men," he said.

"Shit!" the kid repeated.

"Ah, damn it, don't say that around her. She'll kill me." Florian stood, brushing himself off. "Come on, kid, let's get inside before she sees us."

Thorn glared up at him, fell back and lay on the ground like a log.

"Wanna play with sheeps."

"You can't play with the sheep, you brat, because apparently your idea of 'playing' with something involves trying to kill it."

"Wanna SHEEPS!"

"Damn it, you little shit, I..." Florian paused as a thought occurred to him. "Hey...wait a second. Hey Leaf, you wanna see something cool?"

The boy looked up at him suspiciously, wiped a smear of dirt from a dark cheek.

"M'name's Thorn," he said, surly.

"Sure, whatever." Florian could never remember the kid's name. "But do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Wanna see something cool?"

The boy shrugged, picking himself up off the ground.

"Okay."

"Follow me. And keep quiet." Florian winked at him. "Don't want your mom finding out now, do we?"

"Do we?"

"Shh!"

Florian led him through the villa, flitting from shadow to shadow. Thorn scampered after him. Florian paused in front of a set of heavy brass doors, unlocked the massive bolt with a grunt of effort.

"In here."

Thorn paused, rubbing his foot against the back of his leg, uncertain.

"Mama says not to go in there," he said hesitantly.

"And you always do what she says, right?" Florian asked sarcastically. "Come on, this is pretty cool!"

Thorn followed him in, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. He raised a tingling hand, staring. Blue light sparked and arced between his finger tips.

"Hurry up," Florian snapped.

Thorn started and hurried after him. Florian was standing on a marble plinth above a vast pit. An unhealthy blue glow radiated up from the depths, bathing his narrow face in its sickly light. He turned towards Thorn, eyes hungry.

"Down there," he said.

Thorn peered over the edge. An amorphous, vivid blue mass churned violently far, far below, leaving glowing streaks of slime on the marble.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Raw magic," Florian replied.

"It's hurting," Thorn said nervously. "I don't like this. I want to go."

He stared down at the ooze, entranced. Florian stared down at him, face twisting, before he knew it found himself reaching down to push him over the ledge-

"Thorn!"

Thorn whirled and fell over, startled. Florian vanished behind a pillar. Rose hurried to her son's side, scooped him up, staring down into the pit.

"Thorn, what are you doing here?" she asked him. "It's dangerous! How did you even get in here?"

He twisted in her grip, fixated on the pulsating ooze. She looked around suspiciously. Had someone lured him in here? Maybe someone in Marius' inner circle had found them out. She tightened her arms around him.

"It's not safe for you here," she said quietly. "Come on."

He couldn't stay here, Rose thought. If she loved him, she had to find another way to keep him safe.

Part of her had known this day would come. She'd been in touch with families and foundling homes across the face of the known world. Most of them had been agreeable at first- she was a noble lady, after all- until they'd seen Thorn. He had his father's eyes, and the stamp of magic was on his skin. She'd found few who were brave enough to offer to take him in.

She ran through her options, packing a bag, keeping her hands and mind busy. She knew she couldn't allow herself to stop and think about what she was about to do, or she'd never be able to go through with it.

There was a convent in the sands to the south that was not averse to taking in foundlings...but orphans there were forced to join their strict order, which worshiped a goddess of justice and light. She shook her head, looking at Thorn, who was diligently drawing on the walls with her lip paint. No, that would not do for him, not at all.

There was a tribe of feral elves far to the west in the tangled woods that would steal away human children and raise them as their own. Their eyes had flashed, and they had chanted and sang when she asked them if they would raise Thorn. They would raise him as a king, they promised her, would teach him to hunt the fiercest, strangest creatures of the wood, would teach him how to wield his father's dark magic. She looked at him, considering, as he pulled a dress from her closet and draped it over his shoulders, pulling himself up to his full height in the mirror. No, her Thorn was wild enough already. That would not do, either.

It would have to be Nordberg. Unless, of course, she found a way to contact Gnarl-

She shook her head, quashing the thought before it had time to even fully wake. She would never let her son become his father. She wanted him to have a childhood, she thought, the kind her own strict father hadn't let her have. She wanted him to play with other children his own age, and laugh, and learn what it meant to be human. He couldn't do that here, with her, but he certainly couldn't do it with the minions, either.

Nordberg, then. It was a sleepy little town far to the North, far enough away to be out of reach of almost everyone who could use or hurt him. The people there feared magic, true, but not with a virulent hate like Empire citizens. They had some trade with the elves in the North, and seemed to view magic with more of a wary respect than anything else. There was an old woman in the town who ran a home for foundlings, and she had promised Rose that, for a modest fee, Thorn would be well provided for. It was less than ideal, but it was the best she could do for him.

"Come on, sweetheart." She pulled the dress from his shoulders, wrapped him in a warm cloak. "We're going on an adventure."

"Where are we going?" He looked at the cloak, wrinkling his nose. "Mama, it's summertime!"

"Not where we're going. Come on, darling, we're going to use the portal."

"The portal!" He bounced, excited. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

She glanced out the window, checking the time by the sun. It was still early, and she knew that the soldiers who were supposed to guard the portal tended to rise late, and were generally nursing wine-induced hangovers. She slung the bag she'd packed over her shoulder and took his hand in her own.

"Come on," she said. "Be quiet, okay?"

He followed her mutely. She glanced around the corner to the portal, sighed in relief- there was no one in sight.

"Hurry, Thorn." She tugged at his hand, pulling him onto the platform after her.

Light flickered blue, and wind roared in her ears. The platform shook, the air blurred, resolved into a snowy landscape. It was dusk in Nordberg, and snow was falling gently. The lights of the town winked cheerily, and she could hear the cheerful bustle of voices in the market, the bark of seals and the rush of the sea.

Thorn laughed, delighted, as a snowflake landed on his nose. He hurled himself after the flakes, plunging into a snowdrift.

"Thorn!" Rose cried. "You'll catch a cold!"

He popped out of the snow and shook himself, laughing. She sighed, heart clenching, and held out her hand.

"Come on, sweetheart."

He took her hand trustingly. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Mama, you're crying again."

"It's just the wind, darling."

She led him to the gate, remembering the old woman's instructions. She brushed snow from his shoulders, bent to kiss his forehead.

"Knock on the gate and ask for a woman named Lwelyn," Rose said. "There's clothes and money and food and hot cider in the bag. Be good for her."

"Mama?" he asked, confused, reached up and touched her cheek. "You are crying. Why are you crying?"

"Be good, Thorn. Be brave."

She knelt and wrapped her arms around him, felt small hands clench against her back. She pulled away, felt her heart breaking in two.

"Stay here, Thorn," she whispered. "I'll be back soon."

He watched her walk away into the snow, started after her.

"Mama!"

"Stay there, Thorn. I'll be back in just a minute, I promise!"

She stepped onto the portal, hardly even able to breathe, and then she and the portal vanished in a flare of blue light.

"Mama!" he cried again, ran to where the portal had been. "Come back!"

He dug furiously in the snow, casting about for the portal, at last collapsed, exhausted, sniffling in the cold. He sat for a long while in the dark, kneeling in the snow. At last, he swiped an arm across his nose and stood, trudging resolutely across the drifts.

He hammered on the gate, glaring up at the dark walls. At last a light was kindled in one of the shoddy little houses along the wall, and a man leaned over the ramparts, peering down at him.

"What's all this racket?" he demanded.

"Tovold?" Another man came out on the wall from a guardhouse, pulling up his pants. "What's going on?"

"There's someone at the gates." The man squinted down. "I think it's...I think it's a child!"

"Well, what are you waiting for, man? Go let him in!"

"What if this is some sort of trick?"

"Daddy?" A girl stumbled out of the hut, rubbing her eyes. "Is everything okay?"

"Go back to sleep, sweetie. Everything's fine."

"There's somebody down there, daddy." She peered over the walls, waved. "Hello! What's your name?"

The small figure peered up at her, resumed banging on the gate.

"It's just a child, Tovold. Go let it in before it wakes up the whole town."

The girl followed her father down the wooden stairs, doing her best to help him wind the winch that opened the gate.

"Where do you think he came from?" she asked curiously.

"Let's ask him," her father said, nodding towards the gate.

The cloak-wreathed figure stumbled through, looked up at them both with brilliant gold eyes, bright as the flash of a wolf's gaze in the dark. Her father made a gesture to ward off evil.

"He's got funny eyes," he said in a low voice. "I don't think he's human!"

"I like them." The girl walked forward, holding out her hand. "I'm Kelda. What's your name?"

Gold eyes looked curiously at her outstretched hand.

"Where's Lwelyn?" a small voice asked, stumbling over the pronunciation of the unfamiliar name.

"Dad, I think he wants the lady who runs the foundling's home."

"I'm not so sure we should have let him through the gates," her father replied darkly. "He's got a witchy look about him. This one's got magic in his blood, and no mistake."

"Maybe he's part elf?" She turned to him. "Are you part elf, witch boy?"

He didn't reply, and she shrugged.

"Come on, dad, we can't leave him out here, can we? Didn't you tell me that Mom used to say we should help people, even if it's hard?"

"Oh, don't you go bringing your mother into this, girl." He sighed. "Ech, you're right, though. Come on, you, whatever you are. We'll take you to Lwelyn."

Lwelyn clucked her tongue when she saw the boy, emptied his pack onto the rough table in the foundling's home. She pulled the bag of gold from among the clothes and toys, weighing it in her hand.

"It sounds like he knew to ask for you specifically," Tovold was saying again. "Are you sure you don't know who he is?"

"Nope, nope, never seen him before." The old woman eyed Thorn coolly. "And I must say, I'm not pleased that somebody dropped him off at our gates without so much as a bye-your-leave. I'm too soft-hearted, Tovold, everyone knows I'll take in every waif and stray."

"So you will take him in?" Tovold asked her.

Lwelyn pulled a piece of gold from the bag and bit it, looked at it critically.

"Hmm, well, we're far too crowded here as it is, and really, whoever dropped him off left him with a pittance. A pittance, I tell you." She tucked the bag swiftly into her skirts. "I don't think I have room."

"But you can't just leave him outside!" Kelda cried. "Dad, can't he stay with us?"

"Now, girl, you know we don't hardly have room for the two of us, even."

"But you just can't! Please, ma'am, he's all alone!"

"Hmm." Lwelyn sorted through the toys, held up a tunic and gave it a critical look. "I suppose I could sell some of these." She looked down at Thorn, and he stared back. There was something judgmental in that gaze, she thought, shook it off with a shudder. "He can sleep in the barn, I suppose."

"Thank you, ma'am." Tovold nodded to her. "I appreciate you taking him off my hands. Don't know what I would have done otherwise."

"Of course. I'm always happy to help the less fortunate."

"I'll be back tomorrow," Kelda promised.

The boy looked up at her mutely. Seized by a sudden impulse, she hugged him, wrapped her scarf around his neck. He stiffened, reached up to finger the scarf with a dark hand, staring at her, unreadable.

"Welcome to Nordberg," she said.