Wondrous by Travis M. Riddle

Author:Travis M. Riddle [Travis M. Riddle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SPLIT APART

The first time Miles set foot in the new apartment, he was taken aback by how empty it was.

The entryway led straight into the living room, which contained nothing but an entertainment center with a wide-screen television resting on top. There was no sofa, coffee table, or any other kind of furniture in the room. It was barren.

“I haven’t quite gotten everything moved in yet,” his father said, locking the door. He placed his keys on a countertop that granted a view into the kitchen. “Want anything to drink?” he asked, heading for the fridge. Miles declined.

He wandered into the center of the room and sat down on the floor, gazing up at the television. He blinked at himself in the dark reflection, moving his arm up and down and watching his mirror self do the same.

“Wanna watch something?” His father didn’t wait for a response before switching the television on. The mirrored Miles evaporated into an image of a glass being filled with orange juice. They watched the screen together for only a couple minutes before Miles stood and asked where his room was.

“This way. Pick up the pace,” Jericho growled, leading Miles up several flights of stairs then down a narrow hallway. The boy’s arms were still tied together and his fingers were turning a light shade of purple.

At the end of the hall was a dark brown door, crafted from the same material as the wagons they had rode to the camp in. It was worn down, marred with deep scratches and discoloration. Jericho loudly knocked twice with his pincer. The claw looked a lot scarier without mud obscuring it.

There was a muffled shout from inside. “Jericho, Your Majesty,” Jericho responded to the faint words. After another syllable Miles couldn’t understand, Jericho turned the gold handle and opened the door.

Miles was not expecting the infamous King of the Skyr to be so plain.

The man was dressed like every other Skyr Miles had encountered, which was perhaps understandable given the fact that he was in hiding and not sitting on a throne. He didn’t really have a need for fancy attire. He stood behind a mahogany desk, with ink-black hair that fell down to his square shoulders. He had a thicker beard than Miles had seen on a Skyr, but it was well-groomed and gave the man an air of wisdom and authority that neither Jericho nor Risath possessed. Of his four arms, two had pincers; both sides of his torso had one of each, with the clawed arms above his normal ones. This, coupled with his ordinary clothing, made him appear to be combat-ready at a moment’s notice.

“Jericho,” he said in greeting.

The Skyr bowed. Miles stood motionless. When Jericho rose, he shot a venomous glance at the boy.

A vintage record player rested on a small side table in the corner of the room with a stack of vinyl on the floor beside it. Nothing was playing.

“So,” the king said, circumventing his desk to approach them, “this is him.

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