Prince of Fog: Book One by Y. M. Rinde

Chapter 1
     
    “The Prince of Fog is coming!” A yell could be heard echoing through the murky streets of the city as each person took up the cry, passing the word along. Kids ran from graffitied homes, some accompanied with adults, some alone. No windows lit up despite the commotion. Electricity and candle-wax were far too expensive down here.
    But free entertainment in the streets was not. People were soon thronging the trash-littered streets, jostling each other to get to the front. What was the Prince like? Was he handsome? The dirty ground could not hold them back. Puddles splashed and bracken water blended in with sullied clothes.
    It was a natural parting for the Prince. People pushed forward to see, then pulled back as he strode onwards. The Prince wasn’t tall by any means, but against the night sky, he was imposing. People gave him space. He was blocked from view for those in the back, but even as he walked, his presence could be felt. The heat that radiated outwards from his body as he moved, creating tendrils of steam that licked at the ankles of those gathered, made it clear where he was in the growing crowd.
    For a people shrouded in darkness, hidden away from the sun and beneath the floating world above, warmth was kissing their skin again. Heat was precious here. People gathered around him, but never in close proximity. Like the sun, if they stood too close, they would burn.
    “Prince Charce.” One of his close retainers said from behind him, as close as he could get.  “The house is to the right. The one with dark sheets in the window.”
    Prince Charce nodded, his black hair dipping forward a little. He made a straight line for the door, people parting way for him naturally. Charce’s green eyes concealed his inner turmoil as he went up to the door, lifting a pale hand to rap on it. His visits were never a good omen.
    The door opened and a scared little boy peered up at Charce, his eyes wide like saucers. “Y-Yes? Are you… the Prince?” He blurted out, astonishment on his face. What was royalty doing here?
    “I am.” Charce was smiling as he reached a hand forward, hovering it over the little boy’s head, just above his hair.
    “Wow!” The little boy grinned, feeling warmth on the crown of his head for the first time in a never-ending cold. “Come in! Quick! We thought you would never come!”
    The little boy ran off and Charce’s face returned to a mask of stone as he turned to speak to his retainers. They looked even more grim than him.
    “Stay outside.”
    It was a dark and disturbed house, the fetid air inside even worse than the streets. The windows had not been opened for many days. Rickety furniture lay on their last legs. Charce walked slowly around them, letting his eyes get used to the darker world here, following in the footsteps of the little boy.
    “I was hoping you would come. They said you wouldn’t, but I believed, so I wrote you the letter. She hasn’t said a word since yesterday.” The boy’s voice trembled. He knelt down beside a bed, where a sheet that had more holes than fabric, covered a figure. “Please make her well again.”
    Charce’s mouth was in a grim line. He couldn’t respond. He wanted to assuage the boy’s fears, but false hope was not something he wanted to give. He could only try. He reached forward to pull back the covers.
    Beneath, lay a woman, though her face could barely be seen. All over her skin were tiny black boils, all unruptured, tight from the liquid within. Black liquid seeped from under her body, where the boils had burst from the pressure of her body. The smell of decay filled the air. The Black Crest, aptly named for the shape of the boils, and the rumours that came with it.
    He might be too late.
    “Stand back.” Charce said, looking to the boy, making sure he had reached the opposing wall of the room. An infection would occur if any of the black pus landed on him.
    Charce pulled off his dark green cloak, setting it on a worn