Agatine (Terres book II)

Chapter Twelve

The door to the tiny apartment slammed open and the catch-cards in Rannok's hands nearly flew out of them and onto the floor. Wren stood in the doorway, eyes dilated, slumped over the frame like she might collapse. Rannok tried to squash his concern. He glanced at Elyn and Michael. Elyn shrugged and returned to his hand, eyebrow slightly raised as if to say just ignore her.

Rannok turned back to his hand and tried hard not to acknowledge the sound of her feet stomping across the room. It became impossible when she stumbled straight into the table and landed next to them like a brick, the gust from her wings blowing the discarded catch-cards all over the floor. Rannok sighed and placed his hand of cards facedown on the table.

"What are you doing," she asked. There were bags under her eyes and she slurred the words as she spoke. Rannok's shoulders tensed. He picked the cards back up and stared at them, hoping that if he did it long enough, she would go away.

"Rannok."

"I'm playing a card game," he said. She lifted her eyes to him, then to Elyn and Michael and the table. Elyn shook his head and scooted a little closer to Michael, hands shielding his cards as she grabbed for them. Rannok put his hand into a small, neat stack and placed them on top of the table. 

"I think you should go to sleep," he said in a tone he had to fight to keep level. Her eyes were glazed. She leaned forward and caught his shirt around the chest before her forehead slammed into the corner of the table. He lifted her back up and caught the reek of alcohol wafting off her breath. He was only glad Ittra had retreated for the night. 

"No," Wren said. She stood up and toddled to the other end of the room, then caught herself on a wall. Rannok gave pleading looks to Elyn and Michael. Elyn just shrugged his shoulders while Michael continued to study his hand intently, as if the entire spectacle wasn't happening.

Rannok rolled his eyes, stood up, and caught her by the shoulder before she took a nosedive into one of the walls. She turned to face him and her eyes flashed daggers while she swatted his hand away. A second later she looked like there was something terrible inside, something that was killing her to think about.

"Why does everyone hate me?" she asked. He softened and shook his head, grabbing her wrist so she wouldn't fall over. 

"You need to go to bed," he said.

"Please," she said, and tears welled in her eyes. Rannok sighed and started to steer her into the second room. Michael and Elyn openly stared at them, as if a magician had suddenly appeared in the room. Rannok bristled and wished for a moment that they weren't there to see the look in her eyes, or his reaction to it, or how miserable she felt. Like it was a private spectacle not meant for them or even him.

"We can talk about it in the other room," he responded as he wrestled her through the doorway and closed the door. It was pitch dark inside without the light from one of the oil lamps, and he fumbled around in a corner until he found the pile of furs that was stacked in the corner. His eyes adjusted to the light until he could see the faint outline of her shadow collapsing against one of the walls.

"Why," she repeated as she curled up next to it and he felt the tips of her wings brush his back.

"Nobody hates you," he said. All this time he was convinced she hated him. Convinced it was in her blood like a poison, something he could not solve no matter how hard he tried. But now he understood. She hated someone, hated them with every fiber of her being, probably, but it wasn't him.

"Everybody leaves," she said as her voice cracked and she dissolved into sobs. He awkwardly patted her back, then nearly jumped as she grabbed his shirt and buried her head in his chest. The alcohol smell emanating from her was so strong he was concerned she might vomit and he tilted her head off to the side.

"Who told you stuff like this?" he asked, though he wondered if she'd thought it all along. If she'd sat there at night, awake for hours, only for nightmares to consume her just as soon as her exhaustion claimed her. If she put up those bristles and shot barbs at everyone just so she'd get the first blow in.

"It's true," she said. "Everyone leaves. First you left, but then you came back, and my father left an Armand left and my mother left...and people are just going to leave. Then you lied to me but I shouldn't have been so mad, and it's my fault and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Her voice faded until it was one continuous mutter of the words 'I'm sorry' that droned on and on until they became meaningless in Rannok's ears. 

He could sense the desperation in her voice, and his mind went immediately to the things he knew but could not tell her. Of the lies he'd be forced to keep close to his chest until he knew it was safe. He wondered if Ittra knew. If she'd seen Armand when they'd run back to the caravan, Wren bleeding out into the dirt. He couldn't imagine that he didn't. Anger flared slightly in his chest. She was up to something, but what, he didn't know. He would find out if it killed him.

"Quiet," he said as he peeled her off his chest and laid her down on the soft padding of furs that covered the floor. He folded her wings out of the way and covered her with one of the blankets. She snatched at his wrist and held on so tight it hurt.

"Please don't leave," she said between hiccuping sobs. He peeled her wrist away and went to get up. 

"Please," she repeated, barely a whisper.

"No--" He started to say, but then he stopped. He couldn't bring himself to deny her another thing, not after everything else he'd put her through. Not after the fireworks and her mother and that harrowing trip through the desert, and not after the lies he was still telling her even though he tried like hell to justify them. The least he could do was stay. There was no harm in it.

He curled up beside her with enough space that they weren't actually touching and tried not to listen to her sobs. They slowly quieted, then became hiccups, then reduced to nothing. Rannok heard a rustle and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his jaw. Rannok suddenly wasn't tired anymore. He bolted upright and grabbed her wrists hard, then peeled her off his neck.

"No."

"Why?" Her voice was small and broken and sad and desperate.

"Because you're drunk," he said. 

"I'm fine," she replied, even though she clearly wasn't and two days before had been so angry with him that they were barely speaking. He sat up and shifted his back toward the wall and she followed, hands grabbing for his shoulders. He grabbed her wrists tight in his hands and pushed her away, only hard enough to make his point, careful not to hurt her.

He looked toward the doorway. The light from the oil lamps seeped through the door. Wren started to cry again, thick, quiet sobs that made him feel sorry for telling her no. He let go of her and she curled up in a tiny ball on the floor, wings disheveled, sticking out from her back.

 'Nothing she wasn't privy to'. Rannok's chest flared with anger so red hot he had half a mind to wake Ittra up with a solid punch to the face, but he didn't. He walked over to the other corner of the room, where the other stack of mattresses was, and flopped down onto the floor. He prayed she'd stop crying soon.