Agatine (Terres book II)

Chapter Fifteen

Rannok stumbled through the streets, head throbbing, vision fading with dark spots. He wavered as he walked, struggling to figure out what direction home was in. If they could even call it home. Ittra's tiny apartment wasn't home any more than the caravan was. His head spun. The sleeve of his tunic remained clutched to his face, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. 

Eventually he turned down the right blind alley and spotted the blank white flag, and the flowerbox a little further down. He pushed hard on the apartment's door and it swung open. Rannok fell to the ground in a heap. He couldn't find the strength to move his limbs, the pain radiating from his chest and back was too much. He let out a groan.

Ittra gasped and stood up from the table. "Michael, Elyn, help me!" she shouted, and the two appeared from one of the back rooms. Rannok barely knew what was happening as they scrambled around him, lifted him up, and helped him over to the corner of the room. The other door opened a second later and Wren darted out, eyes locked on his, wide with shock.

"Get me some hot water and a cloth, and a bottle of the liquor from the cabinet," Ittra ordered. Rannok watched Wren put a pot on to boil, then fish around in the cabinet. She came back a moment later with a rag and a bottle of hard alcohol clutched in her hand. She poured some of it out onto a cloth and handed it Ittra.

"What happened?" she demanded. The room spun as Elyn and Michael propped Rannok on one of the cushions in the corner. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and it came back soaked with blood. He tasted iron in the back of his throat, along with the metallic sting where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheeks. He hoped none of them were broken, or missing. 

Ittra went to open her mouth, but stopped when Rannok shot her a hard look. Anger flared in his chest again, but he said nothing. He knew he couldn't tell Wren about the sellswords. She'd ask questions, and then she'd ask more questions, and then they'd come back to Armand, and Rannok was sure after that she'd go looking for him. "I got mugged," he said. "Two guys, they said it was because I was a marked one. They took all my ingots and beat me up. Ahh-"

Ittra pressed the cloth to his lip. The sting of a thousand fire ants flew through his face. Rannok swore loudly and clutched at the cushion he was sitting on.

"They really got you," Elyn remarked as he watched. There was something strange in his eyes, almost like he knew Rannok was lying. They communicated silently for a few seconds before Elyn looked toward Michael, who gave a worried nod.

"I think we're going to need to stitch his lip up," he said. Ittra nodded in agreement.

"Get the needle and thread out of my bedroom," she said. "Sorry, kid, this is going to hurt quite a bit. Think you can take it, or does Michael need to hold you down? No shame either way, you got busted up pretty good."

Rannok deliberately looked away from Ittra. Wren looked at him with worry in her eyes, standing off a few feet, one arm folded, the other clutched to her mouth. Rannok felt a whole new guilt at lying to her. He wondered how long he'd have to do this for. How long he'd have to hide. She was bound to find out eventually, the question was just when. He wanted to punch Ittra, and almost did when she moved the cloth to one of the cuts under his eye.

Elyn came back a moment later with a spool of waxy thread and a wicked-looking needle. Rannok tried not to look at it as she poked the thread through the needle's eye and hovered her hands over his face. Rannok squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, but nothing happened. He opened them again and Ittra stared at the needle. She muttered a curse word under her breath.

"I'm too old for this, my hands shake too much. I'll just wind up hurting him more. Do you know how to sew?"

Wren's eyes widened. "Me?"