Agatine (Terres book II)

Chapter Twenty Three

The cool breeze smoothed the fringes of Wren's hair out of her eyes and onto her forehead. Her eyes still stung, weary from a day where everyone wanted her attention, and angry from what Phina had done to her. She could still feel the prick of it pressing into her neck, her brain so convinced it held an edge that it tricked her into thinking it was real. She rubbed at the spot and turned down the blind alley toward Ittra's apartment.

Never had she been so happy that she got to come home at night. The discomfort of walking home alone in the dark more than made up for the fact that she got to go eight hours without talking to other people unless she wanted to. And now she wouldn't need to see Phina's face, either, though the thought of returning the next day already made her bristle. 

She opened the door and slipped through it, eyes adjusting to the dim light until everything around her blended into one soothing monotone. Rannok sat at the table, playing a solitary game with the catch-cards, brow furrowed in concentration. Ittra sipped from a cup and gestured for her to shut the door.

"Where are Elyn and Michael?" she asked. Normally they'd be asleep by now, or else up playing catch-card with Rannok. She grabbed one of the wooden tumblers from their small kitchen area and poured herself a fragrant cup of spice. She slouched down on the wall. Ittra's eyes scanned a pamphlet, barely even looking at her except to glance over for just a second while she spoke.

"Who knows. They went out hours ago and I expect they found some place to hole up for the night. I'm not especially worried." She shrugged and returned her eyes to the paper. Wren nestled her wings against the wall and held the spice to her nose. It was warm and soothing in the cold night air. It always made her feel achy and terrible. 

A few minutes later, she finished the mug, placed it in the sink, and wandered into the back room and into the corner she'd claimed as her bed. She curled up on the stack of furs and her whole body relaxed. The door creaked open a second later, spilling an uncomfortable amount of light into her eyes. She shaded them with her hand and turned in time to see Rannok standing there, framed in the light of the doorway.

"Do you have a knife? Ittra says we should cut the stitches out tonight."

Wren tried not to groan too loudly as she sat up. The dagger burned a hole in her cloak, where it sat nestled in a pocket. Rannok set the lamp down and eased down next to her, like his body still hurt. She pulled the dagger out and looked at his face. His lip was still swollen, but it had ceased crusting with fluid.

She slipped the dagger into her palm and carefully snipped away the first stitch. He winced as she pulled the thread through and started on the next one.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked. Wren's movements stiffened and she narrowly avoided cutting into the flesh of his lip.

"Never mind. Sorry." She slipped the knife into the next piece of thread and cut it, then carefully pulled the ends out. The color began to drain from his face. "Please don't pass out again."

"I'm trying not to," he said. She watched as his hands began to shake and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. She pulled the last of the thread out just in time to catch him before the back of his head made contact with the wall. His eyes opened again and he stared at her for a few moments with a glazed expression on his face. She shook his arm and he looked around, then back at her.

"Sorry."

She tucked the dagger away again and returned to her corner of the room. Rannok sighed loudly and stared at her, eyes no longer glazed. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. She knew that look. It was the same look he'd given her right before he'd admitted he'd found her mother lying in a ditch with her throat cut.

"What now?" she asked. She flipped through all the possibilities in her head. Elyn was dead, and so was Michael. Her father had come back to haunt them all. Ittra wanted her out but for some reason had told Rannok instead of saying it herself. 

"I need to tell you something."

"Then say it." She didn't notice at first that her heart rate had risen, and the air had started to rush in and out of her lungs. She folded her arms around herself and tried to keep the tears from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should really stop lying to you all the time." He let out a small, aggravating laugh, but he looked terrified. He wouldn't meet her eyes and the small feathers on his wings had fluffed out.

"Just tell me," she said, doing her best to keep her tone level. She didn't even want to look at him. Two people, now. Two people who she could not trust. It made her sick.

"The people who beat me up...they weren't random muggers."

His expression shifted from terrified to sad to entirely blank as he kept his eyes on the wall behind her and leaned his head back. His eyes closed and Wren thought she saw the beginning of tears. She hadn't stopped even for a second to think of how it might be bothering him. How he hadn't slept well in days because of the dreams.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"They were Armand's friends. I should have told you. I knew he was here the whole time, Ittra told me to follow them so I did. They caught me and they beat me up for doing it. Armand didn't stop them. He kind of egged them on, actually."

Suddenly Wren felt very angry, but not at him or the fact that he'd lied. She should have seen it coming, even all that time ago when he'd been nice enough to share his lunch and sit with her for a while. She should have seen him for what he was when he punched people in the face or ran off or disobeyed every single order as soon as it was given. She should have seen he wasn't a rebel, but just some stupid asshole.

"I should have known better," she said.

"You're probably pissed. I'm sorry." The holes where the thread had been stood out stark on his face. The rings of bruises around his eyes hadn't even ceased swelling yet. She couldn't remember if he'd always looked this worn, if the haggardness leaked out through the bruises and in his eyes and she'd just been too busy to notice.

"I am," she said. "But not at you." 

He shot her a quizzical look. "But I thought--"

"No," she said. "Never. Not with him." The memory of him kissing her in the tent where he was not needed or wanted or asked for made her skin crawl. At the time it was merely uncomfortable, the type of sensation you didn't like, but didn't actively try to get rid of. Now it was like worms in her pores, and she shuddered. How was I so stupid?

"What did he do?" Rannok asked.

"Apparently we were only friends so he could get into my clothes. He wanted me, and I didn't want him, so he left. Just like everyone always does, for one reason or another. I'm not sure why I was surprised."

"Asshole," Rannok muttered under his breath, and she nodded. She made no effort to stop him when he reached for her hand and it closed around hers. She felt his pulse through his palm, the last thing she would have ever thought she'd find calming, but it brought down the rage to a manageable level.

"I'm going to hurt him if I ever see him again," Wren said. She wanted to run from the words as they came from her mouth. She wanted to kick him where it hurt the most and then maybe punch his face a few times, and then leave him for his friends to find and put back together like an apple someone hit with a hammer.

"I feel so stupid," she said. So stupid, trusting Armand, then trusting Phina, then letting herself trust him again even after everything he'd done. She cursed her stupid voice for breaking and the stupid room for being so small and for the fact that he had the ability to upset her when so very little did anymore, when he wasn't even here.

She didn't stop Rannok when he pulled her into his chest. Stupid. All of it so stupid.