Agatine (Terres book II)

Chapter Thirty

Armand knew he was in trouble even before he returned to the overcrowded apartment he shared with the other sellswords. He'd have to grab his belongings and leave, preferably before Jonah returned, and then he'd have to get far enough away that the man couldn't find him. He'd had a sick, uneasy feeling in his stomach all day, like the feeling you get when you go down a set of stairs and miss one, and it wouldn't go away.

His shoulder hurt where the girl had pushed him into the wall. He didn't know what her name was or who she was, but he did know one thing: she was dangerous. Dangerous in a way that could help him, if he was careful, though he didn't blame her for not trusting him. Not after everything he'd done.

He saw the tea shop that marked the turn onto his road and made his way down it. Blissfully, it was empty, and Armand sighed relief as he unlocked the front door and stepped inside. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, then walked to the back room, where he knew he'd find his bag. He raced for it and threw it over his shoulder, then started toward the door.

The handle rattled. Armand's heart jumped into his throat. The only way out was through that door. He winced as it swung open, and Jonah's face came into view. He stared at Armand with dark, bloodshot eyes, then shook his head.

"I'm disappointed," he said. "I really expected more from you when I took you in." He took a step closer. Armand backed up and tried to calm his ragged breathing. Jonah laughed and shook his head. 

"Sorry I'm not like your kid," Armand spat, eyes all fire and brimstone and anger. Jonah took another step toward him. Armand backed up, as if they were locked in a dance. He folded his arms and jerked his head toward the door.

"You're right, you're not like my kid." Jonah smiled a nasty smile that showed off his yellowed teeth. "Did you think I didn't know that he told you? Oliver can't keep a secret. He's as useless as you are, but at least he's not in bed with marked ones."

Armand glared at him. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he said.

"Oh, but I do," Jonah replied as he leaned, easy as a feather, against the wall. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were one. Is there something you're not telling us? That maybe your father was a marked one?" His eyes narrowed. "Or your brother. I know he didn't die tying a camel to a wagon. Exactly how stupid do you think I am?"

"What are you going to do, kill me?" Armand asked. Better to play with fire then let it smolder until it exploded under his bed. Armand debated the success he'd have if he tried to get out via the window. More likely, he'd just smash himself on the ground, or Jonah would catch him. Jonah's eyes went dark and he pursed his lips. Red crept from his neck up into his face.

"Get out," he said. "I'll give you a week to get passage on a vessel and leave town. If I see you around here after that, I will kill you. If I see you talking to Oliver, I'll kill you. Do you understand? I'm being kind to you because I like you, don't make me regret that decision. Go before Darius gets back and you end up like your friend."

Armand stared at him for a moment, as if staring at him could make him drop where he stood. Jonah's face was covered in sweat, and his beady pig-eyes were red and bloodshot. The hair on his head had thinned since Armand met him. He wondered whether he realized he looked so old and worn-out and useless.

He didn't need to be told twice, though. Armand pushed past him, hardly even regarding the shove Jonah gave him on his way out the door. He clutched the bag over his shoulder, then ducked around the corner and rifled through it. It was all there--his ingots, his skulldice, and most importantly, his extra cloak. He'd be needing it, since he didn't have a place to sleep.

He looked around in both directions, but there was nowhere for him to go. A week wasn't long enough to buy passage, and he had no other friends other than the sellswords. The streets took on an uncharacteristic gloom as he walked them. The windows seemed shuttered, the air dark and dim. As if everyone had sucked out the light.

He supposed...no. It was a terrible idea. But then again, what other option did he have? If he didn't find them, and convince them that he meant them no harm, he had nothing left. He had to make Rannok understand. Make him see that he was only stuck in a bad place and hadn't intended to harm him. But how could he, after everything that happened?

Besides that, he didn't know where they lived. Agatine was a big place, bigger than the caravan even. What was he supposed to do, go knocking on every door until someone answered? He shook his head and tried to calm his racing heart as he ran down one of the alleys and into the square. Jonah wasn't his only problem. Darius was bound to be just as mad, and although Itah rarely so much as spoke, he doubted he'd be happy either. He'd seen what both could do. The damage they were capable of causing.

An ache grew in his chest. Griffon would never have told him to leave. He wouldn't have looked at him like he was some kind of scum for not wanting to hurt someone. He could picture the soft look in his eyes and the grumble of disappointment, but it never would have gone farther than that. At the time it seemed like the worst thing in the world, that soft grumble and the silence that followed.

He never would have forced him to hurt one of his friends, either. If he could even call Wren a friend anymore. Griffon didn't like her, but he guessed now he couldn't blame him. He finally understood why Griffon didn't want him to leave. Why he fought so hard to keep him away from her, and why he held on so tight Armand had felt like he was suffocating. 

He would have done anything to have not thrown that dagger away like trash. Like it wasn't his, when it was. It was his just as much as all the memories were his, as much as Griffon was a part of him, reluctant as he was to admit it. He would have given his left eye to have even a sliver of something to hold on to.

The streets grew narrow and twisty, until Armand had to squeeze between buildings to get room. The air took on a damp smell, like piss mixed with mildew, and he pushed his way through a narrow space between some shipping crates and spilled out into another alleyway.

Elyn's eyes widened as they latched onto his, and Michael stood protectively in front of him. Armand held his hands up in a gesture of nonviolence, but Michael reached for his dagger anyway. Armand took a step back. Oh, thank heavens.

"Stop," Armand said. "I need help. And you need mine." He backed away slowly, careful to keep his hands where he could see them, and away from his sword. Please let me help you. They stared each other down for a few moments, tense as a high wire, before Elyn stepped forward and eyed him as if he were a cobra ready to strike.

"Drop your weapon," he said. Armand complied, loosening the leather that tied his sword around his waist. He kicked it at them across the alley. Elyn nodded in approval as he picked it up, then steadied Michael's arm with his hand. Armand watched as a flush creeped up Michael's chest and bloomed across his face.

"Why should we help you?" Elyn asked. His eyes narrowed. "We know what you did to Rannok. And what you did to me. What makes me think you won't just do it again?"

"I know where they're keeping the prostitutes," Armand said breathlessly. "I tried to help the one. The girl with the green wings. She wouldn't take it. But I know where they are and if you let me, I might be able to help get them back."

Elyn stared at him for a moment, incredulous, eyes wide, mouth twitching at the corners. He turned around and waved Armand on. Armand nodded and continued holding his hands in front of him, where Michael could see him. He jerked him forward, hard, until they appeared on another dank, empty street. A flagpole held a white flag aloft, and there was a flowerbox hanging outside one of the windows. 

"If this is a trick, you're going to regret it," Michael growled under his breath as he grabbed Armand's forearm and squeezed it so hard he was sure it would bruise. He pushed Armand toward one of the doorways and knocked.