Agatine (Terres book II)

Chapter Thirty Nine

The light of the gas lamps illuminated the side of her face. He was sure it illuminated his bruises. She didn't look him in the eye while she picked at what was in her bowl with her fork. She hadn't looked at him since he'd met her outside the brothel. She didn't look at him when they walked down the street, or when they ducked into the noodle shop, or when they stepped outside, although the cashier certainly had.

"You can't see the sky as well as you can in the caravan," Rannok said. Wren nodded. She twined a limp noodle in her fork, then let it drop back down into the bowl. He winced as he chewed. One of his teeth was cracked, he was sure of it. He'd likely have to have it pulled. He tried not to show that he was doing it while he finished his mouthful and swallowed.

He wanted her to ignore the bruises, to just eat her food and not ask him about them, but she knew well enough by now that she would. That it was obvious by the crack in the corner of his lip and the rings around his eyes that someone had beaten him up again. This time they'd stolen his knife and his shoes. Last time it had only been a couple ingots. The time before that they'd only beaten him up, but somehow that was worse. 

"What happened to your face?"

He bristled, then set the fork down in the bowl. He'd been dreading this conversation. The one he'd been trying to have with her for a month, but somehow he'd managed to turn the discussion toward something else every time. This time, it wouldn't work, and he knew that. He knew he couldn't keep living like this. 

"Same thing that always happens," he said. He reached into his mouth and pulled at his tooth. Wren screwed her face up and folded her arms. He couldn't tell if it was easier or harder, for her. No one ever laid a hand on her that she didn't want, but he couldn't imagine being locked up in a concrete box all day, only free to do what he liked at night. The thought alone made him feel a little sick. 

"No, I mean...why does this keep happening?" She turned and looked at him, worry lining the creases in her face, the corners of her lips turned downward. "Every time I see you, it looks like you got in a barfight. I know you didn't."

He shrugged. "It's what they do here." He remembered the words the men spat in his ear. The ones about how men like him didn't deserve to live. They'd threaten to castrate him and feed him to their dogs. He'd covered what he could while they punched him. At first he'd wondered why he never saw any marked men in Agatine. Now he understood why: They all left.

"There has to be something you can do. I don't like it." She stuck a noodle in her mouth and chewed. She'd stopped looking at him again. It made him uncomfortable. He fiddled with his hands.

"I booked a trip out of Agatine." 

Her head whipped up so fast he was surprised the noodles didn't spill. "You what?"

"One of the ships needed an extra hand. They'll feed me. They say it's not as bad down the coast, where the desert ends." His hands clenched and his palms sweat.The scowl lasted only a fraction of a second. Then it faded, and it looked as if she might cry. He reached out to touch her hand, and she pulled it away. He shook his head.

"Do you see what my face looks like? What it always looks like? I can't stay here, Wren. Sooner or later someone is going to kill me." He fixed her with a stare that was meant to be emphatic, but he was sure he just looked scared. "Every day, it happens. People spit at me in the street. They grab at my wings. Then every once in a while, this happens."

"You can't," she said. She stared off into the distance, like an ache you can't get rid of. Like what he'd said hurt her so deeply that she couldn't think of anything else. "You can't, because I need you here."

"You can come with me, if you want to," he said, though he already knew what the answer would be. He'd asked the ship captain anyway, if she could come with him, just in case. He'd spun some lies to make it believable. Her shoulders loosened, and the wings on her back drooped.

"I can't. I can't make myself do it. I want to, but I can't."

"Phina," he responded, a single word that said everything. She nodded. An inch of confusion flashed across her face, then faded just as quickly. She folded her wings around herself to guard against a stiff breeze. 

"I still don't know what I'm doing," she said.

"Does anyone?"

She shot him a small smile in return, and it made him feel much better. He stared off into the distance, watching one of the shopkeepers extinguish the gas lamps outside his shop. This place was so much bigger than the caravan, so much more vast and open, even though there was so much less space. He couldn't imagine what the rest of the world held. He didn't know if he was excited or scared to find out.

"It's dangerous here. Even though you have the brothel. Look what happened with Seltus." The name ran a cold shiver down his spine. He couldn't imagine what she had gone through. How much she'd struggled, and how much it hurt afterwards. It made him feel guilty that he didn't want to know.

"I could ask the ship's captain if she can come."

Wren shook her head 'no', but she didn't put heart into it. Rannok let himself smile a little bit, just in case. He squeezed her hand.

"I'll ask her. Please. Don't get your hopes up for a yes."

He let out a deep, wistful sigh. "They told me further South from here, water comes from the sky, and that all the plants are huge and green. I almost can't believe it's real but we had a couple people in the guard who said the same thing."

Wren stiffened a little. "When you fledged, did you see a crow in your dreams?"

Rannok's eyes widened. He'd nearly forgotten about the crow. He only remembered that their conversation had been uncomfortable. That it explained why the marked ones had wings, and why Terres was the way it was, but he couldn't remember the finer details. At the time, he was convinced it was a dream. He nodded his head.

"Do you think the plants will die if we leave?"

"No," he said. He was sure of it. He'd heard the stories some men told, of fields of grass that undulated in the breeze and stretched as far as the eye could see. Of places where the villages didn't throw you out for growing wings, and where people mostly left because they were criminals.

"If she says no, I'm not going. I won't stop you, but I can't help that I'll be angry."

"I know. I don't blame you."

Her face hardened, and the rest of the conversation passed in silence as they ate their noodles. Rannok wasn't sure what was going to happen, or where he would end up. If there would be grass and fields and children that laughed and chased each other despite the wings on their back. Maybe the plants would be green and fragrant and food would be plentiful and there would be as much water as he could drink.

Or maybe the grass would die under his feet.

Either way, it would be okay. He was sure of it.