“A little help would be great!” Ninian’s muffled voice came from underneath Morcant’s bulk.
“What am I supposed to do?” Áed called back. He’d seen plenty of Ninian’s fights; his love never needed help. Years of bitter practice had built Ninian a fearful enough reputation, but Morcant, unfortunately, occupied another realm altogether. The crowd roared as Morcant grasped Ninian by the back of his neck and held him out like a doll, and then the gigantic man tossed Ninian into the crowd, which parted and let him crumple to the ground.
“Don’t kill him,” Morcant demanded in his quietly forceful way. The crowd had surged forward, but it obediently retreated at the gang-leader’s words. “I want him to feel it.”
There were a few harsh cheers, but Morcant raised his hand, and the sound stopped. He was completely undamaged, save for a thin trickle of blood from his nose.
“I’m not done,” Morcant boomed, and everyone, including Áed, jumped as he raised his voice. His eyes swept over the vagabond crowd. “Who the fuck called me Morry?”
Once Morcant’s attention had moved on, Áed hurried to the valiantly fallen Ninian, who lay in a heap on the broken pavers. Ninian moaned and cracked open one blackening violet eye to glare at Áed witheringly as he approached. “Thanks for the help.”
Áed rolled his eyes. “I told you to give up. It would have spared you some bruises, if you’d have listened.”
“Then, when I didn’t listen, you should have thrown yourself into the fight and wreaked some hell on that oversized bastard.”
Áed held up his hands, making Ninian frown at their crooked shape. “Me, throw a punch?”
Ninian scowled. “You coulda bit him.”
Áed chuckled and helped his partner to a seat. “Let’s get out of here, okay, Ninny? Can you stand?”
“Yeah. Please help me.”
Áed braced his feet in the pits of the road as the torch above them dimmed. “Grab my wrist.”
Ninian locked his fingers around Áed’s left wrist and hauled himself up, cursing his bruises as Áed leaned back to compensate for his weight. “Damn Morcant,” Ninian swore. He staggered for a moment before finding a wall to slump against and shook his shoulder-length hair out of his face.
“Ninian, I can’t believe they had you fight Morcant. I’m going to get them for that.”
Ninian shook his head and dragged the backs of his fingers across his split lip. “I mouthed off at Brígh.”
Áed stopped and glared at him, but Ninian was looking down, inspecting his bleeding knuckles. “Gods forbid she talk down to you,” Áed said, exasperated, “Can’t she tell she’s addressing nobility?”
Ninian pointed to him, swaying a bit, and Áed held out a hand to steady him. “Ancient nobility,” Ninian corrected with a smirk. “And anyway, guess not.”
“And so she—”
“Had me fight Morcant.” Ninian shrugged gingerly. “His gang’s been a pain in our ass for years now, we’d have had to do something eventually. ‘Course, that probably wouldn’t have had much to do with me, but…” Ninian placed his palm sarcastically over his heart. “Consider me a reformed man. Hold my hand, love?”
Áed rolled his eyes and batted Ninian’s hand away with his crumpled fingers. “Fuck off.” Then, offering a shoulder to lean on, he supported the limping Ninian out of the alley.
Their path led them past the docks, whose black wooden fingers jutted out over the Red Sea. The torches here were more reliable, so it was possible to stop for a moment, but Ninian had to be feeling the fight. Experience said it’d be best to get him home where he could rest. Besides, the docks were not a pleasant place to stay. Torches, spitting sparks and ashes skyward, glowered over the greasy streets. The rotting docks absorbed the light into their filthy timbers, and even the thin, bottomless sea refused to reflect the torchlight with the barest sparkle. The air tasted metallic, as if the reddish water were bloody.
A few girls leaned against the railings at the edge of the water. With mouths painted apple-red and legs and midriffs exposed to interested passers-by, they pouted and eyed the two young men who hobbled past. One of the girls whistled, but Ninian shook his head apologetically. Áed could tell from the look in his eyes that he felt for her, with her tangled straw-blond hair and dark orange eyes, as she waited for someone to want her.
“Life’s a bitch, sister,” Ninian muttered as the girl turned away, and he spat blood onto the pavers. He had the high cheekbones and handsome face of long-defunct royalty, and Áed knew something ran in Ninian’s veins that rebelled against the Maze’s desperation.
In Áed’s mind, hope still kept a toehold; ironically enough, it came from Ninian. Ninian, cynical Ninian, was full of stories. Ninian knew all of the histories, all of the legends, knew what was true and what was myth, and when those stories broke through the barrier of his painful realism, he shared them. It was in this way Áed knew that life was cruel, but it wasn’t merciless. There had been times, and perhaps there would come times again, when the Maze had equaled even the White City, which was now isolated atop the cliffs, in glory and health.
If Áed hadn’t felt powerless to help, he would try to change things. Walking through the winding pathways along the water built sorrow in his chest; it wasn’t right.
“Let’s pick up the pace,” Ninian groaned. “I want to be home.”
Áed didn’t argue.
✽ ✽ ✽
Ronan was waiting for them just inside the door, spinning a button between his fingers, and he hopped to his feet at their arrival. His bright green eyes took in the scene with the quickness of a child. “Who was it this time?” he demanded, shoving the button in his pocket with a grubby fist. “Ninian, you’re all beat up.”
“Your powers of observation astound me,” Ninian mumbled. “Now get out of the way before you get beat up, too.”
Ronan’s eyes widened, and Áed nodded at him sagely. “You should see the other guy.”
“Really?” Ronan followed them up the creaky stairs like an excited moth. Áed could feel the enthusiasm pouring off the boy almost tangibly, which made him smile—Ronan idolized Ninian, and Áed couldn’t blame him. “Well, who’s the other guy?” Ronan pressed. “Did you win, Ninian? What was it like?”
“Morcant,” Ninian groaned as they reached their floor, and for a moment, Ronan looked even more awestruck. “And he’s fine.”
The boy frowned as Ninian eased himself into a worn-out armchair. “That’s awful.” Ronan huffed disappointedly, his black eyebrows crunching down. “What a roach.”
“Don’t let him catch you saying that. He won’t care if you only have seven years.”
Ronan looked offended, but also unsure if Ninian was joking. “I’ve eight!”
“How do you know?” Ninian grimaced. “Áed?”
“Yeah?”
“My chest is killing me.”
Áed crossed over to the chair where Ninian lay slumped. “Where?”