Ninian gestured at the spot wearily. “Here, mostly. And here. And get the little one out of here before I pass out and embarrass myself.”
Ronan hmphed. “I’m not little.”
“Come on, mate,” Áed said to him, putting his left hand on Ronan’s back and using it to steer him toward the door. “How was your day?”
Ronan bit his lip. “I wanted to go to Máel Máedóc’s shop, but I haven’t got any money, and I’m afraid he’ll kill me.”
“Ah, he wouldn’t. But I’ll go with you next time, how about that?”
Ronan nodded, satisfied, and then turned and wrapped his skinny arms around Áed’s waist. “Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight, Ronan.” Ronan released him and looked up with big green eyes, and Áed gestured up the rickety staircase. “Now, shoo. I’ve got to go fix Ninny.”
Ronan laughed at the nickname and darted up the stairs; soon, Áed could hear him banging around in the flat above.
He headed back to the rooms he shared with Ninian. They’d made their home in an abandoned building, one that was too far from the docks or the Inner Maze to be of interest to Morcant or any of the lesser gangs. It left them in relative safety. The door swung with a shrill creak as Áed shouldered it closed. “Ready?”
Ninian dropped his head back and closed his eyes again. He’d managed to wrestle off his shirt, which lay in a bloody-black heap on the floor. His skin was peppered with bruises. “One of these days,” he groaned, “We’re going to have to do something about Ronan.”
“Yeah?” Áed said offhandedly, starting to examine Ninian’s chest. There was a monstrous, black-and-purple bruise blooming over his ribs, and his collarbone was crooked. Right below the left side of that collarbone, a seven-year-old brand in the shape of a crescent stood out against Ninian’s skin, courtesy of his gang. “Like what?”
Ninian shrugged, then winced. “I worry, you know? We treat him like… well, like we didn’t find him in a trash pile, and he’s going to grow up soft.” He opened his deep violet eyes and lingered on Áed’s face. “Seriously, Áed, that boy is gonna get torn apart.” He shook his head. “What are we doing?”
Áed sighed. “He’s not getting raised like me.” They both knew that story: Áed’s mother had left him with nothing but a letter, and Áed had been raised by a stranger. Ninian could read, so he had read Áed’s letter out loud for Áed to know. None of it had been good. Ninian scowled and looked away across the empty flat, and Áed gestured to the wide scar that wrapped halfway around Ninian’s midriff. “Not like you, either.” He prodded at a bruise on Ninian’s chest, maybe a little too emphatically, because Ninian yelped. “Sorry.”
“You better be.” The words were right, but Ninian’s voice held no steel.
“That’s the problem in this place,” Áed said quietly. “People do grow up like that. You can’t tell me you regret taking him in.”
Ninian groaned. “You’re such a philosopher.”
Áed rolled his eyes. “Why pass up the chance to do just one good thing?” Ninian grunted, and Áed nodded, accepting that Ninian had seen his point. “Ronan doesn’t deserve this life.”
“None of us do, love,” Ninian mumbled. “Except maybe Morcant.”
Áed chuckled stiffly. “Right. Except him.” He cocked his head, examining Ninian’s collarbone from a different angle. “Now shut up and stay still.”
Ninian howled loudly enough to bring down the roof as Áed used the heel of his hand to set the broken bone with one practiced, even application of pressure, and then Ninian followed up with a horrific stream of curses. Sweat beaded his brow, and his knuckles were bone-white as he gripped the arms of the chair. He squeezed his eyes shut, just not tightly enough to conceal a tear that edged from the corner. “Man,” Ninian gasped. “You’re terrible.”
“You’re welcome.” Áed sat back on his heels and bit his lip as he gently pressed on another blooming bruise. “Love, I think you’ve broken a rib, too, and I can’t do anything about that.” He stood and crossed to a cabinet. “Sure you don’t want something?”
Ninian moaned painfully. “I’d rather not.”
Áed shrugged. “Your choice. But whatever you choose, you’re staying put for a while. No leaving this flat, got it?”
“Got it,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. He shuddered, another tear trailing behind the first, and his expression twisted. “Gods. Áed, I’m sorry, I will have that drink.” He opened his eyes. “Just this once, you hear?”
Áed struggled to open the bottle; it was awkward with his hands as crumpled as they were, and his warped bones and curled-under fingers protested as he twisted the cork. He braced the sticky bottle between his ribs and elbow to pour a small amount of the liquid into an old can.
He offered the can to Ninian, who grimaced but knocked it back in one motion. Ninian made a face. “That is disgusting.”
“So they tell me,” Áed said, clumsily replacing the cork. “That ought to help soon. Just be still.” He put the bottle in the cabinet and turned back to Ninian. “You hungry?”
“Always. We have anything left over from yesterday?”
“A little.”
“Does Ronan have anything?”
Áed frowned sarcastically. “I didn’t realize you cared.”
“Shut up, Áed. You know I care.” Ninian’s voice had already gotten ever so slightly slurred, like he’d just woken up.
Áed leaned out the door and called up the stairs. “Ronan?”
There were a few thumps on the ceiling, then the patter of footsteps. Ronan’s dark-haired head poked around the corner, which was grimy with eons of dirty fingerprints. “Yeah?”
“Do you have anything to eat?” The boy was remarkably resourceful, and he often managed to get his hands on food that neither Áed nor Ninian had brought home. Áed suspected that he stole on occasion, but since it kept Ronan fed, neither Áed nor Ninian questioned him about it.
“Some.”
“Come here and help me cut up an apple, and you can have a bit of that, too.”
Ronan’s face brightened, and he tripped down the stairs and pulled a little blade, fashioned from the sharpened fragment of a tin roof, from his pocket. Áed flopped to a seat in the chair across from Ninian. The old frame creaked underneath the flattened cushions and threadbare upholstery, and Ronan hummed quietly to himself as he put his knife to use. A wrinkled slice of apple crunched as Ronan popped it into his mouth, and then the boy cupped the rest in his hands and brought them to Áed. Áed’s stomach growled at the pitiful meal, urging him to eat faster, but he paced himself in order to savor the sweetness of the fruit.
Ronan was offering apples to Ninian, but Ninian seemed to be having trouble picking them up. His eyes were unfocused, and his fingers missed the slices entirely, grasping only air above Ronan’s hands. The boy frowned, turning to Áed. “What happened to Ninian?”