The stain was deep red under Ninian’s flesh, and it radiated oddly from the spot where the rib lay broken. Áed knew what it was. He leaned over Ninian’s mouth to hear faint, gaspy breathing: Ninian was suffocating as he bled out inside.
“Ronan?” Áed called, and the boy was at his side. “I need a knife. Wash it as well as you can.” This wouldn’t work. He knew, deep in the pit of his stomach, that it wouldn’t work, it couldn’t work. Blurred by impending tears in the very corners of Áed’s eyes, the minute flaws in Ninian’s face—the scar below his lip, the bruises blossoming on his high, handsome cheekbones—seemed to fade.
Ronan returned with a knife, his own little one.
The knife trembled in Áed’s unsteady hands as he brought it to his friend’s chest. “I need a candle, too.” The sun was setting, and the flat was full of shadows. “Now.” He heard Ronan leap into action, heard the faith in his movement. It’s okay, Ronan seemed to be thinking. Áed is going to make it better. Perhaps Ninian had been right. They had raised this boy with too much naïveté.
Áed gripped the blade with both hands as Ronan returned with a packet of matches and a candle, but the boy’s hands shook so hard that he burned through all of the matches before finally managing to light the bent wick. Steadier light filled the room as the fire took hold. Pressing the knife between his knuckles, Áed brought it down carefully on the red splotch, and the blade pierced Ninian’s skin with a thick, strange heaviness.
The bloody reservoir bubbled from the wound in a gush as the pressure relieved. It poured like a crimson river over Ninian’s pale flesh, dripping onto the floor and puddling as it flowed in a morbid waterfall to the growing puddle on the floor. Áed listened as carefully as his pounding heart would allow. As Ninian’s blood poured over Áed’s hands, he felt for his love’s breath. It was still there, faintly, but it was growing stronger as the weight on Ninian’s lungs eased. With bloody fingers, Áed felt for Ninian’s pulse. It pushed against his fingers resiliently.
The discoloration faded as blood poured out, but it would be an excruciatingly temporary solution if the bone had slit a large vessel. If Ninian bled out too much onto the old floor, which was greedily quaffing his blood, he would die. If too little blood drained away, Ninian would bleed inside and suffocate.
Áed pressed his lips together, felt his eyes sting with tears, and called to Ronan. He’d relieved a lot of pressure—perhaps now, Ninian could heal on his own. His body must know that it was dying. It had to feel the urgency, had to be working beneath its deathly, blood-stained exterior to keep him alive. Áed prayed it hadn’t given up.
Ronan arrived at Áed’s side in an instant, bearing a cloth, and Áed took it and pressed it to Ninian’s side. The blood sidled through the cloth, and Áed kept pressing as he waited for the flow to stop. He didn’t know how much blood was in a body, but he knew that the parched floor was spongy with it. Too much or not enough, he could not say.
Eventually, the cloth was brilliantly red, and the bleeding stopped. The reservoir under Ninian’s skin drained and the torrent thinned to a trickle, then clotted to nothing at all. Ninian had grown pale, as white as alabaster, and his cool skin was tacky with blood under Áed’s touch. His slow breathing rattled in his chest. His heart, suddenly finding itself with little to pump, beat weakly and sporadically.
Ronan sat in the corner with his thin back pressed to the wall, eyes fixed helplessly on Ninian’s motionless shape even after darkness fell entirely. Áed took a seat in his armchair and settled into the quiet. Against the faint rumbling of the disturbed sky, Ninian’s shallow breaths were barely audible as they whispered through the heavy, lightless air. Ronan didn’t sleep; Áed could hear him shifting, patient and anxious, and he realized that the mood in the room was that of a vigil. They were two people, waiting for the final ruling of deities whom they both already knew to be cruel.
Áed welcomed Ronan as, hours later, the small boy crawled from the corner and curled beside Áed in the chair. “Áed?” he murmured.
“Yes?”
There was a pause, as heavy as a stone. “I just wanted to make sure you were still there.”
Áed held Ronan close and felt the child clutch his hand with his small fingers, holding on desperately to the small amount of comfort that Áed’s gnarled bones could offer. “I’m here, ceann beag,” he murmured. His own voice, like Ronan’s, came unevenly. “I’m here.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Áed had not slept when the sun, edging through the hazy air, announced the new morning.
Ronan, beside him, still held Áed’s hand, and the child’s fingers had grown sweaty. The boy, at least, had dozed, though now his green eyes opened to blink at the brightness. “Áed?” he croaked, coughing the sleep from his voice. “How is Ninian?”
Áed extracted his hand from the child’s fingers and used it to clumsily sweep Ronan’s too-long bangs from his eyes. The boy’s dark hair caught between Áed’s fingers.
Áed had been monitoring his love’s breaths all night, almost to the point of counting them, and he responded. “Living.”
Ronan’s replying sigh was a tiny thing, a timid expression of relief.
“Get up, Ronan,” Áed said, rising from the seat himself. He extracted yesterday’s packet of jerky from his pocket—Ninian’s blood had marred the paper, but the meat remained clean. He handed it to Ronan, saying, “Eat. Take the bread and the apple, too.”
Ronan’s face showed his surprise. “All of it?”
“Yes, all of it. Go on.”
Ronan needed no further prompting to tear into the meager food. Meanwhile, Áed crossed to Ninian, saying a thankful prayer to no particular God that the night was past and his love still breathed.
“Ninian,” he murmured as he slipped his distorted hand into Ninian’s elegant, calloused palm. The words scarcely passed his tongue. The hope that Ninian would answer was small, as fluttery as his partner’s heartbeat. “Can you hear me?”
He nearly jumped as Ninian coughed and a fleck of dry blood burst from his lips.
“Ninian?” Áed was aware of Ronan watching, of bright green eyes boring into his back.
Áed dropped to his knees, and Ninian coughed again with a weak moan. His eyes opened a crack, just enough for Áed to see the sliver of breathtaking violet beneath his lids. Hope flared in his body: Ninian’s state had improved from the night before, had it not? Perhaps Áed’s efforts had worked, and the slim odds had prevailed. “Áed,” Ninian mumbled, and Áed clasped Ninian’s hand as tightly as he could. Ninian’s voice didn’t hold its ordinary cockiness or amusement. This voice came from a Ninian in pain.
“I’m here,” Áed murmured, trying to angle himself so that Ninian could see his face without moving.
Ninian coughed again, and another clot of blood flew like shrapnel from his mouth. “Good.”
Áed felt himself nodding, smiling. He couldn’t help it, just the same way he couldn’t help the tears that pricked at his eyes. His tongue felt thick. “Yes,” he said, as a drop of salty water slipped onto his cheek. “Yeah, mate, it’s good.”