“Celestial, you’re bleeding,” she whispered. She touched the darkest spot, and Rone flinched.
She let him lean against the wall and checked her belongings, hoping there was something she could use to help him, but of course she had nothing but sodden clothes. Rone’s clothes. She didn’t want to make a bandage out of any of the potentially disease-ridden cloth, but she didn’t want Rone to bleed out, either.
Her mind whirred through the medical tricks she’d learned during her time with Kazen. Nothing pertinent came to mind.
At least Rone’s shirts were long, so she wouldn’t expose her script by tearing off the bottom of the one she wore. She used her teeth to get it started, then spat, not wanting any sewage water to linger on her tongue. She tore a wide strip.
“Hey,” Rone complained.
“We’re both in trouble if you pass out,” she said, and looped the thin bandage around his hip. He groaned loudly in his throat when she tightened it. It was a pathetic attempt at care, but it was the best she could do for the moment.
“Tell me where we’re going.” She put one of his arms over her shoulders.
He pulled it back. “I’m fine.” He straightened, then leaned back on her. Grumbled. “Ahead. Just help me walk. It’s not too far.”
Sandis pulled him along as quickly as she could. They needed to get off the streets. Kazen wouldn’t give up so easily, but at least she’d proven she could outrun him.
She added that to the small list of advantages she had over him. Of course, Galt could outrun her, and nearly had.
Rone’s weight increased on her with every block. Sandis’s limbs were aching and tired from lack of sleep and the long trek through the sewers. Her legs shook with every step. But she had to get Rone help. They had to find sanctuary. She’d even risk the Lily Tower, if it weren’t so far away.
“Right.” Rone’s voice was low and strained. Sandis tried to push her steps faster. Her muscles refused, but at least they remained steady.
Rone guided her a little farther before a measured sigh passed through his lips and ruffled Sandis’s hair. “Here.”
“There’s no door—”
He leaned to his left, groaning, forcing Sandis to move or let him fall. She moved. Rone reached for a handle hidden underneath a brick and pushed it down. A narrow door swung inward.
It was dark inside and smelled of cigar smoke. Sandis hurried them in. The way wasn’t wide enough for both of them, so she tried to ease Rone in first. But he was too big, too heavy, and her body was little more than rags. After pushing him in through the door, she promptly fell atop him.
A groan-smeared curse erupted from Rone’s mouth.
Sandis rolled off him and kicked the door shut with her feet. Hidden. Well hidden—she would never have found that door, even in the daylight. Trying not to step on Rone, she stood, feeling around for a lamp, a match, anything.
“Rone?”
He didn’t reply.
“Rone, answer me.”
“Go to hell.”
She let out a long breath. Still alive. Light, light— A kerosene lamp burned to life ahead of her, illuminating a long, narrow hallway lined with shelves and hooks. At the end stood an older Kolin man, maybe Kazen’s age, though he looked healthier. He was stocky and wide, with thick gray hair cut short and slicked back from his forehead. His eyes were sharp and equally gray.
“That is a very special entrance, young lady,” he said. His voice was not accusatory, nor was it friendly. He had bags under his eyes. From lack of sleep or from age, she didn’t know.
His eyes fell to Rone.
“He’s hurt,” she said, pleading with every syllable. “He led me here, said—”
The man put down the lamp at once and took two long strides toward Rone. “Rone Comf. So this is how you finally pay me a visit?”
Rone made a strangled sound in reply.
The man met Sandis’s gaze. “All right, young lady. You get his feet, and I’ll get his shoulders.” He looked her over. “If you can manage.”
Sandis imagined she was a sight to behold, but relief at this stranger’s kindness drove back her fatigue. She nodded and stepped back to the door, grabbing Rone’s feet.
They lifted him up. Sandis said, “He’s been shot . . . his hip, I think.”
The man merely nodded and turned at the end of the hallway, bringing Rone into a dimly lit room without windows. Several sacks and jars lined one wall, and an alarming number of weapons lined another, everything from knives to chains to firearms. Sandis recognized seven of the eight displayed.
“Set him down,” the stranger instructed, and Sandis obeyed. He then left through another door, one that led into what looked like an ordinary flat. He came back with a bedroll and set it right next to where Rone lay.
Together, Sandis and the stranger hoisted their patient onto the roll. Sandis cringed at the bloodstain he’d left on the hardwood.
The man left again, then came back with an assortment of medical supplies, some Sandis had never seen. “Bullet’s probably still in there. Stupid kid. Here, roll him onto his other side and keep him from moving.”
Rone mumbled something unintelligible.
Sandis bit her lip, looking between Rone’s pained face and the stranger’s sure one. “Will it hurt?”
The man laughed. “Of course it will hurt! No more than he deserves.”
Another groan. Sandis squeezed Rone’s bicep.
The stranger pulled out a long pair of tweezers.
Sandis looked away.
Sandis awoke feeling groggy and stiff—both in body and in clothing. She had no idea how long she’d slept, thanks to the lack of windows in the too-warm space. The first thing that caught her eye after blinking clear her bleary vision was the candle, burned down to a quarter wick. Was this the first candle the man, who’d introduced himself as Arnae, had lit, or had he replaced it with a second? Sandis was sure she’d slept at least half a day. She felt like she’d been possessed again.
Ireth. She swallowed and pushed herself onto sore knees. She’d never before had a vision like the one that had assaulted her in that records room. It was the same horrific being she’d seen in her dream, but she’d never experienced such a thing while awake.
Kolosos. She felt it in her bones. That was Kolosos.
Ireth was afraid of him, and he was trying to send her a message.
She closed her eyes. Ireth, what should I do?
The fire horse didn’t answer.
A moan drew her attention to the other side of the room, to Rone’s bedroll. Forgetting her sore muscles, Sandis hurried to his side. Felt his forehead. No fever. Thank the Celestial—Arnae had said it would portent badly for him if he developed a fever.
“Rone?” she tried. A line appeared between his eyebrows, and she rubbed it smooth with her finger.
He cracked one eyelid. Took a deep breath. “You’re still here?”
Sandis flicked his temple.
He waved her away.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got shot.” He tried to roll over, winced, and gave up. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Rone fumbled with his hands until he pulled the amarinth out of his pocket. He spun it. The gold coils fell lifeless to his stomach.
Sandis gaped. “You’re going to check the time with that? Isn’t it a waste?”
Rone pocketed the artifact. “When it resets, I can spin it and become immortal again. Mortal wounds cannot exist on an immortal body.”
Sandis sat back on her haunches. Tingles crawled up her arms. “It heals.”
He nodded.
Sandis rolled her lips together. “Rone.”
He winced like her voice annoyed him. She hoped it didn’t. Maybe he had a headache. “What?”
“You could save lives with that.”
He groaned.
“Rone.” She inched closer until her knees pressed into his arm. “Can you imagine? Going to a hospital, to a sickbed . . . Someone with no chance for life could live again—”
“And then everyone would know about it.” He winced, but from his injury or the thought of giving up the amarinth, she wasn’t sure.