Chapter 19
19
T heir eyes found each other in the darkness, and Aven noted an edge in his—a bit of loathing mingled with something she couldn’t quite piece together with his mask in place.
“You were there? Watching me?”
Roran barely reacted. Still, she swore she saw his jaw clench tight.
“Does it amuse you to sneak around and watch me?” she asked from the fake safety of her pillows. “You’ve made yourself at home in my room.” And she hadn’t heard him unlock the door. How?
“Whatever you have here, little princess, it’s because Cillian wills it. Just like he willed your outing today. Now tell me.” Roran slid a hand into his pocket and gestured toward her with his nose. “What did you think of the kiss? You appeared to have enjoyed yourself. Oh, the noises you made in the back of your throat… I could listen to them for hours.”
He was all cool grace and sharp edges.
What was he even saying? Was he overprotective? Jealous? Did Roran want her to make those noises for him ? She hadn’t noticed him in the clearing, either. Where had he been hiding, and why the hell did he care?
Too many questions circled each other like vultures in her mind, and the longer he stood there, unmoving and staring through her, the more the area between her legs liquefied, and her heart raced.
The thought that he watched her thrilled her somehow, but still.
“I cannot believe you broke into my room to taunt me about a meaningless kiss,” Aven snapped. Her nostrils flared. “Talk about needing a hobby. Go get a life, Roran, and stop sulking. It’s unbecoming.”
His scent reached her and tickled her lungs. It made her furious.
“Meaningless? You’re a cruel and wicked woman. I think you just enjoy pitting the two of us against each other.”
Pitting them… he couldn’t be serious! She stared at him open-mouthed and clutched the sheets tighter against her lower abdomen. “I did absolutely nothing! Besides, you’ve made it clear what you think about me, and I’ve done the same with you. There’s nothing going on between us.”
It was a waste of breath to argue when Roran fixed his full attention on her. Neither one of them smiled. Aven made sure to maintain a neutral and vaguely peeved expression, especially when his attention drifted to her chest the way it often did. It remained there, and she resisted the urge to draw the sheets higher.
The silk nightgown showed the skin above her breasts.
“Or maybe you’re here, upset, because you weren’t the one who made the first move?” she supplied.
Surprise lit his eyes, and Aven swallowed her own down. Oh God. Why would she say that?
Roran huffed out a laugh, and Aven swore she felt it stinging through her. Mercifully, he said nothing about that. Moonlight danced on the sheets between them, both of them still and assessing.
“Maybe the memory of the kiss will give you sweet dreams,” he muttered at last.
“Why were you there watching us?” Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. “Do you get off on being sneaky?”
Roran took his time answering, lowering himself to sit next to her and draping his long legs over the side of the mattress. Aven ground her teeth together as she watched him.
“I wanted to see for myself how you flirted with him.”
Her hand fisted in the sheets. “I wasn’t flirting.”
“No? Are you so out of practice you aren’t even aware of it?” His smile grew. “I find it interesting to watch you. Do you know how badly Cillian wants you to trust him? How badly he wants you to be on even ground? It’s hilarious watching him try so hard.”
Trust? Yeah, it checked out. He’d spoken about it a few times. “Then maybe he shouldn’t have killed my family and brought me to your palace.”
Roran scooted closer and reached for her, sucking in a breath when she reared back.
“I didn’t realize you were so jealous,” Aven murmured.
“Jealous of Cillian?” he snapped. “Sorry, no. Curious but never jealous.”
“You’re the type who would bed someone for information. He’s the type who apologizes for moving out of turn.” She said it to try and unnerve him the way he kept her slightly off-kilter.
Roran flashed his teeth at her in a grimace, and she knew she’d landed a hit. “We each have our weapons, don’t we?” He didn’t deny her observation, though. “He and I have practiced much longer than you’ve been alive. You wield what you have at your disposal. I do the same. I’m merely saying you looked like you were enjoying yourself.”
He snarled at her, and Aven wondered if he was going to actually do something. The way he looked at her, she wasn’t sure if he wanted to snap her head off or bury himself between her breasts.
Which one did she want?
Why hadn’t she told him to get the hell out of her room yet?
She couldn’t deny it. He got under her skin fiercely. And she wanted to slap him. To draw him closer. To do something crazy with the energy snapping and popping in the small space between them. It made breathing difficult.
Rather than saying anything, Roran braced himself and then pushed off of the mattress. “Enjoy your outings with him, Aven. Save your smiles and your kisses for him. I’m interested to see where things go.”
Maybe it was the small hint of vulnerability in his gaze that left her silent, biting down on her tongue. Her eyes burned as she watched him walk to the door and disappear. She waited in the silence for the count of ten, and then twenty, torn between wanting the distance and wanting Roran to come back.
There were a lot of things about him she overlooked.
Why did it bother Roran what she did with Cillian?
He was obstinate and incorrigible and prone to taunting. But he’d also never looked at her the way he had tonight.
Sleep came fitfully for her. Moonlight shrunk as night wore on, and Aven was curled on her side, one hand beneath her pillow, when a crash sounded from outside her window.
It jolted her out of the strange half-sleep, half-wake state where dreams felt real. Her heart beat rapidly, and her eyes popped open with a gasp of shock. She waited a beat and jerked fully awake when someone moaned, the sound full of anguish. She’d heard similar moans in the healing ward at the palace where the wounded were brought.
Aven dragged her fingers through the hair clinging to her forehead, sweat keeping it plastered.
With her window open, the sounds drifted straight to her. A shout and another long string of moaning aired before it choked off.
Without bothering to stop and think rationally, she pushed herself out of bed and grabbed her robe on the way to the door. Her senses screamed at her to be wary, but someone had gotten hurt. She knew it in her bones. They were hurt and needed help. Those sounds were too familiar for her to do nothing.
She tied the silk sash across her waist and knotted it. Throwing open the door, she found the hallway empty. Her steps were silent as she reached the top of the staircase and followed the sounds all the way down to the front doors of the palace. Beyond.
Injured humans made the same noises as wounded animals.
Aven learned the similarity the hard way. Although she had no healing abilities of her own, she’d spent plenty of time with those who did as they worked to stitch up her fallen comrades. Aven herself had spent many nights on a cot in the infirmary while they went to work on her with herbs and magic.
The air in the garden weighed down on her, thick and hotter than it should have been for this hour. She followed the groans along the path leading to the herb garden near the kitchen and pulled up short.
A guard lay on his back with his hands clenched over his stomach. His pointed ears poked out through long strands of rich red hair, his helmet lost to the night. Even from here, she saw the wound to his gut leaking bright blood through his clenched fingertips.
“Help me.” The words wrenched out of him when he saw her, his bright green eyes round. “Please. Help me.”
His injuries were grave, and despite the darkness, she knew a mortal wound when she saw one.
Aven balanced on the balls of her feet. Torn. She should get out of here and find someone else to help.
This was her enemy and clearly a fae scout, more than likely sent to spy on her people, judging by his outfit. The normal guards around the palace and in the prince’s personal retinues wore armor and carried swords. This young man wore a tunic and pants that clung to his skin, made of some dark material designed to blend into his surroundings. Only his hair gave him away.
She should leave. Do something, anything.
This wasn’t her business. A healer else would be better equipped to handle him. Or maybe she should let him die. Her enemy deserved no mercy.
A sixth sense prompted Aven to move, and she would not look too closely at it, as she walked forward and rested her hands above the fae male’s. He served the crown. He might have no idea what he was doing, or why.
Did it matter?
She kept her touch as gentle as she could. “Let me see,” she murmured softly. “Let me see the wound.”
His skin was cold and clammy when she pushed against him. Clenching her jaw, she pried his hands apart, and blood drained from her face at the injury. This wouldn’t be easy. Losing so much blood must have sapped him of his usual fae strength because the man didn’t fight her. He only stared at her with his breath coming in heaving gasps. His body trembled with the effort to remain awake.
“We need to get you to a healer, but you won’t make it there if we try to move you,” she told him, breathing through her nose in an attempt to get herself under control.
Think.
If she tried to get him up herself, his guts would more than likely drop right out from him.
The slice had gutted the male and went from hip bone to hip bone. Whoever he’d come up against during his spying had left him in a position where he shouldn’t have even been able to make it back to the palace. Unless someone had brought him this far and then dumped him, left him to die in agony.
It took her less than a heartbeat to realize his fae healing should have been knitting the skin back together.
So what stopped it?
She felt his eyes on her and met them.
“What happened to you?” she asked in an undertone. “Why aren’t you healing?”
He stared at her, panting, swallowing like it would somehow get the words out. Only a whimper sounded.
If she didn’t act, then he was going to die right in front of her. So young, Aven mused, moving his hands to his sides while she inspected the wound closer. Blood didn’t bother her. But somehow, the fae’s youth did. She saw it in his eyes. This was no fresh-faced ancient whose power kept him looking young.
He was inexperienced, probably thrown into a skirmish without anyone telling him what to expect. She saw nothing around the edge of the wound to indicate why it might not be healing. The skin there was clean and healthy, with no sign of rot or infection. She moved her inspection along his torso and his arms. Impatience had her growling and turning to his face, pushing his hair aside. His gaze pleaded with her to do something. To try anything, to help him.
There.
On the side of his neck, a rune had been painted in his blood, dried to his skin. The rune was the opposite of one she’d used in the past, ones she’d had tattooed in multiple places on her to speed healing.
This one stalled the process.
The rune used was a nasty one most people would never use. No, only the most depraved and baseless among them would use the rune and only then in circumstances where they wanted the person to suffer. Interrogations and the like. She’d heard of it used on prisoners and learned of it in her books, but this was the first time Aven saw it on another living person.
And the damage it caused.
“I’m going to help you,” she breathed out as the fae male struggled to keep his eyes open. “I need you to stay very still.”
It wasn’t a matter of washing the rune off, either.
The rune’s power had to be counteracted with a certain herbal formula in addition to the water. Why had she left her wand back in her room? There was no time to get it now. She’d have to perform this on the fly without wasting time.
Aven scrambled back after patting his hand once in reassurance.
“Hold on,” she begged. “You have to hold on for just a little bit longer. Can you do that for me?”
She didn’t wait for his answer, but she felt his eyes on her back as she scrambled toward the herb garden. Somewhere in the distance, a clock sounded the hour, and she gripped the edges of her bloodied robe around her. Studying the ground for those now-familiar beds of growing things.
The sound of a bubbling bird fountain grew louder the closer she got to the steps, and she paused there, the familiar smell of rosemary in the night air. Aven held her robe out like an apron pocket and plucked a sprig of rosemary, then two. She followed it with lavender and lemon balm, a few pieces of white clover, and finally wet it all down in the bird bath. Hopefully, it would be enough water for what she had to do.
She hurried back to where she’d left the fae and ignored her own weariness.
Everything inside of her urged her to hurry, and she nearly tripped in her zeal to get back to the young man. He hadn’t moved an inch from where she left him, and she had to double-check to make sure he still breathed. His chest rose and fell so softly she barely caught the movement.
Blood continued to leak from the slash across his gut. She stopped above him, her fingers trembling as she worked the herbs together with the other. She ground them together as best she could until the pieces were small enough to handle and then knelt at his side, rubbing the mixture against the rune.
His head flopped to the side, his eyes fluttering beneath his closed lids.
The stubborn lines of the magic refused to lift. She scrubbed harder, uncaring whether she rubbed him raw or not. His life was at stake. Her breath caught in her chest. If she could just get a little more water, if she somehow found a mortar and pestle and worked the herbs?—
No time for either of those things. She broke away from him only once to move back to the bird bath, this time cupping her hands in the clear water and bringing as much as she could back to him.
“Come on.” Aven sent up a silent prayer she hadn’t found him too late.
The edge of the rune began to dissipate, the coppery dried blood flaking off.
It heartened her enough to keep going, and soon the rest of the rune began to smudge together under the combination of herbs. Enough so that the magic crackled and fizzled out.
The fae let out a long sigh like a death knell, but when Aven glanced back, she saw the edges of the wound starting to draw closed. His blood stopped running, and although the puddle remained beneath him, it didn’t grow any larger.
Relief coursed through her with such strength she dropped back onto her rear, shaking.
After a moment, she shifted forward and gripped his hands in her own, holding him and watching the wound close in wonder. Wondering if she’d changed beyond recognition by helping the enemy she’d sworn to decimate.
“There,” she whispered. “It’s all going to be fine. You’ll be okay.”
It took much too long to realize the heated night air had suddenly turned cold, how chilled her bones had become. She studied the young man’s face. With his eyes closed, he looked almost human, if she ignored the pointed ears and the sharp planes of his cheekbones and jaw. Covered in now hardened blood, she waited until his breathing stabilized before she let go of him to make her way inside and find a healer.
She made her way down the halls away from the throne room, her own insides twisting together. No matter what kind of person she was, she hadn’t been able to leave him there to suffer. It should have warmed her heart to know she still had such a strong level of compassion inside of her, that it hadn’t been ripped out of her with her circumstances. Her head bowed.
Yet the only thought staying in her head was one of worry. What would happen to her now? And why had she been so fixated on saving him?