Chapter 14 Rowan
Rowan
Islip out of the tent into the awaiting darkness, the silver light of the moon casting long, spectral shadows across the encampment.
A faint bite of cold clings to the night air, carrying the lingering tang of burnt campfire wood and damp canvas.
The world sways slightly as I move, my balance compromised by the migraine, a pulsing throb behind my right eye that blurs the edges of shapes around me.
But the pull is stronger than my discomfort.
It tugs deep within my chest, the pressure becoming more insistent any time I slow or deviate from its assigned course.
I'm vaguely aware that Reece peels off to follow me, his footsteps a whisper against the cold ground. Cold because I’d forgotten to put on shoes.
Pebbles and coarse dirt prick the bottoms of my feet, sending little flares of pain up my legs.
The rational part of my mind registers that walking barefoot is wrong, but it's a distant thought.
Just as my awareness of Reece is distant.
When the edge of the forest looms before me in a wall of darkness, Reece clears his throat.
“Lady Rowan?” He half snarls the honorific and I want to tell him he needn’t bother with it. But I don’t care enough. “Lady Rowan, where are you going?”
The forest ahead exhales cool air that smells of moss and wet leaves. I step forward into trees, their thick branches tangling together to block out the stars.
"The forest isn't safe at night." There's genuine concern in Reece’s voice now.
The forest closes around me. The air here is different—heavier, charged with an energy that makes the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.
Fallen leaves crackle beneath my feet, the occasional sharp stones digging painfully into my soles.
I should have put on shoes. Returning to get them now is unthinkable though.
Reece curses behind me, his footsteps quickening as he starts to close the distance.
The pull inside my head grows more urgent, almost panicked, demanding I move faster. My body responds—my bare feet finding purchase on the forest floor as I break into a sprint, the emerald silk of my gown catching on low branches and tearing.
"Stop, gods damn you." Reece shouts.
I ignore him, weaving between ancient oaks and gnarled pines, ignoring branches that whip across my face.
The sting blooms hot across my skin in fleeting bursts, the smell of crushed pine needles clinging to everything around me and moonlight dappling through the canopy casts map-like patterns across the forest floor.
The map whispers to me, telling me where to go.
“Rowan! Stop. Now!” Reece is right behind me now, and his words are no longer suggestions.
Just as his fingers graze my dress, two iron grips materialize from the darkness, like shadows given form.
They seize my arms and wrench me sideways with such force that my shoulder socket screams in protest. These aren’t Kai's shadows—these are flesh and blood and muscle.
These are fae.
Behind me, I hear sounds of a scuffle with thrashing leaves and colliding bodies and Reece’s desperate grunts.
My scream dies against a palm that smashes against my mouth, the scent of metal and earth invading my nostrils.
The two fae holding me drag me through the thicket, thorns tearing at my skin and leaving burning trails across my calves, until we burst into a clearing and stop.
Through gasping breaths, I register hooded figures encircling a fire too vibrant to be natural.
Venomous purples and toxic greens pulse amidst tongues of orange flame, illuminating symbols carved into the earth.
The air itself seems to vibrate, charged with magic so thick I can taste its metallic and bitter residue on my tongue.
"We have her," one of my captors announces.
Inside my mind, the voice that’s not a voice cackles.
The ritual halts abruptly. A figure at the head of the circle lowers their outstretched arms, and instantly, the pull in my mind vanishes. I blink rapidly trying to work out what in the hell made me go wandering into the woods, while the greatly reasonable panic grows inside me with every breath.
"Kind of you to join us,” says another of the hooded figures. A female by the shape of her ropes. Her voice… it feels like the one that had been in my head. And it sounds even more familiar. The captain from dinner. The one who’d had my plate sent away, and my goblet filled.
The one who’d first brought up Kai and Kyrian flying with the draken patrols.
She turns to one of her companions, the larger similarly clad figure who’d been fussing over the fire. “I told you it would work. Humans are simple. Even ones given access to magic that should never be theirs.”
A pained whimper answers the captain’s declaration.
My eyes dart to the edge of the ritual circle, across all the fae with covered faces, to find a massive dark wolf that is trying and failing to rise.
“Logan,” I gasp. In the firelight, I see the labored motion of his breathing, his fur matted with blood that steams faintly from the wounds into the chilled air.
I twist violently in my captors’ grip, driving my elbow into one’s solar plexus and stomping down on the other’s instep.
The moment their hold loosens, I lunge forward, but I make it only half a step before I’m seized again.
This time, my arms are wrenched painfully behind my back, making further movement impossible.
A moment later, a gag is forced into my mouth.
“She’s feistier than she looks,” one of the male fae laughs from behind his face covering.
“What about him?” he jerks his chin toward Reece who is being dragged in by a broad-shouldered male.
The male presses a knife to Reece’s throat, blood beads along the edge of the blade where it bites into his skin.
The captain, who seems to be the leader in this cabal —and something of an enchanter or priestess—studies him for a moment. “I know this one. Reece, isn’t it? A wolf from one of the northern packs.”
"Prince Theron’s ordered the alchemist's safety,” Reece snarls at her in response. "How far do you imagine the disguises will take you in an isolated detachment?”
“The ceremonial garb upsets you?” the captain lowers her hood, confirming the identity I’ve already established. “Better?”
Reece swallows. “Captain Viera. But you are— ”
“A senior officer of Theron’s forces? An alpha of the wolves? A priestess of the moon? Which title were you reaching for, pup?” She sounds amused.
“Prince Theron will have your head,” Reece says.
"Prince Theron," she mimics with exaggerated pomposity, "will be grateful when I deliver the solution to his problem."
“I don’t understand,” Reece says. “What’s happening here?”
I am really glad someone asked that, because I desperately want to know too.
“What must happen.” Viera’s voice hardens.
“Theron’s hands are tied with politics, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us have lost basic reason.
A good commander understands when her general wishes one thing but must order the opposite.
” She points a staff toward me. “There’s too much pain and blood on the alchemist’s hands.
No Flurry soldier should stand silent while she is paraded around the war camp like a prized pet, all because a Slait princeling has a hard cock. Certainly no wolf.”
Reece’s nostrils flare but he says nothing. And that scares me.
“What will it be then, pup?” Viera asks. “Will you join the circle, or would you rather join the runt omega there?” She kicks Logan’s side and he whimpers.
I pull uselessly against my binds. Rope fibers bite into my wrists in reply, rough enough to burn.
“You are from the north,” Viera says, her attention fully on Reece. “Your people have suffered the worst because of this cunt. What is the wolf in your soul howling at you to do?”
I watch Reece's face in the firelight. His jaw works, muscles tightening as he stares first at the fire and then at me.
His eyes harden until I see no mercy in his gaze, no hesitation—only the cold, hard hatred of someone who's found a perfect vessel for their rage.
"The north remembers," he says finally. “The wolves deserve justice.”
"Release him,” Viera commands and the hooded sentry holding Reece lets the male go.
Reece rubs his neck. “May I do it then?” he says, his hand dropping toward a sheathed dagger. “May I end its existence?"
Viera considers his request. “Yes,” she says after a few heartbeats. “When the time comes. But not yet. We must have a cure out of her before we take justice. So you will be patient, just as the rest are. Do you understand?”
Reece’s upper lip curls back to show his canines. “I do.”
"Good." Captain Viera—or Priestess of the Moon, or whatever name she's going by here—snaps her fingers, and the two fae holding my arms drag me forward.
My bare feet scrape against the rough ground as they position me within the flickering light of the flame.
Heat licks at my cheeks, drying the sweat that had collected at my temples. "Hold her still."
The hands gripping me tighten, sending new waves of terror and defiance through me. Both equally useless.
With that, the priestess draws a curved blade that gleams silver in the firelight.
Logan growls weakly and I thrash, my instincts screaming to fight, even though I know it's futile against their supernatural strength.
Grabbing my arm, Viera twists it to expose the inside of my elbow, and makes a shallow cut along my skin.
The pain is sharp but brief. Blood wells immediately, trickling down my arm in a thin rivulet that she catches with a crystal vial.
“There,” she hands off her prize to a slender female figure with pale eyes shining above her face covering. Celeste.
I can’t see the servant’s smile but I can feel it.
“Start the analysis,” Viera orders. “What the girl doesn’t tell us, her blood will. Not that she will be anything but utterly delightfully cooperative, will you?” The last part is directed toward me.
Before I can even grunt my defiance, a boot connects with the back of my knees, sending me crashing to the ground. My chin strikes something hard—a rock or root—and for a moment, stars explode across my vision, mingling with the colors of the fire.
I taste metallic, warm blood pooling inside my mouth, but my rage and fear drown out the pain. Someone behind me grabs my hair and yanks me up to my knees then forces my head up and back. I try to curse through the gag, but the sound comes out as unsatisfying muffled growls.
"Now then," Viera crouches beside me, her face illuminated by the flames.
Up close, I can see the intricate tattoos spiraling around her temples—moon phases and wolf sigils that seem to shift in the flickering light.
She smiles and pulls out my gag. "Let's discuss what you're going to create for us. "