Chapter 20 – Rowan
ROWAN
Ican’t take my eyes off the mark Ayer left on my wrist. It’s so similar to the ink on his body; dark, twisting lines of black ink—symbols I don’t recognize.
Runes.
I’ve only read about them in books and, admittedly, not that much, since I didn’t exactly find them to be particularly interesting.
Staring down at the little rune burned into the skin of my wrist, I think I might have a newfound interest in the topic.
I scurry over to the washbasin Ayer had knocked onto the floor earlier. Righting the bowl, I snatch a pitcher of water off the nearby table, dumping it into the bowl before plunging my wrist inside.
Snatching a clean cloth from next to the basin, I scrub furiously at the mark, anxiety rising with every second the dark ink stays put.
Gritting my teeth, I dig in harder with the cloth, though I’m careful to avoid touching the wounded skin below. But after several minutes of furious scrubbing, all I have to show for my efforts is more red and raw skin on my wrist.
A shriek of irritation escapes me, and I chuck the cloth as far as I can before pacing the open area of the tent.
What does it mean? What does it do?
A terrifying thought crosses my mind, and I hold out my wrist, glaring down at the small, stubborn mark as an ominous feeling settles over me.
It’s a half-sun on one side, a crescent moon on the other, divided by a single dark line, with intricate runic markings etched across it in swirling black ink.
There’s no way.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes while trying to settle my racing heart. I’m already ill-practiced. Summoning magic when I’m calm and prepared is difficult enough, let alone when I’m freaking the fuck out.
It makes sense. Maintaining control over magic during intense emotions like anger or grief requires real skill and practice, as magic is tied to them. But I try anyway. Even angry or tired, I can always at least sense it. It’s always right there, just under the surface—waiting.
I sigh with relief when I feel the magic deep inside me; its warmth is comforting to my chilled body. I wish I could wrap myself inside it like a warm blanket of protection.
My relief is short-lived, however, because when I try to summon it, it rises to meet my call but… it cannot leave. Power simmers anxiously just underneath my skin as if trapped there.
I gasp, and my hand goes to the rune at my wrist; it’s burning. The dark mark only grows hotter and hotter the harder I try to push my power out.
Stunned, I loosen my grip on my magic, letting it go, and the black ink instantly cools against my skin.
To say I’m shocked is an understatement.
Humans don’t have magic. Though I guess runes don’t exactly count as magic. Not really… It’s a lost art, like all the other magics forgotten over the years since they largely serve no purpose. Runes aren’t supposed to be powerful.
But this one…
I push my power again, harder this time, hissing as the rune burns once again. Harder and harder I try, tears streaming from my eyes from the searing pain, but it’s no use. I release the power, giving up.
I might not know how to use it, but I know my power is right on par with Fel’s.
And if this little dark mark can contain it…
I feel sick.
All the runes I’ve ever heard of are for protection—weak protection at that. Most of them were used for protection against demons—who haven’t been a threat for generations. I certainly would have remembered learning about a rune that could do this.
Panic surges inside me, unraveling quickly as the walls close in.
Shaking my head, I back up until I hit the pole I’ve spent the last several hours tied to. Scrambling away from it, I trip, then crawl behind the chair, thankful for its protection. I bring up my knees, curling into a ball as I hug them tight to my chest. Tears leak down my cheeks.
Stars, I wish Riven were here to tell me what to do.
More tears fall following the stabbing pain in my chest when my twin’s face enters my mind.
Light, Ro. Get yourself together. This is pathetic, is probably what Riven would say.
Solemnly, I nod, wiping the tears from my eyes and face. I have two choices: I can stay here and wait around to find out what Ayer wants from his new faerie pet, or… I can try to make a run for it.
The captain’s warning echoes through my mind, but I shove it away.
It’s the middle of the night; half the camp is asleep. If there ever was a chance—it’s now. I refuse to be a pawn in this game of kings. In Kovaria’s hands, I’m nothing but a weapon they can use against my brothers, my father, or my entire kingdom if they play their cards right.
Even so, I hesitate, lingering by the tent’s entrance.
Ayer was right about one thing: there are worse things than death. And after that little visit from Riggs and Nash, I have some idea what those things might be.
I know hatred for the fae runs deep in humans, particularly within the Kingdom of Kovaria, despite never setting foot there myself.
I still need to work out what my brother has to do with any of this. What does Fel have to do with keeping me alive—or giving me to Ayer?
The victory won’t be in killing me. No, it will be in breaking me.
Anxiety gives way to a fresh rush of adrenaline. Pushing myself back up to my feet, I pace the tent again.
Am I really going to sit here like a good little pet waiting for my master to return?
Ayer left me unbound. And through the tent’s vent, I can see the sky is dark; the sun hasn’t risen yet.
I still have my dagger, and I can reach it now.
The second the blade crosses my mind, my fingers find it.
The smooth handle in the palm of my hand offers me the briefest moment of comfort.
The soldiers are still busy tying up loose ends after taking Rosecliff. Who knows if, once we leave here, they’ll leave me alone and unsupervised again? This might be my only chance, this one opportunity; I’d be a fool to pass it up.
Mind made up, I dart quickly over to the tent entrance, stealing a peek outside.
The camp has long since calmed down following the celebratory ruckus that took up most of the night. Dawn is still a few hours off.
My eyes survey the surrounding tents, still shrouded in darkness; most of their fires have been put out, and some emit low light from dying embers. A few feet to my right, I can make out one of the soldiers from earlier.
Wyatt.
Most likely the guard Ayer appointed to stand watch. He’s standing several tents up, talking to someone, his back angled to me.
It’s now or never.
While Wyatt’s distracted, I slip out of the tent, pressing close to its outside wall.
Silently thanking Alita for picking out the darkly colored dress this morning.
I keep my eyes on Wyatt and his companion, backing away from them, doing my best to stay steady on trembling feet as I move as quickly as I dare in the opposite direction.
Nearing the corner of the tent, I notice a small gap of space between Ayer’s tent and the neighboring one. It’s just large enough to conceal me while I plot out my next move.
Luck appears to be on my side, seeing as how Wyatt hasn’t once glanced in my direction—too absorbed in his conversation.
But just as I’m about to reach the corner of the tent, my back slams hard against something that feels an awful lot like solid stone.
Confused, I freeze. I’m certain there was nothing standing between me and the tent’s edge.
“Never trust a fae,” a deep voice mutters, just above my ear.
My heart is in my throat. I spin around, peering up into dangerously familiar dark eyes. Ayer stares down at me with a look of bored irritation, but has not yet grabbed ahold of me.
The dart of my eyes gives me away. I make it only one step before a large hand wraps around my upper arm, hauling me roughly back.
My struggle draws attention to us. Wyatt and his companion look up at the sight of Ayer approaching, dragging my flailing ass alongside him. Both straighten to attention, awaiting an order from their captain.
He growls something unintelligible at them before shoving me back through the tent flaps.
“It was a trap?!” I hiss, glaring as he manhandles me back inside. Ayer lets go of me so quickly, I almost fall.
He leaves me standing by the tent’s opening, circling around to face me. Too close—still much too close. I fight the urge to step back.
“Perhaps,” he taunts with a glimmer of malice in his eyes.
“I knew you would try to run. Fae always cause trouble.” He leans in until he’s mere inches from my face.
“You could have at least made it a little more interesting, don’t you think?
Did you honestly believe you could just walk right out the tent’s entrance? ”
He scoffs and, oh, the urge to slap him across his stupid face is strong. My hand twitches murderously at my side.
Ayer levels me with a knowing smirk. “In the future, you would do well to heed my warnings.” The amusement fades, and darkness creeps back into his eyes as they bore into me. “And I do expect you to follow orders.”
I give him a scoff of my own, lifting my chin and folding my arms across my chest. “I don’t take orders,” I sniff, looking him up and down as if he doesn’t terrify the shit out of me.
Gods, he’s tall. Far north of six feet. Much taller than me.
“Especially not from you.” My expression changes to that of utter disdain as I glare back at him, refusing to look away or show any sign of deference or defeat.
Ayer’s expression hardens as he straightens to his full height, towering over me. My chin lifts uncomfortably in order to hold his gaze. I’m proud to say I don’t jump when his deep voice booms over me, calling to his men outside. “Put her out!”
My brow furrows, and my gaze darts from him to the tent’s opening, where Wyatt and his friend suddenly appear.
But with Ayer just inches from me, and two Kovari soldiers closing in, there’s nowhere for me to go. Still, I attempt to bolt, but I’m caught before I even manage a step.
Wyatt steps forward, an apologetic look on his boyish face, but it’s the cloth he holds in his outstretched hand that has my attention.
Rallying the last of my strength, I fight against Ayer’s grip. I dig in my heels, desperate to pull away, but it’s no use. Within seconds, the cloth covers my nose and mouth.
I seal my lips, holding my breath, fighting and thrashing, frantically trying to separate the soaked fabric from my face until my lungs burn and my head spins.
I inhale.
The cloying scent of herbs fills my nose, and the effect is instantaneous. My knees buckle and my vision spins. My eyes dart about the room, frantically searching for help, locking onto Ayer’s dark eyes right before the shadows claim me.