Chapter 37 – Rowan
ROWAN
The morning goes fine.
I’m careful to leave enough slack in the rope to maneuver carefully around roots and rocks on the trail. At least I still have my boots. Ayer probably realized punishing me with bare feet was only slowing them down.
The air is warmer today and the bright sun cuts through the trees, but despite the warmth in the air, I’m freezing. Chills creep in despite the heat of the afternoon, racing down my spine, expending more energy as my body shivers as it fights to generate warmth.
But by midday, everything is harder.
It could just be me reaching for the very last of my strength, but I swear, the terrain has only grown rougher. There are more hills, more inclines, and the ground itself grows increasingly uneven and rocky. My muscles tremble with every step, and I twist my ankle more times than I can count.
The burning in my throat is a molten volcano now. Every single swallow is painful, like sharp razor blades being run down my throat.
Forcing my head up, I keep going. I have to.
But it’s becoming harder and harder to put one foot in front of the other.
I’m so tired.
Just a little sleep…
I fall.
A lot.
Each time, Dash drags me several feet by my wrists before Ayer notices and pulls up his horse. He waits, just long enough for me to get my feet back under me before we’re off again.
I can feel his patience thinning as the cycle repeats itself.
Again and again and again.
Until the skin on my palms and knees is raw and bloody.
Ayer’s gaze darkens with each fall. He’s irritated. I notice our pace has slowed significantly, and I know I’m the reason. But my head feels heavier and I—
I fall again.
I close my eyes as I’m dragged once more through the sharp gravel of the stony path. But this time, when I try to push myself back up, my arms shake, breaking at the elbow and collapsing back down, no longer able to support my weight.
Confused, I blink at my hands in the dirt, but as I try again, the world tilts sharply to the right, and now everything is spinning.
Round and round and round…
It’s enough to make my stomach turn.
I heave, but there’s nothing there. I’ve got nothing left; I haven’t eaten in days.
I let my head drop back into the dirt, closing my eyes.
Just let them drag me till I’m dead, I pray.
I breathe out slowly, waiting for the rope to go tight, waiting for Ayer’s patience to snap, no longer anticipating the shooting pain that will erupt from my wrists when the rope drags me off.
The pain is no longer there .
I mean, it’s still there, it’s still… everywhere, but it feels so far away, like I’ve been separated from it. A cold numbness takes over my body. I’m aware of the pain, but I no longer care.
Muffled shouts sound from up ahead.
Let them do what they want.
I’m done.
Darkness shrouds my vision, taking me under for a second, maybe longer—I’m not sure. And when I come to, I put my last drop of energy into focusing on the blurry dark shape that’s appeared in front of my eyes.
It’s Ayer.
He hovers over me, and I just blink up at him.
My face is blank, and it takes me entirely too long to realize his mouth is moving.
He’s saying something to me, but I can’t hear most of what he says—can’t make sense of what I do.
The tether of my consciousness grows thin, the darkness edging my vision once again.
The next time my vision clears, he looks angry. His hand raises, and at the sight of it reaching back, I flinch, turning my face away, but instead of a slap, it’s a light brush of his fingers across my forehead before he pulls them back, dragging them through his own hair.
His frown deepens.
I must black out again, because the next time I come to, he’s closer—too close.
I gasp at the sight of his eyes peering into mine. They look almost unreal this close up: steel-gray, almost glinting silver in the sunlight, and ringed in onyx. Beautiful. I stare up at them, completely mesmerized as they blur into storm clouds.
Something presses lightly against my lips.
Cool.
Gloriously cool.
Water.
It’s water.
I lift my head, and he reaches underneath, propping me up higher. My head now rests in his lap, but I don’t care. I’m too busy drinking greedily, anxious to soothe that raging fire in my throat.
With each swallow, I feel a little more relief. I still feel awful, but the fuzziness in my brain lifts slightly, enough for me to hear—enough to make sense of words again.
Ayer pulls back the now empty canteen.
“Stubborn. So godsdamned stubborn,” he mumbles, studying me. His gray eyes are unreadable once again.
I make a face at him, attempting to push myself up and out of his lap. The world tilts and my hands shoot out, catching myself as the earth wobbles beneath me.
“Take it easy,” he warns, and I’m suddenly all too aware of his hand at my side, steadying me. “We’re done for the day. We’ll make camp here.”
“But—” I grit out, my voice barely audible despite the water; my throat is still a raging inferno. “But it’s only midday.” I can’t have been out for that long. My eyes lift to the bright blue sky above for confirmation.
He pauses, his eyes darkening as they pierce through my own. “Let me rephrase: We’ll make camp here. You’re done for the day.”
My cheeks flame hotter than they already are. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be dragged through the woods relentlessly against my will, but still, somehow, I feel less than for not being able to keep up.
“Okay,” I mutter softly. I’m in no position to argue.
Ayer unhooks a new water satchel from his belt and sets it down in front of me. I stare at it before looking back at him.
“Drink all of that,” he orders. His tone level, his expression giving away nothing of his thoughts as he points to it.
“At what cost?” I whisper, peering up at him. Because with him, there’s always a cost.
A muscle flexes in his jaw. “Just drink it.” And then he’s gone.
Something twists uncomfortably in my chest.
He saved me.
It feels wrong to admit it, but he did. Ayer could just as easily have dragged my body behind his horse for the rest of the day, or even just left me behind to die.
But he didn’t.
He hates me. I know he hates me, so I know this isn’t born from pity or just the nonexistent goodness inside that black heart of his.
No.
He has his own reasons. They can’t very well dangle me in front of my brothers or father if I’m dead, can they?
I clear my throat. Even after the water, it still feels as though knives are stabbing me from the inside.
“Rowan,” I half mumble. My words are so soft, so quiet I’m not sure he can even hear them until he stops dead in his tracks—going utterly still.
Slowly, he turns around.
I pick up the canteen he left for me on the ground, popping off the lid. He didn’t ask this time—or demand. And maybe that’s why I’m telling him as I take another long drink of water. “My name is Rowan.”
My eyes lift to his, and for a moment, we just… stare. He gives a curt nod before stalking off to deliver his orders to his men.
A white flag waves between us. A temporary peace offering.
How long will it last?
Hopefully long enough for me to work out how to set the man on fire.
I hold on to that thought, finishing the small satchel of water and attempting to rise just before everything goes black.