Chapter 39 – Rowan
ROWAN
The warmth is a surprise.
Days and days of such bitter cold, and now I’m waking up to— My heart stutters when I realize I don’t even remember falling asleep. Last thing I knew, I was lying in the middle of the road, still tied to Ayer’s horse. But that doesn’t seem right. Did I pass out again?
Did he drug me?
I tear through my mind, trying to remember—getting flashes of memory, but it’s all too fuzzy to grab hold of.
Slowly, I open my eyes. Only to slam them back shut quickly against the bright glow of the fire right beside me.
No wonder it’s so warm.
Turning my head away from the flames, I try again. This time, my gaze falls upon a dark forest of thick trees. Their leaves reflect the sunset glow of the fire on my other side.
I make a half-hearted attempt to sit, but the movement brings a severe pounding from deep within my skull, forcing my head back down. A groan of pain escapes me.
I’m still fighting my way out of the haze when a deep voice sends a different type of chill racing down my spine.
“I thought you weren’t going to be any trouble?”
The familiar rough voice whips my attention back, and immediately, I regret the motion. I touch a hand to my temple as the pounding in my head intensifies.
Eventually, I’m able to make out the shape of Ayer’s enormous figure sitting atop a log nearby.
Knowing he’s so close, I try to get up again—feeling vulnerable on the ground. This time, I almost black out from the pain inside my head. I bring both hands up, putting pressure on my throbbing temples to try to ease the growing pressure in my brain.
Ayer rises from where he sits, then shakes his head as he crouches down beside me. “You never learn, do you?”
I freeze when the back of his hand gently rests against the skin of my forehead, and I stare up at him in shock.
“It’s gone down.”
Gone down? What’s gone down?
He leaves his hand there for several seconds before removing it and rising to his feet, going back over to his log to search for something.
I’m no longer on the road; instead, I’m stretched out on the ground by the fire. Something soft beneath me, a bedroll, along with several thick furs draped over me.
I don’t remember walking out of the road… I watch Ayer with a wary gaze. Did he carry me? Did he drug me again?
“You passed out,” he answers, as if reading my mind. “You were burning up with fever, so I carried you over to the fire.”
“You carried me?” I give a start, and my head pays the price, forcing a wince.
“You were face down in the mud.” He shrugs. “Thought you’d prefer this.”
Like he cares what I prefer... I attempt a scoff, but it comes out as a weak cough instead.
I give up on any more attempts to sit up, laying my head back down on the soft furs underneath me. Gods, I feel awful—like I’m burning alive from the inside.
“You could have left me there.” To die, I don’t say.
“Aye.” Ayer levels me an unreadable look. “I could have.”
I turn my head to face him, meeting his gaze and holding it despite my weakened state.
“Why?”
He releases a breath, finally breaking eye contact—looking away, to the trees.
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t,” I counter, deciding to press the issue.
“I need you alive,” is all he says, still refusing to look at me.
“Why?”
I catch the flash of irritation on his face and a newfound tension in his shoulders. Oh, are questions pertaining to my life and death annoying you, Captain?
“For what?” I press again, catching the way his hands tighten into fists and his jaw ticks.
“It’s not your concern.”
Forgetting all about my head, I try pushing myself up again, anger fueling a burst of adrenaline. “Not my—”
“I didn’t know fae could catch red fever,” he cuts me off, leaning forward on his knees as he gives me his full attention.
My mouth snaps shut.
“Interesting. Don’t you think?” His head tilts predatorily to the side, as though he’s hunting for proof of whatever theories he’s cooked up in his head.
I sniff, allowing my eyes to roll and setting off a new wave of dizziness.
“There seems to be a lot you don’t know about fae.”
“It came on quick too.” My eyes narrow as he continues.
“Symptoms usually don’t show up for a week or two after exposure.
That’s part of what makes red fever so dangerous, seeing as the patient is contagious all the while, and no one around them knows until it’s too late.
But you—” His head tilts further. “You just held that baby two days ago.”
He knows something happened—suspects the tonic was fake—but he’s fishing, watching me carefully and trying to read my reaction.
I just shrug, throwing up a mask of boredom as I redirect my attention to the fire. He’s right, of course. Fae rarely get sick. And if they do, they certainly aren’t susceptible to human viruses like red fever, but… he doesn’t need to know that.
“Where’s Wyatt?” I ask, deciding to change the subject. Usually Wyatt takes the first watch, alternating with Ayer sometime in the night.
Ayer doesn’t look up as he leans over, adding more logs to the fire. “Wyatt hasn’t had red fever.” He eyes me over the flames. “And I don’t need that shit spreading through my soldiers.”
While red fever is usually fatal for infants and young children, it’s unlikely to kill a relatively healthy adult.
It is, however, highly contagious and a positively miserable experience—which, judging by how awful I feel right now, I can personally attest to.
If any of his men were to catch it, it would probably slow us down significantly.
I eye Ayer with a flicker of curiosity. “But you’ve had it?”
"Yes.” His answer is clipped and short, and I consider pressing him for more details, suddenly desperate for conversation—any conversation.
The last few days on the road have been painfully lonely, and while Ayer is the last person I’d ever seek out for company, the thought of him leaving me alone again sends a fresh pang of anxiety rising through my chest.
But Ayer shows no sign of leaving, settling back on his log, though he stays silent for a long time. I don’t look his way. But I can feel his heavy gaze on my cheek while I stare up at the dim stars overhead.
A moment later, his leather water satchel lands on my stomach, eliciting a cough as the heavy pouch nearly knocks the breath out of me.
“What the—”
“Drink,” he orders, his voice firm.
I frown at the water and then at him. My throat is burning, but something in me balks at following Ayer’s orders.
“Don’t be stupid.”
I glare at him and attempt to lift my head—and the satchel—at the same time. I fail miserably at both.
Stars. What was I thinking, leaving myself vulnerable like this?
An image of baby Josi’s red, flushed cheeks, and Nadia’s tear-stained ones, enters my mind, reminding me exactly what I was thinking.
I had never healed a sickness before, and admittedly, I didn’t know what would happen. Whenever I healed a wound or an injury in the past, I needed to take it onto myself either completely—or share it, lessening the severity of the wound for both me and the patient.
And then, of course, Ayer’s rune had to factor into it as well. The rune blocks magic from leaving me, but as I just learned, it doesn’t stop me from taking it in.
Ayer sighs audibly, coming closer and picking the satchel up off my stomach before crouching down beside me once again.
“Come here.” His fingers slide into my hair, supporting my head as he gently lifts, but I fight him, feebly trying to push his hands away, not wanting or needing any more of his help.
“Rowan,” he growls, and I go absolutely still, forgetting for a moment that I told him my name.
We enter a silent standoff. Both of us staring each other down. My mouth is pressed firmly shut, his water satchel open and tilted, like he’s debating whether or not to just waterboard me with it.
“You’re burning up,” he reminds me, and my body instantly weakens as if remembering too.
He seizes the opportunity, pushing the satchel closer and pressing it to my lips. His brows raise, as if to say open, but he refrains from actually giving me the order. With a deep sigh, I open my mouth, allowing him to trickle in some liquid..
Light, I needed that, I think when the cool water alleviates the worst of the burning in my throat.
Ayer tilts the satchel a little further and I drink, desperate for more. He angles it slowly, controlled, so I don’t choke.
He’s so close. I steal the opportunity to study him, my eyes pulling to the scar I hadn’t quite noticed before, concealed by war paint and dirt.
The silvery lines slash down from his forehead, right through his brow before trailing down his right cheek.
The blow would have taken his eye, if not for those high cheekbones of his.
Ayer’s eyes darken as he catches me looking at it.
Those steel-gray eyes with their shadowed edges bore into me, the tiny flecks of silver glinting in the flickering firelight.
Everything about Ayer is hard, sharp—unforgiving.
But tonight… his touch is gentle, his movements careful, as though I’m something fragile he’s afraid might break.
This is the same man who held a knife to my throat and promised me death, but despite everything…
it's almost as if he doesn’t want to hurt me.
It’s jarring, seeing this soft side of him, and I don’t quite know what to make of it.
I drain the rest of the water and Ayer pulls it away, gently laying my head back down to rest atop the furs.
“Shall I have my men fetch some milk and honey?” I don’t miss the slight trace of amusement in his voice, though his face remains serious, without even the hint of a smile.
I sigh audibly. “And cinnamon.” I add in a dramatic roll of my eyes. “And no. I’ll be fine without it.” I hope. Fae aren’t supposed to catch red fever, so who’s to say how long it might last?
I wait for him to move away, but he doesn’t, his gaze fixed on me.
“That baby surviving,” he shakes his head slowly, his eyes boring into mine, “was nothing short of a miracle.”
“Perhaps it was the hope her mother was able to cling to in that dark moment that helped her baby pull through.” I throw his venomous words back at him. How he accused me of giving Nadia false hope, before viciously punishing me for it.
“No amount of hope could have brought that baby back from the brink of death.”
The air between us grows thicker, and I feel my heartbeat quicken. If Ayer figures it out, I don’t know what will happen, but it most certainly won’t be good.
“There’s nothing worse than feeling powerless when everything you love is on the line. Even the tiniest drop of hope can push back the darkness. A little bit of hope can be the difference between fighting and folding.”
“For the tonic to work…” Ayer’s tone is skeptical, and the look in his eyes tells me he knows I did something. He just can’t figure out what.
“It was a fifty-fifty chance,” I mumble, averting my eyes and throwing in a ration of truth. “Sometimes it will work—sometimes it doesn’t.” I’m talking about the tonic, but really I’m thinking about my powers.
He leans in further, as if hoping his proximity might shake me up. “You seemed pretty sure.”
“I was hopeful, yes,” I hedge, my heartbeat quickening the closer he gets.
His eyes narrow, likely remembering how adamantly I assured Nadia her baby would be okay. He studies my eyes—weighing the sincerity in them. He works his jaw but looks away, nodding absently while looking out at nothing.
It takes effort to keep from collapsing with relief at no longer being the subject of his hardened gaze, but in its absence, the exhaustion quickly creeps back in.
“Any more questions, Captain?” I lift my chin, daring him to voice the suspicions I read in his eyes.
His gaze slowly trails back to me before the corner of his mouth ticks up.
“Just one.”
Stars.
My eyes track the movement of his hand as he reaches down to where he sheathes his knives.
“I was just curious how long until you tried using this?”
I can’t help the choking sound that escapes me at the sight of the blade in his hand. The intricately carved rose on the handle.
My blade.
“No, no, no, no, no—” Frantically, my hand shoots to my thigh, tearing at my skirts for the blade despite already knowing it’s gone.
“That’s mine.”