Chapter Forty-Three
I know Hadrian loves and adores his land. But I could never understand why. The wind howls at all times of day, burning your skin off and leaving you raw. And even though we share the same grey skies, theirs seems darker, gloomier. As if no light was ever welcomed.
And their moon taints everything in crimson at night, as if a bloodbath has befallen the land.
I really don’t understand wyverians.
Tabitha Wysteria
Rowan and Elowen had laid Rio Hawthorne’s body within one of the smaller Fae carriers—the kind ordinarily used to ferry spices, fabrics and delicate wares between cities.
They were crafted from thick, interwoven branches, held by servants who carried each end with practised ease.
A roof of broad leaves arched above, shielding whatever lay inside from rain’s cruelty or the sun’s relentless blaze.
They had informed the servants that the princess was exhausted and sleeping. No one questioned them. No one ever did.
At least five such carriers moved in quiet procession across the land, swaying gently with each measured step. They had placed Rio in the last of them, where fewer curious eyes might stray and fewer whispers might gather.
Rowan’s attention drifted when he noticed a thin child slip from the fringes of the group.
The boy lingered behind until he found himself hidden from the servants’ line of sight.
A frail arm darted beneath the leaf canopy and emerged clutching a small loaf of bread.
He glanced about, sharp and wary, like a creature long accustomed to being hunted.
Rowan tilted his head, faintly amused.
It did not take long for the child’s gaze to collide with his own. The colour drained from the boy’s face.
He bolted.
Rowan merely flexed his fingers, and a tree root surged from the earth like a serpent stirred from sleep. It caught the boy’s ankle and sent him sprawling, the stolen bread tumbling from his grasp. Rowan stepped forward with unhurried grace, catching the loaf before it touched the dirt.
He crouched before the fallen child and arched a single brow.
‘If you’re going to risk stealing, you ought to be better at it,’ Rowan drawled, tearing a generous bite from the loaf. Crumbs scattered over the forest floor. He chewed thoughtfully, then offered the remaining bread back to the child.
The boy stared at him in stunned disbelief before clutching the loaf to his chest as though it were something sacred, fragile and easily snatched away.
‘Have you a name?’ Rowan asked lightly.
The child did not answer. His blue eyes—too large for his gaunt face—only widened further, fear pooling within them.
Elowen appeared moments later, swift and silent as a blade drawn from its sheath. She had noticed her brother’s absence from their post beside the carrier.
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed, her bright blue brows narrowing.
‘Look what I found.’ Rowan gestured lazily towards the child.
‘Is it lost?’
Rowan lifted a shoulder. ‘Are you lost?’ he asked the boy.
No reply.
‘Does it have parents?’ Elowen pressed, impatience edging her tone.
‘Do you have parents?’ Rowan echoed gently.
Silence again.
‘It’s wolverian,’ Elowen muttered, irritation sharpening her features. ‘Why is it with us? We crossed the wolverian border hours ago.’
‘Why do you keep calling the child an it?’ Rowan tilted his head, faintly amused.
Elowen pulled a face. ‘I detest children.’
‘Yes, that is abundantly clear.’
Rowan turned back to the waif before them, studying the slight frame and the long, silver hair matted with dirt, leaves and twigs. It hung in tangled ropes around narrow shoulders. The child was so thin that it was difficult to discern anything beneath the grime and oversized rags.
‘Are you a boy or a girl?’ Rowan asked mildly. ‘I truly cannot tell.’ He inhaled and then recoiled slightly, wrinkling his nose. ‘And when, precisely, was the last time you bathed?’
‘It must have parents somewhere,’ Elowen said, glancing back towards the carrier that bore the princess. ‘It will find its way back to them. Come along, Rowan.’
‘We cannot simply leave him here,’ Rowan replied.
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because he’s a child.’ Rowan’s gaze sharpened as it settled on his sister. ‘He could die. He’s half-starved as it is.’
Elowen exhaled sharply through her nose. ‘Very well. Do as you please. But he is your responsibility. Do not involve me.’
She had already turned on her heel before the last word left her lips, striding back towards the procession with that rigid, purposeful grace she wore like armour.
Rowan smiled to himself. ‘Beneath all that frost, there beats a very soft heart,’ he called after her.
Elowen muttered a curse without looking back.
Within moments she had resumed her place beside the carrier, casting him a pointed look that clearly meant to hurry up.
Rowan turned back to the child. ‘How long have you been trailing us?’
The boy hesitated, as though weighing the danger of honesty, before murmuring, ‘A few days.’
‘A few days,’ Rowan repeated, nodding slowly. He stared at the loaf still clutched in those trembling hands. ‘Very well. You stay close to me. I’ll make sure you’re fed.’
Suspicion darkened the child’s blue eyes. He did not trust kindness. Sensible, perhaps.
Rowan sighed theatrically. ‘Or you may continue attempting to steal from us until one of the Black Lotus notices and relieves you of a limb.’
The colour drained from the boy’s face at once.
‘Yes,’ Rowan said lightly. ‘I thought that might persuade you.’
He rose and began to walk towards the others, but after several paces he realised the child had not moved.
With a faint groan, he turned back.
The boy was still seated in the dirt, small and rigid as a trapped animal, silver hair tangled about his hollow cheeks.
Rowan studied him for a long moment, something softer shining behind his eyes.
‘What are you running from?’ he asked quietly.
The forest answered for the child with silence.
Rowan scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, uncertain for once. He could practically feel Elowen’s glare burning between his shoulder blades, sharp enough to wound. It did not trouble him in the slightest. If anything, it amused him greatly.
He extended his hand towards the child.
A minute passed.
Then another.
The small, dirt-streaked hand did not move.
Rowan let out a slow breath and withdrew his arm. ‘Right then.’
He tilted his head and tried another tactic.
‘Listen, kid,’ he said, nodding towards the procession weaving through the trees. ‘You see that over there?’ He pointed to where Elowen strode beside the carrier, nearly swallowed by the forest’s shadow. ‘Princess Rio Hawthorne is inside that one. We’re on a secret mission.’
He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips when the boy’s eyes sparked with interest.
‘No one can know,’ Rowan continued in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘We’ve to guard her body while she spies for us.’
The child blinked. ‘Spying?’
‘Correct.’ Rowan’s smile widened. ‘On the gods.’
He expected awe. Instead, the boy’s expression hardened; his blue eyes narrowed like winter ice.
‘Ya shouldn’t trust da gods!’ he spat, sudden fury flaring in his thin voice.
‘Woah, all right!’ Rowan lifted both hands in surrender, laughter dancing beneath the surprise. ‘Never met a wolverian who hated the gods before. That’s new.’
He waited as the child’s chest rose and fell, the anger simmering down into wary silence.
‘So,’ Rowan said more gently, lowering himself slightly to meet the boy’s stare, ‘will you come with me? Help watch over her while she spies?’
The child bit his lip, face pinched with stubborn annoyance.
‘Will you tell me why we shouldn’t trust the gods?’ Rowan asked quietly.
No answer came.
Only the restless sigh of wind through leaves.
Rowan exhaled, glancing back at the fading procession.
‘Well,’ he murmured, offering a crooked smile, ‘I did try.’
He turned from the child at last, though every instinct tugged at him to try again.
There were a dozen different approaches he could take, a hundred softer words he might offer.
But already the group had drifted too far ahead, the rustle of branches and murmur of voices fading into the forest’s hush.
Elowen would worry.
Rowan quickened his pace, weaving between trunks until he reached his sister. She did not need to speak; her expression delivered its verdict plainly enough.
‘I tried,’ he said, a faint heaviness settling into his voice. ‘But it didn’t work.’
Elowen arched a brow, her lips curving into a sly smile. ‘Are you quite certain about that?’ She tipped her chin towards something behind him.
Rowan turned.
The child trailed after them, still clutching the bread like a treasured relic, thin legs working hard to keep pace. Rowan swallowed the surge of triumph that leapt into his chest. He schooled his features carefully; too much enthusiasm might frighten the boy back into the trees.
‘We are not keeping it,’ Elowen muttered.
‘He’s not an it,’ Rowan replied at once, casting her a reproachful look. ‘He’s got a name.’
‘Which is?’ she challenged.
Rowan bit the inside of his cheek, caught.
A soft, hesitant voice answered for him.
‘Me name is Edur.’
Rowan turned so quickly he nearly stumbled, a grin breaking free before he could restrain it. It felt indecently bright in the quiet wood.
Elowen rolled her eyes with theatrical despair. ‘Wonderful. Now we’ll never be rid of it.’
Rowan punched her arm lightly, laughter bubbling from him before he could contain it. The sound faltered when he noticed the worry flicker across Edur’s face. At once, Rowan straightened, adopting a solemn air, as though this had been his intention all along.
‘Oh, for crying out loud, Rowan,’ Elowen muttered.
‘Careful,’ he said primly, pinching her arm in return. ‘Roll your eyes like that and you might lose them.’
Then he glanced back at Edur.
This time he caught the small, uncertain smile tugging at the boy’s mouth.
Rowan’s own smile softened in answer, quieter now, but no less sincere.
…