Chapter 33
Rowan
The dark-haired female hurried me into a well-presented room, the space bearing a striking resemblance to my own quarters at Wyndaryn.
It was set out the same, at least – a sitting room leading off to the bedroom.
She allowed me a moment to gain my bearings, and I looked around, noticing the differences.
Though smaller in size than my own rooms, it made up for that in grandeur.
Each piece of furniture only enhanced the room’s luxury, from the intricately carved wooden feet on the chairs to the plush fabrics on the sofas.
Even the tapestries on the walls were richly coloured.
Every element spoke of extravagance and opulence.
“Your rooms are beautiful,” I commented. But Valerian only shrugged, casually brushing off my compliment.
She waved me into the bedroom, and I stepped cautiously in that direction, my right eye now nearly swollen shut.
Every movement sent a throbbing pain through my head, and I couldn’t contain my wince as I turned just inside the doorway.
Valerian looked me over with a slight curl of her lip.
It was the only reaction I had seen on her face, and even then, if I had not been looking right at her I would not have noticed it.
Her features had already settled into a mask of casual indifference.
What did she see? I wondered, looking down at myself.
A victim or a fighter?
Strength or weakness?
My gaping bodice and the scratch marks still showing on my chest surely said victim, but the blood dried into the cloth…
“Wait here,” she said, turning abruptly. I heard the outer door open then close again.
With her gone, something inside of me relaxed, and I let out a heavy breath, glancing around.
This room bore an uncanny resemblance to its counterpart, yet the disparities were evident.
Unlike the other, it exuded a sense of simplicity, with cleaner lines and a notable absence of ostentatious furnishings.
The space was uncluttered, no personal items standing out apart from the necessities.
Sighting a mirror nestled in the corner, I approached it hesitantly. A stranger’s reflection stared back, her unfamiliar visage etched with turmoil and distress.
Definitely a victim.
My hair – a dirty, tangled mess – cascaded down my back in dishevelled waves.
The condition of my dress was just as bad.
Torn open from collar to waist, my gaping bodice was stiff with dried blood.
My cloak hung in tatters down my back. Rocks and branches, brambles and trees had all had a hand in creating the masterpiece before me.
But it was my face that held my attention.
It was a canvas marred by violence. My right eye was nearly swollen shut.
A dark bruise dominated my right cheek in an ominous stain, and blood still seeped from my nose.
Lifting my skirts, I noticed the bruises on my legs, on my thighs.
Now a sickly yellow colour, almost gone.
A reminder of what had nearly come to pass a few nights ago.
“Did they hurt you?”
I whirled around, dropping my skirt. I had not heard Valerian return. Such a strange question to ask when presented with a face like mine, but I knew what she meant.
“Malvaik tried, but… I killed him before he could finish it.” I lifted my chin defiantly. Daring her to say something.
“Good.”
The defiance bled out of me, and I dropped my chin again, suddenly weary. I had killed him, hadn’t I? Or maybe it was the arrow to the back. I wondered at what Tegoren had said. He had grinned at me like I was the one who’d landed the killing blow. Like it was a secret he was holding over me.
“I’m Rowan,” I said, looking back at Valerian.
A knock sounded before she could answer.
Without breaking eye contact with me, she called out, “Come in,” and a feeling of déjà vu washed over me as buckets were hauled in and steaming water was poured into her tub.
I clasped my cloak together with my bound hands while the servants carted them in one after the other until it was full.
After they left, Valerian approached me and gently began to untie the bindings around my wrists. With each knot that was loosened, angry red skin was revealed, abraded from the tight restraints.
I studied her as she tended my wrists. She had the longest, thickest black eyelashes I had ever seen.
Her eyes were hazel, but not a shade I had ever seen before, more gold than brown.
Her eyebrows were subtly arched, the colour matching her hair, which was as dark as Caelan’s and fell to her waist in thick waves. But it was her ears I took note of.
“You’re human?” I exclaimed.
She regarded me steadily. “Yes.”
“But… how are you here?” Why?
She finished with my wrists and started on the buttons of my cloak, undressing me as if I were a child who could not do it themselves. I barely noticed.
“You mean, how am I here with the Dark Fae,” she said. A rhetorical question. “I have lived here always.” Her tone indicated there was no more to say. But I was curious.
“With your parents? Are they here too?”
She shook her head. “I have no parents. Come.”
She waved towards the bath, and I realised I was now standing in just my ripped shift and boots, my cloak, top and skirt on the ground. Bending to remove my shoes, I noticed my stomach no longer ached from the blow I’d received the other night.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Depends on the question,” she said vaguely, watching me with those expressionless eyes.
“Do fae heal faster?”
A multitude of emotions flicked across her face before finally settling on contempt. Weird. It was as if she had deliberately chosen that emotion, tried it on for size, then accepted it, but it had happened in the blink of an eye.
“What an odd question.”
Was it? I admitted it was odd coming from a fae, but she didn’t realise I hadn’t been raised as one. “I was raised in the Human Realm,” I explained. “I’ve only just returned to Assyntian and didn’t know of my heritage until recently.”
Her eyebrows rose. Clearly, she hadn’t known that, but she smoothed her face just as fast and helped me to remove my shift. Bruises marked my abdomen and the tops of my thighs, and she briefly glanced down before returning her gaze to my face.
“Yes,” she said in response to my initial question. “Fae heal a lot faster than humans.” She helped me to step into the tub.
“If fae heal so fast, why did Malvaik die?” I asked. My need to find out if I had actually killed him was pressing at me.
She looked like she wasn’t going to answer, but after a brief pause, reconsidered.
“Most of the time, when a fae is injured, the body will heal itself, even going so far as to regenerate limbs, muscle, and tissue. Your skin will not scar, and your bruises will not last as long. However, if you are weakened, or a healer is not called for in time, you could bleed out if the wound is severe enough. Not many can come back from a stab to the heart or a severed head. Oh, or choking to death. We all need air.”
I stared at her in astonishment. Clearly, she had given this much thought, being able to recount it so dryly. But she had answered my question, and I relaxed, knowing I had not killed my would-be rapist. I suspected the arrow through the back had hit his heart.
Settling into the bath, I closed my eyes, sighing as the warm water soothed me. The small cuts and scratches on my chest stung momentarily, but the pain was quickly washed away by what I now knew were my own healing abilities.
“Here.”
Opening my eyes, I found Valerian offering me some soap.
“We can’t dally. He won’t be happy if I take too long.”
I took it from her proffered hand. “Who? Vaeyl? What does he want with me?”
She only shook her head and moved to the end of the bath. “Dunk your head. I’ll wash your hair.”
I dropped my head underwater, my face stinging. Valerian had a jug in hand when I surfaced and poured more water over my head before mixing the suds in. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had washed my hair like this. My hairdresser, certainly, but other than that… My mother?
“Your uncle’s agenda is no concern of mine,” she said, as if repeating something that had been told to her. “What you should be more concerned with is—”
She cut off as if remembering who she was talking to.
I turned to look at her, water sloshing. I tried to appeal to her, woman to woman, hoping to convey my trust and my desperation. “What should I be concerned about, Valerian? Tell me. I need to know what I’m up against here.”
Whatever she saw in my eyes had her sighing and turning away. “You and I are the same age, I think.” She spoke quietly, as if not wanting anyone to hear. “However, I feel as if I have lived a hundred lifetimes.”
I lay back down, listening as she returned to washing my hair.
“I haven’t had another female here who wasn’t Dark Fae for a very long time, so you’ll have to excuse me if I find it difficult to open up.”
“There was another Light Fae here?”
“Yes, there have been a few over the years. The first one – my nursemaid – she stayed the longest.”
“What happened to her?”
“The same thing that happens to all the Light Fae,” she sighed. “Sooner or later they either succumb to the darkness and their very nature changes, or… they die.” She brushed that off as if it were neither here nor there. “She died,” she murmured a moment later.
“When was this?” I asked softly, hoping she would continue.
“A very long time ago. I had only seen nine winters.”
Turning my head so I could see her better, I found her staring straight ahead, as if lost in her memories. “Who looked after you then?”