Chapter 21
The next day, I decided I should check in on Rowan again.
He must be going stir crazy, with no one to talk to.
Our last conversation made me curious, and I wanted to know more about him.
Additionally, the words Gareth had said to me yesterday fell heavy.
"He is someone you should keep around you at all times.
" There was something about him—something guarded beneath all that smug charm—that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
I slipped quietly through the halls, careful to avoid the servants.
It wouldn't do for anyone to notice me sneaking around like a child up to no good.
Eventually, I pushed open the door to the dim little room, a sliver of afternoon light cutting across the floor like a blade.
The place felt cold and dreary, and a pang of guilt settled in my chest. I hadn't meant to leave him rotting away in this dungeon of a room.
In my hands, I carried a tray full of some baked goods I snatched from the kitchen, as well as an interesting book I'd found.
Perhaps that would help keep him occupied while he healed from his wounds.
When I entered, he was slouched against the wall, fiddling with a small silver disc, flipping it between his fingers and tossing it in the air like he was practicing sleight of hand.
He looked less painful sitting up now, though the bandages were still wrapped around his side.
They look freshly changed, and I knew Beth had been in here this morning to change them.
When I stepped inside, he didn't even flinch—just kept flipping that little disc in the air restlessly. He doesn't know how to sit still.
"Geez," Rowan drawled without looking up, "Would it kill you to knock?""
"It's my manor," I reminded him. "I don't have to." Cheeky boy, what does Gareth see in you?
"Right, my bad, I guess a noble can pick and choose whether she wants to act like one or not," He flicked the coin up in the air and caught it, then looked over flashing me a crooked grin.
He was in much better spirits today, but I could tell a fever still burned by the condensation on his temples.
"Ooh, whatcha got there?" He eyed my tray of goodies.
I set them down at the table near his bedside. "Oh, just some treats. But you don't get them until you answer a few questions," I said, matter-of-factly.
He frowned. "Aw, come on, first you kidnap me, now you're extorting from me?
Can't you see, I'm dying over here," He feigned sickness, bringing his hand up to his forehead dramatically.
"All I've had to eat so far is leftover bread and some sad soup.
And now you dangle pastries in front of me like some cruel temptress," He pouted.
"That's for your benefit. I don't think you're really in any shape to be eating steak dinners right now," I said, crossing my arms. Though, he did look much better. He probably deserved to have something a little more substantial now. "Alright, answer my questions. And maybe I'll let you have two."
"Only two?" He said, eying the dish of pastries.
He made a wild grasp for them, but I blocked him, pushing him back.
The strain from reaching out must have been too much for him as he suddenly winced, pain shooting from his wound.
After a groan, he slumped back against the wall, clutching his side.
"Regret taking that blade for me yet?" I asked him.
"Is that one of your questions?"
"Yes," I replied, after a moment's thought.
He hummed, leaning his head back against the wall like he was giving it serious consideration.
Then, after a beat, he smirked. "Regret it?
No, but I do wish I'd at least negotiated hazard pay first," He grinned even wider, "And besides, I figured if I survived, I'd at least get a visit from a pretty lady afterwards.
So far, you're holding up your end. I've already been visited by three so far, and I must say, your servants are quite charming. "
I leaned forward. "And what does that make me?"
"The crazy lady wearing pants who hurts me and interrogates me," He feigned a dramatic wince.
At this, I sat back, chuckling. "You're such a diva," I said.
He raised a brow at my modern terminology, likely never hearing that word before.
The banter and witty remarks just never stopped with this kid.
I wondered if there was ever a time when this man was truly serious.
If there is, I haven't seen it yet.
Rowan just gave me a lazy shrug, tossing the coin back into the air.
"You must mean I'm charming. You've got to keep things interesting, you know?
In my line of work life's just a long string of people trying to kill you.
" Then he shifted, gazing from me to the plate of pastries.
"I believe that's two questions, my lady. I think I'm due for a pastry now."
His comments made me smile. I held up a particularly delectable looking pastry, ignoring his comment. He eyed it, his gaze switching from me to the treat. "Alright, next question. If you answer this, I'll maybe give you the pastry. Why did you decide to work for me?"
"The pay's good. I'd have been a fool to turn you down." It didn't take him long to think of an answer. I hummed, figuring it was acceptable, then tossed him the pastry.
"Alright, fair enough," I said. "Next question."
He caught it, and nibbled on it, looking like he was in heaven. "Shoot," He said, through a mouthful of pastry.
"Where did you learn to fight like that, anyway?" I recalled the night he fought. He'd expertly sidestepped this question last time, and this time, I hoped I could actually pin him down.
Rowan grinned as he scarfed down the pastry, dusting off his hands and taking a sip of the water on his bedside.
"I had a good mentor, a great one, even.
The kind that only comes along once in a lifetime, you know?
" His gaze shifted for a moment, his smile faltering just a bit.
"But really, I had to learn fast. Life didn't offer many other options. "
I leaned forward, curiosity creeping into my voice. "What do you mean by that?"
He sighed, looking oddly reflective. "Let's just say I wasn't born with the sword. I spent more time dodging than holding one for most of my life, until I met him."
"Your mentor, what's his name?"
He paused, as his guard effortlessly returned, and shrugged. "You wouldn't know him anyway," He said.
I sighed. "Then you must not be from this kingdom."
"Well, I am a traveling mercenary after all. I could be from anywhere," He flicked the silver coin up in the air. Stop doing that, I thought, irritated. "..and, I think I'm due for another pastry."
I wanted to press him, but didn't. I could tell this conversation was going nowhere. As much as I kept poking about his past, he kept sidestepping me and answering me with some vague quip or cheeky comment. He was slippery as a fish, and it was starting to frustrate me.
"Have you always been this irritating, or is it just when you're injured?" I tossed him another pastry from the tray, which he accepted gratefully.
Rowan's eyes twinkled with mischief, and he leaned closer, ignoring the flare of pain from his side. "Oh, this is me on my best behavior. Injured me is practically a saint compared to my usual charm."
"You're really something, you know that?" I shook her head, trying to hide my smile.
He laughed, finally putting the coin down and rubbing the back of his neck. "I know. Hard to resist, right?" His green eyes seemed to stare into mine, and for the first time I noticed his sharp jawline and the faint scar on his cheek.
"Pfft, you wish," I blew him off, shaking my head. He was anything but that. My mind wandered off to another topic. "Hey, that makes me curious. How did you help me pick out that enchanted dagger, the one from the Blacksmith? You seemed to know it was made for me." I said.
He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I guess I've always had the knack for matching blades to people. You were giving off the same kind of energy, so it wasn't hard," he shrugged.
The dagger lay tucked in my belt loop just under my tunic. I carried it with me whenever I went out. After a pause, I said, "say... when you feel better, do you think you could teach me how to use it?"
"I thought you said you could handle yourself just fine?" He smirked.
I scoffed indignantly. "I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much," I said, puffing myself up.
"I just... I never learned how to use a dagger.
I think my self defense skills are a little lacking, considering who I'm going up against." I couldn't afford to have another night like when we were attacked by the Black Dragon—I couldn't afford to be useless.
Rowan sat back, thinking. "Alright, maybe I can teach you a little something. But it depends..." he paused, "On how many of those pastries you're willing to give away."
I stared at him, my mouth agape. "Do you think with your stomach?" I asked him incredulously, and he laughed. After a few moments, I said, "alright, teach me how to use the dagger and I'll give you all the pastries you want. I'll even throw in a few extra Rokel, how's that sound?"
"Why, this has been a very fruitful interrogation, my lady," Rowan smiled.
I rolled my eyes. This was exactly like the night we rode in the forest, all I'd learned through conversation with him was how cheeky he was, and nothing of his past. He was a smarter guy than he let on, but still was surprisingly easy to talk to.
Then I reached for the book on the bed stand.
"I brought you this, thought it might help you pass the time. "
Rowan quirked his brow, glancing at the cover. "Bold of you to assume I can read."
My eyes widened—I'd completely forgotten that in this world, most common peasants were illiterate.
I recalled Ana's comment yesterday, about how she couldn't read.
I'm pretty sure mercenaries also fall under that category.
I'm such an idiot. "Oh–" I paused, a little embarrassed.
"I didn't think..." I reached to take the book back from him and tuck it discreetly under my arm, when he stopped me.
"I can read just fine, Lady Grey," He said, and I smiled at the use of my nickname I told him to give me. "Wouldn't be half of where I am now if I couldn't."
"You don't have to call me that anymore," I shook my head. "Just call me Rosaria."
He shook his head in an exaggerated manner, "No thanks, I'd like to keep my neck please, my lady," Rowan grinned, gesturing toward his neck as if imagining the guillotine.
He then glanced at the book, then at me.
"Is there at least a sword fight in it? Well, I guess it gives me something better to stare at the wall all day," He fiddled with the coin in his hands again, twirling it in between his fingers like someone would with cards.
I glanced at it. It was plain, a thin silver disk, but it looked like it had some sort of engraving on it. A keepsake, probably. "What's with that disk you've been fiddling with?"
For once, he didn't smile right away. His fingers traced the coin absently, as if he hadn't realized he was holding it.
"Oh this? Just a bit of silver I stole off a rich man once.
A good luck charm, if you will," He said, then shook his head.
"Anyway, it's nothing. Just an old habit.
" He tossed his coin up in the air, then caught it, for the umpteenth time, and tucked it back in his pocket, his usual easy-grin back on his face.
"I see..." I said, leaning back slightly, the hint of curiosity still in my voice, but I didn't press the issue. There was something he wasn't telling me, but maybe now wasn't the time to push it.
He leaned back against the wall, fixing me with that lazy, knowing grin of his.
"You know," he drawled, "from what I hear, that Black Dragon's been haunting Averine for decades.
Long before I came sniffing around. Yet somehow, you're the first one actually poking around, trying to figure out what's what. "
He let the words hang there a moment before adding, voice dropping just a notch, eyes sharp despite the grin.
"Makes me wonder what you know that your fine, upstanding family didn't—or wouldn't. And call me crazy, but you've been creeping around this manor like you don't trust half the people living in it.
I mean"—he gestured vaguely around the dim, dusty room—"why else would you be hiding me in some forgotten supply closet under the stairs? "
I blinked, surprised by the sudden calculation in his voice.
So, he can be serious. But he was asking a question I wasn't ready to answer right now.
I stood from my chair, grabbing the now empty tray of pastries.
"Well, you seem to be doing much better now," I said.
"The servants will be in to check on you, so I hope you can stay occupied. "
At the door, I paused, glancing back. He was watching me, head tilted, jaw shifted slightly to the side like he was weighing something. "You know," I added, "you should worry less about my family's business and more about getting better. I hired you to do what I asked, not to ask questions."
"That sounds oddly suspicious, my lady," He said, drawing out his words. Then he held up his hands in surrender, "Alright, alright, I see you're not too keen on answering my question then. But secrets don't stay buried forever. One way or another, I'll figure you out." He smirked.
"Keep trying and you'll be out of a job," I said swiftly, but with a hint of playfulness in my voice. I shut the door behind me, feeling a little bad about leaving him in that dusty old room again. Rowan was as keen on trying to figure me out as I was on figuring him out.
But what Rowan didn't realize was that he could try for the rest of his life and still never figure me out.
How could he, when I'm not really Rosaria at all?
For a moment, I just stood there, tray in hand, staring at the worn wood of the door like it might reveal something if I looked long enough.
I didn't belong to this world—I wasn't bound by its rules.
I had been dragged into the pages of my friend's story, handed the life of one of her favorite characters.
And while so many things had already changed from the story I knew, I still carried knowledge that no one else could dream of.
He'd never guess the truth. The closest he'll ever get is thinking I'm a seer, or something worse.
And if I told him the truth, if I let slip that this world was nothing more than ink and paper brought to life.
.. Well, I wasn't ready to see how people would look at me then.
That's why no one can figure out my secret.
I exhaled quietly and finally turned away from the door, forcing my feet to move down the hall. Let him think I was just another noble with secrets. Let him think I was tied to the Black Dragon in some way, like the real Rosaria was. That was safer—for both of us.