Rowan loved flying. Many had called him an oddity for this in the past, but he truly loved it. The lurch in your stomach as the plane first takes off, then the building pressure in your ears and the moment that everything goes silent, like the world finally knew that all you wanted was some gods-damned peace and quiet, before you swallow and the bubble pops, and you're plunged into chaos again.
The idea that he was thousands of feet above the ground in what was essentially a giant metal cylinder had never scared Rowan. If anything, it thrilled him. It was exhilarating, the knowledge of how far modern science had come.
Aelin, however, had no such thoughts.
Her turquoise eyes were squeezed shut with enough force to make her go blind, and she clenched the arm rests in a knuckle bruising grip. She had a hard boiled sweet in her mouth and she sucked it frantically, trying to get her ears to pop. The terror in her face was enough to give anyone vertigo.
"You look absolutely terrified," Rowan told her, most unhelpfully.
"No shit, buzzard," was her hissed reply, more crackling flame and spit than speech. She cracked an eye open to glare at him. "How the fuck are you so calm?"
"Do you always take to swearing when you're flying?" He asked coyly. Her glare just got fiercer, and he could only imagine the thoughts rolling around in her head like a plane in turbulence. Gods, I shouldn't have given myself that image. "Careful, Aelin; there are children on this flight."
"Well, fuck them." She replied, eyes tightly shut again. "Fuck you too. Fuck this plane, and all its fucking wings and engines, and fuck the person who ever thought it would be a good idea to build a fucking coffin out of metal and launch it into the fucking sky."
"It's nowhere near as crude as that. The engines and the controls are all delicate things, and it's all carefully monitored."
"Oh, that's really reassuring." Somehow, she made the sarcasm sound cutting even without throwing in another "fucking" for good measure. "Glad to know that we're fucking doomed if a fucking bird flies into the fucking engine because it's all delicate and monitored and controlled because apparently nothing can ever be fucking simple nowadays!"
"Excuse me, miss," one of the air hostesses approached them to say. "Could you tone down the profanity a bit? There've been some complaints from mothers nearby."
Aelin opened her eye again to glare at the woman; Rowan was surprised she didn't flinch. The golden of her iris sparked, and the blue burned bright and hot. In that moment he was reminded of the centre of a gas flame, gilded with the cooler orange areas. "Well tell them they can fuck off." The air hostess just pressed her lips together and walked away.
"Seriously, though," Rowan murmured. "Try to respect the kids. If you won't stop swearing, at least stop shouting."
The golden-haired woman immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. "I was shouting?"
He nodded grimly. "At the top of your lungs."
She flushed violently, a dark pink that burned on her cheeks like someone had tossed makeup at her. Rowan found it oddly cute.
"But in all seriousness," Aelin added. "How are you so calm? Do you have some sort of obsession with planes?"
Now it was his turn to blush. "I do actually." Her face snapped to him so fast there was an audible crick in her spine. "I'm studying to be an engineer, specialising in planes and helicopters. I'm also working towards getting my pilot's license."
A small smile was playing about her lips, and there was genuine curiosity in her face. "Well how about that." Then she settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. "Just so long as you never make me fly in a plane with you until you've been thoroughly tested."
"Where is the faith?"
She laughed. He'd found that he liked her laugh, clear and musical, much like her voice, except her laugh wasn't use to spout mindless profanity within earshot of children. It was elusive and rare, but it was wonderful to hear.
Once she stopped laughing, she asked solemnly, "But this obsession with planes. . . it isn't new?"
He creased his brow. "No. I've had it since I was a little kid. Why?"
Her right hand came up to rub her bicep. "Well, I just thought that recent events might have influenced it slightly."
Recent events. . . Oh.
Voice hoarse, he said, "It's got nothing to do with Lyria. Or the way she died." The look Aelin gave him told him exactly how much she believed that. "It's true!" He swallowed. "Maybe it influenced it slightly, what with the plane malfunctioning and all. I just want to build and design planes that are easy for competent pilots to operate. Is that so wrong?"
She studied him for a moment. Her gaze was intense, the sort of look he hadn't seen her muster since he first spoke to her. It stripped him bare. "No," she said finally. "There's nothing wrong with that at all."
It was chaos in the airport once the plane landed. Wendlyn was much warmer than Adarlan, and whilst Rowan had been prepared for the heat with a quick change of summer clothes in his knapsack, judging by Aelin's grumbling, she'd done nothing of the sort, and was apparently being boiled alive.
"You could have at least warned me that Wendlyn was like the inside of a sauna," she grumbled. "All I have in my bag is long sleeved tops and jeans!"
Rowan laughed. "Don't worry," he assured her. "We're heading up into the mountains. Trust me, it's freezing up there, no matter how warm it is down here." He tossed his bag over his shoulder and steered Aelin away from the line to collect baggage; they were only staying for a few days, so they only needed a small bag to last them. "Speaking of which, the coach should be here soon."
She raised an eyebrow. "Coach? Other people are heading to your cousins' place?"
"No, but other people are going skiing, and the village that Enda and the likes live in is a short cable car trip over the mountain. You'll be glad for your warm clothes there; it's all covered in snow."
Aelin fixed him with a narrow eyed glare. "It's the middle of April."
"If you don't believe me, wait until you see the snow yourself."
They got on the coach with everyone else, and Aelin promptly dug around in her bag to pull out a book. "You'll get sick," Rowan immediately told her. She just stuck her tongue out at him. He smirked, and went to watch the scenery flash past.
Two and a half hours later, he took immense pleasure in saying, "I told you so."
"Oh, shut up," she grumbled back. "I don't get carsick."
"Clearly you do."
"I don't!"
"Forgive me if I don't believe you."
"I'll do no such thing." She glared, and at the teasing smile he shot her, released an exasperated breath.
He leaned forward. "Fine; I'll humour you. If you don't get carsick, why are you green?" Her hand flew to her face, and he amended. "Well, not green, but looking liable to throw up."
Her glare didn't recede. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Come on," he teased. He was in an oddly good mood, and he wanted to extend this conversation. A small voice in his head accused him of only showing interest so he didn't dwell on the inevitably awkward reunion awaiting him, but he shoved it away. "You're obviously sick. You actually put down your book, and you'd only read a few pages before you did. You were enthralled by it on the plane."
"I am not sick. They're just butterflies." She defended. "And I just hit an awkward part that I didn't want to force myself through at that particular moment."
"You're an awful liar." He told her, his face completely straight.
Her hand fluttered up to her heart. "Excuse me! I happen to be an excellent liar."
"No you're not. Every time you lie you go very very still." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he elaborated, "You're always moving. Whether you're tapping your fingers, or fidgeting in your seat, or fighting a smile, there is always movement. But whenever you start to deceive someone, you go absolutely still and silent, like you're an assassin or something." He sat back and shrugged. "It's not that hard to notice, if you bother to look."
The glare fell at that.
"If you bother to look," she mused.
"So you weren't kidding about the snow."
"Nope."
"And it's definitely the middle of April? We haven't jumped through a time loop or something?"
"Nope."
"Are you going to say 'Nope' in response to every question I have?"
"Yep."
Aelin flicked his nose without looking at him, and ended up catching his ear instead. "Smartass."
Rowan grinned. They were halfway up the mountain in a small cable car, and Aelin was enthralled by the view. She claimed she'd never been up so high, and Rowan knew that whilst Terrasen had mountains, Wendlyn's were far taller and the range was wider, so he found that easy to believe.
"I swear I've never seen anything like this view," she said. "The sky's like the world's been turned upside and we're staring at the underside of a lake, and the snow's been tossed over the mountains like a massive patchy blanket, with grass hills wearing holes in it."
Rowan raised his eyebrow at that. "You certainly missed your calling as a poet."
"I read a lot of books."
"Poetry books?"
"Whatever book I can get my hands on."
He was about to ask what the strangest book she'd ever read was, but then her attention was caught by a small black dot zooming down the mountain below them. Rowan watched the skier for a moment, as they crested a bump and shot down a particularly steep slope, and his breath hissed out between his teeth. Then the skier went over a jump and he actually started.
Aelin laughed out loud. "Are you scared for them?"
He gritted his teeth again. "It's a dangerous sport."
"I take it you've tried before, and it terrified you."
"I never understood Enda's fascination with hurtling down the side of a mountain." He admitted. "I did try, and promptly broke my leg. But he can do flips and three sixties and gods know what else."
"Does he do it for a living? I remember Ren was friends with a ski instructor in Terrasen. He said the basics of snowboarding are harder than skiing, but the more advanced you get the easier it is."
"Is that true?" She shrugged. "I never knew. I found them both impossible. But nah, Enda's my aunt's assistant. He monitors her investments and shit; I don't really understand what he does. But she disapproves of his hobby just as much as I do." As much as he hated to admit they had something in common, it was true. "She claims it will be too much bother for her to get a new assistant after he breaks his neck."
Aelin cringed. "She sounds absolutely heartless. Will she be there?"
"Unfortunately." Rowan admitted. A thought struck him. "Aedion tells me you know a client of hers? He's one of those politicians she endorses. Gavin?"
"Galan? Galan Ashryver?" She asked, and his face must have lit up in recognition, because her shoulders slumped. "Oh, him." Rowan didn't think he was imagining the contempt in her voice. "He's my cousin. And Aedion's." She raises an eyebrow. "But he's endorsed by... Maeve Queen." That same look of disgust he'd seen on Aedion's face crossed hers, their resemblance really was uncanny. "She's your aunt?"
"Unfortunately."
"And she'll be there?"
"Unfortunately."
"Will Galan? Will I have to talk to them?"
"Unfortunately."
"I'm getting a sense of déjà vu here." The dismay hadn't disappeared, but there was a smile in her voice. He laughed.
"I wonder why."
Aelin studied the slopes below them for a moment, then announced, "Skiing looks fun."
"Oh gods not you too."
The village Doranelle was directly next to the ski slope, much to Rowan's distaste, but it seemed to endlessly amuse Aelin. He knew that Enda only lived out here whenever Maeve decided to go off on one of her lavish holidays, so he wasn't expected to work with her in Varese, but for some reason Maeve had decided to accompany him here this time, so Rowan had to suffer through her presence on his errant visit. He wondered if Aelin could tell that his slow walk was an attempt to evade the inevitable.
Aelin's eyes were wistful as she looked around the snowy town, and he wondered what she saw when he looked at it, if she saw the same thing as him: a quaint little postcard village with outdated architecture and over reliance on tourism. (Not that he would ever tell his cousin that particular opinion about his hovel; this place was Enda's whole world.) But the look on her face suggested fairly strongly that she didn't.
"What is it?" He asked, when she looked at him oddly.
She was quiet for a moment, then said, "It smells like pine and snow."
He had no idea what that meant, but he didn't want to ask.
"This is his place," Rowan said, just to break the silence that had befallen them. They passed by a small cafe where the last few dregs of winter tourists were visible through the frosted glass windows having their lunch. Beside him, Aelin sneezed as a snowflake landed on her nose.
He stepped up to the door and used the frozen iron knocker to bang on the wood three times, even though footsteps were sounding behind the door by the second knock. It swung open inward, to reveal the beaming face of Endymion Whitethorn.
"Rowan!" His cousin grinned, the green in his eyes temporarily washing out the brown flecks. He wore his long silver hair back in a ponytail, the way Rowan used to before he decided long hair was more bother than it was worth. "You're actually here." There was accusation in his voice, but enough joy to temper it.
"I am," Rowan replied, and despite his usual standoffish demeanour, he went into his cousin's offered hug wholeheartedly, holding him a bit tighter than usual. "I missed you." He said. It wasn't a lie.
"Could've fooled me," Enda replied gruffly, but his grassy eyes gleamed. He'd always been good at reading people, and Rowan knew his cousin knew he'd meant what he said. Then those eyes slid over Rowan's shoulder, to where Aelin still hovered in the doorway, shivering against the cold. "Come in," his cousin assured her, then stuck his hand out, the picture of courtesy. "I'm Enda."
Aelin took it gratefully, and somehow managed to muster a polite smile that lacked her usual sarcasm or bitterness. Rowan was tempted to gape. "I'm Aelin, Rowan's friend."
"Pleasure to meet you, Aelin. I'm glad grumpy-guts over here didn't make the trip on his own." The woman's eyes sparked at that, the gold writhing like a living flame as she cast a sly glance at Rowan.
"I agree," she said solemnly, but with a slight smile twitching about her lips. Rowan saw Enda saw this, and respond with a smile of his own. "Rowan tells me you enjoy skiing?" She asked, and he groaned. Her smile widened as she ignored him and said, "It looks like a lot of fun. I'd love for you to tell me about it."
Enda wasn't even trying to hide his laughter. "I'd love to. Why don't you two come through to the living room, and we can stop standing on ceremony." Then, to Rowan, he added, "Sellene's here. She's got a few choice words for your lack of communication."
Rowan winced. His youngest cousin, Sellene, was as good at observing people as Enda, but she also wielded words as her weapons, and her lectures were famous amongst the Whitethorns.
"Is she here?" Rowan had to ask as they moved inexorably forward. Enda's silent cringe was answer enough.
They stepped into the room, and Rowan sensed more than saw Aelin suddenly linger by the door, her eyes going straight to the brown haired man standing next to his aunt. Rowan made an effort not to look at them, instead letting his eyes land on Sellene first, and the cunning little razor smile she tossed him. Then his eyes moved onto Maeve, in all her dark haired, violet eyed glory, and her client standing next to her, whose ruddy skin had gone a sickly colour at the sight of Aelin.
Enda cleared his throat. "Everyone, this is Rowan's friend-"
"Aelin Ashryver Galathynius," Maeve mused. "You look so much like your mother did before she died."
Aelin flinched. Enda gaped between Galan and her, finally seeing the resemblance in those unusual eyes. Maeve kept her serene, smug expression. Galan flushed an ugly red and looked suspiciously guilty. Rowan was left hovering in the middle of the room, unsure where to go.
He awkwardly put a hand on Aelin's shoulder. She didn't shake it off, but she didn't welcome the contact either.
Instead she mustered a smile to give her cousin. "Hi, Galan. It's been a while."
The flush receded slightly, until it just curled around his neck like a scarf. "Indeed it has. How are you?"
She rubbed her bicep. "Fine."
Her cousin still looked slightly ill, but he steeled his spine and asked, "Could I talk to you outside?"
Aelin just nodded. Rowan gave her a lingering look, but she glared at him, and he turned to make a beeline for his youngest cousin; judging by that look, it would be better to face Sellene's lecture than whatever Aelin would say to him if he tried to impose himself.
In the moment before Sellene brushed her silver hair out of her face and launched into her speech, Rowan looked up to see Maeve watching him. A small smile played on her ruby lips.
Aelin had been uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the trip, and Rowan was just about ready to jump out of his skin by the time they were boarding the coach again to drive back to the airport. When he finally got up the courage to ask her about her conversation with Galan, whilst they were on the cable car, she'd explained the situation.
"My parents contracted a disease over ten years ago, and I was sent away to live with Elide for a few weeks. They contacted my mother's brother, Galan's dad, who owned a medical research lab, and asked him to look into acquiring the cure for them. He said he would, as soon as he'd finished with all the paperwork that had accumulated. They asked him to do it immediately, suspecting it was fatal, but he refused. He didn't find a cure in time, and my parents were dead within the week." She'd shrugged. "Galan was just apologising."
But there was another encounter that was haunting his mind. Just before they'd left, Maeve had leaned over and grasped Aelin's wrist, using her few moments of seized time to whisper something in her ear, before letting go, and sashaying away, leaving a stricken Aelin in her wake.
Now, Aelin broke the heavy silence by saying, "I know what Nehemia asked you to convince me to do. And I know that whatever you say, my mind is made up now. I know what I want to do, and it won't change."
"Even if it's the smartest thing to do?" He dared ask, but she made it clear the conversation was over by burrowing around in her bag and pulling out a book.
"You'll get travel sick again," he warned with a half laugh. Anything to get rid of the awkward silence. "You can't read on a coach."
"I can and I will," she replied resolutely. Almost emotionlessly. From such a passionate woman, it unnerved him. "I told you: I don't get travel sick.".
"Then why were you ill on the way up?" Rowan asked. "And don't say you don't know, because it's pretty obvious you do."
She was silent for a very long time as she stared at the book, but her eyes remained stagnant on the page. Just when Rowan thought she would ignore the question, she spoke.
"Butterflies," was all she said, then she turned the page, and would say no more.