Rowan didn't try and stop the princess as she turned and disappeared into the trees.
Rowan's POV:
Rowan stood in the clearing, listening to Aelin's footsteps fade as she crashed through the trees, the words she'd screamed at him playing on repeat in his head.
Her scent lingered, and for a moment all Rowan could smell was burnt wood and cracklings embers. He could still taste her blood on his tongue, and an instinctual urge to follow her tugged at him, but his feet didn't seem to want to move.
He wanted to believe it was because he didn't care, because Aelin had finally proven him right that she was nothing but a spoiled, arrogant girl who had abandoned her people for her own selfish reasons. But...
Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life!
Why couldn't he let those words go? Because they were an echo of the insults he'd spat at her these past weeks? Or because it reminded him of his own grief and self-loathing? That pain, the pure anguish he'd seen on Aelin's face, was a cruel imitation of what he'd buried under a wall of ice inside his heart.
Still, why should Rowan care? The princess had been nothing but disrespectful since she'd arrived. She'd made it clear neither of them owed each other anything. He should be thrilled to be rid of her, should already be preparing for his return to Doranelle, and yet Rowan couldn't shake the feeling that letting Aelin leave was a mistake. Yes, Maeve wanted her, but it was more than that. He'd let his emotions get the better of him, had allowed the princess to get under his skin.
He was going to regret this.
In a flash of light, Rowan shifted. Even once he'd flown above the tree line, he still couldn't see her. Rowan ruffled his feathers, trying to shake off the twinge of guilt he felt.
He'd taken it too far. That much was clear.
Once he found Aelin, perhaps he'd consider apologizing. After he kicked her ass.
•••
In the end, it was Aelin's own stupidity that allowed him to find her. He'd been scanning the trees for any sign of her, a task made harder by the rain that had begun to fall, when he'd seen a tendril of smoke curling up into the sky.
Damn her. Had she actually been foolish enough to light a fire?
Letting out a squawk of irritation, Rowan swooped down until he was flying above the trees. Then, he saw her. A small figure, wrapped in a cloak underneath a rocky overhang on the side of the hill. Inconspicuous enough, if not for the fire at her feet that was an invitation to be found and eaten by anything within a five mile radius. Rowan almost turned around, resigned to leaving the girl to her fate, but there was still that irritating urge telling him to stay. The bond, he told himself. Maeve's will not allowing him to leave her little experiment to die.
With another ruffle of his feathers, Rowan flew down and perched on a branch. The light drizzle from before had turned into an all out downpour. Despite the rain, Aelin's fire continued to burn, and eventually she wrapped her cloak around herself and fell asleep. Rowan felt exhaustion tugging at the edges of his consciousness, and wondered if he should head back to the fortress. The fire had been burning for hours. Perhaps the girl was lucky and none of the creatures lurking in the woods had seen it.
Just as the thought had crossed Rowan's mind, the forest went silent. A moment later, a familiar scent filled the air and his blood went cold. The girl's fire still burned, the rain still fell, but something was... off.
Apparently, Aelin had felt the change in the air as well. She was on her feet, a makeshift wooden dagger in each hand. She doused the fire and had just slipped back into the trees when Rowan saw them.
Skinwalkers. Three of them, lurking around the cave Aelin had just abandoned.
Damn her.
There were few things that frightened Rowan in his immortal existence, but a run-in with skinwalkers wasn't his idea of fun. He could smell Aelin, sense her moving closer to him through the trees. At least she had the good sense to stay quiet.
Rowan prepared to shift, ready to find Aelin and head back to the fortress before the skinwalkers caught their scent, but when he looked back at the cave they were gone.
Their horrid scent lingered though, a sickening combination of carrion and old leather. They'd caught her scent, which meant he had minutes before they found her and tore her limb from limb. He shifted, diving into the trees where he landed on the damp forest floor without a sound.
Rowan lifted his head and sniffed, trying to locate Aelin's scent through the overpowering stench of the skinwalkers. He heard her then, gasping for breath as she sprinted through the woods. Stupid girl. There was no hope of outrunning them, not in her mortal body, and not in these woods. Their woods.
Rowan broke into a run, working the winds to keep his scent from reaching the skinwalkers. He could hear Aelin, stumbling as she made her way down the hill. He had to admit, she was fast for a mortal. He saw her then, reaching to swing herself around a tree, just when he sensed the skinwalkers closing in.
Rowan let out a burst of speed, intercepting Aelin as she vaulted around the tree. Her body slammed into his, and as if in slow motion she attempted to strike him with her pathetic excuse for weapons. His stopped her mid-swing as he wrapped his hands around her wrists and squeezed, hard enough to cause her grip on the wooden daggers to falter. Aelin twisted, bringing her foot up towards Rowan's face. He bared his teeth, preparing to bite her despite his earlier promises, but Aelin froze before he could.
The footsteps were louder now, coming from the top of the hill. Rowan didn't bother to explain as he grabbed Aelin and crushed her against him, pulling them into the trunk of a hollowed-out tree. He sent a current of wind to carry their scents down the hill and the approaching footsteps halted as the skinwalkers searched for their prey. Rowan loosed a breath, sparing Aelin a look. Her face shone with sweat, her breath a series of rapid pants despite her desperate attempts to keep quiet.
Rowan loosened his grip, his hands settling on Aelin's shoulders as he pulled her back so she was pressed against his chest. "You are going to listen to every word I say," he murmured into her ear. "Or else you are going to die tonight. Do you understand?"
She nodded, and Rowan drew his sword and hatchet. The stench of death reached their tree, and he sent another gust of wind to ward it's carriers off.
"Your survival depends entirely on you," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "You need to shift now, or your mortal slowness will kill you."
Aelin went utterly still, and Rowan felt the air thicken as she reached for her power. The shriek of the skinwalkers sharpening their blades reached their ears through the pounding rain. Aelin froze again, this time out of fear. "Your magic–"
The words were barely out of her mouth when Rowan interrupted her. "They do not breathe, so they have no airways to cut off. Ice would slow them down, not stop them. My wind is already blowing our scent away from them, but not for long. Shift, Aelin."
It wasn't a ploy to force her into shifting. Rowan's affinity for ice and wind wouldn't be enough to fight them, but perhaps Aelin's fire was. It would have to be.
Lightning flashed, illuminating Aelin's drawn face as she struggled to shift. Still, he could see it– the urge to survive steadily growing in her eyes. "We are going to have to run in a moment," he told her. "What form you take when we do will determine our fates. So breathe, and shift."
Aelin shut her eyes, her breathing slowing and steadying despite the frantic pounding of her heart. Rowan sent a cool breeze to wrap around her, and her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It happened then, faster than he'd anticipated, and Rowan cursed and pressed himself against Aelin to conceal the flash of light she admitted as she shifted. He watched as her ears became pointed, the soft glow of Fae immortality appearing beneath her pale skin. Aelin's nostrils flared and then she was clamping her hands over her mouth to stop herself from retching as the full stench of the skinwalkers hit her. Rowan had forgotten how dull human senses were compared to Fae ones, though at least Aelin could now sense the skinwalkers like he could.
Rowan could hear their footsteps over the rain, the unhurried pace that came with the surety of immortality. The skinwalkers were hungry, but part of the thrill for them was the chase.
"There are two of them now," hissed a crackling, inhumane voice. "A Fae male joined the female. I want him– he smells of storm winds and steel."
Even Rowan shuddered at the the sound of that voice, rasping and filled with the promise of death.
"The female we'll bring back with us, dawns too close," said the second voice. "Then we can take our time peeling her apart."
Rowan suppressed the growl that threatened to escape at that comment. Even though Aelin was a pain in his ass, the idea of the skinwalkers peeling her apart didn't sit well with him.
Rowan leaned away from Aelin and listened. "There is a swift river a third of a mile east, at the base of a large cliff," he told her, drawing two daggers from their sheaths and handing them to her. She took them, gripping the ivory handles hard enough that her knuckles turned white. "When I say run, you run like hell. Step where I step and don't turn around for any reason. If we are separated, run straight. You'll hear the river."
Rowan made sure his voice was steady and betrayed no emotion, the tone he would use to address soldiers on the battlefield. Aelin's eyes filled with determination, though there was still an underlying prickle of fear in her gaze. Rowan risked a glance out of the tree, resisting the urge to gag at the smell.
"If they catch you, you cannot kill them. Not with a mortal weapon. Your best option is to fight until you can get free and run. Understand?" She nodded again. "On my mark," he said, sinking back onto his haunches and preparing to run.
And not a moment too soon.
"Come out, come out," hissed the skinwalkers, so close it felt like they were whispering in his ear. Rowan sent another gust of wind carrying their scent through the trees and they changed course, determined to catch their prey.
"Now," he hissed, sprinting from the tree. Rowan could hear Aelin crashing through the woods behind him, lacking the immortal grace he'd acquired after centuries of practice. If he could sense her, the skinwalkers could too. With a growl of reluctance, he slowed his pace to allow Aelin to catch up.
She stumbled, but Rowan caught her by the elbow and yanked her to her feet before she could hit the ground. "Faster," he growled, releasing her once she found her footing.
Rowan didn't notice the skinwalker until it was on top of him. Aelin's scream was the only warning. He ducked, spinning away from the creature and slicing through the air with his hatchet, severing it in two within seconds. It should buy them some time, if only while the fallen skinwalker stitched itself back together. As is was, it's remains were already beginning to pull towards each other.
Still, Rowan didn't stop. Aelin was at his heels now, the enraged shrieks of the skinwalkers as they beheld their slain kin no doubt motivating her to move faster.
They reached the cliff a moment later, and Rowan threw himself over the and towards the river below. He didn't bother to check whether Aelin had followed.
He felt her go over the edge moments later, followed by a shout of "Shift!" he barely registered in time. Rowan shifted, just as he was hit by a wall of heat that sent him spinning out of control.
He glanced back in time to see the skinwalkers incinerate themselves in an explosion of blue wildfire.
•••
Rowan was standing on the riverbank, focused on the tedious task of extinguishing the remaining fires caused by Aelin's explosion. While her flames had prevented the skinwalkers from following them into the river, they had also burned quite a few of the surroundings trees.
Aelin was sitting on the riverbank, drenched and shivering from the frigid river water. She wrapped her arms around herself, and her voice shook as she asked, "Can you put it out?"
"You could if you tried," Rowan said. If she ever was able to fully control her powers, extinguishing the flames should be as easy as conjuring them.
Aelin didn't respond, her gaze remaining locked on the damp, cold ground.
Rowan sighed. "I'm almost done," he said, snuffing out the last of the flames. "We don't need something else attracted to your fires."
Perhaps the jibe was uncalled for, but the princess deserved it for being foolish enough to light a fire in the middle of the woods at night. He'd warned her about the skinwalkers, she'd just been too self-involved to remember.
Still, Aelin was silent. There was no taunt or dig or insult in response to his criticism, and when she spoke her voice was quiet. "Why is my shifting so vital?"
She'd asked the same question a million times, but something about her voice and the vacant, worn expression on her face made him answer honestly. "Because it terrifies you. Mastering it is the first step toward learning to control your power. Without that control, you could have easily burnt yourself out with a blast like that."
"What do you mean?"
"When you access your power, what does it feel like?"
Aelin cocked her head, considering. "A well," she said after a moment. "The magic feels like a well."
"Have you felt the bottom of it?"
"Is there a bottom?" He heard it then, the desperation and curiosity in her voice. She'd been thinking about it, then. How far, how deep her power went.
""All magic has a bottom– a breaking point. For those with weaker gifts, it's easily depleted and easily refilled. They can access most of their power at once. But for those with stronger gifts, it can take hours to hit the bottom, to summon their powers at full strength."
"How long does it take you?"
"A full day," he said, watching Aelin's body jolt in response. "Before battle, we take the time, so that when we walk onto the killing field we can be at our strongest. You can do other things at the same time, but some part of you is down in there, pulling up more and more, until you reach the bottom."
"And when you pull it all out, it just—releases in some giant wave?"
"If I want it to. I can release it in smaller bursts, and go on for a while. But it can be hard to hold it back. People sometimes can't tell friend from foe when they're handling that much magic."
Aelin's eyes darted to the ring on her finger, and her gaze shuttered. "How long does it take you to recover?"
"Days. A week, depending on how I used the power and whether I drained every last drop. Some make the mistake of trying to take more before they're ready, or holding on for too long, and they either burn out their minds or just burn up altogether. Your shaking isn't just from the river, you know. It's your body's way of telling you not to do that again."
"Because of the iron in our blood pushing against the magic?"
"That's how our enemies will sometimes try to fight against us if they don't have magic— iron everything."
Aelin's eyebrows rose, curiosity replacing the haunted look on her face. Perhaps that was what made Rowan continue.
"I was captured once," he said.
Aelin's head snapped up.
"While on a campaign in the east, in a kingdom that doesn't exist anymore. They had me shackled head to toe in iron to keep me from choking the air out of their lungs."
She eyed him for a moment, then let out a low whistle. Then: "Were you tortured?"
"Two weeks on their tables before my men rescued me," Rowan said, unbuckling his vambrace and rolling back his sleeve to reveal the thick scar that curved around his right arm and elbow. "Cut me open bit by bit, then took the bones here and-"
"I can see very well what happened, and know exactly how it's done," Aelin snapped, her voice cold and hard. It was different than the tone she used when discussing the ring on her finger, the lover she'd left behind. No... this wound was deeper.
"Was it you? Or someone else?" Rowan asked, careful to keep his voice low.
"I was too late," Aelin murmured. "He didn't survive."
For a second, the wind roared in Rowan's ears and all he could hear was Lyria's screams. He hadn't been able to save her either.
"Thank you for saving me."
The words, quiet and hoarse, shook the memories hold on him.
Rowan shrugged. "I am bound by an unbreakable blood oath to my Queen, so I had no choice but to ensure you didn't die."
It was partially true. The pull that had caused him to follow Aelin was different than the irresistible tug of the blood bond, different than the instinctual urge to protect that lied in all Fae males. He wasn't about to tell her that though.
But Aelin deflated slightly, her shoulders sagging, and Rowan said, "But, I would not have left anyone to a fate at the hands of the skinwalkers."
"A warning would have been nice," she snapped.
"I said they were on the loose– weeks ago. But even if I'd warned you today you would not have listened."
There was no argument from Aelin, who shivered and shifted in a flash of light. Instantly, her shivering doubled as her mortal form felt the cold burn of the river.
"What was the trigger when you shifted earlier?" Rowan asked.
Aelin rubbed her arms, trying to coax warmth back into her frozen limbs. "It was nothing," she said. A beat of silence followed, filled with the roaring of the river.
Aelin looked at him, and whatever she saw in his gaze made her continue. "Let's just say it was fear and necessity and impressively deep rooted survival skills."
Rowan considered that for a moment. Maybe it was as simple as a deep rooted survival instinct, but he didn't think so. It had been just as necessary to shift and use her magic at the barrow fields, but she hadn't. Something had changed.
"You didn't lose control immediately upon shifting," he said. "When you finally used your magic your clothes didn't burn. Neither did your hair. And the daggers didn't melt."
At that thought, Rowan reached out and grabbed his daggers from their place beside Aelin. She scoffed, but he pushed. "Why was it different this time?"
It was quiet, and then... "Because I didn't want you to die to save me."
Aelin said it sheepishly, as if she were ashamed. She'd been tracing a line in the mud with her boot, but her eyes rose to meet his.
"Would you have shifted to save yourself?" Rowan asked.
"Your opinion of me is pretty much identical to my own, so you know the answer," Aelin said, her gaze returning to the mud.
Why don't I just give you the lashing you deserve?
You would probably have been more useful to the world if you'd actually died ten years ago.
Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life!
The words were playing on repeat in his head, and a sliver of some old emotion lodged itself in his gut. Guilt.
"You're not leaving," he said, his tone the same as when he'd commanded her to shift earlier. Firm, unyielding. The voice of a commander. "I'm not letting you off double duty in the kitchens, but you're not leaving."
Aelin eyes met his, shock filling the pools of faded blue. "Why?"
He unfastened his cloak, tossing her it along with his jacket. "Because I said so, that's why."
Aelin looked like she might argue, but then she stared at the cloak and jacket at her feet and wrapped them around her shivering form.
And when Rowan turned to go back to the fortress, she followed.
So... it's been a bit. I'm slowly working on updating this fic, and then maybe I'll start writing new content soon. I'm starting my junior year of high school, so no promises, but I haven't given up on this fic yet. Thank you for all the continued love and support.
UPDATED: 8/19/19