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CHAPTER 8:

Four days later…

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Silence.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Silence.

A sigh.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Silence.

A whimper. "Mama? Are you awake?"

Rhoe sought out the single burning fire over his shoulder as he waited. The room pulsed around him eerily in the unusual dimness. Radiating an emptiness. A lack of life.

Another tiny whimper left him as he folded his arms around his middle. His senses battling between the assuring scent of his mother and a strong coppery tang. He backed up a few steps. Now he wished had brought Ribbit down with him. Or Fenrys… but definitely Ribbit.

He looked between the box and the door, considering. Maybe getting Ribbit now and coming back down again would be a good idea… maybe his mother would be awake then too. Hopefully. He walked back up to the box. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he leaned against it and whispered, "I'm gonna go get my Ribbit. I'll be right back, mama."

He pushed himself off and raced out the door and down the hall only to slam to a stop at the sight before him—Three strange cloaked males stood in the shadows of a stairwell. Firelight glinted off all of the blades in their hands. One of them held a long dagger against a fourth male's throat—Connall's throat.

Heart pounding against his rib cage, Rhoe quickly tucked himself behind the archway. Peeking out just enough to see.

Connall's arm hovered over the knife at his belt, held immobile by one of the strange males at his side.

Rhoe had to strain to pick up the dangerously low voice of the male with the blade against Connall's neck. The male breathed, "Where is my wife?"

"You know I can't be of any aid. Maeve's orders. But—," Connall's face tightened as though in pain. "—don't let me bl-block your path."

The hood covering the male's head behind Connall's lifted toward the hall ahead of them.

Rhoe wasn't sure if they'd seen him but as soon as the male looked back to Connall, he spun on his heel, rushing back into his mother's room. Spurred on by the sound of a single muffled blow.

Panicked breaths labored out of him. He needed to hide. Right now. He turned his head frantically, searching. The intruders neared and Rhoe's eyes landed on the worn cupboard against the wall. He hurried over to it and flung the door open. It was low enough that he had to crouch. Pushing some dusty books to the side as he crawled in. He pulled the light cabinet door closed just as they entered. Hoping they hadn't seen him.

The three concealed warriors shared a confused look as they stepped into the ominous cell; witnessing the green cupboard's lower panel hastily shut.

The leader of the group tilted his head toward the furnishing. The male on his left followed the command. Without direction, the one on his right stayed in the doorway, on lookout. The leader set his sights on the iron coffin in the back. Stalking soundlessly toward it, deadly blade still out.

The scent of his mate strengthened as he approached. Over five years. Over five years he'd longed for this moment. To scent her again, to have found her. But it wasn't the time to celebrate just yet. Not when his stomach churned at the entwined overwhelming smell of her blood and other elements that coated her. She was hurt. How badly, he didn't know. He clung to the fact that he could still feel that their bond held intact, but it was weak. Meaning she was… was close to…

He set his jaw and let his fear fuel him as he sent a hard gust of his magic into the sarcophagus' lock. Ensuring it broke from the inside out entirely. In passing, he noticed a layer of additional, uneven, iron was messily welded over a portion of the lid. As though something, or someone, had destroyed the original. Maybe he'd hear the story someday… he wasn't really sure he wanted to.

Getting a firm hold on the solid covering, Rowan wrenched the cursed box open. Letting it drop back onto its hinges resolutely. His heart lurched.

The severe injuries, made visible by her nakedness, were hard to distinguish from each other. Where one ended the other had already begun. Blood and body waste pooled around, under, her. There were teeth marks, deep scratches, countless bruises of every shade, other bodily fluids, wide inflamed gashes, hallows of missing flesh, and some bones that lay at wrong angles. He could hardly comprehend how extremely gaunt she was now, so different from the full, fit, healthy figure he'd remembered. Sturdy thick restraints secured almost her entire form, head to toe. The well-crafted, horrible, mask he'd been told about also covered her face. He dismissed its presence, just for the moment, and reached an unsteady hand down. Resting his palm where her cheek lay beneath.

He sank to a knee; sob shuddering out. Her name danced across his lips silently. He'd found her. Alive.

He slid his hand down to her neck, seeking out her pulse point. Just to assure himself since he could hear and see the weak, struggling breaths coming from her. Breathing, his wife was still breathing. Heart still beating. Here. In front of him. He sniffed wetly. "Aelin," He called quietly through his tears, reaching up to stroke her tangled, blood-crusted, golden locks. He needed to see her eyes, hear her voice. Really assure him this was real and not another dream that would end. He called a bit louder when she didn't stir, "Aelin."

He wasn't sure if it was her condition alone or maybe some substance that kept her from rising to consciousness. Either way, Rowan had to accept that he would have to wait to fully reunite with his mate. The prince stood back over the box and drew a thin knife from his sleeve. Sheathing his dagger, he got to work on the shackles.

A startled yelp rang from the cupboard at the front of the room as Gavriel drew it open. The sword in the Lion's hand slipped slightly in his shock.

The clattering and quiet curses coming from Rowan's frustrated efforts continued while Gavriel gaped and fumbled for a moment to make his voice work. "Rowan," He managed to call eventually.

Concentrating his magic on his queen's unrelenting binds, he growled, "What?"

Gavriel said, unable to take his eyes off the child, "You need to see this."

From his spot at the door, Lorcan looked past the Lion to the little figure in the cupboard. He took in a sharp breath and exclaimed, "Impossible."

Rowan succeeded in breaking the anchor's holds but dropped the indestructible irons from his hands. He stood glaring at them, thinking. They had to come undone. For every lock there was a key. And very few locks could hold up to picking, let alone magic. He knew there had to be something.

Stepping away, he continued to work the puzzle over in his mind. He walked over to his comrade, aggravated at the interruption, "What's so urgent—?" Since Rowan had begun to use his magic in battle, he had stolen the air from the lungs of numerous people. But for the first time it was though his magic turned on himself and thoroughly ripped his own breath away.

Because a young male, no more than five, stared back at him with two little blue eyes ringed with gold. They were enlarged by his fear, and peered through a few strands of his silky silver hair. Set between those unique eyes was a smaller version of the nose Rowan caught a glimpse of every time he looked in a mirror. Not trusting his eyes, he inhaled the child's scent and the confirmation sent him staggering back a few steps. This couldn't be true. He couldn't possibly be—

Drawing his knees tighter to his chest, the child looked between the pair of strangers. He asked meekly, "Who are you?"

Gavriel glanced to Rowan. When the silence began to drag on too long, he answered for him, "We're friends. I'm Gavriel, that's Lorcan over there, and this is Rowan." Gavriel's smile was bittersweet as he nodded to his speechless friend. "He's your—."

Recognition lit up his sweet face at Rowan's name, emboldening him to scoot out of his hiding spot. He gushed, "I know you! Mama told me lots about you! You're from my storybook!"

Rowan's throat bobbed and he struggled to blink away the moisture gathered in his eyes. He couldn't believe this was real. A large part of him hated himself because it was. This was real, which meant… when they took her, Aelin had been… oh gods.

He slowly lowered himself down to the child's height, resting back on his heels. Throat too tight to properly swallow. The child looked on expectantly for some response. Gazing at him like some kind of hero. Right then he felt more like the villain. What he had missed… what he had left her— left both of them— to go through…

What was he even supposed to say? He didn't even know anything about him, they were perfect strangers… Clearing his throat he asked softly, "What's your name?"

"Rhoe." He answered a bit bashfully, fidgeting with the bottom of his bright green tunic.

Rhoe. Her father's name. Rowan felt the corners of his mouth twitch; it fit him well. Lifting his hand to smooth the hair out of Rhoe's eyes, Rowan breathed, "Rhoe…" He couldn't take him in fast enough. He was the best blend of he and Aelin, with some of his own individual traits mixed in. He was wonderful. Although he knew his rough calculations were correct, still he inquired, "How old are you?"

The hair flopped out from under Rowan's touch as Rhoe looked down to his fingers. He counted them out in a loud whisper to himself then answered holding up four digits, "I'm this many!" He tilted his head in contemplation and asked curiously, "How old are you?"

Gavriel guffawed and said, "He's a lot many."

Lorcan's voice carried over to their group, "You're one to talk."

Their banter continued but Rowan held still as Rhoe came closer. He stood between the older prince's knees, reaching up to lightly trace the scrolling tattoo down his face and neck in fascination. "You're my papa?"

Rowan nodded stiffly, speechless in amazement.

Rhoe said puzzled, "But… you're not a buzzard…?"

A nervous laugh puffed out of the newfound father, "Not always."

Hesitantly, carefully, Rowan wrapped the child in a gentle embrace. He glanced up at Gavriel and saw his awe and pain reflected back in his gaze before allowing his eyes to flutter shut. Rhoe. His son.

Rowan pulled back after too-short a moment. A touch of uncertainty lingered on his child's otherwise glowing face. His brilliant eyes stared up at him. Aelin's eyes.

Rowan shook himself slightly out of his stupor, and looked back at the opened iron box. It's sole occupant still waiting inside. He turned back as Rhoe asked him, looking where he had previously, "Is mama still sleeping?"

"Yes," Rowan got to his feet and strode back over to her, "and she can keep sleeping, but on the way." He unfastened his cloak from around his shoulders and reached down to wrap her in it.

Rhoe came up beside him, little hands trying to pull himself up by the box's edge to see. Questions began flying at him so fast he could barely keep up, "Why?"

"Because we're leaving."

"You're leaving?"

"Yes."

"Where're you going?"

Rowan slid his arms under Aelin, mindful of her injuries, "Home."

"Who's home?"

"Your mama's home." Rowan lifted her out, shifting his arm up to settle her neck in the crook of his elbow as her head lolled. Wincing at the sturdy clanking of the chains still binding her form. Once out of here, he vowed to himself. As soon as it was safe to stop, he'd remove the infernal things for good.

"When are you going?"

"Right now."

Rhoe stood wide-eyed and begun to tremble as he looked between his parents, "Are you leaving me?"

Rowan stopped short in surprise at the question, peering down over the queen in his arms.

Fear of abandonment written over every inch of the young one. But also, an almost acceptance.

His heart cracked further. Oh, he would make everyone in this castle suffer for putting his wife and child through all they'd endured. Rowan forced his tone to remain soothing despite the strength behind his response, promising, "Never."

"Come on, little one." Gavriel said, bending over and scooping Rhoe up without further preamble. They followed Lorcan and Rowan out of the cell, cautiously exiting through the halls the same way they entered. Gavriel covered Rhoe's eyes when they came upon the few guards they'd had to fell earlier.

Silence reigned among their group until a distressed call broke out, "Wait!"

The warriors flinched, shushing the child as they listened for any signs someone had been alerted to their presence. Rowan looked back at Rhoe, frowning, "What is it?"

Rhoe squirmed in Gavriel's hold to get down saying, "I have to get Ribbit. We can't leave him!"

"Who's Ribbit?" Rowan asked.

"My frog! He's my friend! Put me down please," Rhoe said still squirming.

But to Rhoe's dismay, the Lion did no such thing and instead they all began walking again.

His father said over his shoulder, "We'll come back for him later."

Their pace then hurried as the four-year-old's bottom lip wavered and the tears began. At the deep breath that was sucked down, Gavriel's expression slackened in dread. He quickly, but gently, pressed the child's face into his shoulder. All of them bracing before the first muffled wail left Rhoe pitifully.

By the time they reached the glen where Elide waited for them, Rhoe had cried himself dry—and though still noticeably sad about his frog—was looking around curiously at the nature surrounding them.

Elide rushed up to meet them as they entered but stopped. Hands darting to cover her mouth. Eyes alight with grief as she beheld her queen's limp body in Rowan's arms concealed by the cloak. The dark-haired Lady searched all of their faces, forcing herself to ask, "Is she—?"

To her relief, Rowan shook his head. Answering swiftly, "No. She's just unconscious. But she's—" He looked over his shoulder to the adorable child Elide now noticed in Gavriel's arms, who was listening closely. "We need to leave. Immediately."

Elide nodded, collecting herself with a limping step backwards, "Right. Are the mountains still our best bet?"

Lorcan and Gavriel spoke up discussing the best logistical course. Rowan tuned them out though as a hand of twigs formed around a rock caught his attention over Elide's shoulder. It beckoned with a wave as if calling. The little folk.

Rowan interrupted the mounting argument, gesturing with a nod of his head, "I think they may have a better idea."

A/N: Ahhhh, rescueddddd. Hope everyone's happy :) I'm exhausted. Chapter nine will be up... when it's up haha. Just a friendly reminder that none of these chapters were part of my original plan. This is all just the back story. The main focus for me in this story will be from about chapter 12 on. But we're getting close! Thank you every one for your continued support and comments. You're the greatest. Until next time ~V