Rowan turned the dagger over and over in his hands, the moonlight glinting off the steel. The others were silent, asleep. Rowan was on night watch. They hadn't objected when he said he would stay awake for the second night in a row. The raw fury in his eyes had been enough to convince them that anyone or anything that came near them would end up with its bowels spilled on the ground.
He kept turning the dagger.
His companions were so still they looked almost dead, and both slept with weapons in their hands - Lorcan with his huge sword, Gavriel with an ornate, honed dagger. If Fenrys were with them, he would have his bow in one hand and a barbed arrow in the other, but he had been taken back to Wendlyn with Maeve.
Maeve.
He had engraved her name on the blade in his hands, as a reminder to keep the hatred in him burning hot. When they found Aelin, he would spend a long, long time collecting the Dark Queen's debt of pain, and then he would hand the dagger to his mate and watch as she buried it in Maeve's chest.
The moonlight glinted off the name scratched in the steel every time he turned it over.
Maeve Maeve Maeve.
Maeve the Dark Queen. Maeve the Ruler of Doranelle. Maeve the bitch that had taken his wife and put her in an iron coffin, wearing an iron mask with iron chains wrapped around her. Gavriel and Lorcan had told him everything, and afterward Rowan had blown a crater in the dry, dusty ground. But even that hadn't been enough. Nothing would be enough, nothing would ever be enough until his queen, his mate, his wife was safe in his arms and Maeve was dead and gone.
He wouldn't burn her body, nor bury it. He would leave it for the crows, as a reminder that anyone who thought they could hurt his mate was powerless to his rage.
Maeve Maeve Maeve.
Their campfire burned low. Gavriel had gathered the kindling and lit it, and for a long time Rowan stared at the flickering, dancing flames, the glow of them sending deep shadows across his face and making the stark tattoo seem more ominous.
It had been a week since they left to look for Aelin. A week of racing across the lands in their animal forms by day, and sleeping like the dead by night. A week of pushing their pace to breaking point, a week of training every evening, even more viciously than they had in Doranelle, and yet Rowan wanted to tear his hair out at their pace. His queen was in the hands of the most sadistic, powerful enemy this world had to offer; they couldn't afford to be slow, not when Aelin could be bleeding out at this very moment.
He knew she was alive - he would feel it if she were gone, like a chunk of his soul had been ripped out. But the knowledge of what she was going through was like a constant knife in his chest. He felt it all. He felt the burning hot irons, the brutal cuts, the whippings. He felt her pain, like a phantom strike, and it tore his heart open each time, the knowledge that he couldn't save her.
The first time it had happened was a day after their search began. He had been sharpening his sword when the pain hit - so fast and sharp that he cried out. But it hadn't stopped. The lashings had kept coming, kept coming for an hour or more, and he felt her pain diminishing as the gashes were healed... only to be ripped open again and again and again. By the end of it, tears - tears - had been streaming down his face, his entire body trembling as he pressed a hand to his eyes.
Fireheart...
It wasn't the pain that made him cry. It was the sheer powerlessness he felt, watching it all unfold from afar and being unable to do anything about it.
Gavriel had gripped his shoulders and forced him to look up, those tawny eyes shining as he said, "We will get her back." Rowan only nodded, unable to speak.
"And we'll help you pay back Maeve, too," Lorcan growled, flipping a dagger in his hands, "Slowly."
Rowan forced himself to look up and growled, "My queen gets the killing blow."
Lorcan shrugged, "Fair enough. But I'll have my fun, too."
Oh, and so would he. He was going to pay Maeve back for every scar on Aelin's body, as retribution for the Queen withholding aid when Terrasen was butchered. And he was going to take a damn long time doing it.
Maeve Maeve Maeve.
The night was silent aside from the crackling of the fire and the soft breathing of his companions. Rowan looked up, to the blanket of stars overhead, and searched it with his eyes, looking for the constellation.
There.
The stag of Terrasen winked down at him, the bright star at its head burning bright. Slowly, he lowered his gaze and looked to the darkened horizon. North. TO Terrasen.
So the people of Terrasen can always find their way home, Aelin had told him.
Home. Terrasen was the only home he had. And if it took his life to defend it, if it took more than that to get his Queen back... he was ready.