There were times when Rowan seriously doubted Aelin had any sense of inhibition or self-preservation. These past few days was certainly one of those times.
He was utterly baffled by her rash decision to leap through the Wyrdgate, despite all of the signs telling them not to approach. Even he, a centuries-old elite Fae warrior, had been terrified by the power pulsing from it. Yet his mate had plowed ahead, clearly determined to prove herself an utter fool.
His rage bubbled to the surface, but he suppressed it yet again. If Aelin and the others noted that he was pissed off then it would cause fractures in the already fragile group. Aedion was receding into the harsh Wolf of the North, Manon snapped at everyone with iron teeth and claws on full display, and even Dorian couldn't keep the frosty anger crackling around his fingertips at bay. Rowan had been certain that Lorcan couldn't get any grumpier, but was swiftly proved wrong once the Wyrdgate had closed and every second since.
And their hosts - he certainly respected them, especially the male with shadows cloaked around him as if they kept out a freezing chill. Azriel; the one who had bandaged up Aelin's leg. But whether he trusted them was a separate matter entirely. Did he? No. Could he? Possibly. It depended on whether they earned it, and how quickly they helped resolve the small issue that they were currently located in an entirely different universe than their own world.
There was another problem they had yet to find a solution to. Amren, the ancient one, was meant to have knowledge that might prove useful. So far, nothing had come up. Aelin had brought them here and she was the only one of the Erileans to have learned Wyrdmarks. Still, she hadn't been of much use either.
Aelin. Fireheart. Carranam. Mate. Wife. He loved her and he was furious with her. Now they were trapped here.
He sat down hard on their bed and stared out the window. The city gleamed and shone in the light. The laughter he could hear if he listened closely enough only reinforced how far they were from home. Home. It was strange how quickly Terrasen had become his home. He had simply left Doranelle with not even a backwards glance although he had lived there for hundreds of years.
The door creaked open and his head shot towards it. A flicker of shadows told him who it was before he even saw the intruder's face. Azriel.
He nodded at the male before looking back out. He knew it was silly but he felt if he just watched long enough, perhaps another portal would open up.
There was no indication Azriel had moved apart from the dip in the bed. He was completely silent. Rowan could understand easily how he was the spymaster.
"Velaris is my home just as much as Terrasen is to you. I understand how you must feel." His voice was dark and cool, tinged with empathy. Rowan believed him.
"You must feel trapped here. This world is little more than a gilded cage to you." Rowan only nodded once more. A gilded cage. Yes, that's what this was. Beautiful but suffocating. And Aelin had just walked right into it. A bitter taste filled his mouth. She had always done this. Walk straight into danger. This time there was no guarantee to get out. It wasn't something to be shredded, or burned, or healed.
"I once had forgotten the warmth of sun on my face. The glimmer of the distant stars. I could not remember what it felt like to have the wind beneath your wings. To feel free. I needn't imagine you don't feel the same way. A prison is a prison, whether it be a cell, a mansion, or an entire world."
Rowan had heard his story, or at least a bit of it, and it filled him with horror. He tore his eyes away from the glinting of sun on shingled roofs. The Shadowsinger was looking at him, hazel eyes unreadable.
"Why are you here?" His own voice had none of the smoothness Azriel used. It was flat and dead. Harsh and cutting. Rough and ragged. He hated dancing around the subject. Slowly spiraling closer and closer to the point. He left the riddles to his mate. He thought he saw a flash of something in Azriel's eyes. Concern or approval, he did not know.
"I've talked to a few others but I wish to hear what you have to say." There he paused before continuing. "I only mean to ask after how you arrived here." Rowan sensed something else hanging at the edge of the sentence. Something that had the possibility to either slither away or to strike a devastating blow. He decided not to press it quite yet.
"I thought we had already told you."
"Please do tell us again."
"Where should I begin?"
"At the beginning, of course." Azriel looked at him as if to say it was obvious.
"I had thought to start at the middle and spin the tale out that way."
Confusion danced around the shadowsinger's features. "If so you wish, but the beginning is often the place to start."
"Apologies. It was only my feeble attempt at jesting." A wry smile touched Rowan's lips.
"Then please do continue."
So Rowan recounted how he had found the cave and the thrum of ethereal power. He left out how they had fled, describing instead the eternal darkness and the thousands of thousands of wyrdmarks carved into the walls. Twisting and flowing and spiraling towards a single point.
He told Azriel of the rumble the cave had made when Aelin's flame dared to glowed brighter. He spoke of the headaches caused, and the obsidian black wall at the end, the Wyrdstone, and the gaping crack splitting the wall as a jagged knife splits flesh.
He no longer saw the room his voice filled, instead staring at the star speckled sky and the slightly warped view through the slight swirl of the air around the portal. The Wyrdgate humming with unnatural power. It's disappearance the moment they had stepped through. The opening into the world of the dead and Nehemia's words. He finally refocused on Azriel, tale told and threads woven.
"That is all."
"That will hopefully help greatly and it matches up to what the others have said well enough. That done, there is one other matter to discuss. Do the words 'Circles upon circles' have any meaning to you? Or anything about three faces and a mother? A flash of light, a window or footprints?" Rowan's eyebrows lifted slightly and Azriel explained, "Our seer, Elain, had a vision."
He noted how Azriel's voice faltered when he referred to Elain as their seer. Almost as if he was going to say she was his then realized what that would mean. Rowan had thought there was a connection between the spymaster and the truth teller, Morrigan. One look at the shadowsinger quickly told him not to ask. "That is why we are now going to Bodleian?"
"Yes." Azriel's reply was quick to come and clipped as if wishing the conversation to end. "Do those word mean anything to you?"
Rowan hesitated before replying. "Circles upon circles... That may refer to the Eye of Elena. It's an ancient necklace with powerful protection charms, formed of three circles interlinked with a gem in the centre.
"The three faces... I'm not sure. The only thing I can think of are three immortal sisters from our world: Maeve, Mab, and Mora. However, Maeve wasn't really Fae, Mora gave up her immortality for a mortal man, and Mab - or Deanna - was a distant ancestor of Aelin. She founded the Ashryver bloodline, and it was her water magic that Aelin's mother inherited, so that could possibly be what the mother refers to.
"The flash of light bothers me. I feel I should know what it means. It is very important, I think." He shook his head, reaching for a memory just out of his grasp.
"The window... This could mean the window between the worlds, or it might be a window in time: the short period before it vanished and closed.
"The footprints could mean anything. It could suggest leaving or arriving. It might signify the arrival of a danger or that it's too late. I tend to believe footprints are things of the past rather than the present or future; the imprint of their departure."
Azriel fixed his piercing gaze on Rowan as if trying to extract more information by sheer force of will. Finally, he nodded. "Thank you. We will be leaving shortly. I suggest that you and your friends prepare for a few days away from Velaris."
"Of course," Rowan muttered gruffly. Azriel nodded again - sharp and concise - and then disappeared into thin air. The only remnants of his presence were the slight wrinkles in the bed sheets, and the whisper of shadows on a breeze.
Once more staring out of the open window onto the city below, Rowan's body suddenly ached to bend the wind to his will, to soar until this glorified prison was little more than a smudge on the horizon.
---
Rowan thrust the magic from his soul, releasing it a tsunami that reduced the surrounding forest to little more than shards of bark and withered leaves. He summoned a gust of wind, lifting the larger branches and standing them up in the dirt. He faced the smallest, a bit smaller then him with leaves blackened by frost. By his frost. It reminded him of Rhysand, their host, a leader in this strange land. His captor. Their prison guard. He blasted the branch, watching as it cracked in half and fell in pieces to the floor.
The next one had Azriel's hazel eyes, its bark with dark leaves swirling around it like shadows as they flitted down, darting here and there. Rowan couldn't believe how much he had told the spy master. He felt foolish and open and vulnerable.That one was thrown out of sight by the wind.
The one had Cassian's black hair, hazel eyes, and slightly arrogant tilt. A warrior. What Aedion should be. Smash! The branch split down the center and fell to either side.
Morrigan's red dress and sense of belonging. Snap!
Feyre's forgiving love for Rhysand.
Rowan picked off the branches on by one. Faster. Faster. He hated them for reminding him of what he and his court should have.
Nesta's hard-won steel walls guarding her innermost thoughts and memories.
Elain's prophecy.
Amren's distant respect.
Aedion's ease.
Lysandra's adaptability.
Elide's openness.
Dorian's agreeability.
Manon's deadly calm.
Lorcan's hell-bent fury.
His breath was coming fast and hard by the time he reached the next one. Its pale bark decorated by golden leaves, untouched by his snowstorm. Two flowers of the brightest blue, despite the raging wind, sprouted delicately at the top. They trembled slightly but didn't let go as if challenging him, pressing him to see how far he could go.
Aelin's branch was ripped to shreds.
He stared at the tiny pieces of bark at his feet. Everything went quiet and still. The wind died and the snow drifted down.
Aelin.
How easily she could get destroyed- how easily he could destroy- is she pushed too far.
Without the blinding snow Rowan could see one more branch out of the corner of his eye. He turned slowly towards it. It had white strips of wood, speckled with spots of black as dark as the ink on his face.
Once he had thought of white as pure. Now he knew it was emptiness.
He didn't feel anything as he reached a hand towards it and balled his fist. The air crushed his own branch into dust, which floated away on a passing breeze.
---
Rowan landed crouched in his Fae form in the House of Wind. He had stared for another moment before looking around at the destruction he had caused and stumbled back. Panicking at the thought of doing the same in reality, he had fled, transforming into a hawk and flapping away. Still the image remained. A clearing shredded and broken. Him being the cause of it.
He lifted his head to hear voices around the corner. He rose slowly and looked Azriel straight in the eyes. The shadowsinger nodded, a tiny movement of the head. He had seen. Of course. Rowan had noted small shadows here and there as he had shredded and ripped and cracked.
Rhysand held out a hand but Rowan ignored it in favor of asking Azriel one more silent question. His answer came just as subtly. No. Azriel had not uttered a word or a thought to anyone. Rowan smiled in gratitude and finally took Rhysand's arm. They dissolved in a flurry of darkness and night.
---
Instead of the dazzling colours that had stunned Rowan as they'd appeared in the centre of Velaris, it was the heat that hit Rowan first. Warm and soft and comforting, like a blanket draped over his shoulders. It was dusk in the Day Court, and as the Fae caught their bearings within this new and unfamiliar city, Rowan noticed a magnificent structure over to his right. The sun had dipped behind the elegant dome, bursting deep oranges and pinks and reds as if it was the building itself that was aflame. Towers of golden limestone stood proudly at each corner of the architecture, at the top of each a fire glowed, slightly muted and dull against the majesty of the sunset. It was only too easy to guess what that construction might hold.
The group stepped forward as one towards the Atheneum of Bodleian. It was time to find some answers.
***
A new chapter! Yay! This wonderful piece of writing was all down to the hard work and talent of @BiancadiAngelo7. After I posted the previous chapter about how hard I suddenly found it to continue with this story, she offered to take over and help out with the next few parts. I cannot be more grateful, and she has inspired and motivated me to finish this tale and make it the best it can be.
Thank you for all being so patient with me.
Please vote/comment!
- Ellie xx